#i already looked through the pics so all it takes is to organize and write out dialogue n edit 😷

[icedm00chalatte]

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[onskepa]

Heyy, I was wondering if you could write a fic where the Sully kids and Spider meet human Jake. It could be like one day they are at Hell’s Gate and suddenly there's like a white light or something and boom Jake is reverted to his past human self ( wheelchair and all ).

Because in canon they only known Jake in his avatar body, so I think this situation would be fun to explore and see their dynamics.

Helloooooooooo there~!! Honestly this is a good idea and I have got the perfect pic for it! Hope you enjoy~!!

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[credit to the artist]

Would you love me if I was a worm?

No words or sounds came from netyiri. She just stood still, her eyes wide and mouth open. Her tail stopped swaying. For a solid couple of seconds, everything was dead silent. How can she process what is in front of her? 

“Mom, please, for the love of Eywa, don't freak out” Lo’ak says as calmly as he can. His hands raised up slightly, ready for any outburst his mother would do. Neteyam was beside him, both in front of their father, to protect him. 

“Freak out? FREAK OUT!? I am about to lose my mind! What in Eywa’s name has happened!?” Neytiri screeched. Her anger and fear rising up to her voice. 

In a sharp turn of her neck, she glared hard towards the familiar human scientists. 

“YOU!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Neytiri's voice echoed throughout the lab, her rage unmatched. Her amber eyes glaring daggers towards the cowarding humans. Norm, being the more braver among the rest, stood in front of her as if to protect his fellow comrades. 

“W-we didn't know it would turn out like this!” Norm said while his voice was shaking, feeling terrified of the large woman in front of him. 

“did not know!? Look at my husband, HE IS SMALL AND PINK! HE IS HUMAN AGAIN!” 

Few hours earlier…

“So what is the point of that whole machine?” Jake asks as his fellow science friends set up some equipment. “We want to see if our theory of reversing things works”. Norm replied. Jake tilted his head a bit, “reversing things? Like what?” he asks. 

“Well like reversing illnesses, diseases, injuries. For mostly medical reasons. Our modern medicine supply is going to go low at some point. And came to decide other ways to fix or treat stuff” Max replies. Jake nods, understanding. He was mostly out of the way as they completed the machine. It was big, mostly tube-like. A long glass tube for a human or na’vi to get in. Had two sides with touch screens and a computer with a slide to insert something into the tube. Looked very rough in some areas. 

“We had to recycle some materials from the old labs,” Norm explains. 

“So, have you guys tested it yet?” Jake asks. Norm shook his head, “no, we are deciding carefully on what could be our guinea pig, and it needs to be organic. Mostly everyone is afraid to go inside”. 

Jake looks at the machine and slightly raises his hand, “What about me? I could do it”. Norm and Max were quick to turn their heads looking at jake. “Are you sure…? We can't guarantee it would hurt or feel weird” Max says, already not liking the nervous feeling he is getting. “We could try a fruit or something else, we really don't know the levels of danger here”. 

Jake raises his eyebrow, “so you built something, medical wise. And you don't know if it can hurt people?”. Norm swings his arms around and taking a deep breath, “we work with what we got. And yes, we don't know if it will cause more harm. That is why everyone, even us, are hesitant to try it out”. 

Jake shrugs and was still insistent on being the test subject. Norm gave in but max was not liking it at all. Feeling something is gonna go wrong. But no one would listen to him. So jake in his na’vi glory, stepped inside the tube as the science guys began to turn up the machine. “Ok, all systems are go. Ready jake?” Norm asks through the intercom. Jake nods, grinning all excitedly. 

Counting down, norm presses a button and suddenly in the tube released light green mist. Fogging the entire large tube. However, loud banging was quickly heard. On the screens showed Jake's heart rate spiking, alarms going off. Quickly everyone was quick to try and shut off the machine. Even by forcing the glass to open. And once it did, a human hand poked out.

“Your father hasn't come back yet, '' Neytiri tells her children as they enjoy their dinner. Jake isn't one to miss dinner time. He wouldn't miss any chance to eat. All of the kids looked at each other, trying to remember when was the last time they saw their dad. And then, tuk thumped her tail happily. 

“Daddy said he went to see the uncle norm and the others. Said they wanted to show him something” tuk happily provides the information. While it is not unusual Jake would go to visit the humans, what is unusual is that he stays there all day. A couple of hours at most and he leaves. This made neytiri worry the more she thought about it. 

“I can go get him” Lo’ak offers. He knows his mother isn't very comfortable being in the human posts. Neytiri nods but also adds, “neteyam will join you”. She knows well he will get distracted and have not only jake but now lo’ak staying longer than they should. 

After dinner, the brothers went off to get their father. However, once they stepped inside…it took everything for the boys to not scream their heads off. 

Present time. 

Jake sat in silence. Mostly still trying to process what happened a couple hours ago, still processing his literal new [or old] perspective, and still processing just how pissed his tall wife is. He is human. Back to who he was before. And to make it worse. 

He is back in the wheelchair. 

Back to having his useless legs. 

Back to being weak. 

And he hates it. 

The screeches of neytiri became dull in his mind. The more he thinks about it, the more it daunts on jake. Will it be forever? Is this the new reality? After achieving so much, only to go backwards? 

“Fix him! I do not care how you do it! Fix him now!” Neytiri continues to demand norm. She doesn't care what methods, she wants her Jake back to how he was. A na’vi. 

“W-we don't know! We are not sure how to fix it. This could take time” Norm tries to reason with the angry wife but she just shakes her head in frustration. “FIX HIM!!” was all she could say. 

“Neytiri” 

She heard Jake's voice. 

Turning to see him, she can't help but feel her heart tug. There he was, just like how she saw him back in the deep forest. Different, yet the same. The man she fell in love with. And now here he is again. Back to being human. 

“Ma’jake…” she whispers. Slowly going to him, she bends to be at his level. Jake offers his hand and she takes it to her cheek. Feeling his warmth. Feeling a few tears escape, she begins to cry. “How could they do this to you?! Why?!” she questions. Humans are creatures she could never fully understand, no matter how well she thinks she knows. 

“I volunteered to help them. They didn't know I would turn out like this. Its not their fault” Jake answers, trying to level a reason with his love. But her tears didnt stop falling. And he hates this. Hates to see netyiri cry. So doing his best to comfort her, he wraps his arms around her neck and hugs her as best as he could. Joining in on the hug were their sons. 

“You foolish skxawng! Stupid! Idiotic!” Neytiri shouted light hearted insults at her husband, and Jake takes it all in, secretly agreeing with her. “I know, I know baby, I know I am” he repeats. He really did fucked up. 

After a couple of minutes, they let go of each other, but neytiri didn't leave Jake's side. Lo’ak turns to norm to ask, “is there a way to turn him back? He isn't going to be like this forever….right?’. 

Norm took a deep breath and said, “the machine we built is to reverse and fix the main source of the problem. When Jake got in…the machine” point to Jake, “fixed him”. The sully family was slightly confused. “Fixed me? How?“ Jake asked. Rubbing the back of his neck, Max stepped forward to provide more information. “What we built is to reverse a source of a problem. Our best guess is the machine found a problem in you. Your na’vi blood. The machine must has seen it as a problem and using your human DNA to reverse it. Thus…you are fixed. And we cant say if we can turn you back into na’vi…”. 

Dread was what everyone felt. Scared that this would be the new reality. Scare that jake won't be with his family every day. Won't continue to be olo’eyktan or anything. Dread and fear is the collective emotions. 

“How about we sleep on this? A lot has happened and sleep would be best to calm ourselves. Sleep, a bit of coffee and think what our next movie is” Jake suggests. Everyone almost agrees. His family however, not really. “I will stay with you” Neytiri says, no hesitation. But Jake shook his head, placing his hands over her larger ones. “I'm sorry baby, but I need you to go back home. You and our boys. Kiri and tuk are currently alone and they need their parents. I obviously can't…but tomorrow, bring them so they can know what's going on. This won't be forever I promise”. 

Neytiri hisses in frustration. He is right, neytiri left kiri to care for tuk while she came to the lab. Never has she wished this was all a bad dream. A nightmare that she can wake up from. But this is real. And she hates it. 

“Fine…but they have to fix you…I want you back” Neytiri whispers. Holding Jake's hand tightly, observing his pale skin. He feels different. It's not the same hand she loves to hold. It is not the same warmth she leans into for comfort. It's all wrong. Jake isn't-

“Mom” 

Neytiri blinks a few times, looking over at neteyam, his hand on her shoulder. “Let's go home, dad is right. We will come back tomorrow. We can bring kiri and tuk like he said”. Sighing, netyiri finally lets go but not without one last look at jake. Seeing his human form made her feel something. Something unpleasant. 

“Dad…damn it's weird…” Lo’ak says, still trying to get the whole thing wrapped in his mind. Jake could help but chuckle a bit, “it's ok son, I will see you tomorrow”. Not saying much, lo’ak goes with his mother, neteyam also looks one last time before joining them. 

The door shuts behind them, leaving Jake alone to his thoughts. 

“So ummmm….you guys still have my old room?”

“Spider, can you for 5 minutes stop staring at me?” Jake asks, slightly annoyed. Spider on the other hand was staring at him as if he couldn't believe what was in front of him. Slowly spider was using his index finger to slowly poke jake. Looking at it, Jake gently smacked his hand away. “Stop it” Jake warned. 

Spider backed away a bit, huffing a bit, “sorry sir it's just….so weird! You are small and pink and well…human”. Jake couldn't blame the boy. He grew up seeing Jake full na’vi. But doesnt mean it didn't hurt Jake a bit. His pride, he tries to keep humble, but little by little his pride crumbles. 

“Get used to it, come on. Lets see what the others are doing” Jake says as both of them head off to the main room. 

“I thought they were kidding…” Kiri says as she stands in front of her dad. Tuk beside her, eyes wide and in shock. Same reaction as their mother. Jake raises his arms, grinning in a rather floppy way, “I wish baby girl” he said. Hearing his voice only confirmed it more. Tuk releases her grip on Kiri's hand and walks over to her dad. Carefully analyzing his human features. 

“Is it really you daddy…?” tuk asks, excited yet afraid to hear his answer. “It is me tuktuk, surprised?” Jake responds, giving his signature grin. Smiling happily, she hugs him tightly. It's so weird to her, she is the baby but she is bigger than her dad. Letting go, she sees his wheelchair, bending down, she traces the metal wheels. 

“Why are you in a chair?” She asks while her giggles escape. She looks up to see jake give a sad smile. 

“Well baby girl, my legs cant move. I cant walk or do anything, '' he tells truthfully. Tuk’s smile faded a bit, “does that mean you cant run..?”. Jake nods. 

A few seconds of silence passed before she went behind him and grabs the handles, “can I at least push you?” she asks excitedly, her tail swaying in a playful manner. Jake chuckles, “try not to run so fast-WOA!!”. Tuk was off doing just that, running fast making cool drifts with the wheelchair. 

“Weeeeeeee~!!” 

10 minutes later 

“Sorry…” Tuk apologizes while holding her tail and head low. 

She just crashed into one of the computers. 

Norm doing his best to not show his internal scream, he does his best to comfort her. But Jake goes over, grabbing tuk’s hand, “it's ok baby girl, but try to be extra careful. It's not easy to maintain all of this technology, come on, let's go with everyone else”. Tuk feeling better, this time she carefully takes Jake to where the other kids are

“And why are you not with your mate? Especially in his time of need?” Mo’at asks as she mixes herbs to make more healing substance. Neytiri was helping her, but refused to make eye contact. Mo’at was told of what happened, and had to see for herself. And while it certainly was a shock, she was quick to tell the people that their olo’eyktan had to travel for a bit. But she doesn't know how long the people will believe that. 

“The children go to support their father but here you are supporting me when it is not needed” she continues. Putting down the roller, neytiri huffs, feeling annoyed herself. “I went to the spirit tree…” was all she could say. But mo’at gave her a look, “Eywa cant answer all of our problems, as she cant help jake sully this time” she says. 

“This is a problem only the humans can fix” 

But even then, neyiri continues to assist. Thinking about her mate, but doing nothing to see him. The humans have to fix him, they must.

The sully kids were playing Jake's old vlogs as he was cringing from the inside. Was that how he really behaved back then? And speaking highly of Quaritch? How badly he wanted to go back in time and smack the shit out of himself. 

“Wait, but you look exactly the same as in the videos, shouldn't you be looking about your current age?” Kiri asks, comparing her father to himself of the past. But Jake could only shrug, “I am not sure kiddo. But I consider it lucky I haven't lost my good looks”. Kiri rolls her eyes at that self praise. 

Yet, as the kids watch, he couldn't help but wonder about neytiri, she hasn't come even though she said she would. He suspects there is something going on with neytiri but he can't point out what exactly. But jake hopes to see her soon. He can use all the support he can get. 

Norm isnt much help since “they are still figuring it out”. Jake hates this, he hates seeing his human hands. Hates to see himself human. The desire to be na’vi again grows every second.  

“Has mom said anything about coming?” Jake asks neteyam, the oldest slight shrugs. “I asked mom but she didn't say much, just that she will be helping grandma. That's about it” neteyam answers. Sighing inwardly, perhaps she too is still processing the truth. That is fine, giving her space can be good.

But as days passed, Jake was struggling. He was so used to doing certain things, he has forgotten his human habits. Often had to be reminded to wear more clothes, forgetting he didn't had much hair from the start. Technology around him makes him a bit sick, unable to stare at screens for a long time. Not like how he used to. Sounds from the computers annoyed him. 

And dont get him started on food. There is only so much pandora food that is safe for humans. Jake missed eating certain things that the humans find weird or gross. 

And most of all, being reminded of how weak he is. Having his useless legs back is forever mocking him. How he isn't strong as he was in na’vi. And he hates himself because of it.

Jake is constantly reminded of how dull and empty his human life was. And how full and nurturing his na’vi life is. He needed to get back to being na’vi soon. As if each day, a piece of his mind is slowly losing sanity. Jake is a patient man, but when you are used to a certain life, only to refrain to how you started. It takes a toll. 

1 month. 

It took neytiri one month to come see him. And Jake felt relieved to see her. To feel her hands and touch her beautiful face. “I missed you” he says with great relief. Neytiri gives him a small smile as she examines his hands again. 

“They still haven't fixed you” was all she said. 

“You talk as if I am broken” Jake slightly jokes, chuckling to himself. But neytiri wasn't smiling. Taking a more serious look, he leans a bit closer, “neytiri…do you think I am broken?”. He needed to know, from revealing to himself, that is all she ever said, fix. As though there is something wrong with him. 

“You are human…” she whispers. But Jake heard her loud and clear. 

Her eyes were unable to meet his. Her hands are there, but her mind is distant. “Is that bad?” he asks. A bad feeling starts to grow, gripping her hands more, Jake tries to make eye contact but neytiri looks away. 

“Baby please look at me….do I look broken to you?” Jake pleads. But nothing came of her mouth. Slowly, Neytiri pulls her hands back and gets up, “I have to go”. She leaves, almost as though she wants to run. 

“NEYTIRI!” Jake calls out, his voice cracking. But she was gone. 

Tuk was crying, she twisted her ankle while running and was swelling bad, Mo’at was quick to treat her, but tears wouldn't stop. Everyone tried to soothe her, but nothing was of use. From neteyam hugging her, to lo’ak making a fool of himself on purpose, nothing worked. And neytiri was getting more anxious that she couldn't calm her baby. 

“Please tuktuk, ssshhhh it's going to be ok. I know it hurts, would you like your favorite supper?” Neytiri asks, holding tuk and gently rocking her back and forth. 

“No! “ tuk cries out. Her wails loud and heart breaking. Honestly they really tried everything. But what could work?

“Tuk, it doesn't hurt, does it? Why are you really crying?” Kiri asks gently, already seeing through her sister's facade. Tuk shook her head, wiping her tears and taking deep, quick breathes. 

“Nononono!” was all tuk could say. The more she cries, the more worried Neytiri gets. But before anyone else can say anything, tuk confesses. 

“I want daddy!!” and she cries some more. 

Her words broke everyone's hearts. For the past month, everyone tried to continue their lives but it was so difficult without Jake around. Neteyam missed flying with his dad. Lo’ak strangely missed being scolded by him. Kiri missed their late night talks. And neytiri. 

Neytiri misses her mate more than she could ever express. But she knows, Neytiri knows she is a coward to not face him as he is. 

A sky demon. 

“I want daddy!! I want him home! I wanna play with him, I wanna be carried. I want daddy to sing me to sleep even though he is terrible! I miss daddy!” 

How can they really shush when they all feel the same? 

“Ssshhh, hey, its still day time, let's go see him. We can all go see dad together” Lo’ak suggests quickly. That made tuk silence a bit, small hiccups following, but she aggressively nodded. Liking the idea, the rest of the siblings were quick to get whatever they needed to go see their dad at the lab. 

“Come on mom, let's go see him” Kiri says, excitedly grabbing her mothers hand. But neytiri stays put. “You go on ahead, take your time” she says. But kiri halted a second, tilting her head slightly. “Don't you want to see dad too? Surely you must miss him a lot more than us” she says, but her mother looks in a different direction, not able to make eye contact. Tugging her hand, kiri gently, yet forcefully, drags neytiri out of their home. Smiling brightly, to encourage her mother, “lets go, we can do something together, all of us as a family”. 

Neytiri looks at her daughter, and decides to follow. But the ever growing dread rumbles in her stomach.

“There there baby girl, don't need to cry. Accidents happen and we learn from them” Jake effortlessly soothes tuk. The little girl sniffed and controlled her tears better. Despite being bigger, tuk was snuggled up against Jake's chest, hearing his heartbeat. This was what she wanted. To be close with her dad again. And being so touch starved, she clinged on to him the most. 

“See, all better huh? Come on, let me see that smile. What is a mouse's favorite food?” Jake asks. Tuk gasped happily, she knows this one! 

“Cheese!” Tuk smiles happily, her tears and sadness washed away. Jake chuckles as holds her tighter. “That's right baby girl” Jake praises. Gently he rubs his forehead against hers, making tuk giggle in glee. His other children surround them, happy to see tuk calm and back to her happy self. Neytiri stood a bit distant, but calmed herself. Jake always knew how to calm their youngest baby. 

“What are you coming home dad? We miss you. I miss you a lot” Tuk whines a bit. Jake couldn't help but frown a bit. “I am not sure when tuktuk. Until uncle norm can find a way, I am like this” Jake answers honestly. But that wasn't enough for tuk. Growling a bit, she huffs. Like a little hamster. 

“Why can't you come home as you are? Spider can go wherever he wants. Why can't you do the same? There are a lot of masks” she asks stubbornly as she crosses her arms. 

Spider, who was beside Kiri, couldn't help but feel sad for jake. The man is in a worse position than he ever was. 

“True, but unlike spiders. I can't run, I can't even stand baby girl. My legs don't work like they used to” Jake answers with all the patience in the world. Tuk looks down at his legs, well what she can see since was wearing pants. Her ears pinned down, hating it more by the second. 

“Can't Eywa fix this? Doesn't she always help like mom says?” Tuk asks more, a little hope rising. Kiri shakes her head and goes over, gently placing a hand over tuk’s shoulder. 

“It doesn't work like that tuk. Our great mother doesn't just grant miracles like that. This is something that must be solved by uncle norm and the other scientists. They did this, so it is only right they find a solution themselves” kiri tells. 

But it seems that no matter how much they explain, tuk will still remain stubborn about bringing Jake back to their home. She understands the complications, but would rather refuse to see it. Like daughter, like mother. As in a way, tuk reflects what neytiri is doing. Avoiding the real problem. So Jake does his best to hold tuk, whispering comforting words into her ear. Which can only work for so long. 

At the same time, lo’ak turns and sees neytiri slowly, yet surly moving farther away. Confused at what she is doing, he goes over. “Mom? Don't you want to get close to dad?” he asks her in a low voice only for her to hear. But neytiri doesn't answer right away. Looking behind him and back at him, she answers in the same low voice. “I am fine, we are here for you and your siblings”. 

Jake noticed the silent conversation happening between his son and wife. It still hurts him that neytiri left only to come back using their kids as an excuse. It seems like real talk is long overdue. Gently moving tuk at his side, he effortlessly climbs back on his wheelchair. 

“Dad?” Neteyam calls out, curious what Jake will do. Smiling like nothing, Jake says, “Hey, why not bother the science guys? They have been playing pac-man all days. But dont break anything”. Giving full permission, they all smile and head off to bother the humans. Spider calls out to lo’ak to join them and he happily does. 

Leaving Neytiri and Jake alone. 

“Let's talk outside, yeah?”

The couple stood outside, as far as Jake's wheelchair allows to. He scratches the edges of the mask. He forgot what it felt like against his skin. It's itchy and uncomfortable. But he bares it. If it meant talking to his mate. 

“Neytiri….baby please. Why won't you look at me?” he asks. Before him, neytiri’s back was facing him. Rubbing her arms to comfort herself. 

“I'm sorry ma’jake…I can't” she confesses. Hesitant heavy in her tone. 

“Can't…or won't?” he confronts. She flinches. And he noticed. Sighing, Jake rubs the back of his neck. The straps itching his upper neck. “I know it's hard. Trust me I know. I had to learn everything again. That i'm…back to this. A useless being” . 

And neytiri couldn't bring herself to defend her mate. As twisted as it may sound. He was right. Jake couldn't do anything without his avatar. He could run, fight, or run a village. He couldn't do anything before the war. 

“But I know that being crippled is the least of your worries. The kids know, I know why you won't look at me. It's because I am back to being what you hate”. 

Don't say it. Please don't. 

“I am…” 

Stop it. 

“A sky demon”. 

“NO!” 

All that had wings, flew away. Startled by the sudden shriek of protest. 

What stance in silence is netyiri fully facing jake. Her fists clenching, heavy breathing, and eyes wide with inner thoughts that scramble to make sense. 

“Back at the secret base. When I passed out from the pandora air. You crawled in and saved me. Placed the mask over my face to let me breathe. You held me in your arms. You saw me. You SAW ME. A human. Looking past my avatar body. Accepting the truth, you feel for a human”. 

The more Jake spoke, the more his voice cracked. The more tears wanted to escape. 

“Why can't you now…?” 

Yes. Why couldn't she? 

“I don't know” was all she could say. No ounce of anger, resentment. Nothing. 

Nodding, but not fully understanding her words. Jake can only repeat it. “You don't know….so who else? Eywa cant help me with this. She helped me greatly before. And even I know, great miracles cant happen twice to the same person. It  must be earned. Fucking shit now I dont know what Im saying”. 

More silence fell between the two. Unsure of what to say. 

“Maybe it was a stupid mistake on my part. Letting myself be the guinea pig for the science guys experiment. I didn't know this would happen to me. I don't know myself” Jake says. Feeling more frustrated by the second. 

But again, he only received silence from neytiri. 

“Neytiri please, talk to me. I can't be the only one spewing out words” he begs. 

“If seeing me like this disgusts you-” 

“It does”. 

Now it was Jake's turn to be silent. 

“Your body disgusts me. I cannot see you as human. To me, you have always been na’vi. An Omatikaya. To see you as human, I am reminded of the past. What they did to our home. To my family. I refuse to look at you for the sake of protecting my memories of you. I will not look back at the past only to see you as human. I will, always will, remember and see you as na’vi. Nothing else”. 

There, she said it. All that had to be said. 

“And now…I see you as one of them”

2 more months have passed and there was no sign of things getting better. The village has grown wary of their absent olo’eyktan that Tsarem had taken the title as temporary. But even still, it can only keep the peace for so long. 

A peace that is fragile. So fragile, it can break at any moment, and chaos will ensue. 

A chaos the sully family is facing every day. Without Jake around, it has become harder to contain their four wild children. Lo’ak has taken more reckless adventures, tuk has been throwing more temper tantrums, kiri has shut down her emotions, and neteyam has become lost in what to do. And each problem took a toll on neytiri. The only time any of them behave is when they visit Jake back at the lab. 

The lab has become more of a home for the kids than back at their marui. 

Yet still, neytiri cant bring herself to go there often like her children. After her last conversation with Jake, confessing how she felt. Never again did she go back to see him. Still playing back the memories of when he was na’vi. Wanting to preserve that form of jake. Pretending he was around, doing his duties to the clan, pretending he was there beside her as she sleeps. 

Pretending everything is ok. 

And it is getting harder to play pretend. 

Until the day came, Jake snapped.

“Bro, do you think they will ever find a way to get dad back to being na’vi? Lo’ak asks. As each day passes, he notices the distance between his parents grow larger. His family is slowly being ripped apart. Lo’ak wishes for his dad to go back to being na’vi. With him back, everything will be ok again. 

It has too. 

“I'm not sure baby bro. But they are smart, Perhaps it takes longer to find a cure. It's not forever, I can feel it” neteyam encourages, But their little chit chat was cut short. They heard alarms going off at the lab. Running quickly, they find their father.

On the ground. 

Crawling. 

And without a mask. 

They were quick to be at his side, Jake was shaking uncontrollably, gasping heavily. Making inconceivable sounds. It was a scary sight. 

“Come on! We have to get him inside!” Neteyam picked up his dad by the legs, lo’ak by the arms. But as soon as they picked him up, spider ran outside with a spare mask. “Here here here!” spider quickly placed the mask on Jake, strapping it around his head really well. Guiding the brothers to put their dad down, they all sat in silence, anxiously waiting for Jake to respond. 

And what felt like forever, Jake gasped into the mask, taking deep slow breathes. The boys released huge breaths as well. Not realizing they were holding it in. 

“Dad, are you crazy!? What were you thinking?!” lo’ak was the first to yell at his father. Jake didn't mind. Letting it slide for now. 

“Thinking about your mom. If she isnt coming to me. Then god damn it I am going to her whether she likes it or not”.

At the sully marui, kiri and tuk were playing in silence as neytiri laid in her hammock, swaying absent minded. Kiri noticed how dull thing became. Their father brought life, structure, and happiness in their family. Kiri desperately wishes he would come back soon.

“DAD'S BACK!!” 

Damn that was soon. 

She and tuk looked down to see neteyam carrying their father in his back. In a hurry, the sisters helped bringing their dad inside of their home. Excited and happy he returned. Even in his small weak form .

Jake sat in the middle of their home, all of his kids talking at the same time. Tuk chanting “daddy's home” over and over. Lo’ak saying how stupid move it was to risk his life like that. Neteyam and Kiri being worried over nothing. He missed this. But the one thing he missed more. Was his wife. 

And neytiri, upon hearing the commotion, stood to see Jake there. In their home, smiling as their children talk to him. Their eyes meet. A wordless exchange was made. But quickly, and again, she looks away. 

“I'm not going anywhere, baby. I'm here to stay. Where I belong. Human or not” Jake states. He said it loud and clear, enough for her ears to point in his direction. Tuk jumps excitedly as she goes over and grabs her mothers hand,“Isn't that good mama? He can stay with us forever and ever!”. 

No, it's not good. 

“Dad is human obviously some stuff will change but he is back mom. We don't have to move back and forth, and we can play games like always, "Neteyam says, with new hope and happiness rising in his heart. All of the kids were feeling that. They can vision it. 

“No, he has to go back. Its not safe for him here. Nowhere is safe out here for him” Neytiri denies. Many begin to complain but they don't know what she sees. So many things can go wrong. Jake cant even climb up without help. It takes only one wrong move and he falls to his death. Or his oxygen tank runs out and no one is near to get him an extra. Death is easier to reach him now, easier to take him away entirely. And only then, would neytiri reach a new low in her life. 

“Then I will have to adapt, dont I? I won't be some damsel in distress” 

Neytiri internally groans. But she is grateful her husband still has  his stupid sense of humor. 

And things did shifted. 

Now Jake spends more time in the marui and neytiri spends more time at the lab. What is she doing over there? Secretly threatening the poor humans to hurry up and solve Jake's human problem. Her threats gotten so out of hand that Mo'at had to intervene. 

“Daring to send thanators after them? Have you lost your mind my daughter?” Mo’at asks neytiri in a stern but calm voice. Despite what expression the tsahik has, she is clearly pissed. Like a child, Neytiri sits still, stubborn and mad that she was caught. Mo’at sits across from her, examining her daughter's facial features, reading her like an open script. 

“Those humans are taking too long. They started their unwanted mess, so they should fix it” neytiri says. And mo’at can only sigh in annoyance. “Fix, fix fix, that is all you have said since the beginning. What is there to fix? Their machine?” Mo’at asks. Shaking her head, neytiri provides more. 

“Not that….Jake….he is not na’vi. He is not MINE anymore” 

This confuses her mother, neytiri goes on. 

“I have looked into the Eywa, seeking, hoping for an answer. I wanted her to help him as she did before. Yet Jake was right, nothing is done twice. I fear many things sa’nu. I fear losing my family. My mind. My mate….I cannot make tayshlu anymore with him. Yes, I can hold him close to me, but every time I see him. All I see is those disgusting, vile, sky demons. I feel utter disgust. The need to hurt him. To dig into his chest and bring out his na’vi body. Destroy his human shell, burn it, rip it apart.  I want him back to how he was. One of us. I fear my inner feelings will soon rise, and that I make a grave mistake that can never be taken back”. 

Hearing all that. It concerned Mo'at greatly. Those are dark thoughts that must be vanquished, if it grows more, she fears it will blind neytiri greatly. 

“What is preventing you child?” she whispers. 

Neytiri took a few seconds of silence, a small smile crept up to her lips. “His eyes…Jake's eyes are what prevents me from losing it all”. 

She goes on. 

“Jake’s eyes are the color of the sky. Very blue, and very beautiful. When I look into his eyes, I can only look for so long. They hold purity. If I stare into them for a long time, I might taint them with all the horrors I have seen. His blue eyes are pure sa’nok. Pure and good, but his body is not”.

Letting her words ponder in Neytiri's mind, she left. But mo’at prays to Eywa that her daughter won't make a foolish choice. 

 

Entering her home, there was warm light, the smell of something delicious cooking, and laughter. Opening the flaps, she sees Jake telling a story as their children all listen carefully. 

“And then, the lorax said…” 

Just hearing that word, Neytiri knows exactly what story Jake is telling. Their children might be too old to hear it, but the Lorax story was one of her personal favorites. She hasn't heard it in a long time. 

Neteyam looks up and notices her, waving his arm and everyone turns to see her. All warm smiles, welcoming her in. Jake looks at her, his patient and stupid smile, his blue eyes staring deep into her eyes. “Come in baby, I was just getting into the good part of the story” he says, kiri serving a bowl of their dinner to her, neytiri accepts as she makes herself comfortable on the opposite side of jake. 

“What story are you telling?” she asks, and in unison, her family happily responds, “the lorax!”. Smiling slightly, she listens. Letting jake continue his story, his voice soft and calm. His way of talking never changed. Always so calm and peaceful. If she closes her eyes, it will be just like how it was. 

Some time has passed, and neytiri was able to stare at Jake longer and more comfortably. Talking more like how they used to, while she is still hesitant to touch him for long periods of time, she is forever grateful how patient Jake is with her. But it seems her children haven't changed much, they are still themselves. Yet just as foolish as their father. 

“Tonight, the children will stay with mo’at” neytiri says one morning, Jake pauses what he was doing and looks over at his mate. “Oh? May I know why?” he asks curiously, seeing how neytiri’s tail was moving, he grins. 

“I thought we could use a little break from them. And just be the two of us-” 

“You want a date night” 

“Yes” 

A burst of laughter erupts in the home, Jake knows her too well. He can read her mind at this point. Looking over, he can see her beautiful smile returning. Bright and lovely. Making his way over with big leaps with his hands, neytiri gets closer. Her eyes staring into his. “You could have said that from the start,” he says. Neytiri places her forehead against his. “Not fun” she says. 

Looking into Neytiri's eyes, he knows what she wants. Who is he to deny her. 

Loosening the straps, he starts to take off the mask. Neytiri sees this and starts to panic, “ma’jake what are you doing? No, stop it!” She holds the mask. 

“Come on baby, what's fun without some risks?” Jake asks playfully.. Taking it off completely, he brings neytiri’s face close to his and kisses her with all the love and passion he had for her. Neytiri wanted to pull away, but felt his lips on her. She caved in, her hand on the back of his head, deepening the kiss. 

What felt like forever, they pulled away. Jake was quick to put the mask on, smirking. “See? I'm fine, but I don't mind another one”. 

Scoffing, she grins, “you skxawng” 

 “your skxawng”.

Night fell, the two mates held each other close. Neytiri sighed happily, she likes this. Likes holding jake in her arms, for once she can top him. Taking in his features more and more, she wanted to admire his good looks. His hair did grew out, and lofts to run her fingers through them. So soft and lovely. His arms strong and muscular, his confident smile ever so contagious. 

“Even if the science guys cant fix me-” 

“No, not fix. Cannot fix something that is not broken” 

Jake looks up at her, surprised but a welcoming one. Brining himself closer into her arms, both let their love and peace lure them into sleep. Happily welcoming what becomes of their new normal. 

Yet as they sleep, they didnt notice Jake’s tablet flashing a light. A message from norm. 

Aaaaaaaaaaaand that is it for this one! NGL I had fun writing this one. Took me a bit but I am glad how it turned out. Until next time! See ya!

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

WIP Wednesday

How is everyone doing this afternoon/evening? I know, I've been a little MIA lately. I went through a bout of writer's block... or something? I don't even know what to call it. Anway, it has finally passed. Given that, I figured it was time to give you all an update on Destiny & Deliverance. More below the cut...

As of this morning, Destiny & Deliverance is written. It's done. Did I cry? Yes, I did. Not sure if any of my eagle-eyed followers have noticed, but I added another chapter to the masterlist. Chapter 29 just got too fucking long, so I decided to make it an even 30. I think it worked out better that way.

So, to be clear, I have two chapters and the epilogue written. I still need to do editing for all three parts. I didn't want to mess up my flow by stopping to edit. Editing usually comes easier to me than writing, so it shouldn't take too long for that. This means you will get the last three parts fairly close together. I hope y'all are ready (because I'm not).

I will say the ending took a slightly different turn than I was originally planning, but I think what we have ended up with adds another positive layer to Dieter and Talia's healing journey. I just hope you all are happy with it. 👀 Now, let's get to a snippet from Chapter 29, shall we?

As Dieter was rattling off the meeting details, I continued to move around the kitchen to pull out glasses and utensils. I happened to look down at his pill organizer on the counter and realized he didn’t take his medication or supplements this morning. I sighed as I picked it up and waved it at him with a disapproving look.  He grimaced as he reached for the organizer, “Lo siento, mi luz. I’ll do better, I promise. Today has been so hectic already.”  “Same time, every day. Take it when your alert goes off…please.” He pulled me in for a quick kiss and thanked me for the reminder. I was starting to feel like a broken record and hated nagging him, but since he started working again, he had been slipping up on things…a lot. He never complained or got upset about it. Instead, he would often thank me, do what he needed, then go back to what he had been so focused on.

Don't come at me for that, I know it sounds ominous, but it's not. I promise. Just some minor growing pains.😏 I haven't had a chance to throw together a mood board yet, so I'm dropping a few pics here as a teaser. As always, I'd love to hear your predictions.

Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @annieispunk @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @copperhalfcent @bunniboo0015 @indiegirlunited @babycatkitty

[campbyler]

can i ask what your guys’ writing style is? like how you write or plan for big fics like this?

hi!! thank you for this question! (some minor-ish CH2 SPOILERS INCOMING BTW so if you haven’t read it yet i suggest coming back to it once you have!)

the three of us all have a tendency to Overwrite so much, and andi and thea have outlined their fics extensively in the past, but i (suni) only started doing so in the last few months and it was because of this fic! we did so so so much planning before ever starting to write, even all the way back when we first conceptualized this fic in january. we have maybe three or four different versions of the outline, a whole document to organize what songs we’re choosing for each chapter to put on the playlist, an entire google slides presentation of the timeline in order to keep track of it LOL so there has definitely been very meticulous planning that we’ve put a lot of time into! our earliest version of the outline looked something like the first pic fkwjdkwk (thea was in the trenches. andi was Stressed about the outline. i was sitting back laughing my ass off)

and the second two are from our current working outline that we are at this very moment using as we write (ft some Key Plot Moments for you). we have all 15 chapters of the fic outlined like so and already had them outlined for a while before even starting! that way there’s no confusion among the three of us over what happens when and where and to whom. since we all planned the fic together and have a good idea of the flow of events (barring individual scene choices and stuff ofc) we usually start writing the chapter once the person before us is a reasonable way through — that way, there’s enough for us to work with so we have content to reference from the previous chapter, but it’s early enough to get a head start so we (hopefully) don’t get too backed up!

basically, it’s a really long fic with a lot of lore and a lot of Events and we needed to keep track of it. so we wrote it all down. we also have a google doc for everything. biiiiig fans of shared google docs. yes, this did all take months. lol. yes we are very proud of ourselves. hehe 🤸 thank you for this question! feel free to hit us up for more writing process related inquiries anytime, we’d love to talk to you guys about it!!

[let-them-read-fics]

Payback

Pairing: Jiu x Fem!8thMember!Reader

Warnings / Misc. -- Smut

Word Count: 2,317

Summary: Jiu gets needy, and it's all your fault. She intends to even the score.

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hi again, everyone! I hope you guys are having a good morning / day / night wherever you are. Here’s Jiu’s story; next up is Gahyeon! :)

◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚ ▸◂ ❚ ⊱ꕥ⊰ ❚

Y/N & Jiu’s Room – DC Dorm

Seated in the middle of her bed and hard at work on a new song for the group’s next album, Jiu sighed heavily. Her jaw clenched a time or two out of habit, trying to rid itself of the tension it held within. 

A few lyrics were etched onto the pages of the notebook that laid in front of her crossed legs – some scribbled out while others had symbols or arrows above them in her best attempt at organization. Finding the right words was nearly impossible, and she’d been going in circles for the last half hour on how the chorus alone should flow. 

Put simply, she was frustrated.

So, she laid her pencil down and pushed the notebook away, intending to make a trip to the kitchen for a short break. 

Her sock-clad feet made contact with the hardwood as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching them out for the first time in hours. She briefly reveled in the feeling, glad to rid her muscles of the ache they had to endure.

But as she stood up to leave, a notification lit her phone screen up, drawing her attention. 

She grabbed it from the bedside table, pausing for a second to look at the smiling picture of you that she had set as her wallpaper. 

Once she unlocked it, she found that the notification was from Weverse, and it was of your doing. 

She clicked it without hesitation and read the caption that you wrote, feeling a grin grow on her face all the while: “It’s almost time, Somnies! Here’s some behind the scenes pics since you’ve been so patient ;)) #Y/NSoloD-7!” 

She tutted and rolled her eyes at your habit of flirting, but she opened the pictures and began to look through them nonetheless. She returned to her initial position on the bed, promising herself she’d take her break once she was done.

You were far more important, after all. 

The first image was of you sitting in front of a table full of snacks that fans had prepared, with a goofy grin and two thumbs up aimed proudly at the camera.

The second featured you perched on the shoulders of two of the backup dancers with a prop cowboy hat pulled down to cover your face. Your arms were locked at the elbow as you mimicked a robot, and the two dancers were looking at one another skeptically, like you were crazy. Jiu could tell that you had forced them to just trust you and to go with it, probably saying that the fans would enjoy your oddness. 

The smile on her face widened at the thought of that.

But, almost as quickly as it had appeared, that sweet expression of hers faltered. 

When she swiped one final time and your third picture came into view, she suddenly understood why so many fans were commenting and liking the post at the speed of light. 

It was a solo shot of you in front of the mirror, holding your phone at an angle that captured both your front and back. Her eyes tracked the curve of your spine in the reflection and stopped at your ass, which she admired like a horny teenager. The pants that you wore were one of her favorite pairs on you, and she shook her head at the notion that you had purposefully planned all of this with the intention of ruining her. 

Perhaps it was retribution for the orgasm you’d been denied of a few nights ago, after she had so cruelly gotten you worked up. A phone call had stolen her away from you right before you reached ecstasy, and by the time she returned you had already helped yourself to a lackluster high that paled in comparison to what she could’ve given. Even she felt a little remorseful for that one.  

So she took this "punishment" in stride. She followed the beads of sweat that ran down your neck and chest, taking a deep breath as they disappeared behind what little bit of cover your cropped tank top provided. Your sports bra prevented her from seeing as much of your chest as she wanted, but part of her was grateful – after all, she wasn’t the only one with access to the picture. 

Your exposed midriff begged for her attention next, and she paid it without a second thought. All of your hard work was evident, showcased by the toned lines of your abdomen that she wanted so badly to touch. To kiss. To ride.

The smirk on your face lied partially out of frame, and that familiar, arrogant gesture made her thighs press together instinctually. It conjured up a million memories, all of which were only speakable under the cover of night or tucked away in the safety of your bedroom. 

Mental images of your head nestled between her thighs, right where it belonged, as you serviced and worshipped her until she couldn’t speak.

The surreal, almost tangible feeling of your lips ghosting across her skin caused her eyes to flutter shut. 

Without you there to hold, her hands felt empty. They yearned to touch you, and only you; she would’ve given anything to have you alone for just ten minutes, free of distraction and interruption. Hours weren’t enough time for her when it came to you, but she could recognize in hindsight that that may have been a bit greedy. 

Because now, she was aching for anything she could get. 

She settled back against her pillows and hastily propped her phone up, dizzy with her thoughts of you. 

Her selfish hands found their way along her own body, given their inability to be on you instead. 

They caressed the areas you loved so much – perhaps in a silent, unseen ode to you – and her breathing soon grew heavier. One went to her chest while the other dared to travel lower, directly between her trembling thighs. Her body hummed for you, despite the distance that separated you; it called in all the ways it knew how, and she was left to deal with the fallout. 

When her fingertips dipped into her panties, warm arousal instantly coated them, showing her just how easy she was for you. You ruled her without even knowing it. 

She kept her eyes on the picture of you for as long as possible, committing every beautiful detail to memory; but when her fingers brushed against her most sensitive spot, she couldn't stop her eyes from fluttering shut again. 

Your name tumbled past her trembling lips in a broken whisper, spoken like a prayer.

—

DCC Building – Practice Room 3

“Y/N, take five, yeah?” Jun, the lead choreographer, asked, drawing in a succession of deep breaths as his hands rested on his knees. 

From your place on the floor, you raised a weak arm into the air and extended a thumb up to the ceiling. He chuckled at the state you were in before ultimately deciding to have mercy, for a change.

His soft footsteps resounded around the practice room as he left for a break, and you used what remaining energy you had left to push yourself off of the floor and into a sitting position. 

Your back pressed to the wall behind you, and you took a moment to revel in the coldness of its surface. Every fiber of your being was worn out; after giving you an extra long break to post on Weverse, Jun had upped the ante and made you run through the song multiple times without stopping. You knew it was necessary and entirely worth it, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t (mentally) complain about it in the meantime.

A staff member entered the room with a cooler of water in tow in the midst of your sulking, and you studied her face for a moment, convinced that she must have been the closest thing to god you’d ever seen. 

You bowed deeply when she handed you one of them, and she simply laughed and shook her head in response before giving the others to the stray dancers that were also laying in heaps on the floor. 

You retreated to your corner again and nearly drained the bottle in one go; a chime from your phone, however, stopped you at about the ¾ mark, and you begrudgingly pulled away. When you noticed that Jiu’s contact picture was pulsating at the top of your screen, a foolish grin made its way to your face and you hastily sealed the bottle back up before unlocking your phone.

In hindsight, you considered your grin foolish because of how quickly it dissolved. 

Minji ❤️‍🔥💍

📎1 image attachment

You clicked on her name, completely oblivious to what you had just done. You had expected, perhaps, a cute image of Cherry playing, or even something embarrassing of one of the members that could’ve been used as blackmail if they ever got on your nerves. 

To say you were unprepared to receive a nude from Minji would’ve been the understatement of the century. 

Soft lamplight cast across her body as she laid there, elegantly splayed out in the middle of her bed and completely bare – two observations that both knocked the wind from your lungs and caused a sound that you’d never quite made before to leave them. The dancers across the room didn’t seem to notice or care, though, and you thanked your lucky stars for that. 

You tilted your phone down to ensure that no one else had the chance to see her in such a way before resuming your bout of admiration. Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, beating something fierce for the woman on the other side of your screen. 

Her cheeks and chest were vibrant with a crimson blush that spread across her fair skin beautifully, looking straight out of a painting. Her nipples were peaked and a little swollen, both from arousal and the exposure that they were receiving. You could imagine that she'd been toying with them, just as you always did. 

Your mouth watered at the sight. 

The angle allowed you to see two of her fingers buried deep inside of her pussy, and her eyes were big and pleading as she peered up at the camera through her long lashes. The muscles of her arm and stomach were flexed, and you could only assume that she had been writhing and rutting unabashedly in pursuit of her high as she snapped the picture. 

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, swollen and rosy just like her clit. 

The furrow of her brow – paired with the slight blur of motion – made you realize just how close she must’ve been when she took the picture; you felt warmth pool in your abdomen at the filthy thought of that alone. 

She wanted you to see what you did to her – needed you to be with her in that moment more than anything, no matter what – and that lit a fire in you that only she was capable of sparking.

Another chime resounded.

Minji❤️‍🔥💍

Like your payback, baby? ;) Come home soon and you might get a taste…

You cleared your throat and stood up at once, feeling lightheaded from what she was doing to you. Your tired body protested, but you didn’t pay it any mind; the throbbing between your thighs outshined everything else, begging for a kind of relief that only she could provide. 

The strap of your bag slid into your hand a mere moment later, and you made quick work of exiting the practice room. 

When you passed by Jun in the hall, marching as if on a mission, he called after you. You shot a reply over your shoulder, sounding as convincing as you could manage. When he didn't follow after you, you let out a thankful sigh of relief. 

Flying appeared to be a new skill that you’d acquired somewhere along the way, considering you made it down three flights of stairs in all of ten seconds. Your muscles again ached fiercely by the time you arrived at your car in front of the building, but you pushed the feeling down and clambered to produce your keys from your bag. 

Once inside, you threw the hefty thing into the passenger's seat and placed your phone in the cupholder. Fastening your seatbelt came next, but before you had a chance to start the car, one final, torturous ding sounded off. 

With a shaky hand, you retrieved your phone. 

Minji ❤️‍🔥💍

📎1 image attachment

Tick tock… round two is starting any minute.

After reading the message, you opened her attachment.

Cum was spread across her fingers, slick and glistening in the low light of the room as she showcased it proudly, all for you. The veins of her hand were prominent as she strategically posed it in front of her face, preying on your weakness. Her jawline was sharp – made even more attractive by the shadows that cast across it – and the unmarked skin of her neck practically begged to be claimed by you. 

Upon further inspection, you noticed that a bit of cum was visible on her lips, too, which tugged into a sexy smirk at the top of the frame. 

Her impatience had led her to taste herself – a revelation that made your clit throb in anticipation. 

She had pretended her fingers were your own as her tongue worked over them, swirling and obediently lapping at her release as she pictured your body hovering over her. 

Mental images – a million possibilities of what could happen when you arrived – flooded your mind as you raised your trembling hands to the steering wheel and started the car. It came to life in a second, and you were pulling out of your parking spot faster than you could blink.

….

What was the speed limit again? 

[cinamun]

Hey fren! I have a ton of questions. Lmk if I’m being too intrusive or nosey lol.

I love your story, I always have to give you your flowers when I write you!! All hail the Queen 🙌🏾🙌🏾💐💐💐

Ok my questions:

For starting out posting and editing, do you keep a schedule for yourself to stay organized? Rn I’m finally posting on my simblr after 3 years but I find myself just constantly taking screenies instead of posting and organizing the story. It feels chaotic lol the only organizing I’ve done just for game play in general is shopping for CC every other day (it’s an addiction)

A question I wanted to ask for a while is, if you are commissioning someone for poses what are the average prices you pay (or better yet, what do you think a good price is to pay for pose commission)? Sometimes I have these perfect poses in my head and when I’ve searched for hours I normally just end up giving up.

Lastly, I noticed your post from yesterday said you had 25 photos loaded in photoshop. Do you have all the art board (or images) side by side to edit them consistently and simultaneously?

Thank you if you answer!!

Good morning bestie!! Let me just go on ahead and adjust this crown right quick lol THANK YOU and I got you!

I'm chaotic and impulsive but I have a little bit of a routine. Follow me under the cut!

Okay, SO!! For the first question about posting and editing.... I usually have an idea for the next scene while working on the previous one. So when I go in-game for story updates, the idea is already there and I'm just setting up shots and making the scenes look good. I don't have a schedule other than my posting schedule, so when you mention last night, I was editing pics that I had taken earlier in the day or the day before. So my schedule is usually sitting in photoshop all night the day before I post.

For pose commissions, I've only done that twice. I've had real good luck over the years finding poses or animations for anything I've needed. I would say make an offer to donate to them if you know their shit is dope and move anywhere between $5 to $10 USD. For the poses I commissioned, they weren't released publically so that's extra special (tip them more!). Also keep in mind if you're asking for accessories to be used, how many sims are in the pose, etc. For pose searching, try to be as vague as you can. "ts4 cleaning poses" and then see what comes up is one example and don't shy away from animations! They work with pose player, most without WW and can make for some great screenshots.

I load up all the pictures in Photoshop plus whatever templates I'm using (like the texting one or the dust overlays), and edit in order of sequence. This is where all the dialogue happens so sometimes I edit out of order if I know the dialogue for one scene already and maybe not the others. I hope i'm making sense lol. I spend a lot of time on this part because the words might change given which picture I've decided on (some scenes I take multiple screenshots of and multiple angles and then decide later which one to use). I go pic by pic, doing editing and adding dialogue individually then saving them, closing them and moving on to the next one. Once I'm completely done then I flip through them a few times as if I were the reader to try and catch any typos, etc.

This got really long but let me know if that helps or if I can elaborate more!!

[handsomehomage]

I've been watching a lot of TV this month as I finish my work and am plagued with thoughts about the state of entertainment. I saw a good post about advancements in YouTube ads, but I can't find it, so I wanted to write out my own thoughts in case I need this later.

This is the only site I will ever fully trust, despite the recent events in censorship. I am grateful for the opportunity to see only what I requested to see - with the odd ad here and there - in the order and at the pace which the author intended for me to see it.

I recently upgraded my gaming and TV setup and have been disappointed by the ever-presence of ads in those products I already purchased. Custom backgrounds on PS consoles have been replaced with forced exposure to ads and an ugly grey backdrop. My TV opens to a slew of ads 'for you' rather than the channels I actually own and enjoy watching. Of course I could go offline on both these machines and lose access to the social features. These private spaces have been invaded by The Corporations. Yes I played Cyberpunk (the pen and paper RPG).

I have been on the internet long enough to have experienced Google search, YouTube and the birth of social media at its finest. When your online hobbies and interests were detached from your IRL persona. When only weirdos and artists had substantial online presence. I had a robust internet friendgroup via a UK site related to my MMO of choice. Some of us met IRL with the approval of our parents and continued to be friends through life's ups and downs.

We had internet safety courses at school. We understood how to organize our virtual workspaces, because that functionality was transparent to us and adults knew more about the devices than kids did. We were taught WikiPedia was unreliable because of its open-source nature, and now the tables have turned making it the only source for information unmotivated by profit. We knew to ask the 'who/what/when/where/why' questions about online resources. I followed all the drama this year about YT plagiarism and I honestly think it's simpler than people wanting to take advantage of their audience. I do not think new internet users can always discern the difference between information and entertainment. Are you making this video essay because you have something new to say about the topic? Or because you want to entertain your fans while you bond over a shared interest? There is room for both, but the lines between them are too blurry.

Now I work as a tech educator. Most kids don't understand where the information they see online is coming from. Ads are disguised as posts on your social media of choice. Search has been replaced with AI summaries that funnel information into a narrow perspective on the topic. They are integrated into your technology and need to be turned off with each update.

My time is precious. My attention and energy are important resources. I will not be swayed by something that overtly preys on my attention, time and energy. I will always respond to ads with resentment because I know how to discern them from actual online interactions. Some people don't know to do that. Of course AI content would flourish in a market where it is so easy to invade users' thoughts.

Let's all help each other out - Tumblr is a great space for the sharing of knowledge. I hope I can look at this post after the trend has changed and think more positive thoughts :D

Here's a pic of my cat watching me watch YT while typing this. Have a great summer!

[peanut-tyrug]

Retorateras - Wes Edition

Retorateras AU by @girlygo2! Go read the original fic if you haven’t already!

“Wes taking the ‘medicine’” concept hypothesized by @girlygo2

WARNING!!! This fic gets kinda violent, there’s also talking of suffering alone in this. If you aren’t comfortable with that, don’t read this. Extra note: This fic contains slight internalized and period-typical homophobia.

Special thanks to @girlygo2 for letting me use her Wes beast form for this fic. A few scenes of this fic are also inspired by some of girlygo2’s art! I’ve provided a pic of said art at the end of the fic (again, art credit goes to girlygo2).

Wes looks on from the tree stump he is sitting on, notebook and feather pen in hand. He looks into the direction Retorateras- Wilson had ran to after transforming once again.

Having to see his friend suffer like this… Wes feels awful for Wilson.

He wants to help in any way he can.

Wes opens up the notebook and begins to write.

I want to help Wilson in any way I can. I want to be there for him… that’s why I want to ask.

Wilson, if you’re reading this, I know you told me about a, as you put it, “medicine” that caused this monster.

I wanted to ask if you could make that medicine for me. I know it sounds awful, but I want to be there for you. I want to help you, even if it’s at my own expense. Please trust me, I understand what I’m putting myself through. I’m only doing this for you.

I simply just cannot watch you suffer alone anymore.

- The next morning -

Wilson has returned to camp, all messy and clothes torn up. Willow, of course, has scolded him again for running off.

If only he could tell her why he’s been acting this way.

Wilson finds Wes sitting outside his tent, looking a bit upset. He’s also holding onto his notebook. Wilson walks directly towards the mime, wanting to know what’s wrong.

“Wes, are you alright?” Wilson asks.

Wes opens up the notebook and goes to a specific page he’s already written on. He turns to face Wilson and he points on the page, indicating that he wants Wilson to read it. Wilson takes the book and reads what Wes has written. Wes looks away as the scientist reads. Wilson’s face goes from a focused expression to a shocked one.

Wilson harshly whispers. “Wes! Why would you even ask? I can’t do that to you! I don’t want you to go through the same pain I went through. You don’t deserve it!”

Wes quickly turns back to face Wilson with a stern but upset look on his face. The mime smacks his hands together, practically begging for Wilson to take his offer. Wilson looks in shock and confusion.

Wilson speaks again, also in a harsh whisper. “Wes, no. I understand you don’t want me to suffer alone, but I’m fine! I’m alright with suffering alone! I did it back home! So who’s to say I can’t do it here!”

Wes looks in disbelief. Wilson processes what he said.

“…I’m sorry… I’ve made you feel even worse, haven’t I?”

Wilson suddenly feels the mime hugging him. Wilson, a little reluctantly, hugs Wes back.

Wilson and Wes eventually let go of each other.

Wilson begins to reconsider what he said. He doesn’t want Wes to be upset, or feel bad for him. But he feels that no matter how hard he could try to comfort Wes and tell him he’s fine, Wes’ empathy and guilt for him would not go away.

Wilson doesn’t want to see Wes upset, just like Wes doesn’t want to see him upset.

It’s what Wes wants. As long as Wes is happy, Wilson is happy.

Maybe it would be better if Wilson made Wes the medicine.

Wilson speaks again. “I may consider it… making the medicine. Even though I may not like it, it’s what you want, right?”

Wes nods.

“And you do understand what you’ll put yourself through right?”

Wes nods again.

“…You really are willing to do anything for me, huh?”

Wes smiles and nods again.

Wilson thinks to himself. “I am too.”. A small smile grows on his face. He blushes a little. He immediately tries to stop it though.

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

The two get up and go off to start their tasks for the day.

As the two walk away, Wilson thinks to himself.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. We can be together.”

He immediately wants to forget he thought that (although the thought doesn’t seem to go away).

- Later, in the evening -

Wilson had called Wes over to the far back of the base where they wouldn’t be seen. Wilson is sitting down with a beaker of liquid in his hands. He’s shaking, likely a little nervous. Wes sits down next to him.

Wilson looks at Wes, holding the beaker in his hands. He hands Wes the beaker and he speaks in a slight whisper “Okay… just… drink that. And… let me know if you start feeling anything. I’ll take you out to that clearing when the transformation starts.”.

Wes nods. He looks into the beaker. The liquid very much resembles water. He hesitates to drink it.

Wilson breaks the silence, again whispering. “If you’ve changed your mind you don’t have to-“ Wes turns his head to Wilson and shakes his head.

Wes takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

He immediately puts the edge of the beaker to his mouth and drinks the liquid. Once he’s done, he spits out his tongue. The medicine is bitter and practically tastes like nothing. Wes hands the beaker back to Wilson. He takes it. “Let me know if you start having a headache, alright?” Wilson speaks.

Wes nods.

“Okay.”. The scientist responds. The two separate.

- A little later, during the night -

Wes sits alone in front of the campfire. Wilson and Willow are still awake, cleaning up for the day. They are both toward the camp’s exit.

Wes stares at the fire. He studies how it moves, how it dances, waiting to feel a sign that his beast might awaken.

He suddenly feels a sharp pain in his head.

Wes rubs his temple and slowly gets up. He heads over to Wilson.

Wilson turns to see Wes walking towards him. The mime is rubbing his head as he walks. Wilson whispers. “Wes? Are you feeling okay?”

Wes points to his head and clenches his fists to signify to Wilson that his headache has started. Wilson panics a little bit.

“Alright. Hold on a moment-.” Wilson walks over to Willow.

Wes looks on as Wilson goes over to Willow, likely to tell her that he’ll be leaving. He’d likely try to make up an excuse to leave.

Wes leans against a stone wall that protects the base from intruders. He continues to rub his head and take deep breaths to help soothe himself. He can barely focus on what Wilson and Willow are saying. Wilson eventually comes back and leads Wes out of the base. “Come on.”

Willow watches as the two walk off. She doesn’t look too happy.

The two stop in a familiar clearing. Wilson sits Wes down. Wilson embraces Wes and rubs Wes’ back to comfort him. Wes embraces Wilson back, clenching his hands against Wilson’s pinstriped vest, as his transformation begins.

Wes feels fur growing on his arms and face. He feels claws bursting from his gloves. He can hear the sound of his clothes, along with Wilson’s, being torn.

They’re both turning at the same time.

Wes can feel a sharp set of fangs grow. He can also feel and hear his back arch and bones reposition. It’s awful.

“It’s all for Wilson.” Wes thinks to himself.

On Wilson’s end though, he thinks to himself. “What if his beast form can’t be controlled? What if it’s dangerous?” Wilson almost wants to pull back away from Wes out of fear he could get hurt, but he remembers something.

“I can’t leave. I have to be there for him, just like he’s there for me… it’s only right.”

Silent whimpers are replaced by growls. Growls can be heard from Wilson too.

They both eventually black out to the ground, still embracing each other.

…

Wilson is the first to wake up. His transformation is done, so is Wes’. Wes hasn’t awakened yet. Wilson slowly gets up.

Wilson takes a look a Wes’ beast form. It’s fairly different from his own. His body almost looks like that of a ferret. His fur is black and feathery. There is a long gray stripe on the beast’s back. Not only does this black fur cover his body, it also covers the limbs. The tail is also pretty long, especially compared to Wilson’s. He also has long ears. Wes’ makeup is also visible through the fur-covered face… The beast’s face really is just Wes’ face buried in fur.

Wilson shakes Wes a bit with one of his paws, trying to wake him up. Wes slowly opens his eyes to see Wilson looking down at him, a little concerned.

Wes slowly gets up and tries to adjust to his new form. He stands up and balances fine. He looks into Wilson’s eyes.

Wes can’t physically smile, but internally, he beams.

He rubs his face onto Wilson’s. Wilson does the same back to Wes, although a little reluctantly and hesitantly.

Wilson is surprised that Wes is so happy… He’s happy Wes is happy.

Wes walks forward a bit. He internally beams. He wants to explore. He’s curious to see if there’s any place the other Survivors haven’t seen yet.

He runs forward. Wilson quickly follows behind, concerned for Wes’ safety. Wes darts around the area happily. Wilson follows him. He goes from feeling concerned to almost excited.

He and Wes are finally able to be together while Wilson has turned. Wilson doesn’t really like to admit it though.

The two run for awhile. Wes slows down, so does Wilson, who followed close behind him. The two realize they haven’t eaten in a bit. The two tread the area to look for anything to eat.

Wilson finds a few rabbits outside the clearing. Wes finds him gobbling down the little creatures. He looks on, perturbed.

Wilson looks back to see Wes, who is, again, perturbed by what he saw. Wilson walks over to Wes and tries to comfort him into eating one (emphasis on try).

Everyone at camp had always cooked their meat before eating it. To not have to cook it was odd.

Wes eventually gains the courage to try a sneak up on a rabbit. Once he’s close enough, he strikes.

Blood immediately covers his face.

Wes feels guilty. Wilson walks up to his friend and comforts him by nudging his face a bit. Wes nudges back. The two find a few more rabbits before leaving them alone.

The two continue their journey outside the clearing. They discover a small Beefalo herd out in the distance. Wilson notices the herd and gets an idea.

He looks over to Wes. Wes looks back. Wilson nudges his head toward the Beefalo heard. Wes, internally, is surprised.

The two practically read each others minds.

The two beasts walk behind the herd, prepping to strike. They walk next to each other.

Once the time is right, Wes strikes first. He strikes a Beefalo from the back and bites down.

The entire herd notices the attack and prepare to strike Wes. Wilson quickly runs in and charges a few of the herd.

Wes tries to fight off the oncoming Beefalo. He continuously scratches and bites until each one is taken down. Wilson fights off his share of the herd, charging and biting continuously.

Fur and blood go flying around the area. Blood covers Wes and Wilson’s faces. Growls and snarls are heard every which way amongst the scuffle.

Until it all quiets down.

Wes and Wilson have come out victorious.

The bodies of the Beefalo herd slowly dissipate and faze out of existence. Blood is still scattered around though. The two beasts eventually leave the scene and find a place to sleep for the night.

Wilson and Wes walk through the land. Wes is leading while Wilson stays behind.

Suddenly a small thud is heard. Wes looks back to find Wilson laying on his side. He fell asleep.

Wes walks over to Wilson and lays beside him. He wraps one his arms around the sleeping Wilson and lets himself dose off…

…

It’s the next day.

Wilson and Wes are human again. They’re both still sleeping. Their clothes are torn and tattered. Wes’ makeup is also a little messy. So is Wilson’s hair.

Wilson slowly opens his eyes.

He finds Wes directly next to him, sleeping.

He gasps and quickly moves back. The arm that Wes had rested on Wilson limps off of the scientist as he moves back. Wilson realizes Wes had laid his arm on him.

Wilson blushes and cups his face in his hands.

Wes slowly wakes up and rubs his eyes. He yawns and stretches. He looks ahead to find Wilson awake, his face cupped in his hands.

Wes scoots over to Wilson and pats him on the back. Wilson’s head jolts up. He looks at Wes and smiles.

“…Hi.”

Wes smiles back and silently giggles. He waves.

Wilson slowly picks himself up. He also helps Wes up.

“…We should get back to camp… can’t wait for Willow to be steaming like a pot when we get back…”

Wilson and Wes frown a bit… but then Wes smiles and tries to lighten the mood. He taps Wilson’s shoulder and Wilson turns to look at him.

Wes lifts up a hand and imitates a talking mouth with it. He opens and closes his mouth. He’s imitating someone talking.

Wilson chuckles. Wes silently chuckles back.

The two head back to camp together.

Wilson is happy that he’ll have someone there for him.

- END -

This is the art I was talking about before. The art was made by girlygo2. It’s not on her Tumblr though, it’s on her Twitter.

Look up Girlygo2 on Twitter’s search bar and you’ll find her :)

[lunapwrites]

LP Yells About The Sims... Again.

OK so I promise I am still writing B U T...

Still also working on this NSB challenge in the Sims4 and need to yell about it for a minute so I am going to just ... yeah.

It's official: Peach Gen (this being Gen 8) is on the board. Sort of; they're still an infant so I can't really skill them up. BUT! They are there.

The Berry family tree has gotten completely out of control, and I am ADORING the chaos. Have I been going into manage households and hunting everyone down and tweaking appearances (just to fix Crimes)? Maybe. But we have gotten to the point that uh.

You can't see the whole thing, even when zoomed all the way out. It's a little bananas. In fact, you can't see the heirs from Gen 4 onward at all in this shot. I can see Gris' twin sister Zelda, and her kids on the very far left, right under Midas and Elena. But that's it.

Have I organized everyone's headshots into a special folder organized by generation and then by which Rose Gen line they spring from? Yeah I sure did. It's easier to divide and conquer since only 5 of the 6 kids had kids and I separate heirs out into their own folder. This is normal this is fine we're doing fine.

As for how the heir thing is going. There's uh. Some story happening. And I feel like this needs explaining lol.

Caveat that I did play correctly and the Pink Gen twins (Rosa and Kamal) are the only children that Orange Gen (Ginger) has had. The rest in that line were through their dad Sidney and were entirely for The Drama (and because I needed easy fodder for Ginger to fight for her Public Enemy aspiration and turning the game into an episode of Jerry Springer seemed like a reasonable decision lmao.)

Short version: the trauma in this family compounds over the generations, holy shit. Like, just gameplay wise. And everything that each generation tries to do better than the one before they wind up somehow making worse without meaning to. I think Pink Gen is the first one that ACTUALLY starts breaking the cycle and I'm really glad that I hauled off and created a Sim to be Rosa's partner because they are wildly in love and happy and I'm living for the peace and positivity after the absolute madhouse that was Ginger's playthrough lol.

Anyway, because they deserve to be seen:

Julep (mint), Jasper (rose), Midas (yellow), Gris (grey), Iris (plum), Ginger (orange), and (below) Rosa (pink), with her extremely lovely husband Charlie who is "freckle-faced, gap-toothed farmer boy who will talk your ear off about plants." Next up is their daughter Lily (peach), but I don't take screenshots until they're at least teens. (I had Julep's pic from when I started but I didn't start tracking properly until I was well into Midas' playthrough and Jasper was already an elder... but he had red hair lol.)

Btw if you're looking for a skinblend for aesthetics I really like Honey. Obviously, since I have decided it's rated E for Everyone lmao.

Anyway I just think they're neat.

[nettlestingsoup]

Hi!

I hear someone mention anything craft related and I am instantly summoned AND interested. Needle felting is so cool!!! Please don’t feel shy to share any pics or talk about what you’ve made if you want hehhe. Also how’s the embroidery going?

God there are so many different ways to make things and I want to try every single one.

Also Nettle!!!! The writing progress!!!! Hellooo!!! This is exciting!!! But please take all the time you need! Don’t worry about it.

I saw you mention that you’ve been a bit stressed and it’s none of my business so I won’t ask but I hope you feel better soon! Take good care of yourself! Hopefully you’ve had a nice weekend!!! Do you have anything to look forward to or to help you relax? If I may ask.

hello!!! needle felting is very cool! my parents got me an anatomical set for christmas- a frog and a rat are printed on the fabric and you needle felt their organs in like they're being dissected haha; as a crafty biologist who almost took a taxidermy course a while back, it was the perfect gift! i've not tried it yet, but i'm taking a week off work soon so i might bring it with me on holiday. i'll send photos when it's done!

embroidery is good! my local lgbt bookshop/café has started doing arts and crafts nights, so i've been taking my sewing to those to make some friends! i've almost finished embroidering a houseplant for my sister using wire:

but it needs some rearranging, and some little fake pebbles adding to the base to hide that green foam.

writing progress is actually going so well; i finished editing chapter eight on call on friday, and blitzed through chapter nine on saturday; i'm now on the last scene of chapter ten, so only four more chapters to go! may try to do a little bit on holiday, but i'll most likely be too tired from hiking.

i am stressed! and exhausted! and a little bit burned out! but it's ok because i'm handling it and actively trying to give myself nice and healing things! i had a lovely weekend with board games and cheese scones and midsomer murders and i'm feeling a lot better already. i hope you're well too!!! i want to chat properly soon, i've just not had it in me to respond to messages<3

[mokutone]

Your tags on this post made me think that if there's any childhood pics of Yamato, they'd be absolutely cursed. Most of them probably progress and experiment contexts... and then for some reason there's one where, idk, it's just a tiny Yamato holds a kunai in his hand and the first (and only) time Kakashi stumbles upon it when he goes through the ROOT files he has a sudden moment of recognition and connection and then makes sure all those files will never ever be opened by anyone again.

oh this captured my imagination a little bit. hoo hoo. here, have something i don't usually do, write:

“Hey, Tenzō. Look at this.”

Yamato glanced up from his lunch to see Kakashi hauling a dense looking box of papers and folders onto the already-crowded Hokage desk.

“Taking on additional responsibility, I see,” Yamato said mildly, leaning back against the window behind him to get a better angle of the boxes sides, see if there’s a label. “How bold of you, Hokage-Sama.”

“There’s nothing which aids procrastination better than additional, unrelated work,” Kakashi said, dispensing his ill-gotten wisdom with two smiling, inky-black eyes. Yamato smiled back crookedly, and put his lunch to the side, finally rising to join Kakashi in whatever this new distraction was.

The box had dense chipboard sides and top, and hints of discoloration from unhindered mildew around the corners, and by the lip of the lid. There was a label on the lid’s front, but it was rusted so thoroughly that the paper had been eaten and stained so thorughly that it was unreadable. When he touched the sides, it was colder than the room they were in.

“Sai found it,” Kakashi said, as Yamato lifted the lid.

Ah. This was from Root, then. The dismantling of Danzō’s organization demanded a lot of cleanup, a lot of compiling and collection of Danzō’s libraries and resources and re-allocation of them into Konoha’s information, library, and data collections. If Kakashi was bringing this one straight here, rather than letting the experts notate, collect, label, and distribute this information, it must have been something he wanted privilege over—something too sensitive to immediately be shifted into Konoha’s resources.

Taking a guess, Yamato slid his hand among the side of the papers, feeling for the slick, cardstock texture of a photograph among the typewritten papers.

“Well, would you look at that,” Yamato said, as he felt Kakashi’s keen gaze slip from him to the image in his hand. It was of a sallow, gaunt creature that had never seen the sun, with long brown hair, wetted and slicked by preservative biofluids so that it was nearly black, legs that must have been trembling at the time of the photo which stuck out like twigs from beneath a thin, rough-textured cotton medical gown. The eyes that stared out at him though, were familiar, curious.

“It seems like they’ve finally declassified my baby photos,” Yamato said, and he tried to keep his voice light and humorous, but he tripped over a lump in his throat.

Yamato could feel Kakashi’s eyes leave the photo, and return to him, and so he turned, and pressed the photo into Kakashi’s hands before stepping back to his seat on the window, and lifting up his lunch again.

“We could burn them,” Kakashi suggested.

“That sounds like a bad idea,” Yamato replied through a wry smile. “Thanks for the offer though, always good to know you’re willing to destroy state secrets for a friend.”

“If being the hokage means I can’t even destroy my personal guard’s formerly classified medical documents anymore, then I don’t even know why I left Jōnin,” Kakashi replied, though he started picking through the box again.

Yamato resumed eating, finding himself colder and hungrier than he had been even minutes ago.

“What do you want done with it, Tenzō?” Kakashi eventually asked.

“I don’t particularly care. It can enter Konoha’s forbidden documents division, I suppose. There’s probably important details about how I was created in there, they might be of use for Konoha down the line, I suppose. Perhaps the next time, the experiments can be done consensually, and with less casualties, and perhaps without the more dehumanizing elements of all that.”

“Grim,” Kakashi commented.

“Pragmatic,” Yamato countered. He was fairly sure that there would be a next time—even if Orochimaru somehow miraculously died, even if he was somehow stopped, there would be someone else. There would be, once again, a demand for an otherwise extinct Kekei-genkai.

“I know how easy that section is to break into. I don’t know. Do you really want it in there? Even Sakura and Naruto could probably get in, if they tried, and you know how bad they are at stealth missions.”

“And whose fault is that, Hokage-sama?”

Kakashi gave him a sour look, probably about his continued use of the honorific. Yamato knew he was getting to Kakashi a little bit. “Yours. Don’t you still train new Anbu recruits? They’re not up to par.”

Yamato bowed deeply without leaving his seat, so that his nose brushed his knees, holding his meal aside with one hand. “My most sincere apologies, Hokage-Sama, I w—”

“Piss off,” Kakashi snapped. “You know you’re pretty much the only person in this village who still calls me that?”

Yamato sat back up, very pleased with himself.

Kakashi sighed, and looked back down at the box, and Yamato watched as he did, one of his hands leaving the white, voluminous robes to pick through a couple files at random, and then shuffle them back in.

“You were very young,” Kakashi said softly, looking at another document, which seemed (by a paperclip at the top) to have another photo attached.

“Most children are young,” Yamato noted, after another bite. “You probably were too, I imagine.”

“I suppose I was.”

“You’ll likely find mostly medical files and Kinoto and Danzō’s notes on my progress. I don’t think there’s much else to be recorded in there.”

“You don’t want to see any of that,” Kakashi guessed.

“I know what it will say, I lived it. As for the stuff that I don’t know, I’m happy not knowing.”

Kakashi tapped the edge of the box. “Does me looking at these bother you?” He asked.

Yamato looked out the window, where the afternoon sun was lowering but hot and bright and golden. Did it bother him? He didn’t think so.

“I understand why it’s interesting—but I’m not in that box. Whatever we would find in that box isn’t me. You know? Whatever you want to do with it, I don’t really care.”

Kakashi nodded, and put the paper in his hands back into the box, then placed the lid back where it had been.

“I’m going to put these somewhere very safe, for a while. I don’t think these should be back in circulation,” Kakashi said. “Not yet. Not for a while.”

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Hate That I Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 6200+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only! NSFW

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Well I said this would only be 2 parts so this one is a little longer. I hope that’s ok! It’s also half beta’d because yolo (do we say that anymore? I don’t think we do)

We’ve only got a teaser trailer, a promo pic, and a behind the scenes in character video, but I couldn’t resist writing this! So please note this came out before the movie and so I’m making wild assumptions. Also this will be a 2 part series because apparently I don’t know how to do short stories so much.

I’m also posting this as a thank you for 300 followers! I am BEYOND humbled and can’t believe 300 of you have chosen to hit the follow button. It truly means the world to me!

**Reader is ethnicity inclusive despite stock photo bias

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

<<Part 1<<

Dreading what the morning has in store, you get dressed as slow as possible, trying prolong the time until you absolutely had to be in the trailer. But time has a funny way of speeding up whenever you weren't looking forward to something, so before you knew it, it was time to head to work.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to the trailer, seeing Dieter already sitting in the chair. The makeup girls are there, starting on his eyeliner.

"Morning, Bee!" One of the girls cheerfully says to you and you smile back at her. Looking in the mirror, your eyes find Dieter's staring at you before he looks away, and you swear you see him blushing. He lifts his phone back up and continues to scroll, thumb sliding across the screen as he stares at it a little too hard.

You move around the trailer, careful to avoid getting in the way of the makeup girls. Every time you turn towards Dieter's direction, he looks away quickly, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Turning your back to him, you try to stifle the smirk that's threatening to spread across your face.

"Tag, you're it!" One of the girls whispers in your ear when they finish, giving you a sympathetic smile as they gather up the things they need to bring on set.

Standing behind Dieter, you chat idly with the girls as you run the comb through his hair, spritzing water from a spray bottle you hold in the other hand. Setting it down, you part his hair with the edge of the comb, manipulating it to make it stand the way you need it to. It’s then that you Dieter shifting slightly in his seat. Testing your theory, you pull his hair a little bit more in the direction you need it and he shifts again, this time uncrossing and recrossing his legs.

You glance in the mirror and see the girls have their back to you, organizing their aprons and kits. Looking back down at his hair, you run your fingers through it, scraping your nails lightly across his scalp. He lets out an involuntary grunt and tries to cover it by clearing his throat. But now he watches you in the mirror and you make an extra effort to fix your face into concentration, gripping, pulling, and tugging a little more than was needed just to see him squirm.

The girls finish and wave bye, closing the door behind them. Dieter���s hands shoot out and he grabs your wrists, his eyes darkening as he stares you down in the mirror.

“What are you doing?”

“Your hair. You know, for the movie you’re filming? Now let me go.” You pull your hands but his grip tightens.

“Is it necessary to-to run your fingers like that?”

“Like what?”

He rolls his eyes to cover his slight blush. “You nearly took the skin off my head.”

“I don’t have the nail strength to scratch all the skin off that giant head of yours.”

Suddenly, he pulls you around from behind the chair, stumbling as you come around, slamming your shin into the height adjusting bar around the bottom of the chair.

“Fuck! That hurt!” you yank on your arms to try and free yourself again and he lets one of your wrists go. You bend down and rub at your shin, trying to lift your pant leg to see if there’s any major damage.

“You could’ve broken my leg, asshole.”

He chuckles once. “Wouldn’t want to ruin those pretty legs of yours. Too bad they share a body with that mouth.”

“Are you flirting or starting a fight?”

“A little of both.”

Standing upright, you turn and use your free hand to push him back in the chair. He releases your other wrist and you climb into his lap, straddling him as you crash your lips to his, biting at his lower one. He pushes his tongue inside your mouth and you choke back the little moan that escapes you as you feel him slide his hands up your back.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

Your lips meet aggressively once more as your hands find his pant line, feeling around for the edge of it. He’s wearing those dumb drawstring pants again and you roll your eyes as you untie them, sliding your hand in to grip him. He breaks the kiss to breath heavily into your mouth once as you begrudgingly feel a wet spot appear on your panties.

Heavy breaths against the other’s lips continue as you slide your thumbs into the pant line of your leggings. You sit up on your knees and slide them down along with your panties and you glance down to see Dieter’s face, nearly level with your pussy, his eyes darkened with lust. He leans forward but you sit back again, reaching for his now leaking cock and line up with him. Sinking slowly to allow yourself some time to adjust, you can’t help the small whine that escapes you as he inches inside, hitting every surface of you.

“Oh fuck, Bee,” Dieter quietly moans as he bottoms out.

Feeling angry as you throb with the way he moans your name, you put your hand over his mouth as you start to grind your hips. “Shut up. I can’t even hear myself losing the will to live.”

A minute or so passes and your heavy breathing fills the trailer, along with the sounds of sex, the chair creaking under you with each grind of your hips. He adds a little thrust from his end, his hips rising to meet yours and it hits something inside of you. A moan bubbles up, unable to be repressed and that smirk spreads across his face.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, bite me.”

He grips the back of your head and pulls you to him, his lips finding your pulse point on your neck. He bites and sucks you there and it ignites the fire rapidly growing inside you.

“Not what I meant.”

He pulls back only slightly, his breath on your skin. “You want me to stop?”

“Fuck you…but keep going.” You whine out the last word, your pleasure trying its best to escape your body.

Dieter resumes his task, sucking and biting in time with your hips and it isn’t long before you come, breathing out heavily as your hips sputter. Once you come down, you resume your pace and Dieter pulls back to look at you, a hopeful yet puzzled look on his face.

“Come for me, Mr. Bravo.”

“Fuck!” He does as you command, his head thrown back and mouth hanging open as he spills himself inside you, his hands gripping your hips because they were the only thing he could grab onto.

When he came down, he lifted one of his hands to your cheek and cupped it, rubbing his thumb over your skin. You feel yourself melting into his touch before you realize what you’re doing and you lift off him quickly, hearing him cry out from overstimulation.

“What the fuck, Bee? Warn a man!”

You pull up your pants and slide off of him, turning to grab the spray bottle and comb again. Moving behind him, you start to style his hair for the film as he studies you in the mirror.

“Put your dick in your pants, Dieter. Not everyone wants to see that.”

“Then why do you keep staring at it?”

Your cheeks feel warm and you hide yourself behind his head, hearing him chuckle as he puts himself away.

—----

A couple weeks pass in this manner, both of you trying to rile up the other one that eventually ends in you straddling him in some manner, just trying to wipe that smirk off his face.

One day, you’re fixing his hair in the trailer and a pretty, young assistant walks in, all boobs and big eyes, to hand a few pages of revisions to Dieter. He glances at you quickly before his eyes find the girls, and he turns on the charm, flirting openly with her as you’re standing behind him. His fingers brush her skin and she blushes, giggling and laughing at whatever he says, eating up the attention by the famous Dieter Bravo.

The moment she leaves the trailer he stands to stretch and you lose it, pushing him to the ground while you fucked him into it, that smirk you hated so much playing across his face. He knows he riled you up and he took full advantage of it.

He would flirt with people every chance he got, so long as you were within range to see or hear what was going on. He knew how you’d react, straddling him as you argued, albeit playfully.

You knew what he was doing so you decided to play his game, flirting with people as he walked by or while he was filming, unable to make a move. It would be his turn to lose it, and you would push him down as he let you have your way with him in the trailer. You always seemed to be on top with him. You assumed it was because he’s lazy.

After a couple weeks of this, and a particular intense flirting session between Dieter and some random stagehand, you had to take a step back and think about the situation. Why am I so angry? It’s not like we’re together. But he openly flirts with other women in front of me to rile me up. I know it's to rile me up. Why do I care? Because…I like him. A lot.

Fuck.

—----

One day between takes, you’re adjusting Dieter’s hair, as it refused to stay in place during a minor stunt scene. Howie, one of the other actors, crosses the room, heading straight for you and Dieter.

“This fucking guy,” you both mumble under your breath. Dieter glances up at you, surprised by your shared sentiment.

“Dieter!” Howie walks up and claps him on the shoulder, knocking your hand out of the way as he does this. You see Dieter tense, his jaw setting in a line when he heard the smack of Howie’s hand on your arm.

“What do you want, Howie?”

He sighs theatrically, shaking his head from side to side. “Your performance in that last take. It was…abysmal.”

“What?”

“You were, how do I say it,...terrible. You were over the top, fumbling over your lines, and that accent? Who told you to do that? It’s so annoying. It doesn’t match the eyeliner and-” he gestures towards his hair, hand flapping around looking for words “-the hairstyle, whatever it is. You need to reign it in. It’s getting harder for us to act with you in the scene.”

Dieter stands straighter, glaring daggers at the man. “Excuse me?”

He sighs again. “Look, I know you used to be somebody. I will admit I was thrilled to work with the infamous Dieter Bravo. But you’re borderline washed up. I just thought someone should tell you. No offense!”

Howie walked away, an extra stride in his step as Dieter stood there fuming. You brought your hand back up to continue fixing his hair, but you leaned in close and whispered in his ear.

“Wanna tp his trailer?”

“Meet you in your trailer at midnight.”

—----

It was 11:30pm that night and you stood in front of your mirror staring at your reflection. What Howie had said to Dieter earlier that day made your blood boil. You had a strong desire to protect him, even though he didn’t need it. You’re in love with him, you idiot. This will only make it worse.

Sighing, you slip on your sneakers and quietly make your way to your trailer, passing no one on the way. You open the door and find Dieter already waiting for you, a couple rolls of toilet paper on the counter beneath the big mirror.

“You came.”

“Of course. That asshole deserves more than this, but it will have to do.”

You didn’t like the way Dieter studied you, as if he were reading you like a book, like he knew your secret.

“Where did you get your toilet paper from?” you ask.

“Oh. I brought it from my room.”

You shake your head. “Too risky. If you ask for more toilet paper, he’ll know it was you. They just restocked.”

“What’s your plan, then?”

“I grabbed a few from the portable toilets on my way here.”

“That’s…actually very smart.”

You gaped at him dramatically. “Was that a compliment from Dieter Bravo?”

He blushed as he smiled. “Don’t get used to it.”

–

The both of you gathered up the toilet paper and snuck down to Howie’s trailer where he rests on set. No one locked the doors here, considering it was an intensely closed set, so you entered easily. You got out your toilet paper rolls and started tossing it around, Dieter throwing his own. After a minute or so, you started laughing and Dieter stared at you for a moment before a laugh erupted from him, both of you giggling like school kids.

After it was done, you both head back to your trailer and slip inside, letting out loud laughs as you both catch your breath.

“I haven’t done anything like that in years!” you say as you catch your breath.

“Me neither!”

A pause before you make him an offer. “Want a drink?”

He blinks at you. “You have alcohol? In here?”

“Of course. I knew I’d be working with you so I snuck it in.”

“Oh ha-ha.”

You pulled out 2 small glasses and 2 mason jars from the mini fridge. Dieter raised an eyebrow at you.

“Couldn’t keep them in here in the regular bottles. This one’s rum-” you hold up one of the jars. “-and this one’s Coke.”

“Smart.”

You made the drinks and handed one to Dieter, clinking your glasses together before drinking. The trailer was silent for a while and you found yourself enjoying his presence.

“We need music!” Dieter exclaimed, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. He puts on a random playlist, standing to dance to the music. He puts a hand out to you.

“Dance with me.”

“No.”

“Oh come on. You know you want to.” He’s swaying his hips, moving his hands around in an erratic pattern.

You reach over and pour a shot of rum for yourself and take it, the liquid burning as you swallow it.

“I am way too sober for this.”

You take his hand and he pulls you up, smiling as you start to sway your hips, dancing with him. As the song progressed, you loosened up - you weren’t drunk or even tipsy, but warm and the rum gave you confidence enough to dance with him. At one point, he moves in, gripping your hips and swaying with you in tandem as you ground yourself on him.

A few songs later, he takes your hand and spins you as far as you can go in the small trailer. When he pulls you back in, the song ends and a slow one starts. His eyes lock on yours and your pulse starts to race. He’s inches from your face, all trace of jest gone. You can feel the tension between you as you watch his eyes flick down to your lips. He moves closer, his lips a breath away from yours when you pull back, shaking your head once to clear it.

“It’s getting late. We-we have an early d-day.”

He looks confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your cheeks are on fire and it wasn’t from the alcohol. “No! I mean, uh no. No you didn’t. It-I just need…sleep. Goodnight.”

You stumble quietly in your haste to leave the trailer and he grabs your arm to steady you. Suddenly, you feel wet on your cheeks and you realize that it must be tears.

“Are you ok?” Dieter asks, his voice full of genuine concern.

“I’m great.” You pull your arm from his grip, muttering a quick “thanks” as you bolt from the trailer and back to your room.

Once there, you head into the bathroom and look at your face. Sure enough, there are tears there, another one slowly trickling from the corner of your eyes. Why am I crying? Oh gee, could it be because you’re falling in love with Dieter fucking Bravo, the asshole who didn’t even know who you were for 6 weeks despite being inches from his face on a daily basis? These are angry tears. Angry at yourself for falling for the one person you shouldn’t. Or were they sad? For the exact same reason?

—----

The next morning, you work on his hair in silence. It’s been silent before, but that was when he ignored you. At least there would be the sounds of his phone, passing comments or scoffs, chuckles and what not. But this was pure silence.

After a bit, you can’t take it anymore and decide to say something, anything, to try and break it, but the door is suddenly wrenched open and Howie storms inside.

“IT WAS YOU, WASN’T IT??”

Dieter spins his chair to look at Howie. “What are you talking about?”

His chest heaving, Howie spits out “My trailer.”

“What about your trailer?”

So much for washed up actor. He’s playing innocent - and playing it extremely well.

“You know damn well what as YOU DID IT!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

Howie takes a step towards Dieter. “It’s not my fault you’re some “has been” and no one has apparently told you. You’re a terrible actor, a terrible person, and-”

You’d heard enough. The protective streak in your roars to life and you step between the men, facing Howie with your hands up.

“He was with me last night.”

“-and..wait, what?” The anger on Howie’s face is still there, but paused as he takes in what you said.

“We’ve had some..issues with the hairstyle staying in place properly during action scenes, so I was asked to work on some new ideas. Mr. Bravo was assisting me.”

Howie raised his eyebrows at that last part. “Dieter was helping you?” He scoffs.

You chuckle. “Ok, fine. He was more…forcefully convinced to.”

Howie hesitates a few moments before nodding, apparently accepting your bullshit excuse. Probably because it seems highly improbable that anyone would actually help Dieter with anything, let alone cover for him.

“Alright. If you guys hear anything, let me know. I’m still watching you.” He moves his fingers out from his eyes to point at Dieter, as if he’s watching him.

Dieter rolls his eyes and waves .”Bye.”

Howie leaves the trailer, closing the door behind him. You turn Dieter in the chair to face the mirror again and resume working on his hair. You feel his eyes on your face and so you pointedly don’t look at him. A minute or so passes before he speaks quietly.

“Why did you cover for me?”

Debating with yourself on whether to go with feigned ignorance or the actual truth, you decide on the latter, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“The only person who gets to give you shit is me.”

Dieter smiles. “Thank you.”

You drop your jaw open in half mock half genuine shock. “Did the Dieter Bravo just thank me for something?” you put your hand to your chest as he chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Don’t get used to it.”

—----

The following week, you notice more and more people not coming to work. And then the actors start dropping and they finally make an announcement - despite all of the safeguards, the flu has made its way on set. Anyone who has it must quarantine up in their room for a few days.

At least it’s not the plague.

It was an evening shoot the next day so you showed up a lot later than you normally do. But when you entered the trailer, Dieter was nowhere to be found.

“He not make it in?” you ask the makeup girls.

They shake their heads. “No. It’s not out of character, but we think he might be sick. Most of the actors are.”

You nod. “Yeah, probably. Who’s taking care of them?”

“That one assistant. The girl? The other one got sick.”

The assistant that hates Dieter with every fiber of her being. Great.

Before you can reply, the door opens and a stagehand is there. “Shoot is cancelled. The actors are too sick. We’re pushing it back a few days.”

“Thanks for letting us know, Josh.”

The door closes and the girls stand up. “Well, guess we’ll see you in a few days!”

You follow them out and watch them go towards their rooms. You start to head to yours but can’t stop thinking about Dieter. Sighing, you turn around and head to his room to check on him.

–

Raising your fist, you hesitate before you knock, knowing this is crossing the line that you had drawn between you both. You rap your knuckles on the door lightly and hear sluggish movement behind the door as the handle turns and his face peeks out.

“Bee?” His voice is raspy and you hate how hot it sounds.

“Hey, you’re alive! I’ve uh..come to check on you.”

His brow furrows together and he looks at you confused. “You have?”

“Yeah…can I get you anything?”

He stares at you for a moment, his brown eyes big and round. “I think I’m alri-”

His body spasms and his hand flies to his mouth as he disappears from view. You stop the door from closing as you hear Dieter run to the bathroom. Stepping inside, you hear him throwing up for a solid 2 minutes and you feel your heart clenching. No one was here for him and it seems the assistant hadn’t even been by, judging by the lack of any sort of food or drink, aside from what he already had, and no medicine bottle.

The noises from the bathroom had stopped but he hadn’t come out yet. Knocking gently on the door, you speak quietly through the crack he had left the door open.

“Are you ok?”

A groan answered you.

“Can I come in?”

Another groan and a mumbled “..don’t want you to see me like this.”

Rolling your eyes, you push the door open and see Dieter sitting on the floor hugging the toilet, wearing that green corduroy robe you hated. He looked up at you, his eyes watering and you could see some vomit on his clothes. He looked so sad and hurt and sick and you knew that you had to stay to take care of him.

You squat down next to him and tentatively put a hand on his back, rubbing him up and down. His big eyes meet yours and his stomach spasms lightly, his whole body shaking with it.

“I feel like shit.”

You chuckle. “You look like it too.”

Without thinking, you cup the side of his head, running your thumb across his cheek as he meets your eyes, something shifting in his gaze.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You convince him to get out of his robe, helping him to change his shirt, where most of the vomit had collected. Internally chastising yourself for checking him out as he pulled off his shirt, you held out a clean shirt to him as he put it on.

“Let’s get you into bed.”

He shuffles across the floor, holding onto your arm. “Isn’t that my line?” he croaks out.

“Yeah maybe when you aren’t throwing up every 5 minutes, Romeo.”

You get him into bed and pull the covers up. Touching the underside of your arm to his forehead, you notice how warm he actually is.

“I’m gonna step out and see if I can find some medicine-”

“No!” His hand grabs your wrist as you move to take it from his head. “I want you here with…with me.”

His eyes are slightly unfocused and you know he has a good fever. “Well now I know you’re sick.”

“Please.”

It was so sad and pitiful that you found yourself crumbling into a zillion pieces.

“You need medicine. Your fever hasn’t broken yet.”

He sticks out his bottom lip, actually pouting.

“Look, I promise I’ll be right back. I’m going to find you some medicine, more water, and some crackers. And yell at that damn assistant for not bringing you anything. Just stay here and rest.”

He looks worried, as if you’ll disappear. Your heart taking over control of your body, you bend forward and place a kiss on his forehead, pulling back and meeting his eyes.

“I promise I’ll be right back.”

You return as promised, after obtaining medicine, water, some soup and crackers, a cold compress, and tearing a new one into the assistant. I know he’s annoying as fuck but he doesn’t deserve to suffer.

Entering his room, you set the things down on the table, measuring out the medicine and bringing it into his room. He’s dosing, the tv on to some old black and white show.

“Hey, I’m back.” You squeeze his hand and he drags his eyelids open. “Take this.”

He swallows the medicine and settles back onto his pillows.

“Thank you, Bee. For…for everything.”

“Another thank you? I’m honored.”

He smiles as his eyes close and he drifts off. You place a cold compress on his forehead and push his hair back from his face, studying the way he looks when he’s asleep.

Yup. I’m in love.

—----

You stayed with Dieter overnight and the next day, only leaving when he finally ate some food. Miraculously, you didn’t get sick from him, which you were extremely grateful for.

A couple nights later, you have your pajamas on, a simple pair of sleep shorts and a tank top with an open flannel tossed on. You’re channel surfing and land on Spanish Nights, with a very young Dieter Bravo. Setting the remote down, you pick up your bowl of snacks and continue watching him on the screen. He really was very hot. Is very hot.

Setting the bowl aside, you wipe your hands clean on a napkin. Watching his expressive face, contorting in rage on the screen as his character duels another, you slide your hand down the front of your pants, running your finger through your slit and circling your clit. You moan, spreading your legs a little wider, moving your hand down to your-

::Knock knock::

You yank your hand out of your pants, flushed and frustrated. Wiping your hand on the paper towel again, you throw yourself out of bed and stomp to the door, wrenching it open.

“Wha- oh.”

It was Dieter. He takes you in, seeing the flushed look on your face and the fact that your tank top was slightly tucked into the front of your shorts.

“What were you doing?”

“Goodnight, Mr. Bravo.” You move to close the door but he stops it.

“Sorry! I won’t ask. I..have something. For you.” He holds out a small box with a small ribbon around it. He holds it out to you and you stare down at it. He rolls his eyes and sighs exasperatedly.

“It’s not an engagement ring. Just take it.”

Tentatively, you take the box, sliding the ribbon off of it. Inside was a necklace with a tiny charm in the shape of a bee, and you notice your favorite stone making up the area where the black and yellow stripes would be.

“This is gorgeous. When did you order this?”

He hesitates. “A couple weeks ago.”

Shocked, you look up at him. “Really? Why?”

“Because you tolerate me.”

You take it out of the box and hold it up. “Put it on me?”

He nods, taking the necklace from you as you turn around. He places it around your neck, locking the clasp and rubbing the neck of your neck with his thumbs for a brief moment before dropping his hands. You turn around, trying to look at it.

“How’s it look?”

“Beautiful.”

He’s already looking at you when you look up, his eyes full of…love? Yes that was it. Love and adoration.

“Do you…want to come in?”

“Oh. That’s not why I- I mean I don’t expect- I don’t want you to-”

You roll your eyes playfully and grip his shirt, which annoyingly had only 3 buttons done up, and pull him inside, pushing the door closed behind him. He watches you for a moment, chest heaving under his open shirt. He moves forward and grabs the sides of your head, cradling the back with his fingers and he pulls you to him, pressing his lips to yours. You respond immediately, kissing him back and throwing your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging.

“Fuck I love when you do that,” he groans against your mouth. He starts to kiss and nip a path down your neck, finding your pulse point.

“I love when you do that,” you breathe out, your knees going weak as he sucks harder.

You pull him towards your bed, and then stop him.

“Wait. I need to move this.” You move the bowl of snacks and your laptop off the bed, reaching for the remote and turning off the tv, but not before Dieter caught sight of his own face and he smiled, remembering what you had looked like when you opened the door. He decided to tease you about that later.

Turning back around, you pull him to you, deepening the kiss he had started earlier. His hands seem hesitant, as if touching you would make you disappear. So you take his hands and place them on your hips, moaning audibly when he grips them tightly. He walks you back, laying you down on the bed as he hovers over you, never breaking the kiss. You wrap your legs around his hips and he groans into your mouth.

“Are you sure, Bee?”

“I’m sure. I need you, Dieter.”

“Diego.”

You look at him, confused. “What?”

“My real name is Diego.”

“Why did you change it?”

He takes a breath. “My manager friend and I were hanging out the night before my first audition. He told me I’d never make it in Hollywood with a Latino name and that I should change it. My dumbass believed him and when we drank that night, we came up with the most ridiculous names. Dieter Bravo made me laugh and I used it the next day. I got the part and the name stuck.”

“I’m so sorry, Diego.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. I’m surprised no one has figured it out.”

“Is Bravo still your last name?”

He shakes his head. “Morales. Diego Morales.”

“Well, Diego Morales. I say, fuck them.”

“I’d rather fuck you.” He starts to kiss your neck as you chuckle.

“The name is different but you’re still the same.”

“Would you have me any other way?” He breathes into your neck.

You whine. “Never.”

He kisses down towards your chest and when he realizes you aren’t going to stop him, kisses your cleavage, nuzzling his nose between your boobs. His hands find the bottom of your shirt and he starts to slide it up. Once he realized you aren’t stopping him, he slides it up and off, growling in frustration at the bralette you wore under it.

“If I had known you’d be here-”

He lifts it up and pulls it over your head in one quick movement, moving back to take a boob in his mouth. You cry out as his tongue swipes over your nipple, sucking, licking, biting. Your hand flies to the back of his head as he switches to the other one, pulling all the sounds he can from you.

After a few moments, he starts to kiss a path down your stomach, stopping once he reaches your shorts. His fingers grip the elastic and slide them down, your panties coming off too, tossing them over his shoulder. He grabs your legs and pushes them apart, settling his broad shoulders between them.

“You don’t have tOOO!” You cry out the last letter as Diego’s tongue licks up the center of you, caressing and sucking at your clit. His finger circles your entrance, gathering up your growing arousal before he pushes a finger inside, pulling out to add another.

“Oh fuck!”

His fingers curl and he finds that spot inside you almost immediately, tapping on it as he continues to lick and suck at you. Your hand grips his hair and you pull on it, moaning out his name as your orgasm quickly builds.

“I’m gonna..gonna…ngghh!” You come around his fingers as they continue to tap you, matching his tongue and mouth. Once you come down, he removes his fingers and sits back.

“Feelin’ ok, Bee?”

“I’ve been sitting on the wrong part of you.”

He chuckles. “I’m pretty talented in that area too.”

He starts to take his clothes off, chucking them over his shoulder as he crawls up your body, kissing you when he reaches your lips. You feel him at your entrance, hot and heavy but not pushing in. Instead, he pulls back, watching your face as you squirm under him. Your body is heating up, another orgasm building and he hasn’t even been inside you yet.

“I need you inside me. Now.” Your hands move to his bare ass, trying to push him in with no luck. He chuckles as he reaches around and grabs your wrists, pinning them to the sides of your head one at a time.

“As you wish.” He starts to slowly slide in on that last word, his eyes glued to your face as your head pushes back into the mattress, your mouth open in an “o” shape. Your legs open wider, allowing him to hit deeper and you cry out when he hits the back of you, lighting up that spot that only he seemed to be able to reach.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. I…fuck.”

He starts to move, slowly sliding in and out of you. Feeling every ridge, every vein, all of him as he slowly enters you lights you on fire, and you find yourself moaning out his name, his real name. His eyes are still on your face, studying it as they lock onto yours. His brown, lustful eyes are soft, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s then that you realize what’s happening. He’s not fucking you.

He’s making love to you.

That pushes you over the edge and you come again, crying out his name as you pulse, squeezing his thick cock over and over. You start to come down and his hips get erratic.

“Where can I?”

“Inside me.”

“Oh shit!” He comes, filling you up, your arousals mixing together as they leak out of you. He breathes heavily, his head dropping to your chest. You push up on your wrists and he lets you go. Immediately, you start to softly scratch and massage his scalp as he moans into your chest. Eventually, he pulls out of you and cleans you up, tossing the washcloth in your bathroom before coming back to the bed and crawling in it.

“Oh. You’re staying?” You ask, unable to keep the hope out of your voice.

“I- if that’s ok?”

“As long as I’m the big spoon.”

He laughs as he slides under the covers, pulling you to his side and you place a hand on his chest.

“Diego?”

“Hmm?”

“I was kidding. You be the big spoon.”

—----

The last few weeks of shooting pass by quickly, you and Diego trying to keep things professional while on set but definitely not professional at night. Eventually the night before the last day arrives, everyone’s cars coming in the morning to take them to the airport and back to their respective homes to quarantine for a bit.

Diego is propped up in your bed with you next to him on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“So what happens now?” The question both of you had been avoiding these last few weeks, choosing to stay in the moment and enjoy each other before having to face the real world.

“What?”

“Well…was this just a bubble thing? Or..” you gesture towards the door.

“What do you want it to be?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I asked you first.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. Well..if it’s ok with you, I want to take you to the premiere. And take you out on a real date. None of this bubble food.”

“You want to date me?”

“I..want to be wherever you are. You give me shit, but I lo…ve it. You. I love…you.”

Scooting forward, you bring your lips to his. “I love you too.”

You make out for a moment before you pull back.

“Ok but what do I even do at a premiere?”

“You’ve never been to one??”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry. Let Big D show you what to do.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

—-----

Part 3? The Premiere>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @hotchlover-blog @balekanemohafe @softpedropascal @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional

@marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @diaryofkali @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso

@theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @jadore-andor @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride

@sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate

Dieter Bravo Taglist:

@vipredrum

I Hate That I Like You Taglist:

@i-love-movies @vanemando15 @jedifarmerr @supernaturalgirl20 @lucky-pascal @theanothersherlockian @fatimaisabelpascal

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys.  I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite​ (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law.  Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her.  The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time.  She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street.  Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl.  Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years.  To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning.  And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume.  However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law.  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.  When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things.  The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado.  These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am.  It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in.  The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today.  I’m the maid of honour.  I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath.  Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her.  What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright.  Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice.  We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again.  It could be a day, or it could be five.  If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment.  In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old.  They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails.  From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild.  Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused.  Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop.  Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice.  To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur.  Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce.  Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD.  Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack.  In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name.  It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer.  She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N!  Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous.  Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point!  I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go!  A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already.  There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours.  She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out.  I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands.  I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine.  We can work around this.  We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking.  The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room.  When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What are you doing here?” She demands.  She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour.  And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not?  It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor.  Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her.  Alright.  So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal.  But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything.  Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life.  While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah.  That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened.  Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod.  She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So?  He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her.  She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes.  We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through.  Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room.  When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear.  If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go.  Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks.  As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car.  Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist.  I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car?  You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses.  He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes.  Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.  Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours.  Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts.  Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message.  Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight?  Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction.  Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright?  Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody.  Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait.  She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her.  She knows she shouldn’t take it.  And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening.  Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N.  Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car.  Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him.  But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them.  Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything.  However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there.  She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt.  Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language.  You don’t really want him.  He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant.  Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time.  You’re wasting his time, too.  Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type.  Right. What is my type, then?  What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road.  With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel.  Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window.  Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own.  He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that.  And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right?  Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date.  But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine.  But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday.  Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail.  Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks.  She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks.  If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment.  His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago.  Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been.  Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself.  When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left.  It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N.  The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms.  I got one room left.  Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together.  No way in hell.  They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff.  If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which.  Now do you want to share the room with him or not?  If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own.  She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height.  When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right.  To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned.  However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder.  She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.  For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly.  To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in.  The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas.  Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college.  Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N!  How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day?  Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert?  Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass.  He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly.  If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear.  It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it?  He named it, Jo.  He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating?  Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too.  I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person.  You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that.  But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later.  Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone.  On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence.  Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated.  There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.  

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive.  Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle.  His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes.  Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again.  For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right.  Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes.  He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable.  His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips.  His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground.  He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder.  He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest.  Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.  

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala.  His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles.  Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot.  She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse.  I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face.  Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it?  Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject.  Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner.  Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it.  And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason.  It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears.  Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know.  However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites.  She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes.  There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds.  I’m not a fan of big crowds, really.  Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff?  Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them.  Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other.  As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile.  His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile.  It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same.  Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight.  And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her.  Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous.  It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort.  Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle.  She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.  The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before.  I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really?  Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway.  If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter.  The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower.  Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it.  She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting.  He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back.  And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else.  Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while.  Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory.  Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern.  Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop.  Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them.  She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop.  Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach.  Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen.  She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach.  Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her.  It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly.  She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No.  I wish something had happened to you.  Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough.  Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice.  While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief.  Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted.  When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table.  She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel.  She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato.  Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips.  It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film.  As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in.  Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID.  She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N.  I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine.  How are you?”

“Oh, alright.  Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip?  I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though.  And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N.  Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind.  Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.  

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day.  I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with?  Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him.  Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t.  All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone.  Why had she done that, she wonders?  She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once.  When she talked about the wedding, probably.  As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding?  About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life?  Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read.  Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth.  She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her.  She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado.  That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead.  Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call.  The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call.  She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true.  She hadn’t lied.  And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care?  It’s just Harry.  There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again.  Things are different between them.  There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks.  They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that.  So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right.  Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands.  He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs.  His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning.  You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know.  I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before.  Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip.  As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel.  It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment.  The silence between them.  It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension.  It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion.  One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough.  I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality.  Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering.  The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose.  I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior.  She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes?  Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong?  It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry!  Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal.  Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral.  While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry.  Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him?  You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air.  It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to.  We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends.  I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips.  His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment.  Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way.  Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does.  It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives.  Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes.  It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends.  Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then.  Let’s go.”

…

“Hello!  My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away.  Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable.  After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard.  Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together.  She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry?  Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue.  They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news.  Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please.  And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen.  A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window.  He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before.  There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him.  Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.  

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand.  Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.  

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately.  It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right.  Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine.  Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them.  His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse.  His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here.  I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away.  When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me.  I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty.  I thought it was wrong.  I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it.  And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same.  There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best.  If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you.  I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me.  I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world.  I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt.  I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were.  I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible.  I promise to love, period.  I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye.  She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her.  Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words.  The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you.  ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel.  ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close.  I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing.  The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want.  I want us to be permanent to each other.  Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart.  Committing to you isn’t any trouble.  It’s as easy as breathing.  I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us.  I love you, permanently.  I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out.  I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that.  I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you.  You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it.  I love you permanently, Laure.  I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table.  She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right.  They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face.  His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend.  I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows?  I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

Through Your Eyes

Chapter 1

Happy Weekend! I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter of Through Your Eyes! So far I’m having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I know NOTHING about being a barista or making coffee so bear with me 😆

Please let me know what you think of the story so far and potential things you’d want to see from the series!

Banner made by maysdigitalarts

Ever since a young age, you had loved reading. You had tried to write once, to be like the author’s whose books you devoured, but it wasn’t the same as curling up in a comfortable spot with a good book. Not much else compared.

The morning light shone through the windows of your shop as you unlocked the door to start your day. You flipped the closed sign over with a smile as the clock struck 7 and headed back to behind your counter. Breathing in deeply, you smiled as you looked over your store. Since you loved reading and baking more than anything else in the world, it made sense to open your own cafe that sold books. Times like this were always your favorite. The muffins and flaky pastries that you had put in the oven earlier began to rise and their sugary scents floated around the store.

Since no one had come inside in the four seconds you had opened, you started to tidy up your kitchen and closed your trusty cookbook, causing flour to fly off of the counter. Guess you’d have to sweep that after you wiped everything down. You had grabbed a broom when the front bell rang.

“Hello Damon.” You stooped down and began to sweep up the spilled flour.

“I am so so sorry.” The teen said quickly. “I had a late class last night and completely forgot to set my alarm.” He flipped open your counter doors and hurried behind the counter. “I swear my organic chem professor hates me.”

“That’s odd, last semester it was your Intro to Microbiology professor.” You gave him an easy smile. “I have an extra muffin and cappuccino over there if you’re hungry.” You waved at the register where there was a steaming cup of coffee you had made for him. You had known Damon since he was 16 and still in high school, perhaps that’s why you had such a soft spot for the kid. You knew that he practically raised his siblings after his mother’s death and still managed to get a large scholarship to Brooklyn college, so you always let him take odd hours and have time to study when the cafe wasn’t too busy.

“Yes! You know college students don’t turn down free food Miss y/l/n!” He leaned on the counter and wrapped open the decorative paper that held the muffin. “Blueberry? Fuck yeah!”

You shook your head with a laugh as he dove into the warm treat. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Y/n? I’m 28, not 50!” Your knees creaked as you got up from the floor with your dustpan. Apparently your joints disagreed with you.

“Dunno, probably a few more times.” Damon grabbed a napkin from a nearby dispenser and wiped his face with a smile as he tossed the crumpled up paper into the trash.

Before you could tease him about being late again, your bell sounded again and Mr. Jones came in.

“How’re ya doin’ Y/n? Damon?” He gave the two of you his cheery smile as he walked over to the register.

“Been busy,” Damon said as he began to ring the man up. “You want your usual?”

“Of course, the kid kept me up all night. God I miss sleep.” Elijah Jones had lived in the city for his whole life, and you had remembered when he met his wife a few months after you had opened your cafe.

“Two tired parent specials coming up.” You had already been preparing his drinks as he talked to Damon. “You got any new pics of Lucy?”

He chuckled. “Of course! Ann got her this bright pink blanket that she absolutely refuses to let go of.”

The three of you chatted as you prepared his drinks and Damon grabbed two croissants for them. After you had gushed over the absolutely adorable 6 month old, he had left quickly, not wanting to leave Ann to take care of the small child alone. By then the store had started to pick up and you and Damon only had chances to toss the orders back and forth to the other as whoever ran the register quickly took orders.

“One caffe macchiato with caramel drizzled over the foam.” Damon said, sliding an empty cup over to you before turning back to the customer. “That’ll be $6, if you still want the blondie bar with that.”

The rest of the morning was spent tending to your customers and by 11 it had started to slow down and you had to throw another batch of coffee cakes into the oven. Since there were only a few people milling around, you had told Damon that he could study at the counter while you tended to the stragglers.

You had just cleaned up a table when you heard the bell jingle and turned around. “Hello! What can I get you today?” You chirped before only blinking at the man who had come in.

He wore a clean white hoodie that he had pulled over his head and some black jeans that fit him like a glove, but what got your attention were the scars on his face.

He seemed to shrink in on himself as you looked at him and reluctantly took off his dark sunglasses. His hair was closely buzzed to his scalp and he had some small stubble around his chin, but his face was lined with several jagged scars. Even though they covered his face, you couldn’t help but notice that he was gorgeous. His dark black eyes seemed to bore into you as he slowly looked you up and down.

Not waiting for him to answer, you decided to break the silence. “We have some coffee cake that I’m about to pull out of the oven if you’d like.” You were sure that he could smell the sugary cake from the oven, but didn’t know what else to say.

“Uh yeah I’ll have one of those.” He mumbled, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “And you got any normal black coffee?” His eyes looked at his feet and he refused to look at you. “I mean of course you do, this is a coffee shop, um but I’ll uh take it just black.”

“Sure thing!” You said, grabbing a white ceramic mug off of a nearby shelf. “Would you like any cream or sugar?”

He only shook his head and moved to sit down in the corner near the classical books shelf. As he sat down you gave him a bright smile. “It’ll be out in a sec and I can bring you the coffee cake when it’s done.”

You quickly busied yourself with his coffee and as soon as the cup was full, you walked over to his table and sat it down. To your surprise, he had already pulled down a few books and was staring intently at a copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.

“I’ve heard that’s a good book.” You craned your neck to look at the stack he had gathered. “I haven’t read it myself but I’ve wanted to.”

He gave you a small smile and nodded. “Yeah I uh read it on deployment, brings back good memories.”

“Where were you deployed?” You couldn’t help but ask. “If you’re comfortable with talking about it of course.” You added at the last second.

He paused for a second, and considered you before continuing. “Kandahar.” He said softly. “Was a marine.” It was obvious that he didn’t want to elaborate, so you dropped the subject and ran your fingers over the shelved books next to you.

You gave him another smile before turning to scan the shelves and added another book to the pile he had stacked. “Well then I’d like to thank you for your service. After you finish that book I’d recommend trying ‘And then there were none’ by Agatha Christie. I’m not much for classics besides Pride and Prejudice, but I’ve heard lots of good things about it.” You shuffled away from the table. “Let me know if you need anything else!”

As you walked away, you saw him replace the book in his hand with the one you recommended and blushed as he flipped open the cover and started reading it. You couldn’t explain it, but talking to the man had caused heat to rush to your cheeks.

Even though you tried not to think about it, your mind wandered to his face. It was obvious that before whatever had happened, that he was even more beautiful than he was now. Did something go wrong overseas? What could have happened to cause so much damage to him? You tried to ignore those thoughts, realizing that he probably was asked these questions more often than he’d like. You couldn’t imagine random people coming up to you and immediately asking about the one thing you hated most about yourself.

You distracted yourself from the stranger as your second wave of customers filtered in and you and Damon busied yourselves with preparing more orders. It was a nice repetitive type of work, since most people enjoyed frappuccinos or other drinks, you could set the teas aside to steep as you worked on other drinks.

By the time you had a chance to even look for the stranger, his table was empty. You tried to fight a frown at his disappearance, but noticed that he had put all of the books away and even left a small tip under his cup. You rubbed the paper between your fingers and smiled at the $5 bill. As you finished your day, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d see the mysterious man again.

[wafflesandcoffee]

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙨𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

Many folks’ spring semester has already started or will shortly. To prepare, here is a list of my tips to getting organized before the first day!

1. Make a cohesive document for basic info on all classes.

Check all class names and associated numbers and write them down in a document somewhere along with professor names, office numbers, office hours, emails, and TA contact info. I’ll add to this document as info becomes available things such as: a link to the syllabus, important notes from the professor, and the grades I get on assignments.

2. Organize you class schedule

Get photos of your class schedule and have them available everywhere: gmail, google drive, phone photo library, printed out and pasted in my planner, etc. I also like to screenshot my schedule on phone and add it as my background for quick reference.

3. Organize your school supplies BEFORE the semester starts.

I usually start with one small notebook and folder per subject and a folder for miscellaneous things (job applications, resumes, notes from advisor meetings, registrar or financial aid information, etc. I would have an extra notebook and folder just in case, as it will save you stress later on if you run out of pages in a notebook. Also, definitely keep a pack of loose-leaf paper and printer paper in your room somewhere for when you eventually need them (and trust me, you will).

4. Check that all your pencils are sharpened and pens have ink.

There’s nothing more frustrating on your first day of classes then spending time sharpening your pencils or scratching at your paper to make your pens work. Do this ahead of time to save yourself the trouble.

5. If your class page and associated syllabus are already available online, print them out and put them in your class photo.

Also take a pic and add it to a “school” album on your phone library so that if you ever forget it at home, or are running around campus to get somewhere, you can just reference it using your phone!

6. Again, if class pages are available online, order your textbooks ahead of time.

I know some professors don’t expect you to have the textbook by the first day, but if you start on readings before assignments start piling up, you will save yourself from a lot of stress. This also gives you time to look for used/cheaper copies or scour them for free online.

7.  Get previous notes, study guides, etc.

Look up quizlets for your classes and save them to a new folder! Also, ask peers that have taken the class before for any notes or index cards they may be willing to pass on!

8. Email your professors.

Just a simple introductory email to let them know who you are. This puts you on their radar and immediately establishes a good  impression of you as a student and as a responsible adult.

9. Prep your planner.

Jot your estimated schedule in your planner and add in the time needed for things like meals, showers, hitting the gym, and walking from different buildings. As you go through the semester, your routine will vary slightly, but having an idea from the start will make things go more smoothly.

10. Organize your backpack full of school supplies and make sure everything fits properly.

Make sure you have everything you need for the first day so you don’t start freaking out. A chaotic start usually *mentally* sets the stage for the rest of your semester (that being said, even if your first day is a mess, you can definitely recover--it’s simply about your mindset).

11. Breathe.

You got this! There are tons of resources no matter where you go to school--you just have to take advantage of them! Good luck!

[green-socks]

Endless Nights

Pairing: Benny Miller x gn!reader (no descriptions or pronouns)

Summary: You and Benny can't seem to get enough of each other's company. Could tonight be the night you find the courage to do something about that crush?

Words: 2,101

Warnings: Nudity but not the sexual kind, food/eating. Almost zero editing and a tired writer.

Notes: I don't always participate in Writer Wednesday, but when I do I take one look at the picture, get an idea and then go completely off the rails. Sorry. So the pic doesn't really have a lot to do with the rest of the fic but I hope that's okay. For this week's @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday, thanks for organizing it every week!

I had the idea for midnight shopping at the supermarket with Benny and then realized I didn't want the night to end there... So it didn't. I actually like this piece, even if it probably suffered a lot from my fast writing and non-existent editing. Reader is mentioned having shorter legs than Benny but other than that I think there are no descriptions or pronouns used of reader, lmk if I'm wrong.

MASTERLIST

You and Benny have been driving around aimlessly for a couple of hours already, taking turns in picking the music, and talking about this and that while sometimes falling into a companionable silence. It still amazes you how easy and comfortable everything is with him. You have never felt like this with a crush before, used to the feeling of always obsessing over what you felt like you could and couldn’t say or do, or spending a lot of time and energy into trying to figure out what the other thought.

No, with Benny you don’t have to pretend anything or force yourself to keep the conversation running in fear of those horrid awkward silences, because both of you know that you can talk for hours on end when the mood strikes. You met through mutual friends only a few weeks ago, but the connection was clearly there. As was the obvious mutual attraction.

Strictly speaking, though, you and Benny are just friends. Nothing has ever really happened to indicate otherwise in any case. But friends don’t usually try this hard to find any excuse just to hang out, nor do you stay up late every night talking to your other friends. And when you hang out in a group you always seem to gravitate towards one another. What’s more, somehow it always seems to be just the two of you left at the end of the night, often not even noticing the others leave.

Your interactions always border on the line of obvious flirting with your touches and already formed inside jokes, but neither of you ever dare do anything that couldn’t be brushed off as innocent behavior between friends. You guess you’re both just kind of scared to take the leap - you have been burned before, and so has he.

It’s not that you doubt your own feelings for Benny, or indeed his feelings for you. Even you have to admit that he does seem pretty interested in you, but you still wave away your friends’ squeals of “he’s totally in love with you!”, mainly not wanting to get your hopes up too much.

Because a small part of you still finds it a little hard to believe; someone so handsome and funny and kind wanting to be with you? What if he likes you, but just not as much as you like him? What if you were just a second choice for someone you really like until something better comes along - again? That scares you, both of you.

Tonight has been like many other nights lately; you had been to the movies with some of your friends, but after the movie ended you had been grasping at straws to come up with a way to continue the night so they (Benny) wouldn’t go home just yet. Benny had helpfully suggested just driving around and seeing if any ideas came to mind.

Santiago in turn had rolled his eyes at you two knowingly (making both you and Benny fluster and try to fake complete nonchalance) before saying good night and leaving with the others, who apparently didn’t feel the compulsive need to continue spending time together.

--------

The sun has gone down already but you two are still enjoying each other’s company too much to go home yet.

You end up in the 24/7 supermarket parking lot, craving a midnight snack. You are reminded of your teenage years, when you used to hang around different parking lots, popping into the store to buy a soda or a candy bar, spending all day outside with friends.

The only other customers doing their midnight shopping are tired people just off their shifts or young people staying up late just for the hell of it, much like you and Benny are, in fact. You wander around the huge store together, pointing out different products you’d like to try and reviewing stuff one of you already has tried.

Before long you realize that you have already spent almost forty minutes idly wandering around the supermarket, collecting new soda or chip flavors to test. Neither of you thought to grab a basket at the entrance, so your arms are starting to get a bit full.

“Benny, do you think this might be enough?” you ask while struggling to maintain your hold on the different bags of chips.

Benny looks back at you from where he is pondering over whether to get some ice cream. “Huh, I guess. I do still wanna get a sandwich, though!” he exclaims and promptly takes off in the direction of the deli counter where they sell sandwiches and salads left over from the day.

You try to keep up with his long strides, certain that you must look a bit comical half-running after a man with your hands full of treats. Oh, well. Benny often complains about how much focus it requires of him to “modify his steps” to fit your much shorter legs, and he always forgets about it when he gets excited.

When you catch up with him, he has already picked a sandwich for himself and one for you. “I got you salmon, that’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah, thanks!” you say a little breathlessly after your speed-walk, taken that he remembers.

As you finally get to the cash register and start loading your stuff in your bag you see Benny sneak one more candy bar among the rest of your purchases. For someone in such good physical shape he sure does like his candy.

“Where to next?” Benny inquires as you get back to the car.

“Hmm, how about this one waterfront type swimming spot? It’s pretty secluded, has a pier, and there’s a nice view to the sea. I sometimes like to sit there on the cliffs to watch the sun go down,” you suggest, and offer him directions to the place.

It’s a short drive and you show Benny where to park his car. Even though it’s somewhere around 1 a.m. and the sun went down hours ago, the night is still light enough that you can easily see where you’re going and it doesn’t feel like you’re just sitting in the dark.

You settle down on the small pier with your sandwiches and sodas and chips and munch away happily.

Benny hands you the candy bar you saw him grab earlier at the cash register “for dessert”. It has a cheesy text on the packaging about giving this to someone special. He grins and shrugs, “I know you love these”.

It’s such a simple gesture but you can’t help feeling really flattered and even more smitten with him than you already were. You don’t read too much into the text on the packaging, but even the fact that he would buy you a candy bar he knows you love - just because - warms your heart.

(What you don’t know is that the candy bars have lots of different texts to choose from, and that Benny specifically picked “give this to someone special” instead of “give this to a friend”. There was also “give this to someone you love”, but Benny worried that might scare you off.)

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After you’re both done with snacking you try to think of what to do next, still reluctant to pronounce this night to be over, you get an idea.

“You know what I would really like to do right now?” you ask Benny, looking out over the water that looks so tempting. “Go swim,” you announce, turning to look at him.

“You don’t have a swimsuit with you, do you?” Benny asks, turning to look at you too.

“No… But there’s no one here,” you point out with your eyebrows raised in challenge.

Benny looks at you for a few beats with a blank expression on his face, before shrugging “Alright,” and throwing off his hoodie and t-shirt, jeans following next. “What are you waiting for?” he shouts over his shoulder as he jumps from the pier into the water.

You’re left sitting there with your mouth open, blinking rapidly as you try to catch up with the fast turn of events. Shaking your head, you stand up and shrug off your clothes before quickly running after Benny and getting into the refreshing water.

The night is still warm, and the water feels wonderful. You swim to catch up with Benny.

“You know, it’s pretty dark here but I’ve basically seen you naked now,” he remarks, waggling his eyebrows, and you snort with laughter.

“Benny, you’re not allowed to make me laugh in the water or I’ll drown,” you try to say sternly.

“Oh sweetheart, I wouldn’t let you drown,” he answers in a surprisingly serious voice.

Suddenly the energy between you is full of.. something. Something new and buzzing, sort of scary but also exciting. Something you can’t quite explain. You’re swimming around each other, looking at each other intently, but not daring to say anything that would break the moment and burst the bubble.

Someone else does that for you.

A couple of teenage girls, you’d guess around 18 years old, stumble on to the pier and immediately notice you two in the water. The other girl lets out a shriek and tightens her hold on the towel around her, and before you can even try to reassure them that everything is fine, they run off giggling and shrieking some more. Evidently, they had had the same idea for a nighttime swim but found the place already occupied.

“Yeahhhh, maybe we should put some clothes on before someone calls the police,” Benny suggests dryly.

You two climb out of the water giggling and grinning broadly. You don’t have any towels with you since you didn’t exactly plan this impromptu skinny-dipping session, but Benny gives you his hoodie to help keep you warm.

Sitting back down next to Benny you’re even closer together now than earlier, ever so slowly inching closer and closer to each other. Both of you think you could pass it off as huddling for warmth if the other were to question it, but somehow you know that won’t be an issue.

Soon enough you’re snuggling together on the waterfront overlooking the sea. You stay quietly like that for some time, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more. It’s hard to tell when the world is so still and quiet around you.

Suddenly you think that this is it, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. In all honesty you sort of enjoy the pining stage of new relationships, but right now you feel like you might burst if you keep these feelings inside you any longer.

You turn and burrow your head into the crook of his neck and decide that you will have to take the leap now. You start pressing gentle kisses on his neck and hear Benny’s breath hitch at the first contact of your lips on his skin. He goes still as a statue, but you can feel more than hear his unsteady breathing at your actions. You’re practically vibrating with nervous excitement as you work your way up to his jaw and towards his lips.

Taking one final deep breath you close your eyes, not daring to look at Benny in the eye right now, as you bring your lips to meet his.

The kiss is sweet and unhurried, and yet your head is swimming and your whole body is buzzing with it as you melt into each other. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, which just proves that everything really is different - better - with Benny. You pull away when you find yourself quickly out of breath just from feeling so much.

You finally dare to open your eyes to find Benny gazing at you with a dazed expression that surely mirrors your own and you slowly beam at each other, not feeling the need for words just now. Maybe you couldn’t even find them if you tried.

You settle back against his chest and the two of you stay like that for the rest of the night, sometimes spending long moments just kissing each other, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes just enjoying each other’s presence.

--------

Around five in the morning, when the sun is already getting up, you finally start to really feel the need for sleep. But this time it doesn’t feel wrong to leave and go home, since you’ll be going home together.

Later that day you wake up to a good morning, sweetheart in Benny’s arms where you fell asleep on his couch, tired but happier than you’ve ever felt in your life.