#seriously if anyone needs anything tagged do not be afraid to tell me

[lovesick-syrup-selfships]

hi, please know i mean this in the nicest way possible, but do try to remember tag your proship stuff as proship. do what you want, i’m not trying to stop you, do what you want, but some of us filter the tag to avoid the stuff it’s associated with. i’m so sorry, just figured i’d ask. /nm

ah, sorry, I have the most shit memory and sometimes forget what tags I use. I usually do try to tag my problematic posts as proship but I guess I just forgot. I tend to forget tags more often when I get all worked up, I'll try to do better at remembering int he future, and thank you for being polite about it! /gen

Edit: also another thing, I tend to not tag my reblogs with much cause reblogs don't show up in tags afaik and the only people who wil lsee my reblogs on their dash are people who follow me (who I assume are mostly proshippers). But again if anyone wants me to tag any reblogs with certain things as well I'm more than happy to. /srs

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you” while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.

[rileyslibrary]

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

[unstable-samurai]

Until You're Mine (Jealous Girlfriend) - smut

Momo x Male Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags: toxic relationship, jealous girlfriend, non-linear story, possessive girlfriend, first sex, penetration, boobjob, facial

She was awake when he arrived. She heard the door latch turn twice as it was unlocked. There were always two turns, fast and firm. Y/N saw her lying on the couch, watching another animated movie. It was the kind of movie she looked for when she really needed to be distracted, her escape valve or something, so seeing her there in front of the TV close to midnight (it was much later than that, but he had no idea), turned on an emergency light in his mind.

Normally he was the owl of that house.

“Hey baby, why’re you still awake?” he asked. “I said you didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I just felt like watching a Studio Ghibli film. Only that.” She explained without looking at him.

No fucking way it was just that. She was frowning. One of those moments where Momo turned into a bomb and it was up to Y/N to disarm it without it exploding. The problem was that this was an impossible task to do, any wire he cut would result in an explosion. And that was the last thing he wanted. His head was already a battlefield in itself. That damn company party had exhausted his social battery, which wasn’t much anyway. Y/N didn’t have the courage to provoke an aerial bombardment that night.

He sat on the left end of the sofa, Momo didn't mind moving his legs so he could have more space.

"OK. Is the film already close to the end? I can watch it with you.”

“Did you have fun there?” she asked.

"Yes. Was cool."

“You’re watching the movie, I don’t want to disturb you. In the morning I’ll tell you everything.”

"Just that?

"Yes..."

"No details?" she questioned him quite insistently.

Y/N had his head focused on the bath he was going to take in a while and how he was going to sink his head into the pillow. No more plastic masks, fake laughs, shallow people, please.

She paused the movie.

“What a ridiculous excuse. It sounds like you were trying to hide the things that happened at the party.”

“No, it doesn’t sound…” He was almost sure of it.

“Yes it does, you bastard.”

“It wasn’t even a party. We were all among work colleagues.”

“I've been to enough parties to know that it was YES a party. Loud music, drinks, pool, snacks. The complete package.”

“It’s a damn modern company, okay? They please the employees and pretend to be cool so that we forget the slavery we are subjected to on a daily basis. You kids had fun on Saturday and you’ll work overtime on Monday, okay?”

“Wait, I made a mistake. In fact: VIP package. They even hired prostitutes. Five star service.”

“Are you high or what?”

He was too tired to read the signs.

“I saw the way she kept touching you. The giggles... As if you were the funniest clown on the planet and she was a fucking hyena.”

Y/N abruptly stood up from the couch. He had finally understood everything. The last spark of his neurons, probably.

“There were no prostitutes. And I wasn't chatting up with any girls.”

"Oh, really?" She stood up too. “Let me refresh your memory, dear: short black hair, horse smile, lilac dress, can't stand alone unless she's supported by a man, small tits... Seriously, I don't know why she decided to wear that dress with cleavage if there was nothing there to show. Someone should tell her the truth. So, does this remind you of anyone, my love?”

The fucking bomb exploded in his hand.

“That was Rachel, a friend from work. How the hell did you know what was going on at the party?”

Momo laughed sadistically. Her wickedly beautiful eyes looked at him with intensity as she asked:

“Are you afraid?”

"No. I didn't do anything wrong to get scared. Did someone record me at the party?”

"Yes. And it wasn't just that. I also watch the stories of those who were at the party and you appeared in some of them in the corners. I saw everything.”

‡

Here's a little overview of this relationship: A year and a half of dating. They met through mutual friends and the first deep contact was delayed, but when it happened it ended up becoming a path of no return. Y/N avoided her as much as he could, not in a way that would be noticeable and make him seem rude. But we were talking about an incredibly beautiful woman, aware of her attractiveness and unfettered by modesty. She was with a group of eight other beautiful and popular girls. Yes, she was elite. High caliber, my friend. Well, he was... quiet, an avid reader, calm and sometimes melancholic, but he loved being with his friends and enjoying them on the weekends, respecting his limits, of course. When he saw Momo for the first time he cowardly ignored her. She looks stunning in front of his eyes, wearing a short denim skirt, a baby tee that leaves her sculpted abs on display and her hair flowing in the wind as she dances. There was no way to predict that the plan would backfire; by not noticing her, Y/N became one of the few guys who didn't try to flirt with her. Apathetic guy, but handsome enough to take risks, the little boy who only swims in the shallow end, a plastic armor he forced himself to wear.

The reason? Momo didn't know, but she wanted to find out.

On one of the many night outs where they bumped into each other, Momo skillfully simulated an intimacy that clearly didn't exist between them, talking to Y/N closely, fake accidental touches, and killer eye contact. Abruptly, intimacy between them was forged and evolved in a short space of time. After a while it was no longer strange when they were among friends and Momo sat on his lap, or when she felt tired and rested her head on his shoulder. And Y/N could play hard to get, but he loved the attention he got from Momo, the controversial “bad bitch” (as some girls who didn't like Momo called her), the most attractive girl he knew was always glued to him, and the sexual chemistry that grew over time intoxicated his ego. Being with her made him feel good and more confident and also… shit, she was more than a superficial person or 'just another one of those teasing girls' like a lot of guys used to think. She had a unique way, attitude and things to say too.

‡

“Were you acting like a stalker all night? Seriously, watching stories of other people trying to see me from the corners is a fucking weird thing.”

“And you've been acting like you don't have a girlfriend all night? I almost called Jihyo to drive me to this party to say a few things to that bitch. But I’m not that kind of girlfriend.”

“What is the reason we are arguing? This shit doesn't make sense. I'm exhausted..."

“Have you forgotten your promise? You told me you would arrive early...”

“I didn’t look at the time when I was there. I thought it was still early when I was leaving the party.”

A cynical laugh escaped Momo's mouth.

“You didn't even bother to look at your fucking cellphone to check the time. What is your problem?"

Y/N sighed. He should have already known that going to this party wouldn't be a good idea.

“You know I only went to the party to establish some contacts with the other branch. The damn job forces me to maintain a good relationship with everyone.”

"Poor boy! Does it also force you to talk to sluts?”

"This again?!”

“A little bird told me you were too close to each other on the couch.”

“Who was this damn person?”

“Why blow the heroine’s cover? Maybe she’ll be there again at the next parties.”

“Would you like it if I hired someone to follow you around?”

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide, because I have consideration and respect for you, asshole!”

“According to you, I cheated you just by sitting on a couch talking to a co-worker. A colleague who can help me move up in the company as she has just been promoted.”

“Apparently it’s not just at work where she likes to be promoted.”

"What do you want from me?" he asked, feeling defeated.

"You know what I want."

“Honestly, I don't know. God must be punishing me for some sin I committed, that’s the only explanation.”

“Make me your girlfriend or your tormentor. You decide." She took a step forward. “You know I could be with anyone. But I'm with you ‘cause I love you, idiot.”

If only there wasn't something genuine about it all.

‡

Being alone with her knocking down topic after topic like dominoes was so fucking enjoyable, the way she laughed, the way she listened to him (Momo didn't interrupt him even during the long pauses he took when he needed to organize his line of reasoning, a mere peculiarity of his but which never went under her radar), the way she could be incredibly silly at times and, even without sharing many common interests, Momo liked having him explain things that were previously uninteresting to her. This attention he received was blinding and addictive. Growing up in a harmful and neglectful home, neediness was his compass and his weakness. But he never showed signs. Y/N was good at disguising it... He thought so.

Their first sex was an unforgettable moment, a path of no return, in the same way that a criminal remembers the moment of the crime that sentenced him to prison. It occurred when they were on a camping trip, good friends gathered, each to their own tent, campfire, marshmallows, snacks, stupid horror stories, and wine. One of the few moments where he felt slightly intimidated around her, as he felt Momo watching him like a predator, and after each glass of wine she became more and more intoxicated, grabbing Y/N from behind and wrapping her arms around him. “It’s very cold here” she whispered in his ear. And Y/N couldn't tell if it was the wind or Momo's velvety voice so close to him that made him shiver.

The hours passed incredibly quickly, eventually everyone retreated to their tents, and eventually there was a slow cessation of the noises of people, finally leaving only the cold whistle of the wind, the rustle of leaves in the trees that surrounded the hill where they were camped and the symphony of insects orchestrated by crickets and cicadas.

He heard sneaky footsteps. It was certainly someone who needed to take a piss and didn't want to wake the others. But the footsteps got louder and louder until he noticed that someone was actually coming to his tent, stopping in front of the entrance. The flash on his cell phone was on (he was reading a book and the damn camp lamp was emitting a horrible orange light), so he pointed the light at the entrance of the tent and saw a very familiar silhouette.

“It’s me, Momo. Let me in!" she whispered. "Quickly!"

Y/N lowered the zipper, opening the way for her.

“What are you doing up?” he asked.

“I was sleepless so I decided to come and check on you.”

"I am well thanks."

She was wearing comfortable clothes. Striped pajama pants, a sweatshirt that was too big on her and her hair loose and messy. Y/N noticed that Momo had removed her makeup. It was the first time he had seen her like that.

"What are you reading?" Momo asked as she sat down.

“Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller.”

"Cool! What is it about?!"

How the hell was he going to explain this?

“About a guy living in Paris.”

"It seems good. Read a chapter to me.”

"How old are you?"

“Don’t be annoying. Let's do it like this: I point the cell phone's flash at the book and you hold it while you read to me. This way we can read lying down.”

Hard to refuse, hard to say 'no' to her.

‡

“You know I love you too, Momori.” he said

Momo was wearing his long-sleeved shirt, she loved that shirt and, truth be told, it looked incredibly good on her. The legs so sensually exposed... Was that still a discussion?

“Sometimes you make me doubt this love, baby. Do you like making me look crazy? I swear to God you love seeing me jealous. When I get like this, does it make you horny?”

“No” he lied to one of the questions.

“You know how I am, Y/N.” One more step forward. She could touch him if she wanted. “And I only ask one thing: don’t talk to other girls. We establish a limit and then cross it, what is the purpose?”

Now closer he could smell her, her body that was warmed by the blanket. Nipples hardened through the fabric of her clothing.

“You look so beautiful...” he blurted out of her mouth.

“But I don’t think I’m beautiful enough for you since you try to be with other girls when I’m not around.”

"Is not true. I only have eyes for you, Momori.”

With a decisive gesture she grabbed Y/N by the collar of his social shirt. A noise escaped his mouth. Slowly she ordered:

“Say you are mine. Say you belong to me.”

‡

He felt her head moving on his chest, he thought she was just looking for a comfortable position, until he was surprised by a kiss on the neck. And another one. And another, and they were getting more and more intense.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he lowered the book, the air escaping from her mouth.

“This book is really interesting and even put me in the mood to do something more fun.”

"What are you talking about?"

He had his hands pressed into Momo's arms, but he made no real effort to push her away.

“I know what you think about me. I know what you want from me. Don’t try to hide it now.” Her voice breathy and wavering. “I want to fuck you so bad, fuck!”

"Here?"

"Now!”

Y/N turned Momo around, placing her back on the floor and then getting on top of her.

“Momo…” His head was a hurricane. Was this really happening? “I've imagined the two of us doing this, but I never thought it could actually happen.”

There was a pause that was filled by a kiss.

“I don’t think you know how hot you are. Other girls were also eyeing you, so I decided to act quickly.”

Y/N lifted Momo's sweatshirt, and was able to appreciate and touch her abs for the first time. Kissing her abdomen was like an achievement, she knew how beautiful it was, that's why she never made a point of hiding it. The soft, slightly sweaty skin met his lips in a mix of sensations.

He lifted her sweatshirt a little more, exposing her juicy boobs. They were big, he knew that, but the first glimpse paralyzed him for an instant, he was amazed, and his hand filled with desire wasted no time in grabbing one of the tits while his mouth sucked the other..

“Oh, Y/N” she moaned.

The cell phone's flashlight went out as they rolled from side to side in the camping tent. Surrounded by the weak orange light of the camp lantern, the senses now seemed more heightened, the touches more intense and brazen, the breathing more labored and an uncontrollable lust, noticeable in several ways, such as Momo's pussy that wet his fingers when he touched her down there.

‡

“I belong to you” he declared. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I am only yours, Momori.”

She smiled satisfied.

"Sit down!" she exclaimed harshly, and pushed him onto the couch. Momo certainly knew how to impose herself when she wanted, the mechanism of submitting him to her will through horny never failed. Sitting on his lap, she said: “You like to make me suffer, you know that? You like having your girlfriend mad so she can have hard sex with you and get you back on track. So depraved, baby!”

It was partly true, although he wasn't consciously acting to make her jealous. The problem was that this wasn't a difficult task, the girl was possessive as hell, so the options fluctuated between becoming a puppy on a leash or floating on the waves of a tide that could occasionally get... Aggressive.

"Do not say that. I don’t like making you feel bad.”

Momo kissed him, she felt Y/N getting excited down there.

“And yet you hurt me.”

He couldn't refute it, so her tongue had another use; warm and wet, she played with Momo's tongue. She sighed when he lightly bit her lower lip, slowly removing the pressure, enjoying her taste like a professional taster.

“It was never my intention,” he said. “Your jealousy is sick.”

“Living with you is hell, you know that?” she revealed. “But you always make me feel so surrendered." Momo slowly touched her nose to Y/N's. She whispered: "It’s a fucking hell, baby.”

Instead of responding, he decided to dedicate a series of kisses to her neck. Momo loved it, it was her weakness. She smiled while letting out small moans of satisfaction.

Momo stroked his dick and under the fabric of his underwear and pants he was already completely hard, waiting for her. She rubbed her hand on his dick eagerly while he felt her breasts and left hickey marks on her neck.

“Oh baby, I want your cock in my pussy so bad!”

‡

He covered her mouth with his hand while he penetrated her deeply. The friends' camping tents were close to Y/N's, and Momo was moaning loudly, so it wouldn't be difficult to hear her in the silence of the night.

“Shhh! You can’t make noise like that!” he said breathlessly.

“It’s fucking hard. Your dick is really big.”

At one point she crossed her legs around Y/N's waist and he could feel her pussy getting tighter and wetter. Immediately Y/N laid his body under hers, penetrating her with force, feeling her pussy swallow his cock eager for pleasure. She moaned loudly, Y/N sucked on her tongue in an attempt to suppress some of the noise, Momo's eyes rolling back in pleasure as her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, as if she could never have him inside enough. Each thrust was an explosion of raw sensation, her insides wetting his cock urgently as he fucked her with wild love, each movement driven by desire that had been postponed for too long.

“Lie on your side!” Y/N asked.

He watched her with burning lust, his eyes fixed on her pert ass, eager to possess her in a different way. With one quick movement, he positioned himself behind her, his cock pulsing with anticipation as he slid in, feeling enveloped by the warm wetness of her wet pussy. He gripped Momo tightly, his hands marking her skin as he fucked her sideways, each thrust sending waves of electric pleasure throughout her body. Momo's moans filled the air, soft and sweet, mixing with the sounds of the wet friction his dick made as it slid inside her. All the touches, the intimate conversations, the looks that met and lost each other when they were in the circle of friends, the jealousy they hid from each other when one of them was talking to someone else, all these things led them to this moment , and now they assumed this feeling… making love.

Momo showed some of her talent when she rode his dick with her back to him, Y/N's body rippling with desire as she rode him with full force. Her hips moved with an erotic cadence, his cock disappearing inside her with each thrust as if he were plunging into a warm ocean. He squeezed Momo's fat ass, guiding her movements as she gave herself over to the frenzy of sex, her moans intensifying with each thrust – fuck if anyone would hear. The tension between them was palpable, the air in the tent stifling as they neared their climax. And then, finally, Momo squirted, her body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm, as Y/N watched her in wonder in the light of the camp lantern, her silhouette writhing with pleasure, so perfect, so sensual that he could fill her of cum at that moment.

Something he didn't do.

Things happened so fast that Y/N didn't have time to put on a condom. Well, truth be told, he DID NOT have a condom in his tent (not the kind of thing you think about taking on a camping trip with friends when you're a single guy).

“Cum for me, baby” she asked, her voice full of lust. “Where do you want to cum?”

“On your tits.”

It was one of Y/N's fantasies, it usually came to his mind when he saw Momo with cleavage. Now it all seemed so intentional...

Y/N stood on top of Momo, his desire burning so strong he could barely think straight. With shaking hands, he grabbed Momo's massive boobs, feeling his hard-on grow as he squeezed them tightly. Y/N wanted to feel every inch of that soft flesh surrounding his thick cock, he wanted to sink into that delicious sensation until he lost his mind. And then, without further hesitation, he began to move frantically, sliding his hard cock between Momo's breasts with great desire. Loud moans echoed through the tent as he gave in to the pleasure of that sensation, losing himself in the sensation of heat and pressure.

“You gonna cum for me, huh?” she asked between moans, making a point of maintaining latent eye contact while smiling naughty.

“Yeah, I'm gonna cum for you, baby! You're gonna make me cum, Momo.”

“please please, cum for me!! Yeah! Cum for your naughty babygirl...” she begged, hot as fuck, while biting her lower lip like a horny bitch.

And when Y/N finally reached the edge he let out a primal groan, his orgasm exploding in a hot shot over Momo's boobs and face. She looked so beautiful like that in the light of the camp lamp. Y/N brushed her face with his dick, making a nice mess on that adorable little face, and she smiled while this happened, Momo smiled until he finished his art, she finished the job by licking what was left on the head of his dick.

Uninhibited from any shyness, thanks to the endorphins his brain had released, he smiled at her, finding her the most beautiful woman in the world, and into Momo's precious eyes, Y/N confessed: 'I wanna love you.’

‡

It's common to look for culprits in a dysfunctional relationship, who manipulates who, the prisoner and the jailer and all that old story. It's hard to admit that sometimes there is a dark pleasure in predicting events, returning to the same place that is your refuge and your sentence. Most people shoot at "emotional dependence", but few dare to target "connivance". Y/N felt like he was part of the second option. Repeat the fucking pattern, see the wheel spin in the same direction, the same trip as before. It's your pit of lies and acceptance, man, you smell the stench and yet you insist on moving forward, it's not much different than a dog licking its own vomit. At the end of the day, no one will tell you that you deserve better.

If you really deserve it.

"I remember what you said to me that night in the camping tent." She whispered, lying under his chest. "When we had sex for the first time. 'I wanna love you'. That's what you said. Your voice was so sweet and calm. I think that's when I realized that my feelings for you were really special."

The two were snuggled in bed, protected from the cold by the blankets, completely naked after having sex. This was always how fights ended, and the question that arose was: what's the next thing, now? An apology? Unfounded promises about how to improve as a person? Affectionate words to dissolve what was said during the fight? It was a mystery box.

"Those were the words? I honestly don't remember the exact words clearly."

"That's exactly what you told me. I slept with you in the camping tent feeling very happy."

"I was happy to be with you too."

"But at that time I didn't realize that you were actually still trying to fall in love with me. You wanted to love me, but you didn't really love me yet."

"I was a little confused at that time."

"What now? Are you still trying to love me?"

"I love you, Momori. but at the same time... I don't think we work together.”

"We agreed to it then. And honestly, does it matter?"

"I don't know. I feel like it doesn't matter anymore."

"Yeah! And look, we're not the only couple to go through problems like this. We're not alone in this, baby. Forget that Hollywood bullshit about perfect couples. It's not real. It's okay for me to stay like this, as long as we stay together."

"We always fix things."

"Making love is a great way to solve problems. That's our formula."

"Come here, my love" he said.

A/N: sorry for any grammar errors 🖖

[noforkingclue]

A Thief Through Time Chapter 13

Thirteenth Doctor- Comfort

Warnings: mentions of cancer and fear of death

A Thief Through Time tag list: @littlemisslonely721, @kenzieeeclark

Doctor Who tag list: @v4n1r, @queerconfusionthings, @yourneighbourhoodclown, @love-of-fandoms, @emilythezeldafan, @fabulous-jj-style, @theseeker945, @pleadingeyes, @kjaneway1, @truthbehindthemysteries, @im-a-muggleborn, @startrekkingaroundasgard, @mythandmagik, @geocookie21, @zerocanonlywriteshit, @thewinterpoet2, @anteroom-of-death, @night467, @clarasoswaldd, @sessa23, @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“You look like shit.”

Graham looked over his shoulder at you. You folded your arms and leant against the console as you raised your eyebrows at him. Graham ignored your statement and looked back out of the TARDIS. The doors were open and his legs were dangling out into open space. You sighed and pushed yourself off the console.

“I thought humans needed eight hours of sleep a night.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“What has she done now?”

“Who done what?”

You walked over to Graham and sat down next to him. He moved up a bit to give you more room as you said,

“The Doctor.”

“How do you know she did something?”

“Most companions eventually have that look on their faces.”

“What look?”

“The understanding that the Doctor is an alien,” you said, “That her brain works differently to humans. So,” you leant back on your hands, “What did she say?”

“Nothing important.”

“But important enough for you to lose sleep over?”

Graham didn’t reply. He kept staring out at the swirling galaxy in front of him. Finally he said,

“What are you afraid of?”

“Excuse me?” you gave him an incredulous look, “Afraid of?”

“For me it’s my cancer coming back.”

Ah.

“And not being able to do anything. Before I had,” Graham’s voice cracked slightly and he coughed before continuing, “now I don’t. Now Ryan only has me. Don’t know what’ll happen if he loses me as well. I don’t want to leave him on his own.”

“He won’t be.”

“Y’know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” you trailed off, “I do.”

“Hmm.”

Silence lapsed over the two of you. Eventually you said,

“Something I’ve always admired about humans is just how resilient you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“How many times have your planet been invaded? Daleks, Cybermen, even Timelords? Lost count myself.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“The thing is, you humans keep bouncing back. With Alctone’s, when something bad happened to us we locked our planet away. Earth remains open. Anyone can come and go, friend or foe. Whenever the worse happens to you, you keep on fighting. I admire that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, just don’t tell the Doctor ok?”

“Promise. It’s just,” Graham sighed and ran a hand over his face, “I’m afraid. Not of Daleks or Cybermen or anything else we might face, but of dying and leaving Ryan alone.”

“He won’t be. Not with the others still around.”

“And what if they die before me?”

“Now, I don’t know how you’re going to die,” you said, “No, seriously, I don’t. But what I do know is that you are going to have a great life. Also, if your cancer does come back we can always pop into the future and see what cures they have.”

You patted Graham on the shoulder and made to stand up. Graham grabbed your arm and said,

“What are you afraid of?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t tell me,” Graham frowned, “Are you afraid of anything.”

“Of course. Fear keeps us alive.”

“What is it?”

You stiffened at the question and Graham let go of your hand. He looked back out of the TARDIS.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “Personal question.”

“Forgetting.”

“Huh?”

“I’m old Graham. Older than the Doctor and a hell of a lot older than you. I’m afraid of forgetting those I care about. I live on while everyone else…”

You trailed off and grimaced.

“Even the Doctor will die eventually. The timelords might’ve granted her an extra regeneration cycle but that’ll still come to an end.”

You sighed and shook your head.

“Still,” you said, “Time moves on. There’s no point of thinking of what the future might hold while we’re still in the present.”

You stood up and looked down at Graham.

“And if the Doctor is being a cunt again don’t be afraid to let her know. Sometimes you need to tell people that, especially your friends.”

[miguelswifey04]

im too scared to ask this nonanon so I'm sorry if this looks like spam, I promise it's not!!

If you have time, could you do a Miguel x f!reader established relationship where the reader has been being harmed/harassed by someone at her job? She's scared to tell Miguel because she's afraid he won't take her seriously, used to past relationships downplaying her feelings and having to handle things herself. She acts different on the days that she works but sweetly tells Miguel it's just stress.

don’t worry!! thank you for the request and awww yeah for sure!!

remember if you or your loved ones are going through something like this please tell a trusted person, whoever it may be, or report it to your HR/boss/manager/even authorities (honestly anyone you can trust!) you are not alone!! i see you and you are loved <33 if you need someone to talk about anything remember you can shoot me a message, i always answer no matter what 🤎!!

miguel o’hara x fem! reader

warnings: harassment by stranger to reader, angst/comfort fluff, could be triggering (?)

you found yourself facing a difficult situation at work. someone had been harming and harassing you, causing you immense distress and fear. the weight of this burden took its toll on you, but you hesitated to confide in miguel.

previous experiences had conditioned you to believe that your concerns and emotions might be dismissed or downplayed. you believed you had to handle things on your own, afraid of being labeled as overly sensitive or needy. the thought of miguel not taking you seriously only added to your anxiety.

however, miguel was intuitive and perceptive, sensing that something was amiss. he noticed the subtle changes in your behavior on workdays and the way stress seemed to weigh heavy on your shoulders. deep down, he wanted to be there for you, to support and protect you, but he also respected your independence and strength.

one evening, as you sat on the couch, miguel approached you with a gentle look in his eyes. he took your hands in his, tenderly stroking your knuckles. "i can see that there's something on your mind," he said softly. "you don't have to face it alone. you know that, right?"

tears welled in your eyes as you looked into his caring gaze, feeling the weight of vulnerability lifting from your shoulders. you took a deep breath, uncertain of how to voice your fears. "miguel, i’ve been going through something at work," you began, your voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and relief. "i’ve been harassed by someone, and it scares me."

miguel's expression shifted from concern to a fierce determination. he squeezed your hands gently, his voice filled with a resolute tone. "i’m so sorry you had to bear this burden alone. i want you to know that i take your feelings seriously. you are not alone anymore, and o will do everything in my power to protect you."

in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude. miguel’s unwavering support washed away the walls you had constructed to protect yourself. he proved to you that your feelings and experiences were valid, and he would stand by your side no matter what.

together, you discussed the situation in detail, exploring different courses of action. miguel reassured you that he believed in your strength, but he also emphasized that it was not your responsibility to handle it all alone.

with miguel by your side, you mustered the courage to address the issue at work, seeking help from higher authorities and implementing safety measures. and throughout the process, he provided unwavering support, reassuring you that your feelings were valid and that you were deserving of safety and respect.

———

a/n: sorry if this was short but i treaded carefully with this one to not make it as triggering as possible because these are harder to write !!

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @meeom @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit

[bite-sized-devil]

🌻 500 followers Bite Sized Event! 🌻

The proposal:

Match Ups, but with a bite-sized twist. With your match up you'll also be getting some head canons for you and your F/O or F/Os, a short fic and/or a script post.

Spots taken: 17/13 (I might extend this if I smash though the first 13, or if you plead your case really well. I realise that is a strange number to put but you know what it's creepy and I like that.)

To request a Matchup:

you'll need to tell me about yourself; star sign, age, height, identity, occupational, favourite things, what you do in your spare time, what you look for in a partner. Etc. You can tell me your favourite obey me character but I can't promise you that's who I'll match you with. You can also provide me with a picture of yourself or describe yourself to me (in detail). If you do send a picture please specify if you want it posted or not.

For the HEADCANONS:

I'll be making these up to suit you and your F/O or F/Os. Just let me know if you want SFW or NSFW or a little suggestive or a little of all.

For SHORT FICS:

You can give me an idea or let me decide, it's up to you. Just let me know if you want a fluffy piece, a little suggestive or just straight up smut.

For SCRIPT FICS:

you can give me an idea or let me decide. Just know these are usually a little silly. (I don't think I've ever done a seriously script post before I think they've all been crack posts.) Regardless, again let me know what you are comfortable with regarding smut, fluff, suggestive content.

Rules for your request:

You need to be following me (I feel like that's obvious but I guess imma say it anyway! Also I feel like such a prick ass saying that.)

You need to be 18+ and have an age in your blog or mention it in your ask or dm.

I only write for obey me characters: the demon brothers, the royals, and purgatory hall (not Luke).

You can remain anonymous. Just sign yourself off with an emoji, or an alias.

That's pretty much it. (Capped at four rules, I've clearly thought this out.)

Thank you for requesting! And thank you so, so, so, so, sooooo much for following me 🥰 I feel very blessed 💕 I really enjoy reading all your comments and tags on my posts!!! I hope I haven't upset anyone with the my silly little posts, I would hate to think I've ruined anyone's day with my horny little posts, reblogs or interactions. And if I have or ever do please let me know! I'm never afraid to admit I'm wrong about something, or clueless. I'd never post anything malicious on purpose, I'm not about that! Only positive, good, happy, chill, and horny vibes from this little devil. 💕💕💕🌻

[fanficcrow]

Keep it Quiet

Librarian!Thor x fem gn!reader

645 wk

No use of Y/N

Please repost and give feedback!

WARNINGS

smutty book

creepy Thor (only if you squint)

A/N: Heyyy!!! I’m going with Thor’s comic book height for this because 6’6 makes my knees go weak <3

(Also sorry I haven’t written for a month, I forgot how to type <33)

Hoooool-y shit.

You walk into the library and come face-to-face with the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Not only is he impossibly tall, seriously HOW can a man be that tall???, He’s also dripping in muscles.

And those clothes. You’d expect a gorgeous buff man to at least dress bad, to balance the universe, but apparently he didn’t get the memo. Because standing right in front of you is 6’6 of sinfully tight turtleneck and a felted coat that would send you straight to hell.

You snap out of your fangirl-esque stupor and realize he is looking right. At. You. Ah fuck. He’s got a confused look on his face that makes your blush run all the way to your ears and down your neck. I’m sure people come in and stare at him all the time, no biggie! You’re sure he won’t even remember you…. right?

Before you can be too consumed by embarrassment you break eye contact with him and scurry off into the library to go look at the books. Hopefully you’ll never have to see him again and everything will be fine!

You shake off all the thoughts of the mystery hottie and start looking for books. You aren’t proud of it, but you’ve taken to reading erotica. Ever since you and Eric broke up you found that the books would light a certain fire deep inside you. One could say you’d even become addicted to the feeling. You were just glad that most libraries had self checkout scanners. Saved you from weird looks and from human interaction!

You find a book with a promising cover and flip it open to a random page.

James held a tight grasp on her ponytail as he slowly entered her from behind. Her wanton moans filled his ears as he picked up the pace-

“Hello dove, anything I can do to help you?”

You yelped and slammed the book shut, before spinning around and pressing your back to the bookshelf. “Oh my lord you scared me!!” You sighed, and then looked up, your breath catching in your throat. Ohhhhhh fuck. It’s him. The hot librarian. And he just caught you reading erotica in a public library.

“Apologies dove, that wasn’t my intention!” He laughs quietly. “I have never seen you here before and it’s my job to help set people up!” He motions to the shiny gold name tag on his chest and you kick yourself mentally.

Oh of course that’s why he’s over here. Your paranoia had almost convinced you that he knew what you were looking for and he was gonna kick you out.

“Oh, um yeah! Is there an online application or something? I’d hate to bother you but if there’s a terminal here I can use that would be great.”

Thor chuckles and leans on the shelf above you. “Afraid not little dove, I’m all you got.” He threw a rakish grin and a wink your way and you felt your face burn up. His arm above you had made you extremely aware of how much taller he was up close, and how much smaller this aisle was when there were two people in it.

"Besides" The word yanks your eyes up to his, meeting them for the first time up close. His eyes were a blue so intense you swear you see flickers of lighting in them. "You'll need an account to check out that book you've been hiding behind your back this whole conversation." You gape at him in shock as he deftly swipes the book from your hand and looks at the cover. He glances up at you. "What, don't tell me you thought I didn't see this? I work here, I know what section we're in."

"I- You? You knew??" You asked, bewildered. You hadn't heard anyone approach you earlier so how?

"You were very busy reading. I caught a few paragraphs over your shoulder little dove, you have great taste in literature."

⚡️

This was kinda a drabble but it slayed soooo

[fang-of-the-weak]

An ordered guide.

"Yuzuriha, Kotoko. 20 years old. Someone who plans to fight for your sake- well. I suppose that depends on you, too."

Information.

Hi there! This is an rp/askblog for Kotoko Yuzuriha! By default, asks or roleplay are done in the perspective of trial 2 Kotoko. However, you can also specify which version of Kotoko you want to interact with!

The versions of Kotoko are as follows:

(📷) Pre-milgram Kotoko, post-murder, but before the incident of leaving Lucky behind. Lucky is still around with her

(🐺) Trial one Kotoko! Self-explainable, has knowledge of everything up until Es's first nap (so aware of everyones verdicts/behaviours up until then, but hasn't beat anyone up- and Es is still awake)

(⚖️) Trial two Kotoko, motherfucker supreme. Has knowledge of everything up until Es's second nap. Beat everyone up. You know what she's like. Currently not handling her guilty verdict very well.

Something important to note is that if you're talking to trial one/two Kotoko, the interactions are the voices she hears in milgram! How does this work with magic anon or giving Kotoko an item? Don't worry about it. (the exception to this is if youre, say, another rp blog! in which case shes just talking/interacting with you as an actual person.) (Pre-milgram Kotoko is just actually on tumblr.com)

Please remember that Kotoko's way of talking is usually blunt/abrasive, and can come across as rude or disinterested. This isnt either of us mods being angry at you we swear!! Kotoko's just. Like That. she is also...infamously hard to get information out of. Dont be afraid to start pressuring her in your asks or getting creative with it if she's not telling you something! However, be aware that Kotoko is pretty easily agitated/annoyed/impatient in scenarios such as those!

Lastly, while both mods try to stick pretty close to Kotoko's canon characterisation/lore, some stuff will be headcanon! This is mostly in relation to Lucky, prisoners Kotoko doesn't talk to/about often, anything about Kotoko's life that she hasn't told us about (SERIOUSLY, WHY DOESNT SHE EVER TELL US ANYTHING?), etc.

The rules of this place.

-While both mods ARE adults, please don't be too nsfw! Lighter jokes(?) like accusing Kotoko of being like, a bottom or something are fine- but please dont get weird with it!

-Please do not send shipping asks/interactions outside of sapphic Kotoko ships! (Both mods are uncomfortable with romantic 0310, 0910, etc. sorry! So for example, 0210 and 0610 would be fine!)

-Anon magic allowed! We sure hope nothing nefarious happens to Kotoko...

Mods...what?

🫀 mod Canis - doesnt know what pronouns are. has spent an unorthodox amount of time analysing kotoko. not actually that big of a canine person. more likely to be the one responding with kotokos low empathy autism swag at full force. was forced to go back through this post and capitalise everything. thinks mod lupus is a freak for capitalising things. mod lupus misspelled empathetic

🔬 Mod lupus - Uh ig you could use she/her or whatever you feel like. Major in biology. Why is this important? No clue. I study Kotoko under a microscope like a lab specimen. I like cats. You can expect the more smart and empathic Kotoko answers to come from me or smth. I hate her. Also hate mod canis for complaining about capitalisation. mod canis should look up what empathic means and realise they are the same thing.

Post tagging.

Posts follow this tagging order:

#[🖊️ rely on me. go on] - Non prisoner asks

#[♟️ observing...???] - prisoner asks/interactions, the ??? will be replaced by the prisoner number. 011 for Es. Jackalope is 000.

#[🔎 need further investigation... ???] ocs. if they have a prisoner number it goes there

#[🦷 together we'll be able to create the right milgram] rp tag

#[📰 reporting] text posts

#[📌 valuable information] random reblogs

#[📷 the person who cant be saved] pre milgram

#[🐺 what should the punishment be?] trial 1

#[⚖️ laughable justice] trial 2

#[❓she would not fucking say that] ooc for the funsies

#[mod emoji:] mod comments and notes

creator of the dividers here!

[carefulfears]

Saw your tags on the Conduit gifs-- do you have any thoughts to share with the class? ;))))

i’m going to cheat a bit and copy my conduit write-up from my newsletter, which can be read here. and if there’s anything anyone wants to hear more about i’m happy to expand!!

5/ Conduit

To me, this is all that you would ever need to know about Mulder. Right here in episode #4 is a breakdown of every single bit of his character.

He notices everything. He reads a tabloid article and submits it as evidence to the FBI. Based on a location and a name that he recognizes on sight from one event that took place 26 years ago. He takes every story seriously, even the mothers that no one but the gossip rags will listen to. He pauses in the home of a missing teenage girl to bear witness to the photos of who she used to be, to sit with her brother and ask what he’s drawing.

He burns bridges with law enforcement that say it was “only a matter of time” before something bad happened to the girl that was “no prom queen,” and tells Scully that he doesn’t care if she comes with him or not, but he’s not giving up on that girl until they find a body. He chases a wolf into the woods even though he’s afraid, and shakes and tries not to cry when it leads him to a grave. He shuts Scully’s concerns about him down and then validates them quietly, tells her the truth about what his life is really like. That it’s walking into that room every day, expecting that one day he’ll open his eyes and his sister will be there.

He holds an 8-year-old boy who’s missing his own sister, and tells him that he knows he hopes she’s coming back. That he hopes for that too. When that little boy’s sister does come back, it’s Mulder that advocates for her and her right to tell her story and have someone to talk to. For her brother to know the truth. He weeps in the church of a religion he doesn’t believe in, and more than anything else, he wants to believe.

This episode is so special and so deep to the root of the show, there’s a reason why it’s the first episode to feature the “I want to believe” tagline. It’s because it brings it back to the core of what it’s all about, it shows us what wanting to believe really means. What the cost of wanting to believe is.

That it was never an assurance or a battle cry, it’s a desperate plea on your knees. It was never about aliens, it was about human loss and incomprehensible hope and one little girl’s safety.

[eolewyn1010]

Reading Percy Jackson TLT was an ordeal for me 1 - Writing

Now, as a disclaimer in the name of fairness, I only ever read The Lightning Thief and none of the Percy Jackson series beyond that, so my experience with Rick Riordan's writing is limited (and I'm not planning to change that). It's also a distorted experience because I didn't read the original - I read a translated version, and I often noticed that it wasn't the best translation. For example, whoever was responsible was apparently incapable of translating an imperative mood, crippling quite a lot of dialogue. So I'll give Riordan that: I have probably not seen the best of his work.

That said, I massively disliked this book. Yes, even within the boundaries and rules of Kids' Fantasy. I won't tag this to the fandom because it seems nigh impossible to find anyone who so much as tolerates negative criticism of Percy Jackson. I've been called brain-damaged for not liking it, which is certainly a mature take. But I will feel better listing it all down that one time, getting it out of my mind, so here we go.

These dialogues are weird, these people are weird

I constantly catch myself thinking, "no one talks like that??" Even taking the translation aspect into account, a lot of the dialogue sounds just stilted. After the bus crash, some of the passengers are described by Percy as literally running in a circle yelling "We're gonna die" - no one behaves like that. It's a funny, over-the-top imagination that would fit in a cartoon, and it completely breaks with the serious tension of the preceding scene, and with my suspension of disbelief. People, even hysterical people, don't do that seriously. It feels like a scene in a theater play.

It appears equally forced when Annabeth apparently mutters to herself as she walks away from Percy: "Mission... Poseidon? ...[some cussing]... need a plan..." And I sit there like: Really? You mutter that to yourself? I can believe that you mutter a curse to yourself, but this "shreds of sentences" thing? Why would she talk to herself in the first place? So Percy can randomly hear some incomplete thoughts? No. It's to tease the readers. Riordan, you shouldn't make me aware of the author's presence all the time. Annabeth never talks to herself otherwise. It isn't even a character thing for her. And made out like this, it's so unnatural.

Same goes for Percy talking in his sleep... apparently very clearly and comprehensibly, so that Annabeth can piece together what he's been dreaming of. Except. People who talk in their sleep? They mumble. They hardly get a cohesive sentence out. How am I supposed to believe that this is playing in the real world? These people don't behave like people.

And one more thing that struck me as odd: A description of Grover with "his eyes narrowed; there was fear in them." Hm. Have you ever tried to look afraid with your eyes narrowed? It isn't actually that easy. When people are scared, their eyes widen. Tell me when you can narrow your eyes and get your expression not to look angry, not distrustful or doubtful, but afraid.

Is this plot ever going anywhere?

So, it's one thing that this structure of quest-hopping isn't how I personally like my books. A bigger problem seems to me that it's lacking coherence. Most of the kids' stops on the way and monsters to slay have nothing to do with their mission. Why is all of this so disconnected? Did we learn anything new from the Medusa adventure, from the episode with Echidna?

And at times, it feels like the plot is artificially prolonged. This is really bad in the beginning when no one can be arsed to tell Percy what the hell is going on. Neither Chiron nor know-it-all Annabeth can just give him a straight answer to anything. Which, Chiron comes off as plain gaslighting Percy at his human school when he denies that Percy just fought for his fucking life, and Annabeth? Percy even lampshades it; at one point he's like, "as if I was supposed to already know all that." Well, HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT WHEN NO ONE OPENS THEIR FUCKING MOUTH? And the one time that Annabeth actually wants to tell Percy something, she gets interrupted by a random outside occurence that isn't even important. Can anyone get this shit moving already?

The worst foreshadowing since Stephenie Meyer

I wish Riordan would stop slapping me over the head with Dead Herrings (aka Red Herrings that don't work the way they should). Telling me something very specific and then going "Nooo, it's couldn't possibly be that highly specific thing!" will not redirect my thoughts the wrong way; it will just make me wait jadedly for the moment when, oh, such surprise, it turns out it was exactly what you thought of first.

"Oh, Percy can do funny things with water and the only thing he's good at is rowing - who could possibly be his father!"

"This lady is surrounded by scared-looking statues and we can't see her eyes - who could she possibly be!"

"This statue looks like my uncle - what a weird coincidence!"

"Dude keeps telling Percy to put on the flying shoes - wonder what he's on about!"

Honestly, it feels very condescending. My friend said the book is written for 12-year-olds, but does Riordan know that 12-year-olds aren't idiots? It's not a good idea to treat your readers as being dense.

Inconsistent worldbuilding

Do we ever get a reason for Grover eating literal garbage? Oh, I know, the extra-diagetical explanation is a joke I'm not in on and that frankly enrages me (later more on that). But in-universe we are never told how he's capable of chewing tin cans without cutting himself to shreds. We're never told how he can digest that shit. If you have to make this a thing, Riordan, at least make it work!

Camp Half-Blood is... eh. Okay-ish? Riordan doesn't know the first thing about Ancient Greek architecture, and it comes back to bite him with Annabeth. But for now, I have questions about the strawberries. How are they growing so well when they never have rain over the valley? Like. Plants do need water. And there's no reason why Dionysus and his kids should be able to make them grow well, none. Dionysus isn't and has never been a god of nature, ever since he separated from Pan (and Pan IS a separate character in this book). The only plant he has a connection to is fucking grapevine. I can buy that he can make grapevines grow, but everything else should be under the jurisdiction of Demeter and her children. Who are allegedly largely unimpressive, but we'll get to that. Also. All strawberries? Nothing but strawberries, ever? Monoculture is ruining the soil, y'know. That camp should be on dead ground within a decade or so.

Then again, Percy also claims he hasn't eaten anything unhealthy ever since he entered the camp. And then counts, "grapes, bread, cheese, lean barbecued meat." No strawberries then? Anyway, my point is: This isn't healthy. It's a very reduced diet - a balanced diet for 12-year-olds, still growing and physically very active 12-year-olds, requires more than that! How do the kids in the camp not all have deficiency symptoms?

I'm not sure how the disappearing monsters work. Body parts can just randomly stay behind as the spoils of war? Who decides which parts? Riordan wanted Medusa's eyes to still do their work after Percy slays Medusa, because the eyes still working is part of the Perseus myth that he's processing, but that really doesn't roll with "the body just disappears when the creature is slain." Like, what. Why wouldn't her head just disappear with the rest of her; it's a part of her body? Can just the head disappear instead and randomly leave the body behind? What are the rules here?

And there's the bit with "does this actually play in the real world?" again. Because when they wander the forest, Grover complains that they cannot see the stars because of the pollution. Which. This red sheen over the sky shouldn't be a thing in the middle of a forest. This is not how light pollution works, unless they are close to a city, in which case, why are they sleeping in the forest? Or is Grover trying to tell me that there were no clouds before environmental pollution? (Granted, I don't know why they went into the forest in the first place and didn't just sleep at Medusa's shop...)

In a similar vein, why is the police looking after Percy as a criminal suspect and not as a missing child? When a 12-year-old disappears, who in their right mind goes, "he could have murdered his mother"?? Why isn't the reaction, "something really bad happened to them both; we need to look for them both!", but "we need to look specifically for this kid because he has definitely done something terrible to his mom"? What is that for an outlandish approach to a missing kid?

This is a Very American Perspective (and it doesn't work)

Now, telling me that the USA are the center of Western civilisation is obviously extremely subjective, and as a non-American, I'm probably not supposed to agree. That Chiron goes on to declare the nebulous future "fall of Western civilisation" this huge, apocalyptic catastrophe and in the process sounds like a whiny rightwing politican - okay, that's me being cynical. But this really fails as soon as the Olympus and the Greek gods get in on the equation. I cannot imagine any place in the world that's less into pagan polytheism than the USA. The Greek gods aren't revered there, or if they are, it's by very small groups.

So, if Riordan's train of thought is "they are revered by whatever name; they may have different names, but it's always the same gods", then we get into a real conundrum with the multitude of pantheons in various religions. Because the gods in different religions are very incongruent in what functions and personalities they have. It already fails with the Greek-to-Roman transference - close as these two mythologies may be, they don't work in 1:1 accordance (something which Riordan heavily misrepresents, but I'm not going into that here). So, if the modern USA are so central to Western civilisation that the gods moved the Olympus and the Underworld and everything there, how did the gods' personalities and powers not massively shift over the millennia; how did gods not disappear and appear and merge to fit more contemporary notions of God / gods? Are they completely unperturbed by mortal developments and mindsets? Then why would they ever change anything, including their location?

Speaking of Greek and Roman gods... I really enjoy the action scenes. Riordan is good at writing action; it's fun. So. It ires me that I got completely ripped out of the scene by Percy randomly spouting Latin curses. Why Latin? What does that have to do with his prodigious propensity to Ancient Greek? Why. Why does Riordan keep mixing up Roman with Greek mythology, one language with the other? They are very distinct!

Chiron at one point describes the cooperation of gods with mortals as "the dawn of the Western civilisation". This is funny, as Western civilisation hit a real low after the fall of the Roman Empire (and yes, I'm focussing on Europe in this part of my argument - there was no Western civilisation in America before the late 16th century). And it stayed like that throughout a large portion of the middle ages. The civilisation on a roll until about the 11th century was what we'd today sum up under "Arab". They were the big scientists, the big architects, they dominated the trade, they spread all over the place; it was a whole thing. Yet of course gods of Western civilisation cannot be worshipped in Fez, in Tunis, in Granada, in Baghdad, in Alexandria - so where were they in the meantime? How did they not disappear while Christianity became a thing? They were not being worshipped anymore; the majority of people alive in the Western world weren't aware there had ever been other religions in Europe than Christianity because translating the old texts into modern languages was something Arabian scholars did early on, but it was a late fashion to Christians.

"The Second World-War was a war between the children of Zeus and the children of Hades, and the losing side (aka the Nazis and their allies) were the children of Hades." ... There are certainly ways to help kids approach the very complicated layers of politics and social aspects regarding the World Wars. This isn't one of them, and I curse Riordan in the tongues of a thousand historians for the paragraph in which he summed it up like that. This is how you're explaining fascists? "Oh, they're the children of Hades, so I guess they're just born evil." This is just vile.

The weird implications of fantasy creatures being treated as animals

Percy doesn't want to walk behind Chiron because he thinks the dude would just randomly take a literal shit on him. Toilet humor is funny, you guys! Except this isn't a horse, no matter how often Percy calls him one. The nymphs aren't trees. Grover is not a goat. It's one thing to integrate features of these because we're talking fantasy mix creatures, but they are still sentient and sapient on a human level! In case of Chiron, he's hundreds of years old and a wise guardian and teacher to Percy and others. Why are we always accompanied by the implication that they are, in some capacity, animals? That's just plain old Fantasy Racism. Stop dehumanizing people you yourself have established as people, please?

Grover is the most present non-human character in this book; so he's the usual victim of this. I cannot count the times Percy calls him a goat boy, or just plain a goat. He is not. A goat. He's a person. I'm supposed to believe he is Percy's best friend. Why does Percy talk to or about him like he's holding him in contempt half the time? Why does Annabeth? She's been living with intelligent non-humans since she was seven! They make fun of him, they dismiss his warnings and instincts as "whining", even though he turns out to be right. They don't treat him seriously, they aren't friendly, they hardly do more than scold him, boss him around or roll their eyes at him.

We still get the other side of the coin

Despite the former problem, Riordan manages to be contemptuous of humans, too. People inside the camp, Annabeth most of all, but Chiron (in a softer way) as well, and eventually Percy and Grover keep talking down at humans. Chiron says the reason why Percy's sword can't kill humans is because "mortals aren't important enough." You know, I would have been fine with "it's to protect humanity" or something; I didn't need a complicated justification for how this sword works. But it would have been nice to not get the most disparaging version that makes icky humans out to be a lower class of life! "Not important enough"? With all his talk of the precious Western civilisation, Chiron should know that mortals are vital to the immortals. No humans, no gods.

Funny thing is, Annabeth repeatedly describes mortals als blind and stupid because they don't know of the mythological goings-on. I thought that was the Mist(TM)? So, what is it? You are magically protected from being perceived as being and doing supernatural stuff - then it isn't the humans' fault, is it? - or people are just stupid and self-censor in their heads. Then why bother with the Mist. The Mist existing and being explained makes me wanna yell at Annabeth to stuff her high-and-mighty attitude. Granted, the Mist isn't too internally consistent. It hides centaurs randomly galloping across the landscape in plain sight of humans, it hides the furies, but it doesn't hide Echidna and the Chimera. I would have liked an explanation for that.

Harmful stereotyping

So. Riordan really hates dog owners, doesn't he? What was with the pink poodle? I mean, I got it; the owners are terrible - that's why he has an unfitting name and why he ran away. But Riordan has to hammer me over the head again. They dyed the doggo pink. Oof. And then Echidna. Here's wondering if Riordan ever depicts a dog owner as a decent person who treats their dog well.

But I take a vastly bigger issue with his consistently hateful depiction of step-parents. Now, Evil Step-Parents(TM) are a well-worn fairytale trope. And Riordan just... never questions it. Personally, I hate it. If it's a step-parent, they're abusive; no exceptions. Percy's stepfather is beating his wife, Annabeth's stepmother treats her as a freak and isolates her from her siblings; it's all very on-the-nose. Only once, I wanna read an acknowledgment that step-parents are just people, and they are as likely to be good people as everyone else. In fact, someone who decides to take a partner who already has a child usually has to internalize that fact at first and accept that this child is going to be a part of the relationship in some capacity. Can we not shit on non-biological parents all the time?

In that context, Annabeth's biological father being a lousy parent as well looks odd, granted. It's definitely something different than Percy's angelic mom. Is Riordan telling me that Athena just has a bad taste in men? Or is that more shitting on humans?

Oh boy, and he loves him some fatshaming. And no, it isn't just "this fat character turns out to be evil", it is "every single character described as being overweight is a negative character in some way, plus depicted as someone with really poor hygiene, plus just generally physically revolting. Go on, re-read the Echidna scene. Tell me that he doesn't go out of his way there to hammer home just how obnoxious and repulsive she is before she turns out to be a monster. How many unflattering words can he squeeze into one paragraph? Why would a kid care? Why does Percy even look at a complete stranger long enough to study how bad her sense of fashion is? Other big characters include Dionysus (more on him when I talk about Riordan's takes on mythology) who's... not evil, but mean-spirited and grumpy and contemptuous and constantly pissed-off. And Gabe, the stinking, ugly, abusive stepfather who literally lives among trash and is so unsubtle that he complains to his wife's face that he didn't get her life insurance because she showed up alive. Gabe Ugliano, because he's ugly, you see? Rick Riordan is funny. He's also trying to beat me to death with an anvil. And showing his ass, because a lot of domestic abuse is way subtler than that.

Ugly = evil is a shorthand that Riordan keeps reusing - and that his hero has weirdly internalized! And don't even tell me of a judgy 12-year-old as an unreliable narrator - because the narrative keeps proving Percy right. Ares' ugly daughters and the ugly girl at human school are brutal bullies (I mean, Annabeth keeps insulting and bullying Percy, but she's pretty, so it's fine when she does it). That Medusa looks elegant and refined and "must have been a beautiful woman once" makes Percy trust her, but the moment he stops trusting her, she starts looking monstrous. It's really lazy characterization.

Also, a fun little detail from Camp Half-Blood: The phenotype of people with sharp noses? Is associated with troublemakers. Uh-huh. I'm comfy with that. That doesn't sound anti-Semitic at all. ... FUCK THIS. Riordan, stereotypes like this are HARMFUL. Do. Your. Research.

An afterthought

Does Riordan have any faith in his own writing? Because the one time I'm sold on a dramatic moment, he ends up subverting it. I'm all, "Percy's falling towards the river! Monsters! Everything is panic!" And then the new chapter starts, and the moment falls flat. Because Riordan doesn't hold onto the fear Percy feels in that moment; he makes him snark about it in hindsight. It's really not a good idea to set up an emotionally captivating moment and then make fun of it.

[rodismancave]

RULES / STATEMENTS

My first language is not English. I may make grammar mistakes, use a word improperly, or just fuck up in general. You are free to correct me if I make grammar mistakes, or confuse a word, but if I make a lot of typos in a IC post assume that's just Rodimus making his own spelling errors.

Personal blogs: you are allowed to send in asks and I’ll answer IC, but please refrain from reblogging anything that isn’t tagged. If you’re unsure, you can ask.

My portrayal is heavily based on IDW/G1 and headcanons. I can adapt to other universes if asked to do so, but they will be headcanon based. Rodimus is portrayed as per my understanding of his character.

DMs open! Don't be afraid to hmu on DMs or respond to my posts. Talk to me about ideas, dm me for plotting, go crazy. I love interacting with people, and I love participating in IC bits.

I am just here to have fun. Try not to take me too seriously. I can and will RP serious stuff, such as diving in Rodimus' questionable actions, but I will do so in very evasive ways. Don't get frustrated if Rodimus brushes your character off or acts mean.

Please be 18+ when interacting.

I may be selective. Please don't be sad if I don't interact with you. I will always do my best to interact with people, but sometimes it just doesn't click for me. I have a very particular taste for writing, which brings us to the next point.

I have reading difficulties. This may get worse some days but most days it is nearly non-existent. No, this does not mean I have dyslexia, not that I know of, It just means I can misinterpret texts or straight up be unable to read or write texts for a few hours. If I write a response, and it makes 0 sense, sorry. My brain was acting funky and I tried to push forward. The text won’t make sense to me either.

Shipping is okay! But I will be selective. Rodimus will frankly flirt with anyone, and I'd like to state it now that it doesn't mean he is romantically interested. Sometimes thats just how he shows he cares.

OC, AUs, crossovers are free to interact!! Feel free, be not afraid, etc. This does not mean I will always respond but please don't take it personally. Sometimes I just have no idea what certain things are.

Please read my headcanons before interacting. Your character isn’t going to know certain quirks and bits about him, but if you’re going to pretend to be a part of his crew and like you know him at least read a few of the stuff that’s Lost Light-relevant.

Basic DNI criteria goes. Do not interact if you are proship, LGBT+phobic, racist, etc. If you do, and I find out, I’ll soft block you. Upon insistence, I’ll permanently block you. I don’t need to tell you why.

I have the right to refuse any RP and to block whoever I want. If you start any sort of unnecessary trouble, or overall I just don’t feel comfortable with the content you reblog/interact with, I’ll unfollow you and move along. But if there’s insistence on interacting with me, I’ll block you.

[suckitsurveys]

Is your closet disorganized? Not super disorganized, no.

Have you ever been to Times Square? I have.

What TV shows do you watch on a regular basis? Right now SNL.

Have you ever accidentally left something valuable at a shop before? Yes.

What makes your life remarkable? Hah.

Are you putting off doing anything that you really need to get done? Uh huh.

What is the last thing you scribbled down on a Post-It note? Just work notes.

What are you currently listening to? Nothing.

How would you react in discovering your best friend was seriously obsessed with you? Uhhhhh I think I’d notice that by now.

Do you care if your produce is organic or not? No.

Do you have any children? If so, how old were you when you had them? If not, do you think you ever will? Nope and nope.

Do you eat meat? Yes.

Do you get enough calcium? Probably not.

Do you think before you act or speak? Yes, almost to a fault. As in, I almost never speak up for myself because I overthink how people will react.

Do you have a SwagBucks account? I have no idea what that is.

Are you nosy? I can be.

Do you always try on clothes before purchasing them? Not always

Is there anything in your closet with the tags still on? Nope. There was until somewhat recently.

Are you happy with the size of your bedroom? It’s fine.

Do you add people you don’t actually know on Facebook? No. Everyone on FB I know to one extent or another.

What’s your favorite condiment? Depends on the food.

Would you even want to know how much of your life has been spent online? Good god.

Do you shop at American Eagle? No.

List 5 things you’re afraid of: No.

Have you forgotten anything important recently? Blah.

Would you say you’re an honest person? Yeah.

The last Facebook message you received from the opposite sex, what did it say? It was from Mark. He was telling me he was going to start preparing the homemade french fried onions for our homemade green bean casserole for tomorrow.

What does the nicest message in your Facebook inbox say? I'm sure it’s from Mark; he’s the only person I talk to on there.

Is your best friend single? Two are.

What color was the ink of the last pen you wrote with? Black.

What does your pencil-case look like? I don’t have one.

Where was the last place you went that was totally new to you, as in, it was the first time you’d been there? The most recent places I can recall is a cafe and a couple of stores in Salt Lake City when I visited Ellen earlier this month. Also, it was my first time seeing her new condo!

When was the last time you used someone else’s computer? It’s been a while.

Who do you dislike the most? Explain what you dislike about that person. My sister’s husband because he’s a fucking piece of fucking shit and the worst father I’ve ever seen and pretends to be all high and mighty and above everyone else and I just fucking hate him.

What’s the longest you’ve liked someone without doing anything about it? I don’t know.

Do you use straightening irons on your hair? What brand? No.

What’s the relationship status of the last person you talked to? He’s married to meeeeee.

Is there anything you would like to complain about? A lot of stuff.

What’s the first line of the last song you listened to? “She would never say where she came from.”

Think of the person from your past that hurt you the most. Is there anything you would like to say to that person? No.

Does your mom like the last person you kissed? She did when she was alive.

Now your cell phone, what color is it? It’s silver.

What was so special about today? Eh.

If somebody tried to steal your best friend’s boyfriend/girlfriend, what would you do? I don’t know, I’m not in high school.

What was the last thing you said to your mother? That was over 11 years ago at this point.

When was the last time you cried? Yesterday.

Has anyone made you upset lately? Yes.

What are you looking forward to? The two weeks I have off for Christmas/New Years.

Does anyone completely understand you? Sure.

Ever stayed up all night on the phone? Yeah.

Do you miss your past? Some aspects of it.

Do you have a reason to smile right now? I do.

Are you a forgiving person? Eh.

Do you say sorry first? Yes, if I have to.

Do you like cats? I LOVE cats.

Has someone promised you something and broke it? Yeah.

Did you kiss or hug anyone today? Yes to both.

Does your phone ring in the middle of the night? Not usually.

Is there anybody you’re really disappointed in right now? Eh.

Have you ever lost someone you wish you didn’t? Yeah.

Are you anything like you were a year ago? Sure.

Have you ever felt like you hit rock bottom? Sure.

Would you rather spend a day outside with friends or inside alone? Depends entirely on my mood.

Think back to this time last year, were you happy? Blah.

Has anyone upset you in the last week? Yes.

What should you be doing? I am doing this at work but I am also doing training videos so I’m not completely ignoring my job lol.

Describe how you feel right now in one word. Tired.

What would you do if you found out one of your friends was going for the person you liked? I'm married, they wouldn’t.

Do you prefer drinking water from a bottle or a sink? A bottle or at least filtered. I’m not above drinking it from a sink but if the options are available I’ll take it filtered.

Will you ever run away and get married in Las Vegas with no notifications to either of your families? Already married.

Have you ever thrown your iPod in anger? Oh yes.

Who did you last have a heart-to-heart conversation with? Mark.

Do you believe that there’s good in everybody? Eh.

Has anything happened to you within the past month that has made you mad? Yes.

Would you ever get a tattoo? I have several already.

[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)

[dreamcatcherrs]

most to least likely to be possessive/a lil jealous in a relationship? <3

mtl likely to be possessive/jealous over their s/o; mcyt x reader

+ judged by their actions and general feelings on jealousy and being possessive

MOST

wilbur

corpse husband

sapnap

karl jacobs

dream

punz

quackity

george

skeppy

fundy

badboyhalo

technoblade

awesamdude

eret

LEAST

wilbur:

when wilbur is jealous…. he is jealous. and he is not afraid of showing it. he’s not the type to beat another guy up about it (unless there’s a good reason to), but pays no mind in giving you some nice hickeys right then and there. you’re his - that’s it. if someone’s even a tad bit confused about that fact, he won’t hesitate to show them. doesn’t really grow any suspicions on his friends, because he trusts them and he trusts you, but if it’s a guy/girl he doesn't know? he’ll show you off even if there was 0 signs of flirting.

place on the jealousy scale: 9/10

place on the possessive scale: 10/10

corpse husband:

corpse is a very possessive man. like, he will pull you to his side in an instant the second someone tries talking to you, kissing you right in front of them, and then say “wanna fuck in the back like we agreed to?” and then pretend like he only just noticed the guy/girl and give him a hateful “hey”. he gives no fucks when it comes to someone else trying to get all up in your business. even if it means you getting embarrassed and flushed. he will actually start shaking in anger if someone is so obviously flirting with you, yet you don't notice, and will point it out afterwards to you; “how could you not notice?”.

place on the jealousy scale: 7/10

place on the possessive scale: 10/10

sapnap:

HE WILL FIGHT FOR YOU. if someone tries hitting on you or winks at you or some shit, he will shut that bitch down. no one messes with you under his watch. he’ll step in the minute they tried talking to you; “was there something you wanted to say?” and if they answered back with a remark instead of just leaving, he’d throw hands, and he won’t stop till they've learnt to stay the fuck away from what isn't theirs. it doesn't happen often though, thank god. would be pouty after you told him not to beat people up while cleaning his wounds; “but you’re mine🥺”.

place on the jealousy scale: 8/10

place on the possessive scale: 7/10

karl jacobs:

he is a pouty baby🥺 will get very jealous if you hang out with someone else even just five minutes longer than him. especially with his friends. he’ll be vocal about it and quite touchy. will come up to you from behind while you were talking to jimmy, rest his chin on your shoulder and wrap his arms around you. “when are you gonna pay attention to me again?” easily gets jealous, but he isn’t very possessive. he feels guilty if he tries being controlling of you - you can do what you want after all, it’s just not always he likes it.

place on the jealousy scale: 10/10

place on the possessive scale: 4/10

dream:

he doesn't get jealous very easily, but he doesn't like when random guys talk to you. he won’t really show that he’s jealous with people he doesn't know, but would rather be really really quiet. would stand around and mope until he asked if you could leave. he can seem kinda intimidating with his silence, and it can be because he’s very angry, but really he just doesn't wanna lose you. that’s what he's really afraid of. if it’s one of his friends though, even sapnap or george, he’ll be like “back the fuck off!” but it wouldn't really be ‘serious’ because he knew they would never actually flirt with you. he can get pretty possessive though, whispering “you’re mine” in your ear after any events like this.

place on the jealousy scale: 6/10

place on the possessive scale: 8/10

punz:

luke can get pretty jealous and pretty possessive, but it takes a while to rile him up enough for him to show it. if someone is flirting with you just to piss him off, it actually has the opposite effect on him - it doesn't piss him off at all. because he knows the person is just trying to get to him, what's the reason of getting mad? he knows you belong to him, so he has nothing to worry about. but if someone touches you? like sapnap, he will not be afraid to throw hands. that’s straight up harassment and he is not letting that happen. he’ll raise his voice and get all up in their face. can stay pretty mad afterwards and overthink things too much. generally though, he isn't much of a jealous type.

place on the jealousy scale: 7/10

place on the possessive scale: 7.5/10

quackity:

alex is more insecure than jealous. he starts thinking that any other guy could easily take you from him, and that he isn't deserving of you (even though he is just so wrong because it would actually be a treasure to be with him. mans needs to know😩). he’d need some uplifting after dealing with these thoughts - just some reminding that you’re his. worst case scenario, he’d give the guy/girl a death glare, but he wouldn't fight them or very obviously show them that you're his or anything like that. he’d rather keep his thoughts to himself.

place on the jealousy scale: 6.5/10

place on the possessive scale: 7/10

george:

I feel like george gets a lot more jealous than most people think he would. he can be pretty possessive at times, pulling at your hand or arm to drag you away from someone. “don't talk to them, talk to me.” he shows his jealousy pretty calmly and would never pick a fight with someone just because he’s feeling a lil’ jealous. all he needs to do is just tell you or give you a sign, and that’d usually be enough for him to feel all good again. he’s not afraid to blatantly roll his eyes in front of someone who’s flirting with you or come with a snarky remark if he has to.

place on the jealousy scale: 6/10

place on the possessive scale: 6.5/10

skeppy:

skeppy can get jealous, but he tries to avoid it at all costs. it makes him feel sad to see someone else try to flirt with his s/o, when clearly you're not available. he doesn't like the thought of getting angry about other people’s actions though, so he’s just kinda left feeling sad about the whole thing instead. will definitely need some cuddles and reassuring afterwards just to get his mood up again, and he gets back on his feet pretty quick, because in the end he has no doubts that you’ll leave him. especially not for someone else.

place on the jealousy scale: 5/10

place on the possessive scale: 5/10

fundy:

he just looks like a sad little kitten. it has to be very obvious that someone is flirting with you for him to get jealous. and even then he doesn't act out about it - just stares and feels sad. will tell you afterwards that he doesn't like you talking to that person, only because they were very clearly trying to get to know you more than a friend. wouldn't think much of it afterwards because he trusts you enough to then stay away from that person before anything else happened.

place on the jealousy scale: 4.5/10

place on the possessive scale: 4/10

badboyhalo:

like fundy, worst case is that he’ll be a little sad. but I don’t really see him as a jealous type, and definitely not as a possessive person. I just think that if you were to be in a situation where someone was trying badly to take you from him, he’d grow defensive and push the person away and tell you; “I didn't like how that guy/girl was talking to you :(”. he wouldn't expect you to stay away from the person if it was someone you knew well, but would just want you to be aware of them. but as I said, that was the worst case scenario. I think he’d get seriously jealous very rarely.

place on the jealousy scale: 4/10

place on the possessive scale: 2/10

technoblade:

pffff. if you think some guy/girl talking to you is gonna get him mad, you're wrong. you talking to other people affects him in no way other than if you were getting a little too friendly. maybe then he’d feel one single spark of anger inside of him, but it isn't anything that’ll make him act out. the only time he’d really get upset is if you were the one flirting with someone (which you probably wouldn't unless you want to see this man upset, and in that case I don't want to talk to you😔), where he’d feel his heart sink and would honestly just walk away from the situation and feel betrayed. generally, he doesn't get very jealous.

place on the jealousy scale: 3/10

place on the possessive scale: 3.5/10

awesamdude:

sam just does not get jealous. he trusts you 100%, but of course he’ll shut someone down if they got a little close to you (tried to kiss you etc.) because that’s just not alright. he doesn't get mad or anything if that happens, at least if the person isn't aware that you're dating him, and even then, he’s sure his height will do the job to scare the person away. like, c’mon, mans is 6′7. don't tell me that isn't intimidating. anyways, he’s doesn't get jealous. if anything he just laughs it off or jokes around with getting jealous about something.

place on the jealousy scale: 2/10

place on the possessive scale: 3/10

eret:

like sam, he just doesn't get jealous. you can hang out with anyone you want - he knows he’s the one you’ll be coming home to at the end of the day. he’s the one who gets to kiss you, hold you, touch you, so why spend time being jealous of others when he already has you? this is eret we’re talking about - he knows he’s better than all of those bitch boys out there. if they wanna fight, they can fight but like, he knows they’ll lose since they won't get you anyway. trust is key in a relationship😌

place on the jealousy scale: 0/10

place on the possessive scale: 0/10

_____________________________________

tag list✰

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[princess-fuckrosa]

Hi. I hope you don't hate sk8 adam. If you one of the unique and awesome people whole love/like Adam can you perhaps wrote a SMUT of him? I'm sad that i can't find and SMUT about him cause everyone hating on him. You can write anything tho i don't have any particular request.

Thank you and sorry for the bad English. English is not my first language

Ahw, don't worry Anon, this blog is a safe place for loving on anyone!

And well, let's be completely honest, everyone who hates on this moron, is actually right about it, the latest episode left me a 3 minute complete silence as I tried to recover from what he did to our dear Cherry.......

But, to be fair, I have a soft spot for all the motherfuckers like Adam, so all of you who love the Matador of Love, don't be afraid to send in your requests, I adore him too! 💖

And don't worry about your English anon, it's perfectly fine! Send me a request anytime I'm open! ❤

*EDIT: Yesterday I forgot to include some stuff, so I added them~

HEAVY smut under the cut, general TW for the innocent vanillas~

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam) SMUT headcanons

We already have some clues about how the Matador of Love would be like in a relationship, and let me tell you, and I don't think it's a surprise but...

It's not nice. At all.

or it depends on what you call nice I think haha

Ainosuke definitely has a big turn on for tears and fear.

He's a sadist, and I don't think he would be completely against being on the other end of the line, but he would be the top dom most of the time.

He's into both physical and mental abuse, but before we completely bookmark him under the 'heartless psycho' category, he won't do anything non-consensual.

I imagine he would search for his 'Eve' in this way too, and if someone wouldn't willingly submit to him, they are just not the right ones.

So unless you let him do whatever he wants, he wouldn't take you seriously. He might have a one night stand, as he does sometimes, but to be his Eve, that's not enough.

He would expect you to be 100% submissive towards him, but only in the bedroom, and not on the casual side. He would love the contrast between the two: you being bold and confident during the day, but a sobbing, needy mess at night - perfect.

Master/Pet play is a big kink for him.

At first, he would give you a taste - he wouldn't be half as rough as he usually is, but would make you cry during the act, just to show off his style a little

"Do you still want to be my pet?", he asked, his index finger lifting up your head to make your teary eyes meet his seemingly empty, red ones. If you managed to whimper out a yes, his fingers would brush your lips as he leans a little closer. "I'm gonna abuse you, y/n."

You saying yes to him again would make his blood boil in excitement again.

He would absolutely cherish the idea of having a s/o as a pet, someone who would adore and worship him, and he could play with them as much as he would like to. Wouldn't go as far as caging (well, if you really insist, he wouldn't be against it either), but would give you a collar with "Adam" written on the tag.

Ainosuke is the kind that would be gentle and caressing at the start, and as the play session goes he would get more rough and vicious.

He does a lot of foreplay. It's mostly anything that implies that he is in control, and usually it starts rather innocently.

He walks over to you, caressing your cheeks with a brief smile, giving you soft kisses on your neck, hands traveling on your body with gentle touches...

...only until you get completely relaxed. He would lean back a little, his fingers tracing your lips, and for the first time in the last few minutes, he would smile at you.

And the fun begins.

You quickly learn that specific smile, the innocent, kind one that only appears on his lips when he came up with something truly dirty and terrific.

Would totally manhandle and take advantage of you. Grabbing you by the hair or your collar to get you to the bedroom, but sometimes when he feels like it, he could be able to just pick you up in bridal style and carry you to his bed - which is gigantic, by the way.

With Ainosuke, expect a lot of messy blowjobs. He would let you start and show your appreciation for the first few minutes. But after that, he would cup your cheeks, tug into your hair and face fuck you with vigorous speed. Plus points if you wear any makeup, he would ruin it, and almost get off only on the sight of seeing you crying off your eyeshadow. It would be hard to stop him after he starts, and wouldn't really care about your discomfort, the only thing he would avoid is making you vomit, he doesn't like that

He would call you the dirtiest, filthiest names ever, but would praise you and call you sweet, loving names just as much, especially during said face fucks.  

He is not THAT into bondage, Ainosuke prefers using his hand and body only to get you under full control, but if he is in the right mood, he would totally tie you up and abuse the hell out of you.

Doesn't matter if you are a female or a male, he would absolutely torture your nipples. Flicking them roughly, pinching them, tugging on them so hard that your back arches, slapping and biting them.

Getting to the main act with Ainosuke takes a long time, he would make sure to make you come one way or another, at least once.

Sometimes, when he is in a more affectionate mood, or you earned a reward, he would overstimulate you until you're so dizzy and disoriented that you don't even remember your own name, because you screamed his name so many times during your climaxes. He would leave you no rest, once you get your first one, he wouldn't stop, aiming for the next one, and the next one, and the next one...

Finally, when he gets between your legs with his crotch, you're so wet or lubricated that it wouldn't be much of a struggle to slam into you without a warning.

Through the whole foreplay, he is just so aloof and cold, or somewhat loving yet collected, but now that he is in you - he would completely switch into an animalistic, rough beast. Grabbing and bending you, completely getting lost in your moans, whimpers, and screams.

Would enjoy a lot of poses, his favorites are mating press, spreader, v, all variations of doggy, and basically everything where he is in full control over you.

But when he gets close, he would prefer to switch into missionary, leaving no space between your bodies, looking into your eyes as he reaches his high.

Depending on his mood, he would be either very affectionate with aftercare, or just completely ignorant of it, leaving you in the room alone as he goes to clean up himself and return to his day.

If there's no risk of knocking you up, he would usually release his seed into you, as a way of marking you as his, but would love to just cum anywhere on your body for the same reason.

That being said, he is not an abusing asshole all the time. From time to time, he would be more gentle, focusing more on holding your body like it was the most precious thing in the world, keeping it close to him, shower it with kisses, lovebites, and loving gropes.

He would sense your mood often, and if you feel down for some reason, he would cuddle you, placing you into his lap and wrapping his arm around you, and he would offer you some distraction from your problems. If you accept it, he would pay attention to your needs. Sure, if you just want his usual self, he will order you around and give you a rough treatment.

But if you need lovemaking, how would the Matador of Love turn you down? It's just something he won't really go for on a regular basis, so savor these moments every time, but don't be afraid to mention it when you need it, he's bossy and narcissistic but up for negotiations.

The latter is rather rare, he would usually just cuddle up with your messy, hot body for a few minutes before helping with the cleaning up.

Either way, sex is hardly ever predictable with him, he would be able to surprise you every time even after a long, long time of being together.