#it’s the manic avoidance of finals but it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine I miss my dogs and I

[thatfaerieprincess]

Guys what if I get into puppets (again) ……….. I wanna make a dragon puppet I could maybe use at a ren fair….. we’ll see. I have to take 2 large exams, finish a project, and then go home and make So Many Holiday gifts first. Then maybe dragon puppet.

[mikkomacko]

Thank u for doing requests ! What about giiving kisses on mob boss Nico’s scars (if any)?🥹🥹

This is so sweet oh my god I’m gonna cry. (This also somehow turned into a smut scene at the end so happy first smut scene of mob boss Nico!)

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope I did it justice!

————————————————————————-

It wasn’t a big dead, not really. Just an off-handed remark Jack had made after Nico chirped him for getting a bad haircut.

“You should spend more time worrying about that lip of yours than my haircut.” He’d yapped, motioning to the recently split lip Nico had gotten. “Eventually your girl’s not gonna wanna kiss it better.”

It had healed just fine and yeah for a bit there you’d avoided the raw wound, but now that it’s just a sliver of a scar it’s fine, right?

Nico can’t help it. He’s picking at it, smears of shaving cream still splattered across his jaw and cheeks. He picks at it until the skin of his lip is red and raw, and it hurts so badly he has to stop.

In a frantic spiral he’s suddenly spotting all the little marks on his face. Every scar left over from teenage acne to fist fights to hitting his head on the coffee table as a child, Nico feels manic as he takes them all in.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved. Maybe he should’ve let his beard grow out, creep up his cheeks and down his neck to hide all the ugly marks.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole he goes. Wiping the shaving cream off with a towel, Nico spots the ugly mark on his collar bone from where he’d been nicked with a knife. The one on his abdomen from where he’d been kicked with steel toe boots.

Something ugly and ashamed rises in his chest, threatens to choke him. He scrambles out of the bathroom, haphazardly shutting off the light as he rushes to the closet. In his haste to cover himself he misses you already lying in bed. It’s not until he’s yanked on a hoodie and sweatpants, finally able to breathe easy, does he notice you watching him with bewilderment.

“You ok boss?” You ask him, slightly amused.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, feels like throwing up. What if you saw all of them? Like really saw them? Sat in front of him and saw all those ugly spots at once, all his ugly spots?

“Fine,” he mumbles, climbing into his side of bed. He feels stiff and awkward, ignoring your gaze as he reaches to shut off the bedside lamp.

You make a confused noise in the dark and Nico blinks until his eyes adjust. Then he’s lying back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers ache to reach for you, to touch your skin. But he’s terrified of you touching his skin and suddenly deciding you don’t want to anymore.

Stupid fucking Jack and his big mouth.

The sheets shuffle, the mattress moving with your weight. “Nico?” A hand pats down the duvet, then slithers across the blanket until it’s resting over his chest.

“Hm?”

“Baby you’re on the edge of the bed.”

“M’just hot.”

“Maybe it’s the winter clothes you just put on?”

Nico hesitates, scrambles for an excuse. “Not feeling well either. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“You ate three plates of pasta, Schoa. I don’t think that’s contagious.”

Clearing his throat, Nico pathetically shrugs. Something’s welled up in his esophagus, is choking him and he wants you to reach over and make it better.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to piss you off first?”

He closes his eyes, feels the weight of your hand on him. That feeling chokes him again, makes him panic until he’s spiting out his worst fears to you.

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Nico expects you to laugh, to kick at his leg and tell him he’s being ridiculous. But he thinks the pathetic whimper of his words has given away how dire this topic is to him.

“Oh baby,” you breathe out, “I want to kiss you all the time.” You sound sincere, like you’re thinking about kissing him right now. It makes his face hot, embarrassed and insecure for some reason.

His silence is thick, hanging in the air so heavily you have to sit up in bed and crawl over him. Nico can’t help it, his hands moving on their own to find your hips as you push the blankets back and straddle his thighs.

“Nothing could ever make me not want you.” You whisper. In the dark he finds your eyes, the moonlight coming through the window gleaming in them. They look shiny and blurry, warped by the night- no by him. Because he’s got tears in his waterline.

“You didn’t want to kiss my lip,” he mumbles like a child, “when it was hurt.”

You stroke through his hair, press your palm to his cheek. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you, not because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“What if next time it’s worse? What if the cut is bigger and then the scar is and it doesn’t get better?”

“What-Nico where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

He’s silent, embarrassed again. “Jack said if my scars get any worse you won’t want to kiss them better anymore.”

“Oh Nico baby,” you huff in disbelief. “Have you ever noticed that Jack doesn’t even have someone to kiss his scars better? Who does he think he is?”

You’re right, but he doesn’t feel better. So he just shrugs, makes some weird noise of protest in his chest because he’s scared and hurt.

“Can I please turn the light on?”

Nico leans into your palm, heart thumping loudly in his chest but he mutters his consent. The lamp flicks on and at first he’s blinded. But then you come into view, one of his shirts on your shoulders and you’re pretty hair frizzy on top of your head.

You look so beautiful over him.

“Oh my god, what has Jack done to you?” You ask softly, stroking your thumb under his droopy eyes that are still wet with unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Your fingers trace his face, over the soft skin of his freshly shaved cheeks and the slope of his nose. Your thumb outlines his lips, your eyes following its movement with such adoration in them it makes his heart ache.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” you say with earnest, stroking the scar on his lip. “No cut or bruise or scar is ever going to change that.”

“Yeah?”

You lean down, ghost your lips over his. “Yeah Nico,” you promise, sealing it with a kiss. He runs his hands up your back, holds you as you trail kisses over the little marks of his face.

Nimble fingers dip beneath his hoodie, touch the warm skin of his stomach. “Can I take this off my love?”

Sluggish, Nico nods. He sits up enough to help you wiggle it off of him, falling back into the pillows as you throw the hoodie to the side.

You sit back, admiring the skin of his chest and abs with your hands and lidded eyes. “All I see when I look at you, is the brave and strong man that I love.”

Sliding down his body, you mouth at his collarbone with soft and needy lips. Nico sighs contently, lets your breath tickle his skin and grows warm at the way you touch him so sweetly.

Sometimes he wonders how you can treat him so softly, how you can take him in those soft hands and turn him into a puddle.

“Baby,” he whines, unsure of what he’s even calling for. All he knows is that he loves you and you’re making him feel so good.

“Let me love on you,” you request, word pressing into the column of his throat. “Let me show you how beautiful and sexy you are Nico.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, shudders as pleasure nips at his belly and blood rushes to his cock.

“Fuck, yes, please.”

You’re slow and diligent, finding any and every place on him that is marred or changed and showering it in kisses and loving touches. He’s sweating and panting when you get to the edge of his pants, peeling the band down to reveal more and more of the scar there.

“This one’s my favorite,” you say so quietly he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head, brain foggy with lust. You peer up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking sultry over the planes of his body. Lips hovering over the mark that trails down the v of his hips and the top of his thigh.

“My favorite,” you mumble into his skin, kissing at the point of his hip. Then you’re pulling his sweats down even more, innocent eyes watching him hiss when his cock jumps free, red and hard against his abdomen.

“Why?”

Your lips curl up, wicked as you bite into the inside of his thigh just enough to make him twitch. “Because I get to see it every time I’m down here.”

Nico’s brain short circuits, shuts down when you bite into his skin again and it feels so good he might come untouched. He doesn’t want to though, not that he needs to tell you that.

You nose at his cock, mouth wet and hot against the base of him and his bones turn to jelly. He falls back into the mattress, widening his legs for you to get closer.

Grounding himself with fingers in your hair, Nico whimpers when you drag the flat of your tongue up his length, gentle fingers wrapping around his girth.

“Baby,” Nico whines again, and you’re already kissing at the thick head of his cock, all teasing flicks of the tongue and lips sticky with precum.

“I know pretty boy,” you assure, sweet and loving. Nico moans, ears growing hot at the pet name. “So pretty, from those big eyes of yours all the way down to your pretty cock, huh?”

His hips buck up, eyes rolling back and he twitches in your hand. Jesus Christ, now he knows why you love when he talks you through sex. The rawness of your words, the truth in your tone, how utterly sweet you sound saying such filthy things.

“Make me cum,” he begs, tugging on your hair encouragingly. “Please just -fuck!”

You swallow him down easy, fitting his cock into your warm mouth just how he taught you. Like it’s habit now, to have his cock dripping into the back of your throat while your tongue licks at the underside of him.

Nico’s so worked up and sensitive he’s already throbbing and threatening to blow his load. That fire licks at the base of his spine, curls his toes and has him blubbering nonsense. You bob your head, drooling down his length and cupping his balls in your palm.

You’re so soft and warm, so loving in everything you do. Nico thinks it might kill him one day, how much you love him. But that would be a hell of a way to go.

His cock throbs, twitching in the hollow of your cheeks and you stroke a free hand over that favorite scar of yours. That’s at it takes and he’s seeing stars, coming so hard on your tongue it twists painfully at the pit of his stomach.

Dropping his hands from you, heavy like his bones are made of lead, Nico fights to catch his breath. Your merciful on him, easy and gentle as you kiss your way back up his torso and to his mouth.

Nico doesn’t peel his eyes open until you’re messily mouthing at his parted lips. Your tongue tastes like him, breath hot and he groans into your mouth as he kisses you back.

“I lied,” you pant when you part from the kiss. “This one’s my favorite actually,” and your pecking a kiss to the scar on his lips.

“Baby you just sucked the soul out of me,” Nico croaks, wrapping his arms around you and pinning you into his sweaty chest. “I can’t take anymore compliments.”

You giggle, touching your nose to his. “It’s the truth this time, I love that one. It’s the first thing I see every morning, the first thing I see after you kiss me.”

Nico hums, smacks a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Yeah? Do you think that’s pretty too?” He goads, smirking when you blush and roll your eyes. “Pretty like my cock? Or pretty like my eyes?”

Laughing, you wiggle in his hold to try and get away. “Oh shut up!”

“Noooo keep telling me how pretty I am, boss please?”

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Got inspired by a post I saw this morning so here's literally 2 entire pages of headcanons comparing Infected and Kasper. Fair warning: It dips into talk of symptoms I imagine he'd have and the whole Poptart situation.

[A lot of which assume he'd have like. Actual biological needs instead of being Video Game-y, which seems to be sort of a grey area in-game anyway...]

Kasper was already kind of stupid so honestly not much is different on that front. Average 2010s gamer dudebro sort of deal. Although Infected has a bit more 'what kind of animal is the pink panther?' in him than Kasper.

Infected has next to no impulse control, leading to him doing things he shouldn't and speaking without thinking pretty much constantly.

Infected has balance issues that Kasper didn’t due to inner ear inflammation from the infection. He can’t really do anything on a skateboard anymore besides just stand there or go in a straight line. He can and will find a way to trip on flat ground.

He's convinced he still rules at it, though.

The inflammation has also made his hearing kind of shit. (The only person he can hear with perfect clarity is Folly, as she probably speaks directly into people’s minds or something lol.)

Infected loves soda and drinks basically only that. Boy who was born with kidney stones <3

The neurotoxin in his favorite soda was a deeply unreasonable amount of aspartame (and other chemicals. For fun! <3). Not being able to drink it anymore has somewhat improved his balance issues and memory, but he still misses how it tasted (it probably tasted like what you'd get if you boiled down an entire 2 liter of diet coke until it's barely a liquid then filled an 8 ounce soda can with that. Dude’s tastebuds and liver are Fucked).

Kasper had a fairly similar way of talking to Infected, minus the 1337. ("Sweet parteh trickz dud!11")

Infected is in constant pain. Headaches, body aches, sore throat, can't breathe well, burning skin, heavy eyes, nausea that won't go away, sniffles, random nerve pain, probably other shit. He barely notices it anymore unless someone asks how he's feeling. He doesn't have much energy to spare. He would come across as significantly more hyper/manic than how Kasper used to be if not for this.

He doesn't put any of the energy he has left towards cleaning. Kasper could deal with a little mess, but still picked stuff up when it got ugly. Lampert was also willing to help when he visited. Now Infected is too tired and unfocused to pick anything up most of the time, and Lampert refuses to set foot in the apartment complex until Kasper is better. Infected has started throwing garbage off the balcony when it gets in the way too much. It's kinda fun!

Infected occasionally dissociates. Finds later that he's already talked to someone about something and just repeated himself, bought something already and now he has two, spent hours on his computer without remembering a single thing he looked at, or already met someone he thought he hadn't seen before.

It has actually been explained to Infected before that Kasper is his name. This just started an argument and the topic was dropped forever from that point forward.

Infected is deeply stressed out by seeing his own face for reasons he can't communicate, so he avoids looking at it as much as possible. He used to have a mirror in his apartment but he threw it off the balcony in a fit of rage one night, then covered the blank space where it used to be with a poster. Same thing with ripping Kasper’s face off of the picture on his desk. Any photos of him that are on his PC have either been sent to the recycle bin or cropped so that his face isn’t in them. He's completely fine looking at drawings of himself though. That's definitely him.

When left to his own devices, Infected's diet is… Inconsistent. He will forget to eat for long periods of time then binge when the hunger pangs finally get so annoying that he can't ignore them anymore. He's at least sort of hydrated because there's usually a six pack of soda on his desk or by the couch, but unless someone on the elevator is feeling generous he doesn't remember on his own very often.

Kasper was very comfortable being physically affectionate with people and would be happy to cuddle or lay on a friend's lap if they were cool with that. Infected is even more touchy and would be clingy if he had chances to be, but due to his extremely obvious contagious disease nobody lets him get close. He is incredibly touch-starved and would probably get emotional if someone hugged him or even just sympathetically rubbed his back now.

 Kasper was alright at resisting the urge, but Infected has picked at every scab he's ever gotten, and he ends up with a Lot. He will pick at them until the damage is worse than the initial injury unless someone stops him/tells him to put a bandage over it.

Kasper would bite his nails to keep them short and pick his nose sometimes but Infected's nails are completely trashed. Some of them have scabbed over or still-bleeding cuticles and hangnails because he chews and picks at those too.

All of the contact with his spit has caused his fingernail textures to semi-permanently unload. You'd think they were painted if you didn't know why they looked like that.

Nosebleeds from his nasal cavity getting torn up from all the fussing are not unheard of and yet he's gonna keep doing it.

Constantly drooling when he's not talking. Some of it is post-nasal drip. Sometimes he remembers to wipe it off on his arm, but most of the time it just ends up on the floor/running down his face and soaking into the neckline of his shirt. Or sprayed all over the walls/someone's face when he sneezes.

Kasper used to keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket to help Lampert feel more comfortable. He stopped doing that forever ago after he got sick. (You know how rabies does a bunch of shit to animals to make them better disease vectors, including to their brains? Yeah, something like that).

On some level he knows he's sick. Would be more stressed out about it but the infection has repressed his ability to care (and the part of him that’s still aware of it is probably also heavily in denial). This has affected other aspects of his emotional range, causing it to come across as unusually flat, especially to those who knew Kasper.

Infected is scared that if he’s taken to a doctor’s office they’ll hurt him, so on top of genuinely not being able to recognize that he's sick he will deny all accusations regardless out of this fear. He’s technically not wrong, since trying to purge the disease to save Kasper would be extremely painful for him, but this thought mostly comes from his illness trying to preserve itself.

The last time someone tried to lead Infected to DrRETRO’s office for an intensive care stay he panicked upon realizing what was going on and fought back until they let him leave (fucked them up pretty badly), so now everyone keeps their distance and kinda uselessly tries to convince him to go voluntarily with their words.

Infected is incapable of maintaining strong negative emotions if pushed into being that upset. He'll be mad or sad for maybe a minute and then something else will get his attention or he’ll get too tired to think and he'll forget whatever was bugging him.

Every so often he will lose hope about finding Poptart and then abruptly ‘reset’ a minute or two into sobbing his eyes out, completely confident that any day now the little guy will come back safe and sound.

Despite this it is still really easy to get him Gamer Raging. Way easier than it ever was with Kasper, who was a pretty good sport in most cases.

Infected's particular brand of Gamer Rage is ‘Heckling people until they shut up/go away’, or until it's out of his system. This is the most typical way he processes anger. The impulse control is Seriously out the window when he gets like this.

Kasper knew a lot of stuff about the games he liked offhandedly (mostly competitive co-op FPS games like counterstrike, tf2, l4d2, etc) and could tell you so much esoteric bullshit about them, but if you tried to ask Infected he would get too excited trying to think of something he could share that would be really cool and then not actually be able to remember anything.

The only context in which Infected's reaction time isn't ass is video games. Something about muscle memory. In any other situations he is usually pretty slow to react. This does not mean he's slow to do things, though. When he's acting on a dumbass impulse thought he's probably halfway done doing it before anyone can stop him.

It is possible to get Infected to acknowledge that his situation is Fucked for a moment or two if you press him on the most obvious evidence that he's sick (his headaches, the fact his allergies haven't cleared up in years, the snot on his face, etc), and if you pressed hard enough you'd start to see him get scared. He knows you're right, but there's nothing he can do about it. And then the recognition would be gone again as soon as you stopped talking.

This doesn't work when you bring up his name (Who's Kasper? Never met the guy.) or objects in his surroundings, only symptoms of illness directly observable on/in his body.

[judithan-xing]

CADAVER IS DONE!!!!!!!

clocking in at 63,451 words it is the longest thing I have EVER written. I am so glad I started it and I'm so glad I was able to stick the landing. I am so tired

This whole thing was a way for me to channel my mania (ive been suffering through a bipolar manic episode for the last several weeks, with peaks happening intermittently. Don't worry I'm doing alright) and it's been giving me something to go crazy about and pour my energy into. Really fun, really enjoyed it, my mania has finally dipped down enough that I am calm and can rest.

Fun ideas I had that I ended up scrapping because Oh My God I'm Not Going For 200k:

- shape shifter monster that would've taken the form of Vincent and attacked Cid (might write a one shot of this)

- a scene in the epilogue of Shera sending Cid n Cloud out on a monster hunting mission and making it clear she's their manager

- Rufus getting his shit kicked in (I just could never figure out a place for it where Cid or Cloud would be able to kick the shit out of him without it becoming a huge overarching plotline that I simply didn't have energy to write out)

- it ended up turning less Vampire Fic and more Scifi Political Cosmic Horror at the end, which is fine but maybe missed the mark a little??? Idk it's not something I could have really avoided with the way I set it up

- the in-between moments I really wanted to make feel more Human and Real but I fear maybe were boring?? Though I'm by far my own worst critic

- I also had a scene idea planned for the epilogue of Sephiroth and Aerith being their neighbors and Cloud being in a tiff at Cid inviting them over. (Also the gang does just live in the mansion so that's a whole thing, they got the Smash Bros Mansion type vibes)

Anyway I love cadaver, please read cadaver (if you're 18+ and not squeamish) okay I sleep now

[cevansbrat0007]

Magic Revisited: The Wedding

Summary: You and Andy finally tie the knot. Also check out Forever My Love: A Barber Honeymoon.

Warnings: Fluff, Abstinence, Bride Stress, Cursing, Happiness, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Growing Pains Series. I hope you enjoy this glimpse at Andy and Reader's wedding. Please let me know your thoughts. All mistakes my own. Thanks for reading!

___

Eight Months Before the Wedding: The Guest List & Venue

Andrew Barber was the easiest groom in the world to work with. He made it clear from the moment you became engaged that this wedding was all about you. 

Whatever you wanted, you got. 

The only thing Andy wanted control of was your honeymoon. That was strictly his territory. 

Fine by you.

You’d opted to keep the guest list on the small side, hoping to create a more intimate feel, You didn’t want or need a bunch of strangers at your ceremony. Your wedding was about you and your Big Man, and nobody else.

It was important to note that your fiance was also a generous man. He was open to every idea, willing to explore every concept, tour any venue - whatever you wanted. At first, you’d struggled to find the perfect space for your special day.

And then it dawned on you. If you wanted romance and magic…why not go back to the place where it all began? 

Your Merry-Go-Round.

It was perfect. The City had done some serious work on the former carnival graveyard, and the gorgeous space had recently reopened under the name The Seashore Fair.

You’d asked Andy if he was okay with renting out the park. He’d smiled, kissed your forehead, and made the call.

You’d forgotten that your Andy Bear had connections.

___

Six Months Before the Wedding: Your Dress

And then right after that, you’d found your perfect dress. You’d been aimlessly walking around downtown with a couple of girlfriends when you’d stumbled upon a little dress shop sandwiched between two random, much larger stores. 

Something about the quaint, eclectic little place had drawn you inside, where you’d met Miss Eliza Flograni. She explained that she specialized in selling vintage dresses and other unique keepsakes. After explaining that you were on the hunt for the perfect dress, the tiny red-headed woman had grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the back of the store. 

“I have it.” She’d mumbled. “It’s been waiting for you. Must find it.” The sweet little madwoman is rifling through racks and racks of dresses - even throwing some over her shoulder, forcing you to duck to avoid being whapped in the face. 

Was she okay?

“Are you alright?” You ask, as you dodge another garment bag.

“Oh, fine, fine.” Miss Flograni looks at you with a gleam in her eyes. “I just know that I have your dress. One moment!” She sings. “We don’t want to conceal your gorgeous skin, we want to show it off!”

You start inching towards the door. This woman was a little too special.

“We can always come back. Really. It’s no problem and -”

“Found it!” She announces, doing a little spin. “You go try this on and come back to us. I promise you’ll love it. It’s unique.”

The woman thrusts the bag against your chest.

“Oof.” 

“It’s unique.” Miss Flograni repeats again, before pinching your chin. “Like you, my darling.” She directs you towards the fitting room and then flits away. 

Good lord. You think to yourself as you look down at the bag in your arms. What’s the harm in trying it on?

Unzipping the bag, you hold up the dress in front of you.

“I don’t know…” You mumble to yourself. And here comes the manic pixie owner. 

“That’s no way to try on a dress. You won’t get the full effect. Let me help you, darling.”

Together, you work your way into the dress. Once it’s on your body…you can barely breathe. 

And not because it’s a little too tight. Oh, no.  

Because it’s perfect. It’s gorgeous. You call your friends back as you continue to admire your figure in the mirror. You wipe away a stray tear as you twirl. 

You’d found your dress. You grab the little red head and press a smacking kiss to her cheek. 

“This is my dress.” You whisper to her.

“I know.” She boops your nose. “Told you it’s been waiting for you. Now for measurements!” She flits away, singing Once Upon A Dream from Sleeping Beauty. 

Thank you, Miss Flograni, you delightful little madwoman. 

___

Fourth Months Before the Wedding: The Menu Tasting

You and your Andy Bear were enjoying a glass of wine at Enzo’s. While they were typically closed on Mondays, as your official caterer, Camilla and Enzo were kind enough to open their doors to you on their day off. 

Goodness, you loved these two. They’d been so excited when Andy had initially reached out to them about catering your wedding. The sweet couple had even offered to do it for free. 

You both had responded with: absolutely not.

The two of you made it very clear that you would be paying for their services, and after several arguments, they'd finally agreed. 

“So let’s walk through the appetizers again.” Enzo mutters as he adjusts his glasses. 

“Okay.” You swat your fiance. “Pay attention, Big Man.”

“I’m listening, woman.” Andy leans in to press a kiss just behind your ear. 

Your mouth waters when Camilla walks into the room carrying a tray of delightfully fragrant culinary delights. 

Meatballs. Sausage Stuffed Mushrooms. Lemon & Rosemary Pan Seared Sea Scallops. Roasted Artichoke Hearts with a Sweet Pepper Relish. Brie with Fig Jam on Toasted Rounds.

Each bite was fucking delicious. If your guests had any sense, and you were pretty sure most of them did, they would love these.

“What do you think, babe?” You look over at Andy as he finishes off a scallop with a satisfied groan. 

“No complaints here.” 

Next were the Main Dishes. For dinner, you had decided to offer:

The Lasagna Classico. Roasted Chicken Piccata. Herb Crusted Halibut. Beef Medallions with Mushroom Risotto. Eggplant Parmesan.

You feel like you’re about to explode as they bring out dish, after dish.

Giggling, as you sample each one, you also take to feeding Andy, enjoying the way the corners of his eyes crinkle with every bite.

God, you loved him. 

And finally, it was time for Dessert. This time you’d kept it simple:

Lemon Cheesecake Tarts. Tiramisu Bites. And a Cafe Bar.    

Everything was coming together, and you could not be more excited.

___

Thirty Days Before the the Wedding: Abstinence 

The only time Andy ever balked at one of your requests happened roughly a month before the wedding. You two were curled up on the couch reading books and resting your feet in his lap. 

You moan softly when one of his big hands begins to massage the balls of your socked feet. 

“Feel good, baby?”

“Mmhm…”

“Want me to make you feel even better?” Your man purrs as he tosses his book aside and begins to crawl towards you.

Biting your lip, you let out a sigh. 

“Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but I think we should hold off.”

“Huh?” He pauses.

“I mean, I think we should wait until the wedding night to, uh, make love. So it’s special, you know?”

“Special?” Andy growls as he resumes crawling towards you. “Any time you and I are connected, it’s special. Whether it’s in, like, Buckingham Palace or right here on this couch. There’s no need to wait, baby.”

He brushes his soft, full lips over yours. And then he begins trailing kisses down the column of your throat. 

“Don’t make me wait, Y/N. Don’t make us wait.”

One hand moves under your shirt to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra. 

You shake your head and push at his muscled chest. 

“But think how special it will be if we do wait! Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Same goes for abstinence, baby.” You stroke his cheek. "You promised me whatever I wanted." You remind him.

“No.” He pouts. “You can’t leave me with only my hand for a month.”

“You’ll be fine.” You lean up to peck his lips. “Thank you, Andy. I know this one’s a lot. And I appreciate it.”

Your fiance rolls off of you, clearly irritated. 

“I’m not gonna make it to this wedding.” He grumbles as he trudges away. “Take my pussy from me. The fuck? What's next?”

Eh, he’ll be fine. You think to yourself as you resist slipping your own hand down the front of your shorts. We’ll both be fine.

___

The Day of the Wedding: Butterflies

Today was the day. 

The day you married your best friend. 

The day you pledged your love to another person for the rest of your life.  

The day you became Mrs. Andrew Barber. 

___

You sit there in your robe as your glam artist puts the finishing touches on your airbrushed makeup. 

As far as you knew, things were going off without a hitch. 

Guests were arriving. Music was playing. The weather was nice - a sunny, 78 degree day.

Your two bridesmaids, Rhea and Melanie, sat in their pink silk robes sipped their champagne and talked softly, trying not to ruffle your nerves. 

Because you were nervous. 

This was a big decision.

You were committing yourself to another person, to a man, for life.

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You quickly dash it away.

“Sorry, Kendra.” You mumble. “Don’t wanna ruin your fabulous job. And I do look fabulous.” You offer her a slightly watery smile. You’re immediately surrounded by Melanie and Rhea. 

“Okay, one of us is gonna get Andy.”

“On it!” Rhea murmurs. 

“No!” You jump up. “He can’t see me before the ceremony - it’s bad luck!” 

Another tear. You were terrified. But you were also overjoyed. 

“I’m fine ladies.” You delicately blot your eyes with a tissue. “I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

You turn to Mel and Rhea and offer them a dazzling smile. 

“Let’s get our dresses on. It’s almost time for pictures.”

The florist picks that moment to walk in holding your bouquet. You’d gone with pale pink and lavender as your colors.

“Gorgeous.” You whisper. “I love it. Thank you.” She nods, smiles, and jogs off with it to god knows where.

___

The Day of the Wedding: Giving Yourself Away

You watch from a space just off the side as Rhea is escorted down the aisle. You were next and there were so many butterflies fluttering in your belly, you could barely catch your breath. 

And then you hear the music. 

“Go!” Your wedding planner whispers. “Go, honey.”

But you couldn’t quite get your legs to move.

“Go!” A gentle shove to your lower back has your legs working again. Holding your bouquet and smiling, you focus on making your way towards your Andy Bear. You love the face that you’d chosen to hold the actual ceremony in front of the newly restored merry-go-round. It was a magnificent structure and would make for a beautiful backdrop. 

By the time you reach your Big Man, you notice his eyes are shimmering with unshushed tears.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You murmur as you watch one fall. Leaning over, you use your thumb to brush it away. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, baby.” He whispers back. 

You hand your flowers to Mel so you can grip his large hands with your smaller ones. 

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today…” The minister begins. 

___

“It’s my understanding that the two of you have prepared your own vows.” 

You both nod. 

“Very well. Andrew, you may go first.”

He clears his throat before beginning.

“My, sweet Y/N.” Andy clears his throat again. “I vow to love you with every fiber of my being. I promise to protect you, to be your biggest cheerleader, and your strongest advocate. You also have my vow that I will never stop trying to make you laugh.” One of his hands lets go of yours to softly caress your cheek. “I love your smile. I promise to continue to strive to become a better man for you, so I can be the best husband I can be. You have my promise. You have my word. These are my vows to you, my love.”

Woah. Andy leans down to kiss your hands. 

“Thank you, Andrew. And you, Y/N?”

You take a shaky breath. 

“Andrew, my Big Man, I promise to love you unconditionally. You have my vow that I will always be in your corner. I will be your rock the same way you’ve always been mine. I promise to always come to you with an open mind, and an open heart. You mean more to me than you will ever know, and I swear that I will do my best to show you just how precious you are to me every single day. Woo!” 

The crowd chuckles softly as you force yourself to take a beat so you can blink back tears.

“I promise to never stop dancing with you and to always be your fellow goofball. These are the vows I make to you, my handsome love.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You smile and look back at Andy. He’s smiling too. Good. 

“And the rings?”

The Best Man hands them over. Andy had taken your ring from you the other day under the pretense of having it cleaned. But when he slid it on your finger now, you noticed that he’d added an extra band filled with glittering diamonds to your ring. 

“Andy…”

He grips your chin. “Only the best for my baby.”

Shaking your head, you take his hand and slip a silver wedding band on his own finger. He didn’t know you’d had it engraved, but you’d show him later. 

The Minister moves on…  

“If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Speak now and I break some ankles. You think to yourself.

Silence. Good.

“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride -”

Your now-husband is on you immediately, his lips slanting over yours, one of his hands slowly sliding down towards your ass, which you manage to catch. You pretend to nip at him when he finally pulls away. 

“Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Barber!”

You and Andy lightly jog down the aisle amidst the whoops and cheers and congratulations. 

It was done. You were married.

You were Mrs. Andrew Barber for now, forever, and always.

___

After the Wedding: The Farewell

You and Andy slow dance in the pavilion while your guests continue to snack and ride the bumper cars and the tiltawhirl and the scrambler. Of course you two had ridden your merry-go-round several times, but right now…

As far as you were concerned…you two were the only people in the world. 

“I love you, Mr. Barber.” Your murmur as your head rests against his bread chest. 

“I love you more Mrs. Barber. You made me the happiest man in the world today.” When the band takes a break, he begins singing Luther Vandross’ Here And Now in your ear - the song you first danced to as husband and wife. 

After a moment you join him. Neither one of you could carry a tune, but it didn’t matter. 

“Here and now I promise to love faithfully You're all I need Here and now I vow to be one with thee (You and me), hey Your love is all (I need) I need”

You’re so involved in your own little world, you’re almost startled when you feel Andy whisper in your ear that it was time to go. 

Apparently you two had a flight to catch. 

“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

“What?” You blink up at him as people gather round to see you off. You two start making your way down the line, waving goodbye…

And then you see it.

There was a carriage waiting for you. But not just any carriage.

It was Cinderella’s carriage. And it was spectacular. 

You let out a yip when your husband swoops you into his arms. “Only the best for my princess. Now we’ve really gotta get going if I’m going to get you to Italy before all of this magic turns back into a pumpkin.”

Your jaw drops. 

Italy. He was taking you to Italy. The one place you’d always wanted to go. 

“First stop, Rome.”

END

[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)

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Soooo in the role reverse au fire ending Sun also gets snapped out of the virus from his brother, though the situation is far different. 

They don’t initially leave the building together firstly. In fact, Sun gets out before him and has very little care for the safety of his brother. When Freddy asks where Moon is, he laughs saying that “He’ll be fine, he can take care of himself!” and continued with a similar sentiment no matter how much Freddy pressed for the animatronic to check his brother’s status through their link.

Spoiler alert, Moon was not fine. He had woken up in the small naptime room inside the daycare, where he had shut off to try and recharge a bit somewhere he felt safe. His sensors immediately went off alerting him to the smoke and heat outside the door, and when he opened it he saw that the entire daycare was on fire. The soft padding of the floor was covered in high rising flames that reached up to his chest. He quickly called for the wire to come down. Walking wasn’t an option, and if he was fast enough he would be able to get out of the room and into the air before too much damage was done. 

But it didn’t come down. It was damaged, disconnected from the fire and he felt a pit form in his stomach. He was on too low charge to use the springs, and too tired to care. He closed the door and sat down on the other side of the room to check his brother’s status, seeing that his systems were running fine and that he was a good distance from the fire. 

He decided to send him one last message through their private connection. He had avoided using it ever since the virus infected him, as it usually annoyed his brother and lead to lots of arguing, but decided that he should at least send a final goodbye to him even if they hadn’t been getting along. The message went as followed: “My sensors have told me that you are out of the building. That’s good, I’m glad you’re safe. Tell the others not to wait up for me, as I won’t be leaving. I love you, sunshine, and I’m going to miss you. Stay safe.”

Meanwhile Sun had become progressively more nervous as time passed and his brother still didn’t emerge from the fire, but convinced himself that everything was fine and he was just having trouble navigating or something. His demeanor changed from the typical manic bubbliness, to crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently, to then looking around the group of animatronics uneasily until he FINALLY got the message.

The moment he heard his brother’s voice through their inner connection, he gave in and checked his status before the message even ended. He was sitting in the back of the nap area of the daycare still, and Sun noticed the warning that indicated that the harness was broken; His heart sank when he realized that Moon couldn’t get out, and wasn’t going to. Hearing the message confirmed it. The internal workings were going faster then normal, already heating up to dangerous levels, and he could tell from the way the camera shook that he was scared. He didn’t try to get up, though. What’s the point? There was no way out. 

He’d given up. And Sun immediately dropped what he was doing and ran back into the building, ignoring Freddy as he called after him. He hadn’t even noticed the virus disappear from his code, too distracted trying to find his brother before it was too late. Moon wasn’t checking the stats on his brother and hadn’t realized he had re entered the building, preoccupied with trying to calm himself down. (Most likely it was his singing that led Sun to finding him. He was probably singing “You are my sunshine” because he would rather think of the positive of the situation being that his brother was safe, even if he wasn’t.)

Needless to say he wasn’t expecting Sun to break through the wall without any warning, hoist him up and then run back through the massive hole he had made. He could barely process what the fuck just happened before they were out of the building again; He’d never seen Sun run that fast, it was honestly jarring. 

But the behavior didn’t make sense, and when he checked back into his brother’s code he noticed that the virus was gone. There was no more purple code, and Moon wondered what had happened to destroy it? He quickly realized that he was spacing out and giving his brother a panic attack with his lack of response, and quickly reassured him that he was alright. Sun wouldn’t believe it until he checked him over himself, and even then he didn’t put him down for several hours after that. 

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (22)

  jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: there is a timejump!!

words: 5.2k

  chapter twenty-two (final)

You had just left your house, already running late, when your phone lit up with an incoming call from Inna. Smiling with a good-natured roll of your eyes, you answered the phone. You already knew what she was going to say.

“Are you there yet?” you spoke into the phone, pressing it against your head with your shoulder while you put gloves on. It was chilly today.

“I’m by the entrance to the restaurant,” Inna replied, her voice manic. “I’m still in my car. I can’t leave. You might have to come and drag me in there by my hair.”

“Breathe,” you said, picking up your phone with a gloved hand before you looked around the empty street so you could safely cross it. “You can do this. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s dinner with his parents,” she shot back, still just as panicked. “I know you’ve known Jungkook’s parents as long as you’ve known your own, but it’s different for me. These people don’t know me. What if they hate me?”

You heard a beep on the line that indicated a new text message and pulled your phone back to check. It was Jungkook, sending you an exceeding amount of question marks and exclamation points; he had clearly noticed your absence.

“Well,” you started to say to Inna while you quickly typed back, OMW, and sent it to Jungkook, “they will definitely hate you if you ditch the dinner.”

Inna whined at this. “I called you for help.”

“How can I help you,” you couldn’t help teasing, “if your situation is different?”

Recognizing her own condescending tone in your words, she sighed heavily but made no attempt to correct herself as she pleaded, “please.”

“Alright, listen, it’ll be fine,” you said and almost stopped walking, too focused on the conversation. It was too cold to stand around on this late autumn evening, however, so you kept going as you spoke, “it’s the first time you’re meeting them, so you will most likely only talk about superficial things, like your education, your job, how you two met, how—”

“Most likely?” Inna repeated, distressed. “And what if they tell me, straight to my face, that they can’t stand the sight of me?

You couldn’t help but smile as Inna’s worries echoed your own when you and Jungkook were just starting to talk again. She’d found ways to convince you to be bold and give him a chance, so you owed it to her to be as encouraging as you could – even if it meant abandoning all plans and going over there to literally drag her into the restaurant by her hair as she’d said.

“They will not,” you told her firmly.

“But how do you know?” Inna demanded right back.

“Because you’re impossible to hate.”

“But what if they do?”

“Then, they won’t say anything,” you replied patiently, “because that’s a very rude thing to say to someone you’re meeting for the first time.”

Inna still found a loophole. “What if they’re extremely honest?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “It’s still rude.”

“But what if—”

“Inna—just listen,” you cut her off as you stopped by another crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, “the only honest conversation I’ve had with Jungkook’s mother,” you spoke, “was two years ago, after she came to see me on campus. Remember that? Before then, we were on friendly terms but we never talked about our feelings, or anything deep at all. She could have despised me deep down in her heart, I wouldn’t have known.”

Inna considered this for a second – while you crossed the street – and then you heard her sigh in defeat.

“Right,” she said, hesitating. She must have been running out of excuses. “Well, that—I’m not sure if that makes it better, actually.”

“Just go in there. Okay?” you said, your voice soft. You had experienced the fright that comes with being in a relationship firsthand, so you tried to find a balance between tough love and caring support as you told her, “open the door of your car, step outside, lock the damn car – so we wouldn’t have history repeat itself – and then walk into the restaurant. You can do that, can’t you?”

You couldn’t see, her but you could feel her roll her eyes when you brought up the “Someone Broke Into My Car, Please Help, There’s No Way I Could Have Left It Unlocked” incident that she refused to talk about again after the police officers laughed her out of the station.

“Sure,” Inna said, “I can do that. If I walk in and then immediately turn back around.”

“No,” you said. “You walk in, you go meet your boyfriend and his parents, and then you send me an invitation to your wedding as soon as the dinner ends.”

She laughed at this in what was supposed to be a sarcastic way, but, instead, she just sounded hopeful.

“You’re very funny,” she said.

“And you’re very late,” you tossed back as you checked your own watch and then sped up. “Go.”

“Okay,” she said with a deep exhale. You heard the door of her car open. “I’m going. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, pleased to hear that she was really moving. “And if I find out you didn’t actually go in there, we will have a serious conversation the next time I see you. It might get physical.”

“I shall therefore avoid you,” she replied with grandiose dedication and then added playfully, “which shouldn’t be hard, considering that you’ve switched me for Jungkook.”

Gasping dramatically to emphasize your offense at this accusation, you defended, “hey, you were the one who moved out as soon as we graduated. I was going to suggest we continued to live together off-campus.”

“Your boyfriend would have hired a squad of assassins to kill me if I’d agreed,” Inna said, her voice light. Her car beeped twice in the background of the call, proving that she really locked it this time. “Moving in with you has been his dream come true.”

“Well, I’m running late to his show,” you said, already breathless as you were near-sprinting towards the venue that was still at least two minutes away, “so we’ll see if he still wants to live with me after tonight.”

“Oh! Sorry, you should have told me you were busy.”

“It’s fine,” you replied. “I’m never busy to scold you like you’ve scolded me every day for the four years that we lived together.”

Inna laughed. “It wasn’t every day.”

“It was,” you countered, feeling a smile spread on your face at the memory. “I sort of miss that sometimes.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Oh, you’re making an appointment to get your ass kicked?”

“There’ll be no need for that,” she promised. “I’ve already left my car.”

“Okay, that’s good,” you said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at one, then. Be brave, soldier.”

You chuckled at your own joke but Inna only hummed in appreciation.

“Thanks,” she said again. “Have fun tonight.”

“You, too,” you said, catching your breath as you slowed down after spotting the crowd of people, queuing by the entrance to the venue – the concert, clearly, hadn’t started yet. “Text me when you’re home.”

“I will if I’m not dead,” Inna replied.

Ignoring that, you reminded her one more time, “love you!”

“Love you, too,” she replied before hanging up just as she opened the door to the restaurant – and just as you reached the back entrance of the venue.

Namjoon was already waiting for you there. He greeted you with a quick hug and, even though he had a smile on his face, he still couldn’t help but chastise you.

“You’re late,” he said as the two of you entered the building, “he’s pretending to be fine with it but, really, he hasn’t let go of his phone for the past fifteen minutes.”

“It’s my bad,” you replied, “I should have left the house early but I had to make some last minute changes on my project. Are his parents here?”

“They’re here,” Namjoon replied and then back-tracked, “is everything okay with your project?”

“Yeah, it’s all done, I’ll present it tomorrow,” you replied. “Is the band ready?”

The two of you were on the move to see Parental Advisory, so you had no time to stop and properly discuss everything you wanted to ask each other, but that wasn’t new to either of you. Ever since Namjoon joined the team as Assistant Manager – per Jungkook’s request, much to everyone’s disbelief – you two had learned to talk about several different topics at the same time without getting confused.

“They’re ready,” Namjoon nodded, grabbing your arm when you took a turn towards the stairs leading up to the private viewing room upstairs, instead of walking down the hall towards the changing rooms, “they’re still backstage. He’s expecting you.”

“Oh, of course,” you nodded, allowing him to guide you down the hall; you could already hear the excited shrieks of the band members as they warmed up for the performance. “Are you sure I won’t interrupt—?”

“Namjoon!” a voice screeched, forcing you both to flinch in surprise. “Jesus, you’re still here?”

Both of you turned to see the frustrated publicist half-jogging to catch up with you. She gave you a nod of acknowledgement and turned back to Namjoon with a look that demanded an explanation.

“Yeah, Jungkook asked me to wait for—” he started to say but the publicist turned around, indicating for him to follow after.

“Don’t ever do anything Jungkook asks you to do, I thought you knew that,” she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s move! The manager is not doing his job because one of the sound guys keeps flirting with him, and he’s distracted. I need you to be his right hand.”

Giving you an apologetic smile, Namjoon caught up with her and you could still hear him mumble, “that’s what I am anyway.”

“Alright, then I need you to be his right and left hand now,” she said curtly and then stopped, giving you one more look. “You’ll find the changing room okay, love? He’s been waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I’m going there now, thanks,” you replied, turning around towards the animalistic growls that would have sounded threatening if you hadn’t heard them so many times before.

You felt yourself smile as you knocked on the door gently and then turned the handle to enter. You’ve seen Parental Advisory in so many changing rooms over the past two years, there was virtually nothing they could do to surprise you, – which was why you merely sighed in content when you saw the boys jumping around the room and banging on their chests like gorillas infected with rabies.

Jungkook was the first one who turned around when he heard the door open and, not having expected you to finally be here – just like every previous time you were late to see him, he had assumed you were dead in a ditch – he did a double take before he finally leaped across the room towards you.

“Where were you?” he asked in a frenzy as he wrapped his arms around you as if the last time he’d seen you was months ago and not just this morning over breakfast, “I thought I asked Namjoon to walk you here.”

“Sorry, I’m here,” you replied, your chest cavity always turning into mush whenever he hugged you like that. “Namjoon did walk me, but your publicist—hey, you’re dressed already, aren’t you supposed to go up on stage?”

“We are. Soon,” he said and then, not intending to make you sound guilty, he added, “I was just waiting for you.”

Your eyes widening, you scolded, “Go! You’d perform just as well without me.”

Not letting you push him away from you, he kissed you instead – just quickly enough so the other members of the group wouldn’t notice, but long enough so you’d get to taste the familiar mint and strawberry on his lips.

“I know,” he said when he pulled away.

The confident grin on his lips surprised you even though it shouldn’t have.

“Oh, you do, then?” you asked.

“I do,” he replied, still smirking. “But I still need you with me all the time.”

“Hmm, right,” you spoke. “And having me around that often is not exhausting at all?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said and, this time, he had every intention to make you feel guilty, “you keep leaving me by myself.”

Laughing because he was exaggerating and he knew it, you nodded your head in the direction of the other boys in the room – they were finished with their warm-up and were now busy making stupid expressions in the vanity mirror.

“You have your whole group with you,” you told Jungkook.

“They don’t count,” he replied dismissively.

Walking by at the right moment, Yoongi patted Jungkook’s shoulder, surprising him, “thanks a lot, friend. We’re going in five.”

He walked away before Jungkook could reply, throwing the younger boy a look over his shoulder to confirm that he’s not actually angry, but they really do need to head out now.

“Go,” you said, forcing Jungkook to return his attention to you. “Break a leg. Actually, break them both.”

He laughed, kissing you once more and not pulling away this time – not until he heard Taehyung groan dramatically as he walked past you two.

Awarding his bandmate with a roll of his eyes, Jungkook smiled at you. “I’ll see you after?”

“Of course,” you nodded.

“Promise?” he asked because this had become a ritual between you two.

“Promise,” you answered just like you’d done before every other Parental Advisory show for the past two years.

For the first time in their careers, Parental Advisory performed at one of the biggest venues in town – it took them years to get here but they always knew they would.

And yet, as they reached the middle of their set-list and paused for a ment, they still couldn’t take it all in – it felt surreal how the dozens of people who came to hear them perform had gradually turned into hundreds, making them legends on campus. And then hundreds turned into thousands, and made them into a viral sensation that virtually no one could resist singing along to.

You couldn’t help but give in to the intoxicating atmosphere as well.

The Parental Advisory performances – and the after-parties that followed; even if, nowadays, they were hosted at night clubs with the biggest capacity available in a particular town – were still an unforgettable experience, even more so when lighting and special effects were added into the mix.

Dancing along to the songs you’d heard a million times now, you cherished every second of this night as if you were never going to see it again.

But you knew you would.

The band had two more performances scheduled at this venue. And they had forty more left on the tour across the country.

Granted, they would have probably had far less if it weren’t for Namjoon.

Ever since you graduated and Jungkook managed to find a way to see eye-to-eye with Namjoon, he became one of the main reasons why Parental Advisory started to advance so quickly, releasing new songs that took the musical charts by storm and performing shows that prompted international magazines to question how it was possible for the band to fly under their radar for so long.

Namjoon never imagined himself working for a group he’d never particularly liked before, but this was precisely what he’d studied for: he knew the steps to success and he knew the people who’d help them climb those steps, too. And, as it turned out, he loved being a part of this ride as well.

The sudden mainstream popularity had come quickly but the members were ready for it.

Even Jungkook who found himself in a new sort of relationship with his father – one where they weren’t talking to each other unless it was absolutely necessary. This arrangement pleased them both but Jungkook knew it couldn’t be permanent. His father didn’t simply decide to quit talking to him; he just didn’t know how else to express his disappointment that his son had chosen his band instead of the family company.

Miraculously, Jungkook had found a way to make sure his father didn’t kick him out of the house he grew up in – the house he had just returned to – and that was when he announced that you and him were moving in together one Sunday night dinner.

His mother was overjoyed. His father – startled by the way she leaped from her seat in uncontrollable excitement – was forced to quit simmering in silent disappointment, and express his support as well. Even though it wasn’t what he was hoping for, Jungkook’s father got exactly what he wanted – his son had grown up.

As it turned out, when you agreed to help Jungkook get himself together, you weren’t doing it so he could take over the family company, but rather, so he would be able to show his father what he really wanted to achieve in life.

And he’d done that.

He’d done that so well, in fact, that both of his parents were now clapping along to the rhythm as they sat behind you, by the bar of the VIP booth. They both waved at you when you turned to look.

When you looked back at the stalls, you saw what you’d seen many times before – the people sang and danced along, their eyes burning with fires so big, it was like they were asleep before they came here, and this music was what made them finally wake up and realize that they were alive.

You would never grow tired of watching the venue come to life as soon as the band played the first few notes.

You would never grow tired of the way the members of Parental Advisory lost themselves in their audience, and the audience lost themselves in them.

And you would certainly never grow tired of that fact that every time, right before they started the encore, Jungkook would find you, wherever you were in the audience.

“I love you,” he would mouth soundlessly, and you’d hear him loud and clear, past the noisy ambiance of the venue, no matter how far away from him you were.

While the rest of the Parental Advisory members left to prepare for a long night of partying ahead, you and Jungkook left the venue on foot, purposefully choosing to take the long way home.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to go to the club?” you asked again as you walked through an empty park, holding hands and enjoying each other’s warmth on an otherwise cold night. “It’s the first performance out of three, the members will miss you.”

“They’ll be too drunk to notice I’m gone,” he replied, smirking as he added, “besides, tonight gives them an occasion to break out another bottle of absinthe and we both know how much you love that.”

Scrunching your nose, you reminded him, “I could have waited for you at home. Just because I can’t go to the party doesn’t mean you shouldn’t—”

“I need you with me at all times,” he replied, “remember?”

“I am with you at all times,” you said.

“Except when you’re off breaking records at work,” Jungkook teased.

You lowered your eyes and did not get to see the way his face beamed with pride. You’d become the youngest Team Manager the company’s ever had, and you’d done that on your own, choosing to find a workplace where you could try to build your career from the ground up, instead of getting an—unfair—advantage of working for Jungkook’s father.

Your promotion came several months ago now, but Jungkook was still proud.

“I’ve only broken one,” you replied humbly, “and it hardly counts. Soon enough, there will come someone who’ll become Team Manager at an even younger age than me.”

“Still,” Jungkook shrugged, gently rocking your intertwined hands back and forth as you walked down the deserted park. “I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like because you’re working all of the time. I’m not even sure if you eat at all when you’re away from home.”

“We always have dinner together,” you reminded him with a smile – because coming home to him has been the favorite part of your day – and then added as an afterthought, “hasn’t it been two years that we’ve been together?”

“You counted?” he asked, a teasing grin on his lips. “How sick of me are you?”

“A little,” you joked, and then had to run after him as Jungkook dramatically dropped your hand and broke into a run, putting more distance between you. 

Catching up with him, you grabbed his arm with both of yours and forced him to slow down. “Hey, come on! You know I’m joking!”

Your voice was full of humor and so was his when he replied, “your jokes were always terrible.”

It was your turn to let go of him as you took a step back and demanded, “you take that back!”

Laughing, Jungkook walked towards you so he could envelope you in a hug, all while you watched him with mock-offence. He pulled away from the hug a second later to wipe the expression off your face by pressing his lips to yours.

“It has been two years,” he said then, keeping his arms comfortably wrapped around your waist, “and somehow I’m still not used to the fact that we can just… do whatever we want together. Stand here like this. Jump into that pile of old leaves if we feel like it.”

Laughing, you shook your head.

“Maybe let’s do the leaves some other time,” you said, leaning into him by resting your head against his shoulder. “Unless we’re much more used to each other in a few years and we don’t want to roll around in leaves anymore.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” he replied, closing his eyes for a moment when the smell of your hair reached his senses. He hadn’t gotten used to that, either. “I think this is something that I’ll always have a hard time believing to be real.”

You could feel the way your heart rate slowed down when you leaned against him. It suddenly seemed impossible that, just a few years ago, enjoying each other’s company in an empty park in the middle of the night, would have been merely a dream – something you woke up from when morning came.

“Maybe it’s because there are no people around,” you suggested, “and that’s why this feels surreal.”

“No, it’s like this all the time,” Jungkook disagreed, exhaling as he put one of his hands on the back of your head, holding you against him. “It makes sense, though, doesn’t it?”

Distracted by the feeling of him so close, you mumbled, “what does?”

“The disbelief,” he said. “I mean, two years ago, would you have thought we’d be here? Standing like this, under this leafless willow tree, probably looking sort of creepy to anyone who might walk by?”

Chuckling when he turned something that could have been romantic into a potential to get arrested, you shook your head against his shoulder. “No. I definitely didn’t. But I’m glad we are. Even if we look creepy.”

“Hmm,” caressing your hair, he hummed with a satisfied smile, “I’m glad, too.”

“Do you think we’ll still be here another two years later?” you asked. “Looking creepy to anyone who might walk by?”

It was Jungkook who couldn’t resist laughing this time as he replied, “I hope so.”

He wasn’t certain – he didn’t promise you that you would definitely still be here – and perhaps that made sense, too. He said he’d never lie to you and you couldn’t expect him to start now, not even if a promise of forever would have been the appropriate thing to give in a situation like this.

“I’d like that, though,” he added after a moment. “I’d like to think you’d have enough patience to deal with me for another two years.”

You were about to smile at the on-going joke about how you were “putting up” with him, but then stopped yourself because, truth be told, it wasn’t funny. Not in this context and, actually, not in any context at all.

“You’re not a nuisance to me,” you told him--as you have a dozen times before--but your voice was too quiet to make it sound as impactful as you’d hoped, so you added, louder, “I love you.”

“I know,” he replied and continued, in an almost defensive manner, “but, because we’d already been apart from each other before, it’s hard to just start believing that we have a happily ever after ahead of us. You know what I mean?”

You pulled your head away from his shoulder and looked at him. “That’s—”

“But,” he cut you off after catching the terror in your eyes, “at the same time, if we’d never separated before, it’s possible that we wouldn’t be here at all right now. So, maybe it was all meant to be.”

“Do you really believe that?” you asked, not concealing your skepticism and the fear that was still present in your chest after he’d revealed that he didn’t believe in your happy ending. “Do you think it was necessary for us to spend some time apart so we could find ourselves here?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I’d like to think that everything happens for a reason and that every action leads to something else. Sort of like a Butterfly Effect. So, maybe suffering for seven years was worth it because it prepared us for a lifetime of happiness ahead.”

He could see the way your face contorted painfully for just a second – you were always sensitive when it came to cliché lines – and it brought a smile to his face. He was happy, and even more so when he realized that, two years later, you had learned how to talk about your seven-year break without suffocating.

Two years later, it became one of the obstacles you had overcome. One of many, maybe, but if you’d survived that, there was little you couldn’t survive.

“I don’t think suffering of any kind should be worth it in the end. I think it’d be better if we didn’t suffer at all,” you argued but then settled, a moment later, “I do agree that unhappiness makes you appreciate happiness more, though.”

“See?” he grinned, choosing to consider this as a compromise. “Meant to be.”

“Well, since it sounds like the universe loves kicking us where it hurts the most,” you spoke, the smile on his face easing the anxiety that his previous uncertainty about your future had brought, “why don’t we go for those additional two years, too? Or more if we’re lucky. Even if we aren’t really meant to be. Especially if we aren’t. Just to spit the universe in the face.”

Laughing, Jungkook hugged you tighter until you were pressed against him and could no longer see his face.

“We are lucky,” he said, cherishing every moment with you because he never knew how many more of them he’d get, and that was okay, because he stood here, holding you tightly in his arms, and nothing else existed to him but this moment. He finished, “but only because we decide to be.”

“Yeah?” you played along, hugging him back with an equal amount of love and force. You’d unintentionally started a war of Who Could Squeeze The Other One Tighter. He was winning as you asked breathlessly, “so, there’s no such thing as destiny, then?”

“No, there is,” he replied, letting go of you when he realized that his grip on you might have really done some serious damage to your lungs. You were smiling when you pulled away from the hug, however. He added, “I’m the one who gets to decide what my destiny is, though.”

“And what’s that?” you asked.

“Yo—”

“If you say ‘you’,” you gave him a warning look, “I will smack you.”

He laughed, puffing his chest in preparation for a punch that he knew might come; you weren’t really kidding about these things.

“That’s mean,” he said then, and, as a ploy to extract pity – but also because it was the truth – he added, “I love you.”

Naturally, you replied, “I love you more.”

Naturally, he protested, “no, you don’t.”

It annoyed you that he always did this but, at the same time, it was such a familiar trait of this, that right here, right now, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth in your chest spread to your face as you smiled, despite yourself.

“I do,” you argued, still grinning.

“You don’t,” Jungkook insisted.

“I do.”

“You d—”

Knowing what was coming – and how long it’d be before you’d reach the end of this argument – you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, promptly shutting him up.

When you heard him inhale in surprise, his lips moving against yours to respond to the kiss, you pulled away.

Breathless, even though his lungs were full of oxygen, Jungkook nodded, impressed.

“Nice,” he commented.

“Yeah?” you snickered. “Maybe I’ll use that to win all arguments against you.”

“Cool,” he agreed. “Maybe I’ll use that to start more arguments with you.”

Thrilled to feel that excited jump of your heart each time you naturally slipped back into flirting – even two years after you started to date – you bit back, “more than you do now? Impossible.”

Raising his eyebrows, he returned to his College Frat Boy roots as he inquired, “is that a challenge?”

Laughing, you pulled away from him far enough so he couldn’t reach you, only to end up right by his side again when he took both of your hands into his, not letting you stray too far from him.

“Is everything a challenge with you?” you countered, the feeling of his warm hands against your cold ones comforting.

“It is,” he said, serious. “And I’m winning.”

“How so?” you asked.

“I have you.”

You looked ready to punch him again so Jungkook took both of your wrists into one of his hands and covered his face with his free hand, blocking his view of your defeated expression as you groaned and rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t a challenge,” you replied, choosing to avoid violence when you knew he was strong – and dedicated – enough to lift you up and throw you over his shoulder if he felt like it.

“You were,” he disagreed, dropping his hand to his side. “Admit it, you thought you’d be insane to let me back into your life.”

“I still think so sometimes.”

You were joking and he couldn’t lose the cheerful tone of his voice, either, as he asked, “do you regret it?”

“Abandoning my sanity to be with you?” you clarified.

Snorting, Jungkook nodded.

“No,” you answered without a second thought. “Even though I probably should.”

Laughing – because he didn’t think he was ever happier than he was in that moment; although, to be fair, he felt so about every moment with you – Jungkook hugged you tighter, spinning you around in a half-circle so unexpectedly, you squealed at the feeling of your feet leaving the ground for a full second.

“I love you,” he said once he put you down and pressed his forehead against yours. “My destiny isn’t just a few more years with you. It’s a few more decades. And now that I’ve said it out loud, it has to come true.”

Closing your eyes, you tried to catch your breath and felt yourself smile even though your stomach contracted unpleasantly when Jungkook purposefully chose to voice his thoughts in the cheesiest way he could manage.

“I love you more,” you told him and then, realizing your recklessness, rushed to add, “and don’t you dare—”

“No, you don’t.”

He was provoking you and you knew it but, honest to all that was holy, you didn’t mind it one bit. 

Pressing a kiss to his lips to distract him and change the topic, you felt Jungkook hold onto you tighter as he smiled into the kiss, thus confirming that this was precisely what he was hoping would happen.

“I’ll take it I win, then,” he said after you pulled away to take a breath and felt the cold breeze on your face.

“Let’s talk about that home,” you replied. “I’m cold.”

“Yeah?” he let go of you so he could zip your jacket up to the very top and then unfold your collar so it would cover up more of your neck. Then, once he was content with the amount of warmth your jacket could provide, he took your hand again. “Let’s go home.”

fin.

masterlist

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 7

Day 7 - There is a string tied around your pinky that only you can see, the end of it leads to your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Kid AU! Intrulogical

TWs: Remus being Remus [though not overly so, he’s like, 9 here], some swearing

–

Remus Castillo and Logan Smith were two very different children; former was creative and bursting with chaotic energy, while the latter preferred to be more logical, more stable. One studied hard into the night despite his young years, the other decided that a good time was filling a blender with crayons and silly putty to see what would happen. Both attended different schools, lived a good distance apart, and neither of their families knew the other existed.

What could possibly bring together such opposing forces?

If your answer wasn’t being forcibly dragged kicking and screaming from the local museum by security for tampering with the exhibits and screaming about historical theft, then congratulations; you’re most likely still sane.

How did these very different children meet, you ask? 

The story began on a Friday lunchtime - as all good stories often do - when Sanders Elementary and Faraday Academy For Gifted Children both booked their museum visits for the same time slot. Thankfully, the museum staff speculated that they could indeed handle two classes of fourth graders at once - those poor, unfortunate souls - and decided to start both classes off on either sides of the museum with a little overlap.

Logan entered the foyer with his peers, gazing around at the array of trinkets and treasures adorning the space. Though he hungered for knowledge of all kinds, his heart was set on the cosmos, reaching for a copy of the museum’s map when his hand was blocked by another. He recoiled and turned to face the other; a boy with tanned skin as opposed to his own pasty complexion, with wild green eyes that bore into Logan’s own, and a grin like a shark about to snap Logan’s hand up in it’s jaws.

“I call dibs, four eyes!”

Logan huffed, straightening his glasses, “There are plenty of maps to go around, there is no need for rudeness-”

“Why do you talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass?”, the boy asked with no hint of remorse nor shame, “Just talk like a regular kid, jeez!”

Logan was flabbergasted. No one had ever talked to him like that before. Then again, no one ever really talked to him in general. Perhaps that was why his lonely little brain could only think to stammer out, 

“Who ARE you!?”

The boy roared with laughter, “Wow, thats all you have to say!? And they call ME weird!” , he shot a hand out towards Logan’s, not removing the one touching the map, “I’m Remus! What’s your name, frankenstein?”

Logan huffed, “Logan Smith. And you know,”, he began, puffing his chest out proudly as he yanked the map away, “Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster, therefore, you’re not insulting me-”

Without hesitation, Remus leant into Logan’s space and licked the map, causing Logan to jolt back and drop it. Picking up his spoils, Remus chuckled manically, “You look smart but you’re super dumb. Frankenstein IS the monster, dumbass, that’s the whole point.”. Without waiting for Logan’s rebuttal, Remus made his way back to his class, leaving Logan to frustratedly grab another map and return to his class, unaware of the string that formed around his pinky…

The tour was everything Logan had hoped for; an informative romp through space and time, enjoying the sights of the planetarium and a walk through a tunnel lined with geodes. And yet, all Logan could think about was that stupid boy who stole HIS map. Hmph! How dare Remus call him stupid! Whatever, at least they would stop soon to have lunch in the Polar Exhibit and he wouldn’t have to think about- 

Oh god dammit.

As they entered the wide circular room, he laid eyes on the boy from before pretending to have gotten his tongue stuck to the giant fake iceberg in the centre of the room. Cheering him on was a gaggle of other children while their teacher seemed more content to just eat his own lunch and try to pretend it wasn’t his problem. Logan huffily stormed over to the nearest empty seat and popped open his Big Hero Six lunchbox, ready to moodily munch his jelly sandwiches when a painfully familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“We meet again, professor!”

Great.

“Remus.”, Logan hissed, though he tried to maintain composure, “A pleasure, I’m sure but I must be-”

“- crazy to run away from your soulmate?”, Remus finished, leaving Logan, once again, speechless.

“E-Excuse me!?”

“Check your pinkie, dingus.”

Logan checked and finally noticed the string, and to his horror, the end of it that tied itself around Remus’ pinkie.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for life! Unless I die, then you’re stuck with my corpse. Oooh! Maybe you can bring me back to life! Really earn that Frankenstein nickname-”

“This HAS to be a mistake!”, Logan squeaked, flustered and shocked by the news, “There’s no way YOU are my soulmate!”

Logan made eye contact with Remus and for a moment the boy looked hurt, but he plastered on a grin and poked Logan in the arm, “Nope! Fate thinks you’re my future husband, so suck it!”

Groaning, Logan let out an exasperated sigh, “Fine, then I suppose you should tell me about yourself, Remus.”. Logan would - for eternity and a day after - deny that the smile Remus gave him made his little heart flutter for the first time.

As the two ate, Remus went into a long tangent about his life and Logan found himself absolutely fascinated. 

Remus Castillo had a twin brother, Roman, who enjoyed Disney movies and being “an overly wordy drama queen”. They had a single father, much like Logan’s own, whose wife had apparently decided she was destined for greater things that didn’t involve unplanned twin boys (Remus’ words, not his). Logan listened as Remus told him all about his family’s culture, having moved from Aguascalientes to Florida a year ago for work related reasons; retelling fond memories of watching the parade of Calaveras along the Avenida Madero with his father and brother each year. Logan found Remus really enjoyed a mixture of colourful and morbid subjects, each tangent sending Remus on a fun winding road down memory lane or through a vague memory of some educational book.

Logan Smith had wanted nothing to do with the boy who’d licked his hand and stolen his map, but as lunch ended and both classes were being called away to their respective classes, he found he didn’t want to be separated from Remus.

Very apparently, Remus didn’t want to either. If they way he was gasping Logan’s arm and hauling him towards the class from Sanders Elementary instead of his own was any indicator. 

“Come on! You can hang with us! Roman won’t mind! And my buddy Remy’s lotsa fun too-”

“Remus Castillo, stop right there.”

Remus indignantly ignored his teacher, plowing through his sentence, “You’ll LOVE my class, they’re all weirdos like us-”

“REMUS!”, barked his teacher, already done with the nine year old terror, “You let that boy go this instant!”

Remus defiantly clung tighter to Logan’s arm, “No!”

“Remus Castillo, you’re to let go NOW.”

“But he’s my soulmate!”, Remus yelled, causing his classmates to chatter excitedly. It made Logan feel a little self conscious, but Remus didn’t seem to care, “Pleeeeease let him come with us!!”

His teacher rubbed his temples as if it could massage the exhaustion away, “That’s nice, but you are NOT going to cause more trouble, soulmate or not!”

By now, even the children and teacher from Logan’s academy were watching the commotion. It came to a head as Remus’ teacher tried to separate the two of them, earning the tiniest war cry from Remus as he stomped on his teacher’s foot and clung fully to Logan like his life depended on it.

“I’M NOT LEAVING WITHOUT HIM! I’LL STAY HERE UNTIL WE’RE A GROSS MUSHY PILE OF SKIN AND BONES IF I HAVE TO!”

With that pleasant image in his brain, Logan decided to perhaps appeal to his own teacher,

“Miss, can Remus perhaps stay with our group so we may avoid further-”

“Absolutely not,”, she turned up her nose at Remus’ display, “Our school has a reputation to uphold, I will not have it sullied by such a rude child.”

Well that backfired. Now both teachers were having to try and separate the two of them. It took two of the museum’s security personnel to finally haul Remus off of Logan, carrying the writhing child as they assured his teacher that they’d put him in the tantrum room. With the way they handled his feral yelling and attempts to grab at any nearby exhibits for something he could use to bash them with, this probably wasn’t their first Rabid Child Rodeo.

Logan watched dejectedly as they hauled his soulmate out of sight while his teacher ordered him to get in line as they continued their tour. He couldn’t focus on any of the various bewitching artifacts that the guide presented to them on their tour of the ancient world though, all he could think about was Remus. Alone. Stuck in some room. Missing out on the exhibits. Missing him.

“....Emile?”, Logan asked the boy standing to his left.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I’m about to do something very, very impulsive.”

“.... Okay?”

“And reckless.”

“...Right-”

“In the name of fate.”

“........”, Emile sighed, “What do you need me to do?”

“Either talk me out of what is likely a terrible decision that will without a doubt go on my permanent record and possibly disappoint my father. Or encourage me so that I may spend time with my soulmate for as long as possible.”

Emile shook his head, “Well, if cartoons have taught me anything, it’s that you’re gonna go for it no matter what I say so...”. He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder, “Make it good, Logan, I wanna remember the day the untouchable Logan Smith lost his mind.”. With a shared chuckle, Emile let him wind up for whatever he was about to do, while Logan waited for his moment. The tour guide was gesturing to an exhibit of ancient Mayan armour when Logan chose to strike, raising his hand while Emile awaited the fireworks show to come.

“Sir? I have a question.“

“Of course, what is it?”

“Did the museum ask permission to have that armour?”

The guide looked confused while Logan’s teacher looked ready to have an aneurysm.

“I… don’t understand what you mean. Anyway this-”

“I’m merely asking,”, Logan interrupted, ready to keep pushing until he would be  hauled off by security, “because I believe that if it were my culture being mercilessly appropriated and stolen from, I would be rather upset.”

“We’re allowed to have it because it’s for education-”

“But it’s still stealing. And stealing is always wrong, correct?”

“Well, it-”

“It’s a yes or no question, please answer as such-”

-

Remus hadn’t expected company in the tantrum room, but he wasn’t complaining as Logan was marched in, looking positively proud of himself in spite of the way the security guard nearly tossed him inside with obvious frustration. With a bright grin, Remus pat the beanbag next to him, positively writhing with unbridled joy, “Spill! What’d you do?!”.

Logan tried to play stoic and prideful, but the excitement cracked through in his voice, “I merely inquired as to why museums considered their historical thievery to be ethically justified until the tour guide got angry and attempted to ignore me.”. “Sick!! Then what!?”, Remus’ delighted eyes met Logan’s with a similar sparkle of mischief.

Logan chuckled as he admired their string of fate, as people called it, slowly pulling his eyes from it to meet Remus’ again, “I screamed. Loudly. For quite the duration. I must say, I’m rather proud of my own lung capacity.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in it.

“Naturally, security came to try and calm the situation.”

“And then they brought you here?”

“No, they attempted to calm me down”, Logan snickered, “But, one of them put a hand on my shoulder rather rudely. So I bit them-” “YOU BIT ‘EM!?”, if Logan could bottle the light that radiated from Remus there and then, he would have, his own smile growing while his soulmate’s grin threatened to tear through his cheeks, “Logan, mi alma, you’re insane! I love it!”

“Mi alma?”, Logan queried, his cheeks losing the great blush war as his face radiated a nice rosy crimson.

“Oh, right!”, Remus explained, “It means ‘my soul’, it’s what people call their boyfriends ‘n’ stuff back home. I figured since you’re my soulmate, it makes sense to call you that!”

For a moment, Remus faltered, “Uh…. if you don’t mind I guess? It’s whatever, I’ll stop if you hate it-”

“No, no, I rather appreciate the sentiment,” , Logan awkwardly smiled back at Remus, “Mi alma?”

The wilder of the two threw his head back in a roar laughter, “Man, your pronunciation sucks! And that’s an easy one!“, he teased as he shuffled his beanbag closer to Logan’s and continued with a wild smile, “Looks like I gotta stay with you for sure now and make sure you get it right! You’re stuck with me, Nerdy Wolverine!”

It would be hard work convincing his father to let him move schools to be with Remus, Logan knew that. Despite the fact his father adored love in all forms and regarded the bond of soulmates as sacred, Logan knew it’d logically be a hard sell to ask his father to not only pull him out of an expensive academy, but also to have him possibly move home or make a rather lengthy commute. 

But as Remus’ had met Logan’s, the latter found himself locking fingers with his wild soulmate, banishing that thought while they still had time together. Whether it would work out right away, after a couple of months, or even over the course of a few years, they’d make it work.

“Falsehood,”, Logan smirked, “I believe it’s you that’s stuck with me.”

-----------

Okay, this one’s the cutest thing hands down. I’m so proud of this one! As a tidbit, I had it in mind that their single fathers were Janus for the twins and Patton for Logan. 

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses

[rhysismydaddy]

Fanny Pack Sexiness (Nessian Smut)

Prompt: *sensually unclips fanny pack* this is weird, i know. but i just saw a tweet and i thought if anyone could write this, it would be you.

Laughed so hard when I read this. If this isn’t Nessian, I don’t know what is. NSFW warning because I do love a fanny pack moment ;)

_________________________________________________________

Nesta glared out the window, keeping her unspoken vow to not look over at the atrocity that was her boyfriend. 

Well, that wasn’t not fair. 

The boyfriend himself was actually pretty nice to look at. 

Broad shoulders, a tall frame filled with meaty muscle, curly brown hair, and golden eyes made him interesting enough, she supposed. 

But it was what the bastard had chosen to wear that had driven her insane all day. 

The monstrosity was strapped around his waist currently, and she could’ve sworn it was laughing up at her. 

Consider this the first and last time she would ever travel with him. 

Because since it wasn’t obvious enough they were American, Cassian had chosen to wear a fanny pack. Over an I <3 LONDON shirt. Which he’d paired with khakis. 

He looked like the cover of a tourist’s guide made for forty year-old, single men who lived with their mothers. 

And she knew it was at least partly her fault he was dressed so stupidly, but she refused to apologize. 

Last night, they’d been heading out to dinner, when she commented that almost always, he wore all black. Honestly, it wasn’t even a complaint, considering she was guilty of the same thing. 

Why bother trying to put together prints and fabrics and colors, when black looked so nice on her? 

Anyway. She hadn’t been complaining. Teasing, but not complaining. 

But noooo. He’d immediately gotten that annoying, competitive look in his eyes that both made her smile and want to strangle him. 

“What would you like me to wear, Nesta?” he’d asked, golden eyes practically glowing. 

She’d sighed, probably making things worse. “I’m just saying, we look a little goth when we’re together.”

Cassian had just smiled down at her, then walked out of their room. She hadn’t thought any more of it when he’d slipped back in later that night, but then this morning, when he’d gotten dressed in the bathroom and opened the door with a flourish, she’d almost hit the floor. 

He was not built for fanny packs and khakis. 

He was built for... well, he was built to be naked all the time, but since that would probably get them sent back to the states, tight black shirts and jeans was a decent second option.

Plus, as if it weren’t bad enough already, he’d been adding to the ensemble all day, building up to the horrendous outfit she was currently avoiding looking at. 

His faded combat boots had been replaced with flip flops. His hair was tucked under a very large hat with a Big Ben outline across the front. He’d even stopped to buy a fucking old-fashioned pipe from the William Blake exhibit they’d gone to see. 

He was trying to drive her crazy. 

But little did he know, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. After three years together, she knew how to drive him crazy, too. 

So she’d plotted and schemed all day. And as they rode back to their hotel in the cab, it was finally time for it to come into play. 

Trying to be discrete, she nodded at the driver.

Cassian’s eyes shot to her as the man slammed on the brakes. It had costed her twenty Euros, but seeing the look of shock on her boyfriend’s face was so worth it. 

Especially as she shouted, “Drive him to the other side of the city and kick him out!”

And jumped from the cab. 

It was still moving a little, but she’d been prepared and hit the ground at a run. 

Manic laughter came out of her as Cassian turned around in the now-speeding cab, shouting something unintelligible back at her. 

He wanted to dress like a tacky tourist and drive her crazy? 

Fine. 

She’d just have to show him what he was missing out on. 

~

A little over an hour later, the door to their hotel room swung open, hitting the wall angrily. 

“That asshole took me halfway to fucking Essex, then had the audacity to charge me for the ride. Next time you have someone kidnap me, at least pay the fee, woman! I swear-”

Whatever he was about to say lodged in his throat as he took a look at what she was wearing. 

It was all new, and his eyes took in every piece of the wardrobe with a predatory gleam that sent her toes curling. But she acted unaffected, even as she bent down to fix the strap of her very high, very uncomfortable shoes. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice rough. 

Straightening, she shrugged and fluffed her hair. “I’m going to dinner.”

“You mean we’re going to dinner.”

Finally. 

Nesta turned towards her boyfriend, enjoying the way his eyes dipped to the almost indecent amount of cleavage on display. 

She traced her eyes over his entire rumpled, touristy outfit. “I’m not going in public with you while I look like this and you look like that.” 

His eyes narrowed as he finally caught on to what she’d done. “I’ll change then.”

It was a struggle not to laugh. “Well, you seemed so intent on replacing your wardrobe, I figured I’d help you out and dumped your suitcase.”

That was a lie. It was safely hidden down at the front desk. 

“You did what?”

Ignoring the question, she said, “You’re welcome. And since you can neither change nor go like that, I guess I’ll just see you later.”

Making her way to the door, she was abruptly stopped by a hand smacking into the wall closest to her, an arm now blocking her path. “Nesta Archeron, you are not going out looking like a goddamn supermodel while I sit here with my thumbs up my ass.”

“How you fill the alone time is irrelevant to me, Cassian.”

His other hand made its way to the wall, too, caging her in. 

“I know you wouldn’t throw my clothes out. Where are they? Tell me, and we’ll go to dinner.”

She shrugged, resolve to keep the secret building by the second. 

She was aware they were both a little competitive, but she didn’t care. She was winning this, one way or the other. He’d admit he’d been wrong to dress like an idiot today, then--and only then--she’d give him his clothes back. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he told her, the tone of his voice proving that it was working. 

He was suddenly so close she couldn’t think about anything else. 

Even dressed in head to toe tacky, he somehow managed to suck all the air out of her lungs. 

One hand turned his hat backwards so the brim wouldn’t poke her, and he leaned in close enough to run his nose down her neck. 

“Tell me, Nesta.”

“No.”

His teeth nipped at her skin, and she shivered. “Do I need to fuck it out of you?”

Gods, yes. Please. 

That hadn’t been her plan at all, but her body was more than on board with it. 

Except there was a bit of a problem. 

“You are not fucking me with a fanny pack on, hate to break it to you.”

Cassian pulled back far enough to wink at her, then his mouth was on hers, dominating her in the way that she’d only ever let him do. He pressed her against the wall, chest tight against hers, as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. 

Hands on her waist lifted her, and then she was being thrown halfway across the room onto the neatly-made bed. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, she glared over at him. 

“I was being serious, Cassian. You’re not getting any while you’re dressed like Uncle Sam.”

He swaggered over to the foot of the bed, the comment not at all impacting his confidence. 

“Allow me to remedy the problem then, princess.”

The hat’s the first to go, and it was a relief to see his unruly hair finally free. She heard the slap of his flip flops on the floor and figured he kicked them off, too. Cassian tugged the horrible, bright yellow “I <3 LONDON” shirt over his head, then stared at her, eyes narrowed. 

“I’m keeping the fanny pack.”

It was adorable how wrong he was. 

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta leaned back and let her thighs fall open, keying him into the fact that she’d somehow forgotten to put on underwear tonight. 

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move to take off the damn pack. 

So she ran a manicured nail over her bottom lip, then slipped it in her mouth and sucked on it. She was pretty sure Cassian was about to pass out as she released it with a pop, then brought it between her legs. 

“Nesta.”

“Hmm?” she responded, the sound drawn out and breathy as she pushed the finger inside herself. 

“I like the fanny pack.” He sounded so sad, it was almost comical. Like a kid on Christmas who’d just been told Santa hadn’t come.

Too bad.

“Then stand there and watch.”

Oh, he did. His eyes were intent on her hands, both the one between her legs and the other that made it’s way to her breast. 

She rolled a nipple between her fingers and groaned, and he leaned down to fist the sheets at the end of the bed in his hands. “Fuck.”

Nesta refused to give first. Absolutely refused. 

And she knew what it would take for him to give in. So she added another finger, back arching off the bed, and worked herself until she was so close she couldn’t stay still. 

His knuckles were white as he gripped the comforter tight enough to threaten the strands, but it wasn’t that that forced him to lose their little battle. 

It was the sight of her coming undone before him. 

She moaned, and it might’ve been his name that fell from her lips, as release found her. When she heard the strangled, creative curse he let out, she knew she’d won. 

Forcing her eyes open, she watched as he finally unhooked the fanny pack and let it drop to the floor. 

It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. 

Cassian quickly kicked off his hideous khakis, then prowled up her body, dropping little love bights on her thighs, her hips, her breasts. 

“That was so hot,” he groaned as he settled between her thighs, bracing himself on his elbows. 

“That was the idea, idiot.”

He stopped for a moment, pulling back to give her a sour look. “I think I’m going to make you apologize for that.”

Before she could tell him there was a fat chance of that happening, he pushed into her. Nesta gasped, and his mouth was suddenly on hers, absorbing the sound. 

After a brief moment to adjust, his hips grew rough against hers, the grip he had on them almost bruising, but she didn’t care. 

“Fuck, Cass,” she groaned, arching into his touch as he drew little circles on the bundle of nerves between her legs. 

He picked up speed, pounding into her so hard she started shifting up the bed until he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her in place. 

Release started building up in her, and she could tell it would be almost too intense when it crested. But just before she got to find out, he slowed his rhythm, swirling his hips slowly against hers. 

An indignant, hateful sound left her mouth, and he pulled back enough to smirk down at her. 

“Say it,” he commanded, eyes like molten caramel as they watched her hips try to gain more friction. “Say you’re sorry, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Fuck you,” she panted, barely resisting the urge to punch him. “You insufferable, arrogant bastard.”

“Not exactly what I want to hear, but close.”

A maddeningly slow circle of his hips had her regretting ever going out with him. 

Another had her planning his murder.

Yet another had her cursing the day he was born.

“Say it, Nesta. You know you want to.” He dipped his head to kiss the base of her throat. 

Her body was so strung out it was a miracle she didn’t burst into tears, but she somehow managed to hold off for another few minutes.

But then he grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head and all but growled, “Just fucking say it. Say it so I can fuck you like you deserve.”

And she was just desperate enough that she said, “I’m sorry I called you an idiot, you horrible asshole.”

He smiled down at her, and she glared. “Such beautiful words.”

“Cassian, I swear-”

The words became lost in her throat as he finally, finally started moving again, somehow harder and quicker than before. 

Release immediately crashed into her, and she moaned as she drew tight around him. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, and even though she currently hated him, the words just made the release that much sweeter. 

Especially as he didn’t stop. Her body was trembling underneath his, but he kept going, even dipping his head to kiss his way down to her breasts. 

His tongue swirled around the peak of one, and she groaned loudly as the wave inside her seemed to crash once more, leaving her scattered and broken in the aftermath. 

Cassian finally followed her lead, collapsing on top of her and pressing her into the mattress below as he said her name in a helpless, loving sort of way. 

Their breath was uncontrolled and loud, and it took a few minutes before either of them could speak. 

Then he asked roughly, “Now, where’d you hide my shit?”

“Front desk,” she panted, pushing her hair off her forehead with a tired hand. 

He drew back, looking over her partially-clothed body in a satisfied, male way that made her smile. “I really like that dress, in case it isn’t obvious. Want me to go change so we can eat something?”

Before she could respond, his mouth was at her ear, hot breath raising goosebumps across her skin. “Or do you just want to eat here?”

Suddenly, food was the last thing on her mind. 

Her hands found their way to his hair as she drew him back down to her. 

“Just get it tomorrow,” she murmured, lips finding his again. “And never wear that fanny pack again.”

_________________________________________________________

Like I said, I had WAY too much fun writing this hahaha. Kinda really loosely based on when Joey (Friends) went to London and dressed like a tourist :)

Tags: @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @highqueenofelfhame @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[aceofspadegrass]

Blueberry Pancakes Taste Great

Characters: Tatta Koudai, Niragi Suguru, Chishiya Shuntaro.

Genre: Fluff. Tatta is making pancakes. And eats them. :D

1.5k words

Tatta is allowed to vibe. He deserves it.

It was a normal day, people going around and doing whatever they pleased within the Beach, drinking and partying away their woes and stress. This even included Tatta, who was wandering around looking for something to do. Of course, he could have always tried to go find Arisu, or perhaps hang out with some of the people he befriended there at the Beach, but Arisu was busy doing something and he didn’t feel like finding anyone else at the moment.

He passes by the kitchen, and he glances at the door, his tummy lightly grumbling. It couldn’t hurt to make himself something to eat, could it?

Tatta smiles to himself, and he heads inside, quickly going to the pantries and fridge to see what they had. It was decently stocked, but of course it had to be, people needed to eat, and nothing gets people more than starvation. He pulls out a bottle of instant pancake mix, the kind that only needed water to activate and a good shake. “ Yeah, this should work.” Tatta says to himself, and he goes to grab a bottle of water. Opening the pancake bottle, he pours in the needed amount of water, then snaps the pancake bottle shut. He makes sure the bottle was completely sealed to avoid making a huge mess, and with a satisfied hum, he starts shaking it like he was trying to get the last few spurts of ketchup out of the bottle.

It takes him a few minutes, but finally Tatta fed satisfied that it was shaken up enough, setting it down as he glances to the stove. Which he quickly realized that he hadn’t even touched yet. “ Oh- I forgot to turn it on- And grab a pan!” He chuckles to himself for this minor mistake, and goes to grab a decent and clean pan, setting it over the stove. He switches it on, the stove clicking and then bursting to life, and Tatta waits patiently until the pan was heated up enough.

In the meantime, he putters around the kitchen in search of any toppings. He finds a carton of blueberries that looked okay, and he beams widely, setting them down next to the pancake bottle. “ Blueberry pancakes it is!” He chirps, and he goes back to looking around for other things.

In the end, he finds some honey, which was a treat in of itself, Tatta setting the bear shaped container down on the countertop. He goes back to the pan and hovers his hand over the metal. It radiated heat, and Tatta turns down the heat a little so he wouldn’t accidentally burn his pancake mix. He quickly grabs a plate for easier transfer, and with the pancake bottle in one hand and a spatula in the other, he was ready for pancake making.

The process itself was easy: Tip the nozzle over the pan and squeeze a pancake amount of pancake, quickly drop a few blueberries in before it cooks too long, then flip. Repetitive and easy to follow, and a little fun as well. Tatta was absolutely vibing to himself making several pancakes, and even switched it up with a few plain ones. They were still beautiful as the ones with the blue decor.

Finally, the bottle ran dry, and Tatta had a rather decent size of pancakes cheerfully settled on the plate, Tatta shutting off the oven and smiling to himself, his tummy grumbling in anticipation.

He leaves the pan on the stove, but does dump the spatula into the sink to clean up later. As much as he wanted to clean it *now*, he figured it’d be easier to clean up after he finished his pancakes. Maybe someone else may come and eventually clean it, which was equally as okay, although Tatta felt a little bad having a mess for someone else to take care of.

But right now, he was ready for some pancakes. He grabs the bottle of honey and pops open the cap, tilting it over the pancakes. The honey was slow, almost tantalizing and teasing as it fell from the head of the bear, until finally it hit the pancakes, Tatta swaying the bottle back and forth to get a nice and succulent drizzle. It took multiple swipes and Tatta getting a little distracted by how good it looked before he was satisfied and put away the honey bottle, picking up his masterpiece of pancakes with honey drizzle.

Tatta grabs a fork and ends leaves the kitchen, deciding to stroll a little while he ate. It wasn’t bad, the pancakes cooked perfectly and tasting absolutely delicious for some instant mix. The blueberries gave the right pop of extra flavour, and the sweetness of the honey made Tatta smile happily as he wandered through the Beach with his pancakes.

Suprisingly, not a lot of people were inside the building, the majority likely outside or at the more ‘fun’ areas, so Tatta got to have a peaceful stroll through the Beach. Somehow, he ends up near the upper levels, where he could see the lobby below, but he continues to consume his pancakes.

Now, as he did, he spots a familiar dark shirt coming from the other end of the hall, and he makes sure to not attract the attention of the other man, but unfortunately for him, he was spotted, and suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, Tatta looking up to Niragi smirking at him.

“ Now what the hell are you doing, eh?” Niragi asks, Tatta smiling and slightly lifting the plate of pancakes as if to show the other man. “ Eating pancakes. They’re actually pretty good!” Tatta tells him with a smile, hoping that he wouldn’t get on Niragi’s nerve enough for him to use that rifle the other always carried.

Niragi looks down at the plate, and scoffs, glancing up at Tatta again. “ Oh yeah? And wandering around so aimlessly? Weirdo.” Tatta just continues to smile at Niragi, and cuts a little of the pancake, taking a bite. Niragi just continues to stare, then scoffs again, backing up and looking at the shorter male. “ And is it good?” Tatta nods, and takes another bite, chewing casually. It was very much good. Niragi looks down at the pancakes again, and raises an eyebrow.

“ Why the fuck are you eating it like that.” “ Eating it like what?” Niragi points to the pancake. “ You’re cutting from the top layer to the bottom and leaving the lower sections whole. What the fuck kind of person eats pancakes like that?” Tatta looks down at the pancakes, then shrugs. “ I mean, they’re pancakes, and some of them are blueberry, see? So I’m not really missing a lot if I eat them however I want. The top has honey, but some are on the side so I can always mop those up-“ A hand pushes against his shoulder, and Tatta stumbles back, Niragi sneering at him.

“ Shut up, you’re making me bored just listening to you. Anyways, give me one.” Tatta blinks. What did he say? Give him a pancake? Niragi just stares expectantly, and Tatta unfreezes, nodding. “ Uh, yeah, I guess I can go mane some more-“ Niragi scowls, and takes a step closer, Tatta instinctively taking a step back. “ Do you have cotton in your ears, hat boy? I said give me a pancake.” “ H-huh? Like….. from the plate?” Niragi nods slowly as if Tatta was dumb, staring directly at him. Tatta couldn’t help but be a little curious though, asking why. That earns him an eye roll from Niragi. “ Just hand one over before I get pissed off.” Niragi orders, and Tatta quickly nods, not wanting to get hurt because of some pancakes. So he ends up handing the entire plate over, and Niragi takes Tatta’s fork and flips off the layer Tatta was eating off of, and quite literally peels off the next layer, smirking to himself like something was funny. To Tatta’s surprise, Niragi actually put the other half-eaten layer back on to the stack, and even if the honey kind of got even more on the plate, it was still pretty fine, Niragi handing the plate and fork back to Tatta. He starts to walk away with the sole pancake in his hand, Tatta watching him leave.*

“ Uh, what are you….” Tatta didn’t get to finish as Niragi looks over the edge, smiling down at something.

“ Hey! Wet boiled egg bitch, up here!” Niragi shouts with a hint of laughter in his voice. Tatta takes a bite of pancake, but he leans over out of a simple curiosity. Below them was that Chishiya guy, Tatta recognizing him from the tag game he played once.

He couldn’t hear anything, but Chishiya did look up, and Niragi throws the pancake, which lands directly on Chishiya’s face, who stands there practically frozen as Niragi runs away laughing manically and saying something about how stupid he looked. Tatta blinks in mild confusion and just quietly eats another pierce of pancake goodness as Chishiya slowly removes the pancake from his face, taking a bite and walking away. Tatta wasn’t exactly sure, but for some reason he felt a little unnerved watching the white hoodied man walk away. Just a tad. So he eats another pancake in an attempt to push down the feeling.

Why does he feel like Chishiya was going to get revenge on Niragi all of the sudden?

[edupunkn00b]

Play Us A Song: Prelude to the Storm

Prev - Chapter 7: Prelude to the Storm - Next - Master - [ AO3 ]

CW: past major character death, referenced/implied suicide, mental health/bi-polar depression discussed - WC: 1316 ---

I raised a stone to end his pain What caused the wound? How large the teeth? - In the Woods Somewhere, Hozier ---

The setting winter sun glinting through the window cast long shadows across the coffee table in Dr. Picani's office. It was bitterly cold outside and the radiator clicked on again, fighting to keep the room warm.

“How are the rehearsals going? Did you get out early today?” Dr. Picani took a sip of his tea. Logan’s full water cup sat untouched on the table in front of him.

Logan nodded, staring at the cup, brushing his hand over his tie. “They’re going very well, thank you.” Picani nodded, waiting for Logan to elaborate or otherwise address the second part of his question.

When he remained silent, Dr. Picani tried a different path. “What has it been like for you, to play regularly again?”

Logan picked up the cup, gazing into the little swirls at the surface. “It’s fine,” he murmured before putting the cup back down without drinking.

Dr. Picani peered closely at Logan’s face. When he’d bent forward to pick up the cup, Picani could see that what had originally appeared to be shadows from his eyeglasses were actually deep, purple bags under his eyes. “How have you been sleeping, Logan?”

He nodded again, looking down at his hands. “Just fine.”

“Do you still use that sleep tracking app?” Picani’s eyebrows twitched upwards when he saw Logan’s hand jerk toward his pocket, covering his phone.

“I… had to uninstall it.” Logan smoothed down his tie, fingertips lingering over the embroidered design. “It… became unstable after an update.”

Dr. Picani hummed, nodding. “I know a few others that might work better with your phone. I can send you the links.”

Logan rubbed his thumbs over the wide end of his tie, gaze focused on the colorful embroidery. “Certainly, that would be helpful. Thank you, Dr. Picani.”

They both grew quiet, with the only sounds in the office the ticking of the second hand on the clock behind Logan’s head and a periodic hum from the water cooler.

Finally, Dr. Picani spoke again. “I noticed that you’re wearing your flower tie today.”

Nodding slowly, Logan wrapped the tie around his fingers. “I missed it.”

“Have you been thinking more about Remus lately?” Dr. Picani flipped his notepad back over, making a small mark on the page. Logan shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

“Logan, did you miss the tie or did you feel guilty that you weren’t wearing it?”

Logan’s eyes shot up at Picani’s question, his mouth falling open. Dr. Picani smiled gently. “Both are valid, they’re just different feelings.”

Logan sucked in a breath, fighting against a sudden lump in his throat. “Wearing it is the least I can do. It’s a reminder.”

“A reminder of what, Logan?” Dr. Picani prompted quietly when Logan fell silent, twisting the tie in his hands.

"How I… I couldn't…" Logan's voice trailed off, rubbing his bare ring finger. "I used to feel so… relieved at the start of his manic periods. As though that was 'the real' Remus coming back. The happy Remus." He squeezed his eyes shut and a shuddering sigh escaped his lips. "My Remus." Logan was quiet for a long time, opening his mouth, but then snapping it shut again. Picani sat quietly, giving him all of his attention.

"Especially early in our marriage, but even up until—” Logan’s voice broke and he took a few breaths before continuing. “I was unaware how much Remus would try to prevent me from seeing him in his depressive states. Or how much he would fight to camouflage it when he couldn’t avoid me.

"But both were the real him." Logan's voice fell to a rough whisper and tears welled in his eyes. “Maybe that's how I failed him. He needed someone, deserved someone who could love all of him and I… didn't. Not enough."

Dr. Picani shifted, sitting at the edge of his seat and fixing his eyes on Logan, waiting for him to look up and meet his eyes. After several moments of silence, he finally looked up into Dr. Picani’s warm brown eyes. “And what did you do when Remus was depressed? Did you threaten to leave him?”

Logan looked horrified. “No! No, I would never! Remus had a—”

Dr. Picani bit his lip, then interrupted, “Did you cheat on him? Go find a nice, chipper boyfriend for the down times?”

“No, that never even crossed my mind. How can you—”

Swallowing hard, Dr. Picani interrupted one last time, “Did you ask him to leave? Throw him out of the house? File for a divorce?”

“No, of course not!" Logan's voice cracked. "I loved him!”

Dr. Picani smiled sadly at him. “It sounds to me like you did love all of him, Logan.”

Picani let Logan sit with that statement for a few minutes. He got up and refilled his tea cup from the electric kettle on his desk. He made a second cup and set it next to Logan's water. Logan reached for the tissues on the side table, scrubbing at his face when he couldn’t stop his tears from falling. Finally, after a few more minutes, Picani spoke again.

“It also sounds to me like you used the past tense when describing your feelings for Remus.” Dr. Picani’s eyes were fixed on Logan’s face. “And you didn’t correct me when I did the same.”

“What? But he is… I mean to say, of course I—” Logan shifted in his seat, replaying his own words through his mind. Finally, he sighed shakily. “You know, Dr. Picani, I am actually rather tired, I think… If it’s alright with you, can we end a little early today?”

Dr. Picani leaned forward, setting his cup on the table between them. "Do you remember our agreement? From when you first starting meeting with me?"

Logan wrapped and unwrapped the end of his tie around his hand. His knee started to bounce and he carefully pressed his heel against the carpet, stilling its movement. Logan nodded and spoke to the floor. "I do."

"So have you been think—"

"No." Logan interrupted, voice firm. "No, I'm just... just a little tired. That's all this is." He shook his head, smoothing down his tie. "It's not... I'm not... I'm fine, just tired."

Dr. PIcani eyed Logan carefully. He couldn't deny the man looked exhausted. "Alright. I want you to call me on Friday." Logan nodded, quickly standing and walking toward the door. "And—" he stopped, turning to face Picani. "And I want you to contact a friend this week and let them know you might need a little extra support. Roman, perhaps?"

Logan nodded, “Of course, Dr. Picani. Thank you.” He quietly left the office, heading home.

After he'd left, Picani noted that Logan never drank his water and didn't touch the tea. He poured the water into his plants, silently pledging to himself to call Logan later in the week to check in.

---

The winter sky was completely black while Logan drove home. The car's headlights seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness, the streetlight timers not yet caught up with the earlier sunset.

Dr. Picani’s office was a mere two blocks from the high school, so between the rehearsals and his weekly visits, the drive back was scored into Logan’s muscle memory and he was not even aware he’d finished the drive until he was unlocking his front door. Logan hung his jacket on a hook while he kicked off his shoes. Dropping his keys, wallet, and phone on the small table in the foyer, Logan stood in the hallway for a moment, suddenly remembering that his phone had buzzed on his way to Dr. Picani's office. He went back and checked his notifications.

2 unread messages from Roman Prince popped up.

He stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over the the words, then he placed the phone on the table without reading them. He went to the kitchen, picking up the multi-pack of Gatorade he'd bought last week.

Logan turned off the lights, then slowly walked upstairs and went to bed. --- @demon9980 @psychedelicships @sidespromptblog

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

75 with either Royality or Roceit?

This was actually quite fun to write! It's been nice writing a platonic fic again :)

The prompt- “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

General writing taglist: @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue (If anyone would like to be added, let me know! :)

Read it on Ao3!

To The Rescue.

Platonic Patton and Roman.

Warnings for frantic behaviour, panicked moments, fainting.

Patton wasn’t exactly a huge fan of exercise. Running in particular was something he would rather avoid doing in any capacity, however, unfortunately for him… he wasn’t going to have a choice today.

It all started when he thought he could impress Roman, his best friend and work colleague by finishing off his section of their quota sheets early, purely so there would be less work for him to do. He always liked being finished early, that way, if he was needed somewhere else in the office, there would be no problems. As his alarm clock went off the next morning, he realised just how much of a mistake that was… Maybe starting his work at 10pm (he could blame watching Disney movies for the late start) then working through to 3am wasn’t such a great idea. Especially when he had to wake up at 6am. He slapped his phone until the offensive noise came to a peaceful silence as he drifted back to sleep, he was rudely interrupted every ten minutes as the snoozed alarm came back with a vengeance; but he could deal with that. By the time it got to the third round of slapping his phone, he woke up with a start and scrambled to check the time. It was now 6:30am, he had to be at work by 7 and he’s already missed the bus. He was screwed, and that was putting it lightly.

He ran around his apartment frantically. If anyone was able to see inside, they would either see a man on a mission, or a man having a mid-life crisis. He desperately running down the stairs before going into the kitchen. He put the kettle on and left his thermal flask on the side, ready to pour coffee into soon, he started throwing papers into a bag while waiting, then he scrambled to pick up all of the ones he failed to put in first time around. The kettle announced it had finished its job, and as he poured the coffee into his flask, Patton looked down at his arm and realised he was still wearing his pajamas. He shrieked and ran back up the stairs to get dressed, he raced around to put on his classic suit with the bright blue shirt under his jacket and his dark blue trousers. He checked himself in the mirror and thankfully, his shirt wasn’t on back to front today which was a relief. He walked briskly out of the door and stopped at the top of the stairs, he looked down at his feet and noticed he’d left his shoes behind. Patton tutted to himself; this wasn’t going to be a good day. He grabbed his shoes and made sure to ties his laces as tight as possible, he was going to have to run across town after all.

He stormed down the stairs, jumping the last three of them before going back into the kitchen. His coffee was still steaming so he sealed his flask, took his bag off the table and slung it onto his back violently. ‘Almost ready to go!’ He told himself with a vague hint of positivity in his voice. The last task was the hardest… where in the name of sanity did he put his keys?

He sighed and he fought every urge to just give up and cry, but he started the search for his keys. He didn’t want to let Roman down, not today of all days. He ran through every room, threw all of the cushions off the chairs, pushed all of the DVDs off of the table from yesterday. They had to be there somewhere! He turned around one more time and he heard a familiar jingle coming from his jacket pocket, he stopped and slowly put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Patton could have screamed, but instead he glared at his keys like they had stolen the last cookie from his tin. He finally made a sprint for the front door, he was sweating like crazy and he had never felt this dizzy before, but he was ready to go at last. He put the key into the lock and the door clicked open.

He swung the door open and took one step out before stopping in his tracks.

“Roman?? What in the world are you doing here?” He jumped back startled at seeing his best friend standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. His red shirt complimented Patton’s shirt nicely, they tended to unintentionally co-ordinate their outfits. Patton would have made a comment about it, but at the moment, he was too busy trying to stay upright.

“Well, we both know that you’re never late for work… and when even I managed to get into the office before you, I had to swing by and check what was going on and whether I could come to your rescue!” He held his hands up triumphantly like he was a knight in shining armour. Despite the bravado in his voice, there was still a minute hint of worry. Patton wasn’t sure when he stopped listening to Roman’s speech, all he could see was black spots clouding his vision and then… darkness.

Roman knew he was going to fall, Patton was quite pale and sweating significantly which was unusual for him. If he had to guess, he must have overslept and had been running around manically trying to get everything sorted. Roman shook his head and tutted lightly with a small smile on his face and caught Patton gracefully. He swept Patton up in his arms, carried him back into his apartment and placed him down gently onto the sofa. Roman checked him over quickly before taking out his phone and sending a text to their boss explaining the situation. When the swift reply came back for him to stay and look after Patton, he went into the kitchen and got a glass of water ready for when Patton came around. It was lucky he had been to Patton’s apartment before otherwise he would have no idea where anything was. He softly put the water down on the coffee table before switching on the TV and turned the volume down, he looked at Patton from time to time and he began to stir a little after about half an hour. He shot up in a panic and Roman immediately put his hands on Patton’s shoulders, reassuring him.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Everything’s okay. We’re in your apartment and we’re taking the day off work.” He spoke softly and Patton relaxed with every word.

“W- what happened? I remember you coming to the door, and that’s all. Logan’s going to be mad if we’re not in. What about the deadline?” His words were rushed and a little slurred, but Roman stayed calm and kept his hands on Patton’s shoulders.

“I’ve talked to Logan, he’s absolutely fine with it. I’ve finished my quota stats, and we’ve just got to send yours when we can. Logan wanted me to pass on the message of… ‘You’re an idiot and please look after yourself today.’” He copied Logan’s voice and made Patton chuckle which was a very reassuring thing.

“Well, luckily, my quota stats are all done as well so we can send those in today. You still haven’t told me what happened.” He looked over in anticipation, almost praying that nothing too embarrassing happened.

“Yooou fainted. Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” He nudged Patton’s shoulder playfully as he spoke with a teasing tone. Patton laughed whole-heartedly this time and Roman couldn’t help but join in. When the laughter stopped, Patton drank some of the water before apologising profusely to Roman. He turned and rested his head on Roman’s shoulder and Roman wrapped his arm around him in return.

“So… movie marathon? Then fast-food tonight? You can choose.” Roman knew Patton wouldn’t say no. As Patton nodded, he got off the sofa and put in the first Disney DVD he could find before grabbing a blanket off of the floor and draping it over the two of them. As the opening scene started rolling, he heard Patton say very softly.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue.” Roman smiled and gave Patton a strong side hug.

“Anytime, Patton”

[bureowo]

don’t say maybe (cause i’m not a little boy)

summary: jeongin just wants to be your man.

genre: slight angst. | word count: 2540.

warnings: sensual themes & mentions of alcohol consumption.

Jeongin suspires, leaning back against the couch as you leave a trail of open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along the side of his outstretched neck. You’re straddling him, knees on each side of his hips, and he clutches your waist like you’re going to disappear into thin air at any given moment. You smile, lifting your face to connect your lips to his once more, he almost whimpers; you taste sweet and smell even sweeter, and the way your tongue glides over his lip makes his insides burst into flames. Jeongin stares at you, entranced, as you lean back on his lap, your bottom lip caught between your teeth and a playful glint adorning your gaze. You run your hands down the expanse of his torso and halt to a stop once you reach his hips, your thumbs drawing circles against the exposed skin right above his belt buckle; he shivers, anticipating your next move, and then – he wakes up.

Jeongin awakens, clammy and disoriented, the movie he’d been watching still playing on the tv. He looks around the room in a daze, glad to find his roommate nowhere in sight, he’s not in the mood to deal with Hyunjin’s teasing right now. Jeongin runs a hand through his hair, sighs and leans back onto the couch – the same couch, yet the way he feels now is a sharp contrast to what he’d been feeling just minutes prior; he feels cold, embittered and palpably uncomfortable. He wallows in his misery for a few more minutes before he decides to hop into the shower.

To say that Jeongin is grouchy this morning would be an enormous understatement, his exasperated state obvious to anyone who’s looking; he hasn’t been getting much rest lately, thoughts of you occupying his mind till ungodly hours, images of your eyes, your lips, engrained deep into his brain – it keeps him awake at night, you keep him awake at night.

His ears perk up at the sound of your laugh, he looks up just in time to catch a glimpse of your wide, toothy smile before your hand shoots up to cover it; he hadn’t been paying attention in the least to what Hyunjin had been saying but judging by your reaction it’d been something incredibly funny.

Jeongin has to muster every ounce of strength in his body to not let the jealousy, rising up his throat like bile, spill out of his mouth; he yearns to make you laugh like that. He wishes he could tell you, unabashedly, how he feels – how much he covets your attention, your affection, and how badly he craves your touch. But, alas, he lays his head back down onto the table, pushing the untouched tray of food next to him further away.

“Are you tired, Innie?” You ask him, your fingers spreading over his own. He wants to tell you it’s your fault, and that you should either apologize or start paying rent for living in his head day-and-night, but your beauty leaves him mesmerized; the way you’re looking at him – eyes bright and focused on him, and a slight grin on your lips – makes him go a bit lightheaded.

Jeongin sighs and fantasizes about kissing that look off your face, replacing it with one of shock, of newfound awareness and passion. He’s so enraptured by his reverie, he doesn’t notice you pulling your hand away from his and getting up from your seat; only the tapping of your feet against the ground makes him look up at your retreating form, and his heart sinks to his stomach.

“How do I look?” Jeongin asks you, before proceeding to strike a pose – head tilted up and towards the side slightly, showing off his jawline, and his arm flexed over his head; he hopes you don’t notice how calculated his moves are. You giggle and walk closer to him, your hand reaching out to pat his head.

“You look cute Jeonginnie.” You tell him, melodiously, and he hates it. He straightens his back and his jaw tenses almost imperceptibly; here he was, in his tightest pair of jeans and with a sleeveless shirt cladding at his body and all you can say is he’s cute? He can’t help the scoff that escapes him; he had asked you for help picking an outfit for a date – a date he’d only agreed to go on because Hyunjin kept on pestering him about his love life, or the lack thereof rather. A date he fully knew he would spend thinking of nothing else but you.

He had asked for your help in hopes of getting some alone time and maybe even some compliments from you, but, really, he should have known better – you always treated him as a child. He despises it; it makes his blood boil, how you would ruffle his hair and smile fondly at him, the way you would pinch and squish his cheeks while talking to him in the best baby voice you could muster, even the manner in which you would hold his hand sometimes, like you were holding a toddler. He wishes he could make you see him, really see him for what he is – a man, who’d like nothing more than to hold you tight and hard.

“Don’t I look hot, though?” He questions you with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk on his lips. Your hand falls from his head and onto his arm as you take a step back; you look him up and down a few times, before finally gazing back into his eyes with a smug grin of your own.

“Maybe.” You reply, most tauntingly, as you lick your lips.

Sometimes, Jeongin feels hopeful; he’s not dumb nor blind, he sees the way you every-so-often check him out, biting your lip, he feels the way your hand lingers on his bicep for just a second too long, and he is not oblivious to the flirtatious comments you throw his way from time to time. Most days, he’d consider this just friendly banter, but at times like these, he feels confident, buoyant even.

The two of you had been teasing each other all day, relentless sneers and mocking remarks coming swiftly from both ends; it was all light-hearted, of course, but the nature of this exchanges leaves him feeling electric.

“Seriously Innie,” you say loftily, hands on your hips. “You can’t even make popcorn by yourself, what would you without me?”

“Oh, shut up.” He retaliates as you pour the popcorn into a bowl.

“Make me.” You turn around to face him, leaning back against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Before he can even begin to comprehend what he’s doing, Jeongin feels something bursting inside of him; he strides up to you, his hands falling onto the counter behind you. He’s so close, you can just about hear his heart pounding; he’s so close, you can feel your own heart hammering against your chest. You mutter his name, so faintly, he almost doesn’t catch it.

“What is it, Y/N?” The smug look on his face makes you shiver. “Didn’t you want me to shut you up?” He presses himself flush against you, his arm encompassing your waist.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He challenges you, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks.

“Maybe.” You mumble, eyes not leaving his lips for a second. And, with that, he pulls his body away from yours and reaches for the bowl of popcorn behind you before strutting his way back to the living room, leaving you reeling.

Oh yes, at times like these, Jeongin feels on top of the heap.

Love is dead – Jeongin concludes – and he is doomed to live a life of silent heartache and unspoken longing. The fear settles itself in the pit of his stomach, slowly crawling its way up; he feels like he’s choking, like every word he so desperately wants to tell you is fighting to come out at once, still, they all stick to the back of his throat like a thick coating of honey.

He thinks he could laugh right now, burst into a fit of loud, manic cackles, if only he wasn’t so close to crying. Of course – of course you’d be into Hyunjin, of all people; of course, he’d walk into the living room just in time to see you, bleary-eyed and rosy-cheeked, laying a kiss on his roommate’s lips.

Jeongin remains still under the doorframe, jaw clenched tightly and arms crossed over his chest; he clears his throat, not making any effort to conceal his distaste. You turn around first, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

“Innie-” You stammer, standing up. You dodge the sofa blocking your path, steps wobbly as you approach him.

“I’m heading out.” He interjects, voice low and steady, and you stop in your tracks. His stare feels like it’s piercing through you even after he leaves the apartment.

Jeongin relaxes the instant his phone stops ringing in his hand; he’s been avoiding you like the plague for the past few weeks – but honestly, what did you expect? That he would just be fine? That he would just smile and nod, and pretend like he doesn’t have all these feelings for you? No, he couldn’t do that – he can’t do that, so he sighs and deletes your name, once more, from his missed call log.

Jeongin gets up from his bed, looking at himself in the mirror – he looks pretty good, if he does say so himself. He tousles his hair a bit and puts his things in his pockets before beginning to make his way to the front door. As he steps into the living room, he nearly lets out a curse; he’d been doing a pretty good job of evading Hyunjin as well, however, it seems, luck’s not on his side today.

“Hey,” Hyunjin says apprehensively, turning his head in Jeongin’s direction but not quite looking at him. “You going out?” Jeongin nods.

He resumes walking, stopping before the door to grab his keys.

“Hey,” Hyunjin calls out again, Jeongin spins back around, a little irked. “Have you spoken to Y/N lately?” He questions, and Jeongin is left with a raised eyebrow and a whole lot of questions – did he mean he hadn’t spoken to you lately? Or was he just testing the waters? Is there something he’s supposed to know? Something you have to tell him?

“No.” Jeongin shakes his head.

He doesn’t spare Hyunjin another glance before heading out the door; he arrives at the club and sees his date waiting for him outside.

Jeongin lets out a humourless chuckle – it’s just his luck, truly, running into you at the nightclub. He can’t really remember when or where his date seemed to disappear from his side, but, if he’s being honest, he can’t really muster up enough will to care.

He makes his way over to the bar and asks for a drink; the bartender hands him his glass and he takes a swig, his face contorting as soon as the alcohol makes contact with his tastebuds. He sets his drink down and turns around to face the dancefloor.

Jeongin looks through the hordes of people until he finally spots you, and then he scoffs; he scowls brazenly at the unknown person grinding their body against yours. Just as though you can feel his gaze on you, you look up straight into his eyes; you disjoin yourself from the stranger and march up to Jeongin. Coming to a halt in front of him, you greet him, eyes still staring deeply into his.

“You’re here without Hyunjin?” He chides, reaching for his glass. You laugh, and the sound makes his stomach churn slightly – Jeongin tries his best to convince himself it’s not you, but the alcohol that’s making him feel so skittish.

“Why should I be here with him?” You question, a smirk finding its way to your lips and leaving him in a state of stark bewilderment.

There’s a lot of things Jeongin doesn’t understand – he doesn’t understand why he agreed to this, he doesn’t understand what it is about you that makes him unable to ever deny you; he doesn’t understand how you don’t realize that he would do anything for you if you gave him the chance, that he would pull the moon and each of the starts down from the sky and give them all to you. He sighs and sinks into the couch, sneaking a glance at your profile as you browse through the catalogue of movies, searching for one that piques your interest.

Hyunjin plops down onto the sofa, tossing a bag of snacks in Jeongin’s direction. He truly doesn’t get it – how can you and Hyunjin act so nonchalant? How can you pretend that he didn’t catch you two kissing on this very same settee? How are you not getting the picture when his heart is quite literally on his sleeve? When his feelings are so blatantly obvious? He spends the entire duration of the movie brooding, a mopey look etched onto his features.

No sooner do the credits start rolling through the screen, Hyunjin jumps to his feet and sends a subtle albeit conniving grin in your direction.

“Well, it’s time for me to head out.” He announces, arms lifting over his head as he stretches. “I’m gonna be late for my date.” Jeongin is, once again, left perplexed, although in a whole different way now – Hyunjin was going? On a date? With someone other than you?

He can’t believe it; he watches, dumbfoundedly, as his roommate gathers his things and begins to head out the door, he listens as you bid Hyunjin goodbye with an animated ‘have fun!’ and a wave of the hand, and he sits there, in astonished silence, as you turn your body to face him.

“What’s the matter Innie, cat got your tongue?” There’s something in the way you’re looking at him that Jeongin just can’t quite put his finger on; it leaves him feeling sort of feather-brained.

“Shut up.” He forces a scoff, although it comes out so gently it nearly passes as a breath.

“Make me.” You tell him, dauntlessly, and in one swift move you straddle him, knees on each side of his body; you hover over him, not quite sitting on his lap, hands settling on his shoulders for balance.

You’re so close he forgets to breathe, and, for a second, Jeongin fears that this is nothing but another one of his dreams, that he’ll wake up, high and dry, alone on the couch yet again. But you repeat yourself, tone more demanding this time, and the way his skin tingles, goosebumps rising as you trail your fingers down his arms, lets him know he’s awake.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks almost tauntingly, eyes turning hazy. He stares you down, as if daring you to say the one word he loathes the most – maybe.

You get even closer to him, setting yourself down on his thighs at long last, his hands reach for your hips and he feels the warmth of your breath fanning over his lips as you say: “Yes.”

[marvel-ousfairy]

“Flesh eating plants, are you kidding me???” NALU Oneshot

Author’s Note: Ummm... So I don’t normally post my own writings, but I wrote this literally years ago and figured it was about time I posted it. Better late then never, right? *Chuckles nervously* Anyways, there are a few plot holes and things but I’m honestly too lazy to change it sooo, here you go! Let me know what y’all think. (Also I appologize in advance for any wierd formatting issues. I blame Tumblr.)

Warnings: Fighting, angst with a fluffy ending, killer plants? idk what else to put haha. If you read it and think there are any other warnings I should add, please please let me know.

Pairing(s): NaLu

_____

“Open, Gate of the Golden Bull: Taurus!” Lucy Heartfilia shouted, summoning the celestial spirit to her side.

“Mooo! It’s nice to see you again, Miss Luuucy.” Her celestial spirit, Taurus, drawled as the golden light of Lucy’s magic dissipated.

A large crash echoed through the forest near Magnolia as Lucy dove to avoid getting hit by a thick plant root, only a gaping hole left of the earth where she previously stood.

“Not the time,” Lucy panted before struggling to her feet again. “I need you to get in there and snap those vines!” she directed.

Celestial Wizard Lucy Heartfilia, her partner Fire Dragon Slayer Natsu Dragneel, and their cat companion, Happy, had taken a simple job helping out a local farmer. The request had asked for a few wizards to come assist in the extermination of the vermin rampaging through the owner’s crops.

“Stop pouting,” she said as the trio walked through town towards the agricultural district. “At least you get to beat something up.” She smiled, glancing around at the fruit and vegetable stalls lining the streets.

The pink haired wizard crossed his arms before letting out an offended huff. “I’m a dragon slayer, not an exterminator.” He whined.

The blonde let out a giggle, ignoring his petulant child act. Her laughter didn’t last long, however. Upon their arrival at the little farm, the trio soon realized that things weren’t as they appeared. Much to Lucy’s horror and Natsu’s delight, the vermin that needed bashing turned out to be full-fledged, plant-based monsters.

“’Let’s do it’ I said. ‘This will be easy’ I said. How does a Venus Flytrap even grow this large?” Lucy grumbled as she jumped over another stream of murderous plant roots. Finally finding solid ground, she pointed Taurus towards the twisted nether of roots and stems that kept the frightening flora grounded. Meanwhile, Natsu busied himself with torching the other five or so reanimated plants that littered the forests edge.

“Fire Dragon: Roar!” He let out a manic laugh as his flames transformed an entire line of trees into glittering torches, burning friend and foe indiscriminately.  

“Natsu, watch where you’re aiming,” Lucy scolded, letting loose a disgruntled shout as she once again narrowly missed a blow to the side via killer plants. The self-proclaimed farmer, apparently, was a wizard himself who specialized in foreign herbs with magical properties. Their current foes were the result of his latest creations gone very wrong.

“We already owe a great deal in repair costs as it is. The master will kill us if we burn down another building,” she reminded him, hand on her hip.

“Yeah, Yeah.” Natsu shrugged as he incinerated yet another row of trees and crops.  “Stop with your naggin’ already. We’ll be fi– Hey Lucy, watch out!” The dragon slayer let out a roar as Lucy whipped around. A faint gasp swept past her lips as a verdant blur crossed her vision. Pain ricocheted down her left side as a stray vine from the Flytrap knocked her to the ground, tangling with her legs and whipping her towards the Venus’ awaiting jaws.

“Argh,” Natsu screamed, face contorted in anger. “Fire Dragon: Wing Attack!” The vines that dug at her skin, slowly encroaching upon her torso, were suddenly engulfed in flame and burnt to a crisp. She yelped as Natsu’s flames left her stranded in the open air. With nothing left to catch her fall, she plummeted back down to the rigid ground, her head smacking against the dirt with a harsh crack. A muffled yowl came from beneath her and she rolled over to find a disgruntled Happy scowling back at her.

“You alright, Luce?” Natsu questioned, finishing off the last of the nasty creatures.

“I’m the one in pain,” Happy cried, indignantly. “Lucy squashed me with her fat butt!”

“WATCH IT, CAT!” she screeched at the little blue exceed, the pain from her fall quickly washed into the foreground.

Natsu cackled, causing the celestial spirit mage to turn her glare on him. Noticing the change in atmosphere, he yelped as a certain red-haired wizard came to mind.

“Scary,” he whined. Lucy’s scowl deepened before gifting him with another one of her signature Lucy Kicks.

“Humph,” she muttered, smiling in satisfaction. “Serves you right.”

_____

Later, at the Fairy Tail guildhall, the pair found themselves curled around the bar. Mira wiped down the counters, glancing at the two while she worked. Lucy sat on Natsu’s left with reequip mage Erza Scarlet on his right. Gajeel, Levy, and Pantherlily were located at a table behind him, while Gray was doing his best to avoid an overly exuberant Juvia. Happy had disappeared soon after their arrival back at the guild, dreams of fish and a particular white feline dancing in his head. An overall jubilant air had settled on the guild as members had returned from their missions to settle in for the day.

Lucy leaned against the bar, head spinning, with a strawberry concoction clutched between her palms. A dull ache had settled into her bones since their mission earlier, winding around her mind like a snake. A slight burning sensation danced along her side as a pair of onyx eyes watched her with intensity.

“I’m fine,” she said with a huff, not bothering to turn towards the dragon slayer gazing at her worriedly.

“Lucy, I–”

“Really, Natsu, I’m alright.”

Natsu grumbled, unconvinced, as he finished off the plate of food Mira had set before him. He knew Lucy was lying, but he also knew that she could be just as pigheaded as him. She had been acting strange ever since their return from their earlier expedition. Despite her claims otherwise, he could tell something was up.

Lucy stood up abruptly, letting out a heavy sigh, before turning towards Natsu once more. Ignoring the stars that threatened to consume her vision, she forced a wide smile onto her lips. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be okay. I think I’m just gonna head home and get some rest. The fight today really took it out of me. Thanks for the drink, Mira.”

She gave one more wave to the white-haired woman before making her way towards the entrance. Before he could make any move to stop Lucy’s departure, Erza placed an armor clad hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Natsu,” the red-haired warrior assured him. “She can take care of herself.”

He simply nodded, giving Lucy another intense stare before promptly getting knocked off of his barstool by a half-naked Gray. Mira giggled as Natsu let out an enraged scream. Apparently, Juvia had finally caught up to her beloved Gray.  

“What the heck was that for, you pervert?”  Natsu yelled as he quickly shifted into battle-mode, fists blazing with fire.

“Who you callin’ pervert, flame for brains?” Gray challenged.

Soon after, a fight broke out between the two, eventually expanding into a guild-wide brawl after another slice of Erza’s strawberry cake was destroyed. Lucy, who had been watching from the towering guild doors, shook her head. She let out a yelp as a chair smashed against the wall to her left, before finally disappearing out the door and into the streets of Magnolia.  

 Despite a slight limp in her step and pain in her side, the walk home wasn’t as bad as she’d first expected it to be. It wasn’t long before she was weaving her way past the ferrymen and stumbling into her apartment with a heavy sigh.

“Home at last,” she hummed to herself. She stretched out her limbs, cringing as her ankle buckled a bit in pain, before making her way toward the bathroom. “Maybe a shower will help wash off the pain from today,” she mused, ridding herself of her blood-stained clothes. With steam flooding the little room and the water temperature set on high, she stepped carefully into the scalding water. A shaky breath escaped her lips, but her mind continued to spin at a rapid fire pace. Groaning in frustration, she tried for another calming breath. Despite her chance to finally relax a bit, she couldn’t manage to quiet her mind. It had already been a long day, now made even longer by the pain that constricted her mind and body. A glance towards her numerous bruises sent a frustrated sigh past her lips, before her features contorted in confusion. A second glance down at her body caused her gaze to quickly slip from confusion to fear. Thin green lines painted swirls and complex designs across her torso, leaving angry red marks in their wake. The vines, she thought. They don’t just feed off human flesh… “They steal magic power!” She shouted, mentally kicking herself for forgetting the farmer’s warnings. He’d told them that this was a possibility.

Her hands shook as she slowly grew more and more hysterical, tearing frantically at the small vines cutting at her body. Just as she made some headway clearing the thin vines, however, the dizziness from before threatened to overtake her. She reached for her keys, only to find them rendered useless. My magic power is too far gone, she cursed. “Loke, Virgo, someone please!” She cried out desperately. They can’t hear me, she sobbed. A single step towards the bathroom door sent her vision shaking. By two steps, the light in the room began to dance. By the third, Lucy could feel herself losing her will to stand. By the forth, she found herself hitting the ground as the ceiling grew further and further away. “Natsu…” She whispered as vines tangle around her mouth. Her vision slipped away as she soon felt herself get swallowed whole by a cocoon of roots and vines, before she finally lost consciousness altogether.

______

Back at the guild hall, things had finally settled down. Luckily, the aftermath of the brawl had been minimal. A few burnt spots, some broken tables and chairs, and a few missing pillars. The building, by some miracle, still stood proudly in the heart of town.

“Where’s Lucy?” Natsu asked, having finally cooled down from his fight with Gray.

“Oh. Lucy? She went home a little bit ago.” Mira said, smiling sweetly from behind the bar.

“You even watched her go, you idiot.” Gray said with a laugh. Natsu shot the Ice mage a scowl.

“He loooooves her.” Happy drawled from his place next to Charle on the bar top.

Natsu reddened in embarrassment, brushing salmon strands out of his face. The dragon slayer stiffened as a ball of anxiety settled into his stomach. His nose twitched as he took in the stale undertones in the air, confirming some unknown fears. He could be wrong, but he knew Lucy. He knew her scent and how it changed depending on her mood. Right now, the thick smell of fear curdled his blood. Something was wrong.  

With one last vengeful fireball to Gray’s face, he ran off towards Lucy’s apartment with the blue exceed following close behind. Fellow mages and townsfolk cried out in protest as he pushed by them, but Natsu didn’t notice. Blood pumped in his ears, matching his racing footsteps as he hurtled himself down the stone streets. As Lucy’s apartment came into view he pushed his legs faster, using his fire to boost himself through her window in a single bound.

Once safely inside, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Despite the distinct sound of a shower in the background, the stillness hung like a thick fog in the air, suffocating him.  Steam seeped from beneath the bathroom door as he flung it open to reveal a horrific jungle. Vines grew up and off the walls, roots digging out of cracks in the floor.  Leafy plants twisted in midair like worms burrowing through the dirt, dragging curious fingers along his face and down his legs. “Lucy!” Natsu shouted, digging through twists and snarls in the vines. “Lucy!” No answer. Frantic, he set his body ablaze, burning down every vine he could get his hands on. The twisted nether of green squealed and screeched, cutting at his arms and face as every vine soon turned to ash. Finally, there was nothing left but a pale sleeping beauty curled up on the scorched and broken tile.

“Lucy…” his voice was barely a whisper as he pulled the blonde into his arms, swaddling her in a nearby towel. Ashen vines were like cobwebs arching across her ghostly pale skin, her fingers tinged blue as if frost bitten. Even her hair seemed somehow drained of life, as the last of her magical energy seemed to fall dangerously low.

“Nat-su,” a shuddering gasp swept past her grey, cracked lips. “Help m-me… S-so c-cold…” Her words came out in little puffs as her eyes fluttered open, straining to gaze up at his face.

“Lucy. Lucy, look at me. I – I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He hugged her into his chest, his tears melting into sobs as the smell of strawberries and vanilla wrapped around him. Desperately, he looked around the small apartment before his eyes settled on his blue companion, standing wide-eyed at the door.

“Get Wendy!” He cried out to the little exceed.

“Natsu?” His little eyes rounded with horror.

“NOW, HAPPY!”

“A-Aye, sir!” Happy jumped up and gave him a determined nod before soaring back out the open window from whence they’d come.

A shaky hand grasped onto his scarf, pulling his gaze back down to Lucy’s shaking form.  She curled like a sunflower into his warmth before letting out a shuttering gasp.

“Don’t leave me,” she wheezed. Every note grated against his ears, her normally melodic voice cracked and broken. Regret settled like a stone in his stomach as he cradled her closer to his chest.    “Never,” he whispered.

A soft kiss warmed her clammy skin, flowering across her cheek, as exhaustion finally pulled her into a deep, restless sleep.

______

Warm hands wrapped around her as the smell of wood smoke and cinnamon swirled through the air. She knew that scent. It meant safety, warmth. It meant home.

A slow smile stretched across her lips as her eyes fluttered open to see a chiseled chest and strong arms holding her close. A quick blink shot her eyes upward, only for them to be met with slightly parted lips. As her eyes roamed over the curved planes of his jaw, the slightly parted lips morphed gradually until she was met with a wide, toothy grin. One more shift left her breathless, as she tumbled deep into the depths of his obsidian gaze.

“Natsu –” she stammered.

“Welcome back.” He pulled her closer, resting his forehead onto hers before finally releasing a heavy sigh of relief.

All the pain that had previously ensnared her was gone without a trace. The telltale signs of the guildhall infirmary told her that she had Wendy’s sky magic to thank for that. The warmth that flooded her senses, however, was thanks to her one and only favorite dragon slayer. Although, she doubted it was his naturally higher body temperature that caused warmth to flood her cheeks. Curious eyes peered up at him as his eyes danced behind hooded eyelids. Her very presence seemed to melt him, soften his normally sharp edges.

“Natsu?” She questioned as his face lowered towards hers, their noses brushing together.

“Hmm?” he hummed a response, not quite focusing on her words.

“I –” she began, her words causing their lips to brush. Fire raced through her veins at the sudden touch. A gasp escaped her as their lips finally connected, the sound muffled by the gentle caress of his lips on hers. She felt the fire that raced through him swirling just beneath the skin, held back by an unseen floodgate. He nipped playfully at her bottom lip as their lips danced together in perfect harmony. Abandoning its previous position around her legs, his right hand slid up her side to cup her face while his left hand snaked around her waist, tugging her closer still to his chest. Trails of fire blazed across her skin wherever his fingers danced, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. Her delicate fingers dug into his silky salmon locks as all of their raw emotions were poured out, left open and vulnerable for the other to see. Their kiss grew desperate as the spicy taste of cinnamon filled her senses, causing her toes to curl and her fingers to tug harder at his cotton candy locks. With one last shuddering breath Natsu pulled away, studying her rosy cheeks and her chocolaty brown eyes alight with joy and complete contentment. A deep, throaty chuckle escaped his lips, vibrating against her chest, as he took in her dopey smile. Swollen red lips downturned into a pout, enticing him into another sweet kiss upon her lips, before her dopey grin returned with renewed vigor and her laughter intertwined with his. Lucy gazed sleepily up at Natsu as he mindlessly spun her golden locks through his fingers, a gentle lullaby to her tired mind.

“I –” she began slowly.

“She loooooves him!” came a teasing voice, followed by fits of laughter and giggles. Lucy’s eyes widened, taking in the audience staring at them from the doorway. Spotting the culprit for the interruption, her eyes narrowed on a certain blue exceed hidden in the crowd.

“SHUT IT, CAT!” She screeched as Natsu’s chuckles rolled into cackles, his body shaking as his face twisted with laughter. Lucy burrowed into his scaly white scarf, groans mixing with laughter as she took in a beautiful, terrifying truth. Happy was right about her and Natsu. She really did looooove him, and the adoration he showered down upon her told the mage that he really did looooove her, too.

[kenobihater]

Saw the tags and please, please, please give us a long, exhaustive meta rant about the things you dislike when people write lambden (and/or lambert and aiden individually). Even if you have to repeat yourself. I love listening to your thoughts on things and these two ESPECIALLY

Okay so this is gonna be a little long and rambling so I'm putting it under a cut. Obligatory disclaimer that if you do any of these things or read fics with these tropes, that's fine! I personally just don't like these things at all, and everyone is entitled to their own opinions. Now that's outta the way, I'll jump into what I dislike about how the fandom views and treats Lambert and Aiden.

Firstly, I hate when Lambert is flat. He's a wonderful character with a lot of depth and contradictions abt him, and reducing him to either 1) just a cardboard cutout of himself with nothing interesting about him or 2) a parody of himself and his anger are both terribly annoying and reductive imho. Yes, he's not the main character, but that doesn't mean you can take away everything about him and just write him as a blank slate. Reducing him to just one or two main character traits, like his anger and his sarcasm, is also something I see on occasion, and I dislike that, too.

Something else I dislike that you posted about yesterday was the way Lambert is sometimes written to be the one in the relationship who would get on a soapbox and moralize. Yes, he has a moral code, but no I don't think he'd push it onto anyone else. Ik people do this to contrast with Aiden's actions and show his lack of morals (which I also don't like, and I'll explain I'm a sec), but I think it's completely out of character for Lambert and should be avoided.

Okay, onto Aiden's characterization. We're given CRUMBS, but I feel like the crumbs we have don't jive with a lot of fanon characterization. Like, making Aiden a cold blooded killer for no reason, even though he "isn't like" a hired assassin doesn't ring true to me. Also, I think Lambert realizes that Aiden is a genuinely good guy which is why he considers him the best man he's ever met, so having him be this brutal assassin or an unstable killer just feels off!

Something I also dislike is when Aiden doesn't feel like a person, and lemme explain. Occasionally I'll read a fic where he's so nothing that he doesn't read as real to me and it actually breaks my immersion. When writing any character who has little to no screen time, you have to flesh them out a bit! You can't just try and make someone inoffensive to other people's headcanons, you have to make them your own! I understand wanting your writing to have a broad appeal, but you can't avoid giving a main character any discernable character traits or personality! Give him hobbies! Give him quirks! Give his character strengths and weaknesses! Otherwise you end up with something so inoffensive and bland that it bores me to tears.

Finally, there's the "psychotic cat witcher" trope, which I've already discussed at length, so I'll talk about a specific aspect of that trope that I don't like. Sometimes, I'll read a fic where Aiden is written as psychotic, and it isn't offensive! Shocker, I know! In some of these fics, though, oftentimes he just... doesn't read as psychotic to me? Like, it's obvious that they were going for that by the tags, but I just don't see any symptoms or hallmarks of any psychiatric disorders in the plot or writing. And no, I'm not saying a story has to have someone going off the rails for it to be a valid story about someone with psychosis, but psychosis can affect daily life, and to not show the ways Aiden could differ in his routine from a neurotypical witcher feels like a missed opportunity. Does he avoid drinking because it tanks his mood the day after? Does he check in with anyone like Lambert or Gaetan at certain times to make sure he doesn't go off the deep end? What do his manic episodes look like if he's written as bipolar? His depressive episodes? If he's written as schizophrenic or schizoaffective, how do his hallucinations affect his life? There's SO much you could do to make him psychotic without making a mockery of psychotic people so long as you have empathy, humbleness, and a desire to be accurate in your portrayals. Just some food for thought.

Thank you for listening to me ramble lol. I'm sure there's more that I have problems with, but that's everything that's coming to mind atm!