#your girl is going to be on a FOURTEEN HOUR FLIGHT

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: Matthew Healy, George Daniel, Ross Macdonald, Adam Hann, Jamie Oborne Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Past Drug Addiction, Mpreg Summary:

Matty lied, which was probably a mistake since he was a shit liar on a good day, and today wasn’t a good day. He was much better at just, not saying anything, even though his therapist had told him that was really just lying by omission. He couldn’t meet Jamie’s eyes, and knew he was sweating nervously. He was hyper aware that he could feel the wand in his back pocket.

.

Just like in the bathroom after the show, two parallel lines stared back at him, confirming deep down what he already knew. The test was positive.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so. 

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat. 

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing. 

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently. 

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point. 

“When is your flight?” 

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation. 

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-” 

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid. 

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?” 

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts. 

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.” 

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?” 

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?” 

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face. 

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic. 

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand. 

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze. 

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury. 

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists. 

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.” 

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you. 

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood. 

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.” 

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his. 

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go. 

“You don’t know him,” He said. 

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.” 

“Why?” 

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar. 

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.” 

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit. 

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of ​​children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely. 

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.” 

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.” 

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.” 

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?” 

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag. 

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”  

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary. 

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff. 

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head. 

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.” 

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention. 

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head. 

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things. 

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.” 

******

No pressure tags:

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End of the Line: Hank Loza x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Home For Christmas!

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @librarian1002 @words-and-seeds @elizabeththebat @fanfic-n-tabulous @broiderie @thanossexual @keyweegirlie @adaydreamaway08 @oklahomapeach

The Finale of The Convention Storyline

Hank doesn’t expect you to make it home for Christmas. You’re in Berlin, doing an interview and photoshoot spread for one of the magazines you work for. You’d promised him you’d be home on the twentieth, he’d held off decorating his place until then thinking it was something the two of you could do together. You’d called on the day to tell him you’d had to switch your flight to Christmas Eve because the tattoo artist you were interviewing’s availability had changed.

He ends up putting up the tree and hanging up the baubles by himself because he’s bringing his mom here from the home on Christmas Day and he wants it to feel festive.

When you call him on Christmas Eve, he knows it’s bad news. You were supposed to be on your flight two hours ago. He has plans to pick you up from the airport with Riz’s pickup truck. A storm has moved in, you tell him, they’re grounding all flights until it shifts. He puts down the phone with a heavy heart. He knows you’re trying but he is too. Your career is important, he gets that, but he’s starting to feel less and less of a priority.

It’s Christmas Day when he gets a knock on the door. He’s wearing an apron when he answers, the turkey in the oven. His mom is in his Lazy Boy watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.

You’re standing at the door with your rucksack slung over your shoulder, the one you use for travelling. You look exhausted, he guesses a fourteen-hour flight will do that to you.

Over dinner it becomes clear you’re fatigued from your journey. You’re almost falling asleep at the table. You try to soldier through it, but there’s more than a couple of times he sees your eyes flicker closed.

It’s a repeat performance of your last few trips back to Santo Padre because even when you’re here, you’re not really present. You’re run down and tired, prepacking for your next trip. You’re trying to make this work the best you can, but the truth is it isn’t. You aren’t around to support him when he needs you, and he can’t be there to share your experiences.

It’s the next day he addresses the issue. You’re sitting down to breakfast, a cup of coffee in your hand and your rucksack already packed and by the door because tomorrow you’re shooting off to Naples.

“I think we both know this isn’t working.” He says as he takes your hand in his. “It’s nobody’s fault. I think we’re in two separate places, I want to settle and you…”

He trails off, struggling to find the words.

“I need more than you can give.” He says quietly.

He’s right, you know he is. The travelling back and forth to Santo Padre is leaving you stretched too thin. Usually, you move from assignment to assignment but the fact you keep coming here, eats up your time, your energy. By the time you make it back, you’re barely here a day or two before you have to go again. The time you do spend with Hank is limited and truthfully, you’re usually recovering from the flight in.

“I know.” You say softly, your eyes stinging. “I thought we could make this work…”

Hank reaches out, his thumb chasing away the tears that trickle down your cheek.

“We tried right?” He says, his voice breaking. “I think that’s all that matters, the two of us tried.”

Love Hank? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Want more Hank? Check out his Masterlist here!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[novankenn]

Perfection - A Homecoming (Ch2)

There had been no issue for Jaune to to be granted a leave of absence, though the administration of Beacon did balk at also granting one for Pyrrha. But after a couple implications that she would possibly consider withdrawing from Beacon to transfer to say... Shade Academy and the issues was quickly resolved.

The trip was quiet, uncomfortably so. Jaune didn't speak, he was so far into his own thoughts and worries that even his motion sickness was nonexistent. Pyrrha knew from their late night training and conversations, that his relationship with his family was strained. Running from home with a priceless heirloom tended to do that. Yet Jaune was so out of sorts, and she wasn't sure if it was from returning home, or the passing of his father.

Pyrrha: Jaune, are you okay?

Jaune: I'm fine Pyr.

Pyrrha: Jaune, it's just us. I can tell you're upset, and you know you can tell me anything. So talk to me.

Jaune: I...

Pyrrha: Is this about you returning home?

Jaune: A little, but it's more... my dad. We didn't part on good terms, and now he's gone... I'll never...

Pyrrha said nothing else, and just reached over and pulled Jaune into her. She closed her eyes and lay her cheek against the top of his head as sobs shook his body. It was going to be a long flight, and she was determined to be there for him.

Fourteen hours, five of which were consumed by fitful sleep the airship landed in a fairly well off settlement. Actually to Pyrrha it was probably one of the better fortified ones she had even been in.

Pyrrha: Is this Perfection?

Jaune: No this is Ansel. Perfection is another five hours away, over land.

Pyrrha: Why can't you fly in? Seems like a waste of time to drive.

Jaune: Perfection is in the middle of the mountain range. The air currents create too much turbulence to fly in safely, if at all.

Pyrrha: Okay, so how...

????: Jaune you little SHIT! Finally dragged your ass back huh?

Pyrrha and Jaune turned to face the owner of the voice, and Pyrrha was a little shocked. The young woman standing before them. She was in a denim button up shirt, camouflaged cargo pants, and a set of rather scuffed up boots. her Long golden tresses pulled back into a mess pony tail... but what really struck Pyrrha was how much this girl, who appeared to be Jaune's age... looked like Jaune.

Jaune: Screw you Joan. I've been busy trying to have a future not mired in that god forsaken place.

Joan: Well, boo-hoo Jaune... just boo-hoo. Who's this?

Jaune: Joan this is Pyrrha Nikos, my partner. Pyrrha this is Joan... a pain in my ass and my twin sister.

Joan: Partner, eh? Mom have to start planning on grand-kiddies?

Jaune: Stuff it. We're not that type of partners. So what happened, Mom was a little... shy on details.

Pyrrha: (Thinking) Yet, Jaune. Not that type yet.

Joan: Screwed if we know. Dad went out to check the seismos, and never came back. Me and Jade went out and found his truck totally trashed.

Jaune: Grand Blanc?

Joan: Nah... siesmos show he was up in the northeast quadrant, Dad was in the West quadrant.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune: I'll explain it all on the way to Perfection Pyr.

Joan: You little jag-off. You brought someone with you and didn't warn them about what they were getting into? Shit move to pull bro.

Jaune: Didn't have time. So we heading up?

Joan: (Tosses Jaune the keys) You're driving.

Jaune: Fine. You bring my kit?

(==[Table of Contents]==)

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Obedience

for Angstpril, Day 11: Self-Sabotage

cw: death mention, creepy whumper, manipulation, very vague noncon reference, adult language

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

וווווווווווווווווווווו×

Alexei was back in Uriah's office. Same chair, same cinnamon candle sitting cold on the desk, same shock collar weighing heavy on his throat, reminding him that he couldn't run; he was still a prisoner.

Even before the Tower, he'd been no stranger to electrocution, but the pulse the handler had dealt him had been especially strong. Lex was exhausted. Every muscle was sore, as if he'd been slammed against a wall, or thrown down a few flights of stairs, and there was a tremor in his shoulders that wouldn't go away.

Uriah Fox took his time coming in. A quick glance at the clock told him it was 3am, and Lex wondered if the CEO had been woken up when he'd turned on the handler.

Defective tool. Faulty weapon. 

Fox had used the Tower as a threat, implying he had another chance to stay free of it, but Lex was still on edge. There was no way he'd escape punishment, even if he was still useful enough to stay out of the cell.

"Well well," Fox's voice came from behind, and Lex tensed instinctively.

Stop. It's no use here.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come back. Color me pleasantly surprised."

(Surmise, demise, unwise.)

Lex watched him move around the desk, take a seat across from him.

"You said you wanted to re-evaluate."

"I did. I understand you're upset. Misleading you about Overkast was unkind of me, I'll admit—"

"Misleading? Lying."

"Let me finish." There was an edge to his voice that made Lex oblige, and Fox smiled at his silence. Like he knew he was holding his leash.

"I think we should start again. I'll offer you more transparency, and in return, I ask that you offer your services." Fox reached into the cabinet beside him, retrieving a crimson folder, opening it, spreading the papers inside across the top of the desk. Headshots. Codenames and personal details. Lex recognized the people in the photos; the same ones he'd encountered at the apartment a few hours prior.

"Each individual here has been Redlined," Fox began, using a term Lex was very familiar with.

It was what happened to a powered person when they committed a crime; a warrant was put out for their arrest, and worse, they lost any legal protection. Sometimes civilians would band together to hunt Redlined. On the occasion that they caught up with their quarry, there wasn't much left to bury. Lex was Redlined himself, along with plenty of his Neath acquaintances.

"What'd they do?" Lex asked.

"Broke contract with Titanium. They're unpredictable. Dangerous."

Dangerous. He thought of the round-faced woman, reading her book. The girl in pajamas. Even when Fox told him there would be a team, he hadn't mentioned the kid.

"And you want me to kill them?"

Fox sighed. "I want you to ensure that they can't run rampant through the streets. Whether that means killing them, or bringing them to me."

"What will you do with them?"

"They'll be dealt with by the company."

Dealt with. Locked up in the Tower, then. The book woman and the girl whose fire could rival his own. The skinny young man who'd stood frozen in the street. The woman with a red streak in her hair, who'd offered him her hand.

The Tower wasn't meant for people like them, it was for people like him. They wouldn't last a week.

"What happens if I say no?" Lex said.

"What makes you think you can?" Fox raised an eyebrow. "Well, you certainly can, but you know where you'll end up."

(Cup, pup.) Lex swallowed, reaching out to pull the papers closer to him. How many times had he done this, before the Tower? How many files had he been handed, to familiarize himself with a target? But never someone he'd met, never someone who'd wanted to help him, however stupid that notion was.

Sarah McCloud. Codename: Spyglass. Twenty five, able to enhance her senses.

A danger.

Akeela Harris. Codename: Firebrand. Fourteen, pyromancer.

Fourteen fucking years old.

"You want me to kill a child?" He pushed the datapage back. 

"Harsh way to put it. Apprehend."

"A kid."

"I didn't think Cinder cared about those details," Fox said, tucking the pages back into the folder. "I thought you followed orders. Indiscriminately."

"I don't hurt kids." He folded his arms, a gesture he'd honestly missed. 

"You'd rather go back to your cell?"

Lex tried not to let his fear at those words reach his expression, forcing his voice to come out calm. "Thought you wanted to make use of me. Is one rogue team enough to make it worth it?"

"What are you suggesting?" Fox leaned back in his chair.

"I know how it works. Corporate loves using prisoners to do their dirty work." He mimicked Fox, leaning back as if he were capable of relaxing. "You wanted me for that, so why limit it to this one job? Surely you have other problems you want taken care of."

"And you think that's enough leverage to make me let up about the rogues?" Fox seemed amused by the notion. "Any prisoner in the Tower would kill to be in your position."

(Addition, commission, intuition.)

"But you chose me." His heart rate was picking up with every bit pushback from Uriah. Was it really worth it? Why should he risk going back to save a bunch of strangers?

"That looked bad."

"We aren't your enemies."

"Are you okay?"

Fuck.

To his relief, Fox chuckled. "You are bold. I can't say I don't admire that. And someone with your particular skillset can be hard to come by…" He put up his hands. "Alright. Say I indulge you. Are you planning on defying me every other mission? Attacking your babysitter?"

"No." Lex clenched his jaw. "I'll follow orders." He added, "No kids."

Uriah tapped his chin. "Fortunately for you, most of my enemies aren't children. Now you say you'll be obedient. How will you prove it?"

Lex looked up. "Prove it?"

"Yes. I'm not about to agree to your terms unless I know it'll be worth my while." He grinned. "Why don't you get down on your knees for me, Alexei?"

His breath caught. "What?"

"True obedience is without question. Or are you having second thoughts?"

Lex grimaced, getting up from the chair and moving to kneel on the floor, pushing away any shreds of damaged pride. It's been worse. I've done worse.

His pulse quickened as Fox stood, walking over to him. He placed a hand on his head. 

"Good boy."

Lex said nothing, eyes glued on the ground, jaw clenched.

(Ploy, coy, annoy. Toy.) He swallowed.

Relief washed over him when Fox's hands didn't trace down his throat or fiddle with a belt buckle, instead taking a half-step back.

"Kiss my shoes," he said, "and we have a deal. I'll forget this little incident, and you can forget about the rogue team. Stay out of the Tower. Work for me."

I've done worse. It could've been so much worse.

Lex leaned forward, slowly lowering himself and planting his mouth on the leather.

"Shoes. Plural."

He fixed his glare on the floor, holding back from directing it upwards, at Uriah, then moved to repeat the motion with the other foot.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" He lifted Lex's chin with the toe of his shoe, a smug smile on his face. "I'll arrange for you to have a room here. Life will be good for you Alexei, just wait and see. All you have to do is keep that obedience."

Lex stayed on his knees while Uriah circled around him, moving towards the office door.

"And remember who you belong to."

וווווווווווווווווווווו×

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[archivxx]

✯[0.12] ✯

Previous || Next

Note: I guess I’m not a very observant person. I don’t take into account how deeply I rely on people being in my life until they aren’t for 3 days.

It was Thursday night, you would be leaving for the airport in eight hours to catch your flight to LA. You had missed fake-dating-Thursdays as Clyde was already in LA. Not having fake-dating-Thursday this week pained you a little, it seemed it hadn’t really occurred to you how much you enjoyed it till it had gone. You would see him in fourteen hours though, that was a bonus.

You weren’t really sure why not seeing him saddened you so much, you clearly really relied on his presence in your life to keep you company.

You shoved some underwear into your suit case, it was full. Too full. When you had closed it, the edges didn’t meet. You had to climb up on your bed and sit on your suitcase in order to zip it shut.

When you had finally won the wrestle with your suitcase, you went into the kitchen where Kyle and Nichole were waiting for you. You had told them you would only be a minute and ended up taking an hour. You plopped down in the other chair at your dining table, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them.

Nichole reached her hand over and rubbed your back. “Packing getting to you?”

“Yeah. It sucks. I hate packing.”

“Well, you could go and nap, we have like seven hours till we need to get ready to go.”

“I would, but I’m actually going to go to the studio and practice.”

Nichole’s hand halted. “Y/N.” You lifted your head up, Kyle and Nichole were sharing a look. A look that your couldn’t quite decipher.

Kyle sighed. “Y/N you’ve been spending so much time at the studio, like, twelve hours a day.”

“Yeah, we’re worried. We’ve hardly seen you, girl.”

If you were being honest, you had kind of been kind of been hiding from them. Or well, not them per say but definitely from Nichole, considering she is the only one out of the three of you unaware of you and Clyde not actually being a couple. If you didn’t spend time around her there was no reason to lie, thus, the lie couldn’t get any worse. But you also wanted to keep practicing for Pete’s event, it was convenient timing if anything.

“I’ve just been busy, you know Pete’s event means a lot to me and I want to be my absolute best.” Well at least there was some truth.

“And you will be, but if you overwork yourself you’re just going to exhaust your talent.”

You sighed. She was right, actually. You had been burning yourself out. You had known when you got home at 1am on a Wednesday, but chose to ignore it. You were enjoying the distraction, when you were in the studio there was no one there to lie to, there was no one there to pretend to be dating, the was no one pecking you, bugging you, just you alone with your thoughts. Which had actually given you time to handle the situation with Stan in a much more civilised way—especially compared to your initial reaction.

“No you’re right. I’m actually going to go and catch some sleep, like you said.”

“Good.”

Kyle, though not speaking, gave you a nod of approval.

You got up and went back to your room quickly setting an alarm on your phone. You sunk into your bed and closed you eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

You alarm had scared you awake. You practically sat up straight in your bed. It had been a long while since you had to set one, you forgot how loud they can be.

You laid in bed for a while, simply mustering up the strength to get out of it. When you finally did you felt like your head was spinning, you'd had one of those naps where you didn't feel any better after it. You stumbled into the kitchen and quickly got yourself a much needed glass of water.

“Hey sleeping beauty.” The voice had almost startled you. You spun on your heel to be met with Craig. It felt like forever since you had actually seen him like this, the last time it was just a one on one conversation with the two of you you’d ended up arguing about Craig’s obvious feelings for Tweek.

Craig was sat at your breakfast bar, his lyric note book under him. You walked over to where he was sat, resting your elbows on the worktop. “What you writing?”

“Just some lyrics.” You tried your best to get a peek of it, however, Craig shut the note book and put it aside when he caught wind of what you were trying to do. You never really got why he was so protective over that note book, but you never questioned it. Everyone had something they didn’t want people to see, you figured that was just his.

“Okay.” You straightened your spine. “Okay, Im going to go freshen up then I think we can go to the airport.”

Craig nodded. “I’ll go tell Kyle and Nichole you’re just freshening up then we’ll go.” He spilled out of the stool and disappeared to Kyle’s room.

You went to your room and quickly threw on some comfortable clothes and grabbed your suitcase and carry-on, quickly checking through your notes on your phone to see if you had ticked off everything you needed. You had, luckily. You were free to go. You quickly left your room, being sure to shut your bedroom door behind you.

You were going to see Clyde soon.

The thought almost startled you. You’d been doing a fairly good job of not thinking about him, or how you hadn’t seen him all week. Not at fake-dating Thursday, not even in passing. You hadn’t seen him all week, it felt like a part of you had gone missing. It had never really dawned on you how much you relied on his presence in your life. You never realised how much you relied on “norm” which for you consisted of; seeing Kyle every morning, going to work, seeing Nichole and seeing Clyde.

But for now, you had to not think about that. You had bigger things to think about. Like airport security, something your deeply despised. You loved flying and travelling however you could not stand airport security. You understand the need for it you just hated how longwinded it was, and how time consuming it was, and how mentally and physically draining it was.

You slipped your trainers on stood up. “We ready to go?”

Nichole nodded. “Yep! I helped Kyle pack while you were asleep and Craig and I came over here fulled packed so we’re ready to go!” She was beaming. Over the last few weeks she had been a lot more smiley, you almost felt responsible for it, if you hadn’t of lied to her she wouldn’t be with Tolkien. She would still be miserable. Given you’d put yourself through utter misery for close to 3 months but it was worth it to see you best friend so happy.

“Let’s go then.” Kyle grabbed his keys and opened the door, holding it open for everyone. One by one you filed out. Kyle locked the door and you left the apartment complex.

The whole travel you thought about Clyde. You allowed yourself to. You were excited to see him—not that you’d let him know. Despite the worries that had once circled your mind upon agreeing to sharing a room with him, you were honestly excited for it. Sharing a room with him would be so bad, not at all actually. You enjoyed his company, a lot. He was fun to be around and it turned out you actually did have a lot in common with him.

This was going to be an amazing trip.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ryenwritess @bootsieboo @southparktegreity @h3artilly @lacunaanonymoused @valstarroz

[gucciwins]

the song malibu by miley cyrus gives me serious harry y/n & atticus vibes like just pretending that y/n wrote the song toooo cute

Song writing came easily to Y/N when she was in love.

It was no surprise she could get herself to leave her studio when she was not spending time with Atticus and Harry. When Y/N bid Harry and Atticus goodbye at the airport, she felt a crack in her heart, which surprised her. Y/N knew she loved them, but not to the extent where she would miss them at her side before they even departed. Y/N did not let a single teardrop, not when Atticus was doing it for her.

From the moment Harry lifted him out of the car seat, the tears have escaped him. He stayed tight in her embrace as Harry unloaded their suitcases.

“I’ll see you soon, Atty. You’re going to see your Nan.” Y/N tried to cheer him up, knowing they wouldn’t be seeing each other for a few weeks.

It did little to comfort him.

Y/N did what her mother would do when she was young. She sang him a song-more like a hum; a melody she had stuck in her head. She felt instantly how he snuggled deeper into her side, laying his head against her neck. His cries turned to whimpers and soon enough turned to gentle breathing.

She turned around, noticing Harry had gone quiet, but found him staring at her in awe. Y/N looked away, his gaze not hiding how fondly he was thinking of her.

“I did not think he’d be so emotional.”

Harry laughed, “I feel exactly how he is feeling, except it’s not appropriate to show.”

Y/N frowns. “Please, no.”

“You spoiled us this month together here.”

Y/N rushes into his embrace, careful with the child she has slept on her waist. Her head buried in his chest. “I know it won’t be for long, yet I’m so sad.”

“Promise we’ll see you soon.” Y/N pulls back to look at Harry and when his emerald eyes start to glisten, she knows he’s feeling the pain of being separated.

Harry gives her a long passionate, it’s enough to settle her until they’re reunited.

+

As Y/N watched the flight depart, she felt her heart tighten and knew she wouldn’t be hearing from him until they landed. Her days were about to come unbearably dull.

The drive home through LA traffic was horrible because there was no chatter in the car or Atticus failing to sing along to the songs Harry had queued for them to listen. He said he was expanding both their tastes as Y/N preferred the Spice Girls when driving.

Y/N arrived home in time for the sunset. She grabbed her notebook from her bag and slipped by her house in favor of sitting in the sand. It seemed wild to Y/N that only a few hours ago; she had sat here with Atticus and Harry as they shared their last lunch together.

She knew she was being ridiculous. She would see Atticus in fourteen days and Harry in eighteen, but it did not take away her missing them.

As Y/N watched the sky, go from a blue hue to different shades of orange and pink, she knew this trip was a new start for them. The start of what their life could look like, and she loved it.

“It’s a brand new start,” she thought.

A dream come true with her boys.

In Malibu.

*took place during the main story of “Adore You”, after their stay together in malibu. sells the song to her good friend miley*

[lenniedoesthings]

A drunken analysis of fandoms I did on a long flight in 4 thousand words or less

Introduction

Please let me set the scene. It's past midnight, an obscene hour if anyone's asking. There's a young lady, around the age of 16 to 24, in the corner of her room, which is decked out with posters, with the lights off, lit up only by the light of her bedside lamp. She probably has school or responsibilities next morning, but she's not showing signs of going to bed. She's perched at the edge of her spinny chair, eyes eagerly running over the glowing words on her computer reflecting off her face. This could've been 2006, or 2014, or 2018. Frankly, this set-up is applicable as long as the internet existed. There's a lot of pages the girl might be going on, many appropriate and common to the times. Possibly early internet forums, if it was 2006, young and innocent and ready to find friends from afar. Maybe Tumblr, the popular social website of young, introverted girls in 2014, ready to share to the world what was happening in their lives, a breakup or a struggle with themselves or simply to gush over something they liked. And if it was 2018, it could been any social media website you can think of. Truthfully, I can't imagine a girl on a PC in 2018 instead of a phone, so there's the flaw in my set-up.

But no matter what, people nowadays aged 30 and below most probably have a memory of eagerly browsing the internet dead in the night, searching for friends within their loved specific niche that they couldn't find in their day to day life's social circle. But the internet isn't what I'm to talk about today, but one specific niche that most, if not all people on the internet have encountered -- fanatic domains, or fandoms, this gigantic monster of conflicting opinions and shared loves. You might be shaking your head at me, this uncultured swine, don't I know about fan gatherings of the past? People in a web of letters ready to discuss their favorite character of The Hobbit? Yes, very much so, and very much not so. The way the internet is made makes everything available for everyone to share, read, and reshare, making loving something incredibly easy and information quick to consume. In the past, if you needed to find fellow lovers of The Hobbit, you would need to hopefully bump into someone at the store who shared the same interest, who'd introduce you to this other friend and another friend until you've got this group of friends all loving the same book, and all waiting outside eagerly for the release of The Lord of the Rings, buzzing with ideas Tolkien might have for his next book.

There are many more stories to tell of fans of the time, some more vivid and most probably more accurate than my retelling, but there is one constant between them, you needed to be at the right place, at the right time, or you needed to know the right people. Nowadays, however, you could just type 'Hobbit' into whichever browser you're using, and there would be years upon years of information and entertainment for you to enjoy. A precise analysis of the High Elves and their motives along with counter arguments on why they're the best? Look no further than fan sites that pop up, with people dedicated to dissecting the book in detail. An imaginary situation of Thorin and Bilbo meeting in a coffee shop in New York? Well, there are way too many websites for that, early blogs and independent websites or large commercial monsters like Fanfiction.net or Wattpad. Simply a place to gush about Legolas? Forums or places like Reddit and Tumblr will find you a lots of fellow fangirls with a never ending abundance of fan art and reader-inserts. A comparison between the movies and the book? Tumblr has that too, and you'd find fourteen year old girls doing the most precise analysis that's lacking in their English essays. (This is slightly hypocritical coming from a teenage girl analyzing fandoms instead of the themes of Frankenstein)

I could go on and on forever, and this isn't even a fandom I'm involved in. In better words, there's no lack of fellow fans on the internet, too many, if some people would say. Especially with popular books and big fandoms, this gives birth to many subcultures simply of that particular book, along with terminology that seeps into every young girl's vocabulary. It's really beautiful in the way you can observe online fandoms and their evolve from a tiny, niche corner of the World Wide Web to this day's monster of so many hearts poured out, seeping into every corner of the internet, with references even in the wildest and most different of scenarios. In this essay I will attempt to analyze one of the biggest online cultures, it's subcultures and their online culture, and one funny thing called fanfiction, along with guiding you on the path of every Tumblr girl's road of discovery and growth with their introduction to the internet world.

Fanfiction

Fanfiction is such a large sprawling web of interconnected night owls there's a whole subculture just talking about the unique experience of reading fanfiction. Born from early glitchy fanpages to scattered stories around long lost websites such as LiveJournal and short scribbled stories on DeviantArt to the big three nowadays, Wattpad for the teenage girls, Fanfiction.net with the memories and for the classic and old fandoms, lastly Archive of our own with everyone and everything in the most beautiful and horrifying sense. Its something everyone that's been on the internet for as early as fifteen years ago would probably know about. Some with disdain, others with morbid curiosity, and the rest with fond memories. The reputation that fanficition is simply badly written porn isn't wrong per se, just look at any Ao3 (Archive of our own) page, but there's so much more.

People look down on it, call the writers 'unoriginal' and 'illiterate' and just silly 'fourteen year old crazy fangirls'. But it's not, at least, not completely. It's a safe space for people who just want to take these funny little characters of their youth and put them in these either torturous or cute situtations, mostly romantic and homosexual, but also experimental and new and beautiful, with some amazing works of literature coupled with many people finding their love for writing and starting their journey with a 5 + 1 story of their favorite two characters. Fanficiton also varies a lot, from a love letter to the original authors or a beautifully written protest of the story direction, or even just using premade and well-loved characters to tell a personal struggle in different words.

Heck, some of nowaday's popular and maybe slightly morbid terms come from fanfiction, with a simple battle of tongues for dominance or a soft epilogue with your love to being tired of choosing and always having to choose and never getting to choose you. Yes, there's a lot of horrible fanfiction, don't we all know it, and most of fanfiction is unreadable, unless you're really desperate, but whenever you find a gem of a find, with proper punctuation and a well thought out plot that just nails all the tropes which makes you cry and laugh with a pairing you've never even considered before and it's long and unproblematic enough for a reread, those moments are just pure joy, one that you'd never expirence without even a month deep in fanfiction.

One primary counter argument is that these words people smush together of someone else's characters aren't real literature simply because it isn't original, but if we're going there, why aren't we shaming Shakespeare? How dare he write these great fanfictions of Greek myths and publish them, making them some of the most legendary literature of all time. If your whole criticism of fanfiction that it isn't original, I would like you to reevaluate your books, for there are so many popular stories that aren't 'original', and if your definition of fanfiction is a rewrite of a book or story built upon another, there are so many pieces of English literature you would not enjoy.

But the main thing you're here for is to understand what this subculture actually is, so let me get back on topic. Let's start with something simple, give me a show of hands if your first fanfic, (short for fanfiction) was from either the Harry Potter books, the MCU, or the pioneer, the television series Supernatural. Supernatural is a series familiar to me not for it's television merits, having never watched the show, but its impact on this internet subculture. That fandom gave birth fanfiction's many terminologies, short forms, and something that has been splayed on newspages recently along with the rise of AI, many sub-sub-cultures and stories, most famously ones like the Omegaverse (Don't Google this and don't look at the tags) and Coffee shop AUs. Maybe as someone completely separated to this culture you were following along, just barely, but now you're confused, what's an AU? Well, dear reader, that is but one of the many inventive terminologies of this subculture. Let's take a look at this seemingly gibberish sentence: "hp hp/dm otp coffee shop au ewe slow burn meet-cute enemies to lovers"

I hope I have evoked some long forgotten Wattpad Drarry memories for some. The way fanfiction terminology has evolved to suit the needs of readers is a little like a developing language, with constantly being fine tuned until it reaches the perfect sweet spot, but still forever evolving to keep up with the times and climate. Like how early writers needed to specify platonic relationships from romantic ones and thus standardizing the sign & and / respectively. Or how writers loved the characters but craved more for them, thus creating popular AUs or Alternate Universes for them, like ones which are set in the modern day, others without powers, and some in simply a coffee shop meet-cute. Some writers going further with these characters leading to crossovers, letting Hermione volunteer as tribute and Katniss fight along Hawkeye.

As fanfictions evolved to suit the author's desires, readers invented more and more terms for them to group their favorite mush of words, leading to newbies usually browsing some Ao3 veteran's Tumblr blog for correct fanfiction etiquette along with a dictionary of the terminology. By the way, the Drarry story was: "A Harry Potter slash (usually meaning a homosexual romantic relationship, coming from the / sign) fanfic with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, my One True Pairing, where they meet in an Alternate Universe in a coffee shop after the Battle of Hogwarts, ignoring the epilogue and Rowling's ending, and a slow, gradual romance with them going from enemies to lovers (this is very self explanatory).

Ships

Relationships are always a thing in books and movies, especially romantic ones, but there’s a lot more to it for the fans once the book is over. There are the canon relationships, the ones stipulated by the writers and are thus, canon, and the non-canon relationships, or canon relationships, which are created by fans and do not exist in the canon storyline. They are similar to headcanons but are more prevalent, with many fanfictions centered around the fan created relationship.These can also be called ‘ships’. We’re going to focus on non-canon relationships first. They are usually created by fans who like a specific pair of characters together, which aren’t mentioned in a relationship in the books or movies, and put them together used in a series of headcanons and fanficitions. Ships are very prevalent in fandoms, even when the character is said to be in a canon relationship with another character.

One very popular ship on Archive of our own is Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter with more than 56 thousand stories, despite both of them having a heterosexual relationship already established in canon. One thing that fans use to address or name a ship, both canon or fanon, instead of just saying “X character and Y character” are ship names, using a portmanteau, smushing two words together to make a new word. This originated from the Supernatural ship of Dean Winchester and Castiel, taking the beginning of Dean’s name and the ending of Castiel’s to form their ship name, Destiel. Some popular portmanteau ship names are Drarry and Romione. Another type of ship names, instead of being a portmanteau of their names, but a combination of something associated with them. Take the popular fanon ship of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, their most common ship name is WolfStar, due to their names having similar ending, it is hard to create portmanteau of their names, and so fans used things associated with them, Remus’ lycanthropy giving “Wolf” to the name, and Sirius being named after a star, giving “Star” to the name. Most fandoms have popular ships, with fandoms of their own of those ships, but there are two types of ships that fall outside of this category: rarepairs and crackships.

Rarepairs are usually a pairing that isn’t popular and usually with a small following or of the author’s creation, such as Cho Chang and Dudley Dursley in Harry Potter. This is a viable ship, able to exist in the confines of canon and would generally be a healthy relationship. However, due to both these character having minor roles and never being seen interacting, this is a rarepair with only one or two headcanons and fanficitions, usually without a following, but just visitors of an author’s fanfiction. Crackships are usually a pairing of two characters that shouldn’t be paired and wouldn’t be in a romantic relationship in a normal setting, such as Bellatrix Lestange and Hermione Granger, based on canon evidence of the two character, it wouldn’t be a healthy or viable relationship, due to their age-gap, moral difference, general unhingeness of Bellatrix Lestrange, and other canon reasons. Crackships usually appear in many forms, such as situations where they act out of character or with different upbringing, humorous situations, one-shots, and straight-up porn at times. Crackships don’t usually appear in headcanon, but rather in fanfictions written solely for the crackships.

One completely separate category of ships are reader-inserts, these appear in text posts, headcanons, and fanficitions. Usually, these are written in second-person with the sole or at least main purpose of the fanfiction is for the reader to engage in a relationship with a specific character, platonic or romantic. Writers use words such as Y/N, meaning ‘your name’, and different things such as YHC (your hair color), or YLN (your last name) to make the reader insert themselves in the story by using second-person and making the character as much as a blank slate for reader to add on to their personalities as much as they want.

One glaring downside, or upside, of the entire shipping part of a fandom are the disagreements. With the inclusion of popular fanon ships, with sometimes the fanon ships gaining much more popularity than the canon ship (such as Marvel’s canon relationship of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter often disregarded in favor of other ships such as Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers and Tony Stark), it leads to many arguments to much ship is the “superior” one, with many apologists going to great lengths to defend their favorite pairing. A very well-known ship disagreements are between the canon ship Romione (Ron and Hermione) and the fanon ship Dramione (Draco and Hermione), leading to many arguments on internet forums and long posts with people either defending their favored ship or undermining the other, with some even bashing the opposite character (Ron or Draco).

Headcanons

Another thing about fandoms which is very similar to fanfictions but in a much simpler way is headcanons. Something that deviates from canon (the established storyline and characters) or something we just don't know about. One example could be 'I headcanon Harry Potter as bisexual' This could be possible, as even though he is only mentioned as in relationships with female characters, his sexuality is never mentioned, and it is often mentioned in the Harry Potter books with Harry complimenting many male character's looks, leaving it in the realm of possibility. Another slightly different kind is 'I headcanon muggleborn students constantly making pop culture references' This isn't in line with canon, as though the story is told from Harry's perspective, a wide spread thing like that would've been mentioned, but instead, there's never a major transitional struggle with muggleborns, even with Harry, who was raised by muggles, showing that most muggle borns adopt their magical heritage and birthright in favor over their mundane one.

Headcanons are fun things to simply state in a Tumblr text post or a conversation between friends, not needing the brainpower to curate a whole story yet letting you to express your love and creativity along with wants for a series and character. Usually, however, some headcanons become so widespread they are adopted as canon, or something mentioned so many times in fanfic that people write it down along with character characterizations. Such as in the MCU, there is always a running mention of Clint climbing in the vents, even though this is never mentioned in either the movies or comics, it in actuality being a headcanon which it's lines with canon has become so blurred it's common appearance in fanfictions can lead me to believe most of the community has shelved this fan made characteristic of Clint along with his canon characteristics. Another notable mention is Remus' love for chocolate in Harry Potter. In the actual books, there are only a few lines of Remus offering chocolate to Harry, and all of them are in medicinal situations, as shown in one line with Madame Pomfrey. However, this is a favored headcanon, this characteristic adopted as canon and appearing in other headcanons and most, if not all, Marauder-era fanfictions. Most readers would be hard pressed to believe JK Rowling didn't intend Remus Lupin to be this cocoa lover.

Another thing that runs along headcanons, cut from the same cloth but different in patterns, are common misunderstandings or assumptions of a character, some incorrectly taken as canon, such as Draco's middle name, which is never mentioned, not in the books nor one of Rowling's websites, but many fans believe it to be Lucius due to a parallel with Harry's middle name and early writers using it as placement and other fanfiction writers adopting the name as the medium. Other things that are similar to this in fashion but are very obviously incorrect facts to canon, but so often used in fan conversations that it may as well be, but are still not confused as canon, such as the widespread use of 'Dan' and 'Emma' to name Hermione's parents, and the belief that the Marauders along with Dorcas, Lily, Mary, and Marlene were one big friend group.

Sub-fandoms

Harry Potter is the best example to use when describing a flourishing online fandom. It has been almost twenty years when the books have first been published, leaving it with ample time to grow a fandom on all platforms, for blogs, fanfictions, analysis, edits, and so much more. Along with movies and a fantasical universe, its a perfect breeding ground for excited fangirls and intricate dynamics. Its such a large fandom that within it, there are unique fandoms of things within the fandom, with fanfictions of fanfictions, edits of edits.There are many things in the Harry Potter fandom that are simply fan made things, but have large renown, as much as the original like the Potter Puppet Pals, an ironic comedy series which lines are often paraphrased for fun.

A great example of this is the 500 thousand word monstrosity on Archive of our own called All The Young Dudes, a slow burn fanfic of the Marauders' time at school. This is such a big part of the Harry Potter fandom that it is a fandom of it's own, with many fanfictions of ATYD, Pinterest pages, text posts, headcanons, and ships set in the ATYD version of Harry Potter yet not following the ATYD version of canon. (For example, the slash ship between Regulus Black and James Potter) It's a big fandom, and one thing that attracted many others from the main Harry Potter fandom was a fanmade movie trailer for ATYD using existing clips of Hollywood movies, but pieced together making it completely believable to exist together in a universe, much moreso a movie. You wouldn't believe Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man has a place in the Harry Potter fandom aside from crossover fanfiction, but one look at that fanmade movie trailer on YouTube will have you absolutely convinced that our favorite web-slinger could also definitely be our furry little problem. There are edits upon edits of the Spider-Man movie on social media platforms such as Tik Tok that are coupled with the right music and excerpts from the ATYD fanfiction that really makes you ask, is there actually a movie of the Marauders? Even Andrew Garfield himself has confirmed his knowledge and love for being a fancasted young Remus Lupin, showing the reach of this niche community within another niche online community within a fandom. You know what they say, never underestimate young girls in love.

References

Another thing highly prevalent in fandoms are specific words that only fans of that specific book or movie series understand what it's referring to, leading it to a running gag joke or a communal nostalgic memory. You only have to type 'calmly' after any Harry Potter text post and there's sure to be many people with laughing emojis and agreements. If you're out of the loop, its a comparison between the book and the movie of the Goblet of Fire in that scene when Dumbledore confronts Harry after his name pops out of the goblet. In the books Dumbledore asks Harry if he put his name in calmly to show his collected demeanor, but in the movies, Dumbledore runs across the room, grabs Harry and nearly yells in his face, leading this to be a running gag in the fandom, usually in the comment section of text post, to demonstrate in an alternate reality that the person has yelled it instead. In truth, and to quote, running gags like these are simply for "shits and giggles", but they are part of an integral communal joy that links the fans and their internet presence together.

Another similar but not completely is the line "Bucky?" commented in almost any Captain America posts or anything related in the MCU, sometimes used to reminisce past times or old fan memory, but usually just to prompt another commenter to reply with "Who the hell is Bucky?", paraphrasing the quote from the second Captain America movie when Steve Rogers meets his old friend Bucky Barnes again seventy years in the future, but in a situation where they are at each other's throats, with Bucky having no recollection of the other. Unlike 'calmly', which can only be used in the Harry Potter fandom for prevalence and is used for laughs as a commentary, the line from Captain America bears enough unique references to be used in scenarios which fans want to comment on outside the Marvel fandom, and can also be used as a calling for a fellow fan's reply.

Ending

We come to the end of this not-so-brief introduction of the world of online fanatic domains. In truth, this essay barely scratches the surface of fandoms. It is not only a place where people talk about their favorite fictional world, but a congregation of people along with our all unique personalities, then all contributing to a communal love, giving birth to a unique language, culture, and reference for online fans to find other online fans in real life. We currently exist in a turbulent world, ever changing, with people around us undermining us at each and every turn, physical or virtual, trying to tear us down, but the existence of online fandoms and communities are a place to let you know, “Yes, your love of this is valid. No, it isn’t something to hide, come share it with us!” Fandoms have led to a birth of many aspiring writers, artists, coders, publicists, and so many more. Though many may dismiss fanatic domains as simply a bunch of “crazed 14 year old fangirls wasting their time” there’s so much more to it, and if you have a book or movie or you’re interested in, I highly recommend you search it up, find a few Tumblr blogs to follow, maybe take a dip in fanficitions, create a few headcanons of your own, and who knows, it might bring you somewhere unexpected, and even if it doesn’t, you’ll have a fun time, I promise.

By lenniedoesthings on tumblr

[lovelyrocker]

Fool's Gold ch.3

RPF

Warning: Age Gap, Intimacy, Sex Talk, Awkwardness, Embarrassment, Double Standers

Characters: Armie Hammer, Reader

Parings: Armie x Reader

Word Count: 2,389

That Sunday afternoon when Armie walked into his house he was greeted with a very hyper Archie running towards him. “Hey buddy! Miss me?!” The back door opened and Y/N walked in, Armie standing, surprised to see her. “Hey!” He smiled widely. 

“Hey! What are you doing back so early?” She asked as he gave her a quick hug.

“We were finished so I grabbed an earlier flight. What are you doing here? You walked Archie this morning.”

“Oh,” She pulls out a notebook. “I was studying this morning out back.” Armie gave her a curious look. “Archie likes to sunbathe after playing so I stayed longer so he could enjoy it.”

“So you spent an extra, what? Hour?”

“Two hours.” She tells him with a scrunched face.

“Two hours?! You spent an extra two hours sitting in the back yard with my dog so he could sunbathe?”

“It was either study at home or do it here. At least over here you have a beautiful pool to sit next to and an adorable dog to play with.”

Armie chuckled. “Well, now that you know where the spare key is,  you are more than welcome to come study by the pool whenever you want.”

“Really?!” She said wide eyed.

“Sure.” He shrugged his jacket off. “I never get to enjoy it, someone should. Better yet,” He pulls out a booklet from his bag. “We can go sit out by the pool later and I can show you the awesome stuff from NYU I picked up on the trip.”

“Oh cool!” Y/N grabbed the booklet. “This is awesome!” She flipped the pages.

“I walked passed and I remembered you talking about it so I couldn’t help but stop by and get you some extra info.”

“Thank you!” 

Armie invited Y/N over to hangout often. They would talk about college and weigh the pros and cons of each University. They talk about classes and business majors, graduate schools the whole nine. The conversations drift from one topic to another. They go from hanging out by the pool to movie marathons and long conversations about books. Y/N drops by his office a few times a week just to say hello on her way home from school after lunch. It would almost always turn into an extended lunch with them laughing in his office over takeout for two. Evenings it was hanging out in Armie’s garage working out on his home equipment.

Tonight was a workout night. Armie and Y/N have both been going at the punching bag and Armie could tell something was on Y/N’s mind. He knew her well enough over the years and especially over the last few months to know when something wasn’t right.

 “Hey,” He gets her attention as he sits on the weight bench. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” She waves a hand and wipes the sweat from her forehead with the towel he tossed to her.

“You sure.” He asked again. “You look like something is on your mind.”

“Okay, maybe I do have something on my mind.”

“I knew it!” He grinned as he lay back and started bench pressing. “What’s going on?”

“You said I can come to you for anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“And that you’d help me out with whatever.”

“Y/N, spit it out.” He tells her as he continues to lift the weights.

“I want you to take my virginity.” Y/N hear the weights hitting the floor. She squints as Armie sits up suddenly, looking over at her wide eyed. “Now, before you flip, listen.” You hold up a hand. “I don’t want to go to college as a virgin. I have spent my entire high school career being a good girl. I stayed home every friday night and studied instead of going to games and parties. I am so sexually stunted, it is humiliating. I’ve had one kiss my whole life and I was fourteen! I don’t want to be the freakish college freshman that has never been laid.”

“Okay, Y/N,” Armie stands. “I don’t know what gave you the impression,” He runs a hand over his face. “Why would you think this would be okay?” 

“Why not?”

“Why not?!” He looks at you and starts to walk away then turns back quickly. “Let’s see, your dad is my co-worker, I’m seventeen years older than you, you’re still in high school.”

“Every single one of those reasons are irrelevant. My dad has no right to my sex life, he won’t find out unless you tell him. I am eighteen, which means I'm an adult. And me being in highschool has no standing here considering I go to school four hours a day and I'm done by lunch.” She points to him “I want to take that next step in my sex life and instead of a stranger I choose to go to someone I trust.”

“As flattered as I am,” He places his hands on her face.

“And you get bragging rights.” She added with her finger in his chest..

“Bragging rights?” He drops his hands. “What bragging rights?”

“You get to brag to your buddies that you scored a young eighteen year old wanting to put out for you.”

“Y/N,”

“And don’t act like you haven’t been checking me out for the past several months.” Armie’s mouth closed at that statement. “I may be a virgin but I know when a man is undressing me with his eyes.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Look me in the eye and tell me I'm lying.”

“I- I-” 

“You can’t, because you know It’s true.”

“Okay, you need to sit down.” He pushes her back into a chair. “Y/N, you can not treat losing your virginity like a business deal.” She opens her mouth to speak but he stops her. “And although I am extremely flattered and also at the sametime embarrassed that you could tell I was checking you out, I- I can’t sleep with you.” He takes her hands. “Your first time should be special and sweet-”

“I don’t want it to be special and sweet!” She pulls her hands from his, standing. “Why is it okay for a guy my age to screw some random chick to get it out the way but when I woman wants to do the same thing we get coddled like we are overreacting.” She walks away in frustration.

“Okay, that’s a fair argument.” Armie stands and walks towards her. “ We’ve known each other for how long?”

“My whole life. Armie, I know you would be careful and not treat me like just some other bimbo. And I wouldn’t have even thought of this if I didn’t already think you had a thing for me.”

“You think I have a thing for you?”

“Oh come on! I know you have a thing for me.” She gives him a knowing look. “Or do you pay that much attention to all your female friends?”

“Ok, fine.” He admits. “I- I do like you, okay? Are you happy? I admit it. Doesn't mean I was going to act on it.”

“Then why keep egging it on?”

“I didn’t-”

“How many of those conversations did you start? How many times did you invite me to your house, alone?”

“Okay! You’ve made your point!” He grunts in annoyance.

“Look,” She looks at her watch. “I got to go. Just think about it. I’ll text you later.”

Armie gives a long exhale. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I’m good.”

Y/N walks across the garage and grabs her backpack, tossing it over her shoulder. As she walks past Armie he stands, grabbing her wrist. She looks back at him, his hand sliding around her hip, pulling her into him, pressing his lips to her. Y/N drops her bag and slides her hands around his neck. He deepens the kiss and she can taste the cigarette on his breath. He slowly pulls away and looks down at her. 

“That was not supposed to be that good.” He tells her with a shocked expression across his face..

“That backfired on you, didn’t it?” A smirk formed over her lips.

“Yes it did.” He leaned back in and pressed another gentle kiss to her lips. It wasn’t rushed. He was testing how this felt and she knew that. She let him kiss her long and slow. He pulled away and looked down at her again. “Yeah, this really bit me in the ass.” He stepped back, swiping a finger across his lips.

Y/N pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I gotta go.” She grabbed her bag from the ground.”I’ll talk to you later.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked out of the garage. 

“What the fuck!?” He mumbled to himself as he watched her walk up the drive.

Y/N didn’t text him that night though. She didn’t call him or go over to his office the next afternoon. Armie sat in his office several days later, staring out the window of his office looking at the cars on the street below. He tapped his fingers on his lips and chin as he went back and forth in his head. Finally he grabbed his cellphone.

Armie>>

Meet me at my house @ 5

Y/N never replied as the day dragged on. When Armie pulled into his drive at 4:30 that evening she was sitting on his doorstep. He had a feeling he couldn’t identify rush through him as he got out of his car, briefcase in hand.

“You’re early.”

“If you’re not early, you’re late.” Y/N tells him, standing. 

“Come one.” He nudges his head towards the door with a small smirk. “Want something to drink?”

“I’m good.” She followed him into his house. 

He lays his briefcase on the counter and shrugs off his jacket. “I’ve been thinking.” He walks over to the liquor cabinet and pours something in a cup and takes a sip. “You were right.”

“About?” She asked, still standing near the door. Unlike her usual comfortableness in his home she didn’t wander.

“You should be in charge of your own sex life.” He walks to her, pausing in front of her. “And yes, I like you. I have been going back and forth in my mind for months about it because you are so young. But the only time I think about your age is when you’re in that damn uniform.” He chuckles, giving a tug of the fabric of her uniform sleeve. “You are so smart, so mature. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. So It’s not like I can say you’re naive. Because I know you’re not.” He takes a sip of his drink. “We’re gonna do this my way.”

“Your way?” She raises her brow.

“I’m not gonna just gonna take you to the bedroom and sleep with you.” He tells her, placing his glass down on the small table near the door that held his keys. “We’ll go slow. Take our time. There will be no rush at all.” He steps closer to her. “You will not say a word of this to a single soul.” He places his hand on her face, fingers gently caressing her cheek. “You won’t even write about it in your diary.”

“I don’t have a diary.”

“Good. The only two people who will know anything about this are you and me. Is that understood?”

“Understood.” She nods.

"Drink this." He takes the glass from the table and holds it out to her. She takes the glass and throws it back, coughing as soon as she swallows the burning liquid. "Too strong for you?" He asks in amusement. 

"What was that?" She asked with another little cough.

"Bourbon." He takes her face into his hands. "I want you to relax." 

"I am relaxed."

"No, you're not. You have a habit of overthinking a situation." He leans in close, nuzzling his nose to hers. He pressed his lips to hers and felt warm all over. She leaned into him as she urged the kiss farther. “Slow down.” He whispered with a smirk. “I want to enjoy this, too.”

He kisses her again and this time she lets him be in control, taking what he gives. His tongue is in her mouth and he can feel her knees go weak. He slides his hands to her hips, letting himself feel her body, finally. He backed her up till her legs touched his couch. He guides her down gently, continuing to kiss slowly the whole time. She tangles her fingers into his short hair and he gives a soft chuckle at her breathlessness when he moves to her neck.

“That feel good?” He asks as he feels the goosebumps rise on her skin. 

Y/N gets completely lost in him as she feels his body, his kiss and touch lighting her on fire. His body, his arms, his chest, every inch of the tanned skin that covers the firm muscles of his body has her senses going crazy.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home soon?” Armie asks, pulling away.

“What?” She looked up at him. “Armie, what the fuck?”

He gives a laugh as he sits up. “I don’t want your parents to get suspicious. You're usually home before dark.” 

She  looks at the watch on his wrist. “Shit!” She lets your head fall back on the arm of the couch.

Armie kissed her neck. “Come back tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna drag this out aren’t you?” She pulls herself up.

“I’m gonna make sure you enjoy it.” He tells her before kissing her lips. “Now go before your parents worry.” He slaps her ass as she stands. “I’ll text you later.” 

Y/N was in her room on her bed, nose in a school book when her phone started buzzing next to her. She tapped in her phone code and smiled when she saw a text notification from Armie.

>>Armie

What r u doing?

<<Y/N

Laying in bed, studying.

>>Armie

Why don’t u come by around 4 2morrow.

<<Y/N

I have an honors meeting till 4:30

>>Armie

I can pick u up so u don’t have to take the bus

<<YN

Ok see you then ;)

[survey--s]

567.

Do you know a James? I do, but he’s never been known as James and I’ve known him since we were two, lol. I actually forgot that was his real name for a second.

Have you ever been to Australia? If not, would you like to? Yeah, my family all live in Australia so we visited a lot when I was younger. I haven’t been back in around a decade though as flights are so expensive and I can’t really afford to take all that time off work.

Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness? Yes, depression and generalised anxiety disorder.

If you had to choose to have a different accent than the one you have now, what accent would you choose and why? I love Australian and Scottish accents.

New York or California? I’d prefer to visit New York I think, but I wouldn’t want to live in either place.

Have you ever or do you currently live in a Gated Community? Nope. They’re only really a “thing” in big cities here.

Who was your last text from? Suzanne.

Do you know how to use a DSLR camera? No.

If you had to choose one instrument to perfect, what instrument would you choose? Piano.

Have you ever owned an Axolotl? I haven’t.

What has been the longest amount of time you’ve spent on a plane? The longest individual flight was something like fourteen hours, but whenever we used to fly to Australia it was about 23 hours flight-time in total.

How often do you use Snapchat? Never.

What does your last text say? I can’t be bothered to check.

Have you ever played Habbo? Aww man, I remember HabboHotel lol. I did used to use it sometimes but I preferred other websites.

What about Runescape? No.

Have you ever heard of the band Mumford & Sons? If yes, do you like their music? Yeah, I quite like them but they’re one of those bands I need to be in the right mood for, otherwise I just find them annoying lol.

Have you ever kissed anyone starting with the letter A, C, N, T or K? A,C and N, yes.

Have you ever used Valium before? No.

What time is it where you’re from? It’s currently 11.34am.

Have you ever adopted an animal from an animal shelter? No. Purrlock was a rescue but it was via a private source. Our other cats have all been farm kittens and Archie was from a breeder.

Where do you usually find Surveys from? If there are none on my dashboard, then I normally look through someone’s archives until I find one I feel like doing.

Australia or New Zealand? I’d prefer to visit New Zealand as I’ve been to Australia multiple times.

Have you ever missed a flight? No, thankfully not.

What is your best friend’s middle name? He doesn’t have a middle name.

How do you feel about the passing of Aretha Franklin? I mean, it’s not something I ever really thought about. People die - it’s never really something I’ve got too upset about, especially when we’re talking about total strangers.

Did you enjoy any of her music? RESPECT was a good song but I don’t really know any of her others.

What is your favourite film from your childhood? The Land Before Time.

Kanye West or Drake? I’m not a huge fan of either.

Do you know anyone who is named after a state? I used to go to school with a girl called Montana.

What was the reason for your previous doctor’s visit? To get a sick note.

Have you ever been to an outdoor cinema? No, they’re not really a “thing” here as the weather is hardly the most predictable lol. It rains far too often.

Have you ever had a “bad trip”? If yes, what happened? No.

How often do you use Instagram? Most days, but I scroll more than I actually post.

Have you ever smoked a cigarette? Yeah.

If so, do you still smoke? No.

What are you up to tomorrow? I have no plans for tomorrow yet. It’s supposed to rain (again).

What type of questions do you like being asked during a survey? Ones that require a bit of thought, or ones that are about your day-to-day life so that you don’t just give the same answers all the time.

Adam Sandler or Jim Carrey? Jim Carrey.

What is your favourite Ben Stiller movie? I’ve just looked through his filmography and none of them really stand out to me as being any good, lol.

What is your favourite Spotify playlist if you have one? I don’t have a favourite - I just make a load of them and pick one at random.

Firefox or Chrome? Chrome.

Do you enjoy learning about conspiracy theories? Yeah, I find them pretty interesting and I honestly think a few of them have some merit.

If so, what is your favourite? I like random theories about various crimes etc.

Do you find hand tattoos attractive on your preferred sex? I’ve never found hand tattoos particularly attractive on either sex.

If you had a baby boy, what would you name him? I have zero desire to ever have a baby, but I like the name Harrison for a boy.

What is your favourite Netflix original series? A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Have you ever owned a Tamagotchi? Nope. I was never allowed stuff like that growing up.

Do you have a favourite “survey blog” on Tumblr? If so, who? No, I don’t really pay attention to them, in all honesty. I just take surveys off my dashboard that look interesting.

Would you rather be 10 minutes late or 20 minutes early? 20 minutes early. I’d just sit and read or play on my phone.

If you could be a member of any TV-Sitcom family, which would it be? The Foremans from That 70s Show. Kitty is the best. <--- yes! 

Tell me about the 6th person in your contact list: I have no idea who that is.

Are you waiting for a text back right now? Nope.

Would you rather be able to control fire or water? Water.

[teflonmadonna]

Gradually and Then Suddenly

When asked how he went bankrupt, Earnest Hemingway famously answered, "It happened gradually and then suddenly". This is the exact manner by which I lost my mind. When I say I lost my mind, I mean just that - the ephemeral sprite-like entity took flight from my brain and I could no longer locate it. Was it in my shoes? This idea I entertained for quite sometime, but numerous investigations yielded no results. I just couldn't find it.

My very first memory is from when I was about 4 years old. My dad was driving taxi at the time, keeping strange hours. He was so angry and he drank all the time. My sister and I shared bunk beds. We often talked to one another at night, giggling about the things that children giggle about. Sometimes my father would come home from work and stare at us while we pretended to sleep in an effort to avoid a beating. On some very special days we would stay up until he came home and he would take us to a late night donut shop where I would always get an éclair. One night I stayed up all night and I was able to have dinner with my dad. We sat on the floor and ate (as Sikh people do) and I remember just staring at him, thinking he was the coolest, most awesome Dad and then he threw a plate at me and said, "What is she looking at?!" And that's it. That's the memory. I do not remember who cleaned up the glass shards. I do not remember if I cut myself.

In middle school, I tried to tell my teacher about what was going on at home. Fearing the wrath of my father, I passed along cryptic messages - "my dad is really strict", "my dad is not nice to me" and perhaps the most heartbreaking, "my Dad doesn't like me very much".

Parent-teacher night came around and my Dad took me to school. I remember my teacher and him chuckling about how I was overweight and that I should be forced to run with the other kids despite me having asthma. I coughed day and night every winter. One winter I got pneumonia.

After the parent-teacher interview, my teacher took me aside to say, "Why have you been telling lies about your father? He seems like a great guy!" I just firmly stated, "no, no he's not," and never spoke to anyone about again until I was an adult.

When I was fourteen the whole family went to India. It was not uncommon at the time, to hear of young girls that were "misbehaving" (read: trying to date boys) being taken to India or Pakistan and then trapped there, their passports taken by force. And so, yes, there was some fear around this trip, especially since fourteen was such a prime marrying age. But there was no saying "no" to your parents in those days, so I went and in a stroke of amazing luck, I ended up spending that vacation at my maternal grandfather's home. Those days, with my grandfather, were some of the best of my entire life.

There were bad times too. One day we hired a driver and borrowed my uncle's broken down jalopy to drive five hours to the Taj Mahal. We piled into the car. My aunt and I sat in the trunk. When we had almost reached our destination, I told my dad that I was gonna be sick on account of the bumpy ride and he insisted on continuing on. Then the inevitable happened, it happened all over the back of the car. My dad finally hit the breaks. He was seething.

I was still in a kind of delirium. I began to walk away from the car in search of some water, leaving everyone behind to clean up the mess I had made.

Everyone except my sister, who ran up behind me. When she caught up to me she asked, out of breath, "where are we going?".

I said nothing and wandered towards a gas station where a kind man who owned the station gave us bottled water and told us to stay in his office. We stood unsure what to do and he just reassured us, "It's OK," he said, "you're safe here".

I often think how wrong that situation could have gone. Two young girls, obviously foreigners, wandering around, sick and looking for help.

I waited in his office while my sister ran back to the car to tell them where I was. When my father came to collect me he was met with judgmental eyes. The gas station owner asked my father what he was doing letting his daughters out with no supervision like that. He told my father that he also had daughters and he would never do the same. My father was apologetic and swore we had just gotten out of his sight for one second and then we were gone. He said we had taken flight and he just couldn't find us.

My dad walked back to the car and we followed about five steps behind. Even in the forty degree heat it was almost as though you could see the angry steam coming off of him.

When we got back to the car he announced that we would all be going to the Red Fort. I told my family that I was too sick to go and so they decided to leave me behind with our hired driver to watch over me for good measure. They left and I lay down in the back seat of the car. The driver gingerly placed a heavy wool blanket over me, closed the door and stood outside like a very unexperienced sentry.

I lay there for hours. The sun shone through the window and created greenhouse conditions inside the car. In the dry and extreme heat, even breezes carried no blessings. In fact, there was a wind warming effect and the warm air baked everything that it touched, not unlike an oven.

For the second time that day I evaded death. I was so fevered and delusional that it never occurred to me lying there, in the sweltering heat, with only a blanket and a hot breeze to keep me company that I might want to get myself out in the open air. Instead I sweated out my fever under the blanket until my family came back. I remember my brother saying to me upon their return, "What were you thinking letting him (the driver) put that blanket on you - it's dirty! It probably has fleas and now you probably have fleas."

It would be three decades until I saw the Red Fort. I went there with my father. We were older and more quiet in each other's presence. He no longer wore his turban, a symbol of his Sikh identity and a harbinger of a person who fought for justice . I asked my sister one time why she thought that was and she said, " Maybe he's done some stuff and he doesn't think he should wear it anymore".

Some of my most beautiful memories are of turban wash day when our mom and aunties would wash and starch the turbans and then stretch and fold them. The turbans were red, gold, green, bright pink, all kinds of colours, and about ten or twelve feet long. It took two people to fold them so that they were ready to wrap and wear. On wash day the whole house was full of bright colors.

At the Red Fort, my Dad told me about Shah Jahān, the Mugal Emporer and commissioner of the Taj Mahal who was imprisoned at the Red Fort. Shah Jahān had descended into madness after the death of his favourite queen (he had four) in child birth. He famously commissioned the building of the Taj Mahal as an enormous and opulent home for her casket.

After his queen's death he became obsessed with memorializing of her. During and after the building of the Taj, he instated a program of cutting the hands and plucking out the eyes out of the people who had built it in an effort to make sure no one could recreate it. After the Taj was built, Shah Jahān was given a sample of black marble that he had planned to use to create a second monument for his queen across the river Yamuna. This monument would be even more opulent, the black marble alone was even more rare and expensive than the white marble of the Taj.

The story goes that Shah Jahān had lost all interest in his kingdom in favour of grieving his queen. Of his four sons, one, named Aurangzeb, would successfully dethrone his father. He granted his father's request to be imprisoned in place where he could always have a view of the Taj, so that he may continue to grieve her every day, for the rest of his remaining years. Aurangzeb granted his father's request and jailed him in full view of Taj from a balcony that was engineered to create an optical illusion. From this balcony, The Taj appeared to be larger as you walk away from it.

My fiancé and I had broken up nine years prior to this trip to India. In that moment, shrouded in unbelievable sadness and beauty, I turned to my dad and said, "Pa, things have been really hard since Lee left," and he said, "I know Puter, I know". As he stared off into the distance, at the tomb, I saw tears well up in his eyes.

[moments-everyday]

i approach you with a flower in my hand. it's a dandelion, and i grin. "look!"

you're two years older than me, and you stare at me. then, you nod. and somehow, I don't take that as rejection. i take it as your way to be my friend.

you start going to primary school. we play on the street in the afternoons, with your sisters, too. once i go to school too, we walk every day. sometimes, when we have to cross the street, you hold my hand to make me feel safe.

you grow older, and your boy friends tease you on the playground for having a "girlfriend". you fight against it with red cheeks of embarrassment. your older sister tells you to ignore it, and to be nice to me. you answer that you never would've ditched me over that. but for many years, you don't hold my hand again.

we both grow older. your voice begins to change, and you're suddenly so much taller than me. my classmates ask me about the guy i sit with on the bus. somehow, it makes me blush when i tell them you're my childhood friend, my neighbour.

one summer, when you're sixteen, and I'm fourteen, we spend the evenings on the playground in our village. you braid my hair sometimes, the way your sisters taught you. it makes me feel comfortable when you caress my head.

i ask you if you've had your first kiss already, and you have. i'm not surprised, but it does sting a bit. i ask you if you could teach me how to kiss, and i lie when i say that "it's not because i like you!" you laugh and agree, and you kiss me. we're both clumsy at it, anyway.

i never stop thinking about it, but I don't bring it up again. having to ask you to kiss me feels frustrating, and so i don't. i want you to want to kiss me. but you don't seem to look at me that way. but for many years, you don't kiss me again.

more time passes, and when you're almost done with school, you tell me that you finally heard back, and you'll be traveling to Australia for a while. I'm happy for you, the best I can, and i hug you, tightly. i hug you just as tight at the airport when i wave you goodbye.

you send me pictures and videos and texts all the time, and you try to call, but the timezones make it difficult. i miss you, and i try so hard to be happy for you, but i miss you. i end up focusing on school to distract myself, and my grades are better than ever. you tell me you're proud of me when i tell you about it.

a month before my graduation, you come back, and you're tanned and tall and you look like a man. you hug me tightly, and you kiss my forehead. i ask you to take me with you the next time you leave, and you laugh along with me.

we both find jobs and work after that. we do travel together whenever we can't, exploring whenever we can. I notice the way girls give me jealous looks whenever I'm around you. i pretend you're mine, and it makes me easier. you hold my hand when we rush to our gates so we don't miss our flight.

you tell me about a job you found, in a city four hours away. i tell you it's a great opportunity. you frown. you ask if i can imagine coming with you. I'm stunned for an entire minute before telling you how i feel. you're happy about it, and you kiss me. it's not a clumsy kiss this time.

we become a couple officially, and everyone calls us love birds. at your older sister's wedding, your relatives all tease you about being next. you laugh, but the way you look at me gives me butterflies. we move away together shortly after, and we learn to fight and compromise when we decorate our first apartment. the garden outside of our apartment complex is overgrown with dandelions.

we spent our evenings on our sofa, and my head lays in your lap as you lazily braid my hair. you ask me to marry you casually, and i almost miss it because I'm half asleep. i say yes, and you kiss my forehead. the next day, you buy me a ring and officially propose.

we get married. we buy a house. we adopt a dog together. at least i think that's how our story would continue. maybe not. I don't know. i just know this isn't even our story in this universe. maybe somewhere else, if we're lucky.

[sssapplebottomjeans]

about the whole chris thing, i do agree that... from what i've read about him he's really not the nicest person. but i'm gonna go with death of the author for a moment here and just... ramble. i apologize in advance.

the line varian says in s3, "you didn't give up on me, i'm not giving up on you"

It’s really just ehhhh? Because I do see what you mean. Especially that line she says at the end of the alchemist returns:

“I let the most powerful object in all of the land fall into the hands of… I don’t even know what he is anymore.” … Raps. Please. And the usage of saying “what” instead of who really rubs me the wrong way, unless she’s specifically talking about him being an enemy or an ally. He’s still human, he’s fourteen and just lost his dad (who is effectively dead until s3 so like) and she knows that, plus, the way she’s so suspicious of him when he says he cares more about his dad atm than the kingdom… like, why is she suspicious of that? I think anyone would care more for their immediate family member than a bunch of strangers they don’t know, and Varian’s no different.

I’m not sure if she entirely gave up on him, cuz she did make multiple efforts asking him to stop in SOTSD, and I feel like if he had stopped and apologized, she would have welcomed him back, albeit tenetively. Then her conversation with Fred, (paraphrased)

Rapunzel: “Don’t be too hard on him, dad”

Fred: “I’ll do everything in my power to get him the help he needs”

I always took that as her believing he could eventually reform if he chose to. But, again, that line in TAR could definitely have been her giving up on him, I don’t know.

I wonder if her treatment of Cassandra was a lesson learned from what she did with Varian. With Varian, she never tried to pretend she and him were friends after TAR, but with Cass, she’s always like “…but she’s still our friend. And I’m not giving up on her. Ever.” (which is… not true. Cassandra made it very clear that she wasn’t Rapunzel’s friend and so did Varian, and Rapunzel’s faith in Cassandra can go to extremes that put both her and her friends in danger) so I thought Rapunzel was trying a different approach, she thought that since being enemies with Varian did more harm than good, that being “friends” with Cass would help. Though obviously Rapunzel was always closer to Cass than Varian, (she met him twice before QFAD, and Cass was her handmaiden and best friend for about a year) so I won’t deny that had a big influence on her treatment of them.

There’s a big difference between sympathizing with a character and excusing them. And Rapunzel’s situation is a bit tragic in that it was her fault, she should have checked up on Varian after the storm but she dug her own grave and lost a friend by sitting by her window and waiting. Trauma or not, it wasn’t the right thing to do. But with the learned helplessness thing- I do feel bad for her and now I understand why she wasn’t very determined to find him. But like, again, not an excuse, but it is understandable.

Honestly, she made the right choice in QFAD. To stay, I mean. She was in charge of an entire kingdom, and unfortunately, it comes before the fate of one child. When you’re a regular civilian, not ruling over anyone, you can afford to place your family (or friends) first, like in the case of Varian, and I don’t like that in the show, it’s treated as a bad thing that Varian places his father higher on his list of priorities. But Rapunzel’s different, she is the princess. And she couldn’t help him then. The only thing I really fault her for in QFAD is not taking care of Varian while he was at the castle.

Like, yeah, she couldn’t go with him then, but he’s just ran for a good few hours in a blizzard. She knows where he lives, it’s far from the castle, and she just? Lets him get thrown back out into the blizzard? To make that same journey again? Like c’mon girl, at the very least, set him by the fire and give him a warm drink, come on. He’s cold. But of the reactions of flight, fight, or freeze, Raps froze and just let it happen. I’m certain that reaction came from her trauma, and also, even if he stayed, he’d still be super distressed and I imagine that Rapunzel took the “out of sight, out of mind” approach because she didn’t want the added stress of him being there, yelling at her that she broke her promise.

I adore Rapunzel, she’s one of my favorite characters in the show and I think she’s very interesting, but, I do agree with you that the narrative really should have called her out more, blatantly. Without the villains being the only ones to call her out. Letting Varian get shoved out of the castle in a snowstorm was wrong, being mad at him for putting his father first was wrong, and not being relentless to find him was wrong. He trusted her. But understanding her and sympathizing with her isn’t supporting her actions, and it’s important to realize that characters aren’t perfect, they are complex, and demonizing a character, like a lot of the fandom does with Rapunzel, is just as bad as pretending she’s perfect. Tbh Rapunzel could’ve still made the same choices but I feel like a lot of the fandom would like her more overall if the narrative itself pushed her flaws out further and put more effort into making her realize she did wrong.

The Tangled fandom loves characters that aren’t depicted as perfect, I mean, Varian has a whole slew of issues but he’s the fan favorite, cuz the narrative calls him out. I wish TTS could’ve done that with Rapunzel too :<

varian during qfad: help me please, my dad is dying, you're the only one that can help! *gets kicked out of the castle*

rapunzel: oh my god oh my god oh my god i just turned my back on a desperate friend in need...

rapunzel like one episode later:

[bitchinbarzal]

Happily ever after | N.Bastian

summary: after all, weddings are for love.

-

“I don’t understand you sometimes!”

“What’s not to understand Nate?! I drop everything for you all the time and you just don’t care-“

“I care!”

“No you don’t! I dropped everything for you when you were drafted to Seattle, I left my job and sold my apartment to follow you and I put up you you being absolutely miserable every single day because of it and when they dropped you and Jersey wanted you back I done it all again now I was back in Jersey without my home and job!”

A weight lifted off your shoulders, finally speaking your heart. Nate shifted awkwardly infront of you.

“Glad you got that off your chest” he grumbled, angrily “you’re not the only one who sacrificed stuff you know?”

You laughed humourlessly “what could you have possibly had to give up?”

It was like he was searching for something to say “I missed out on like everything it was to be a rookie because I was tied down to, to you!”

Your eyes went wide and Nate bit his lip, regretting how he’d said it.

“You ‘missed out’?” You put air quotes around your words and quirked your eyebrow

Nate gulped

“On what exactly? The drinking and partying? The hooking up every other night? Every Sunday I came over here Mikey had a new girl in his bed! Is that what you want?”

“What? No-“

“That’s what you said! You just said that Nate!” You waves your hands around with no reason, just feeling frustrated.

“You know that’s not what I meant!”

“That’s what you said!” You screamed, as if raising your volume would get the point across better.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed “God would you stop being such a bitch-“

Nope.

The sound of your palm meeting the side of Nate’s face sounded through his apartment. He grabbed his cheek which was turning red now while you stumbled back, tears in your eyes and gasped.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare call me names!” He reached out for you, to console you but you pulled away “No, No don’t! Don’t touch me! God, I can’t even look at you”

“Babe, please just listen I didn’t- woah what are you doing?” He rushed, watching as you picked up your coat and bag.

“I’m leaving, I’m going home”

“Please don’t leave! C’mon I’m about to leave on a two week long road trip let’s not do this”

You looked at him, breaking his heart as he took in your red nose and tear stained cheeks while you sniffled

“I can’t Nate”

When the door shut he stood in the silence wondering

what the fuck just happened?

When he woke up the next morning he had hoped you were there, you weren’t. You hadn’t answered any of his calls and texts.

The devils were about to leave for a two week road trip and he didn’t want to leave this on a bad note but he had no time before the flight was due to leave.

Before take off you received a text

nater 🤍:

i love you and I’m so sorry. please just call me, I wanna hear your voice.

You read the text, like all the others but never replied. Instead simply throwing your phone away to sit and sulk.

Day four of the trip and he still hadn’t heard from you. The first sign of life was when Jack’s girlfriend posted a photo on her instagram stories of a bunch of denim jackets with the boys names and numbers on the back for the wags annual brunch.

He spotted his own name on a jacket, heart content to know you were there. However a couple of hours later he saw another story post of the same brunch and could see that same table with one jacket lay on it, the number fourteen standing out to him clearly.

It had started taking a toll on his play around Vegas. Nico spoke to him but was shut down quickly as Nate insisted there was nothing wrong and that he was sorry. Nico didn’t care about his play, he was worried about his friend.

A week into the trip you visited Nate’s apartment with a cardboard box in hand. Packing up everything you wanted to take with you. At some point you’d gotten so emotional you sat down on the couch to breath and turned the tv on.

It flickered to the last channel it was on, hockey. You watched the screen as it panned across the devils and the canucks. You watched as the screen showed Nate, holding his chain in hand and kissing the pendant that hung on it - your pendant.

“Oh Nathan…” you sighed, biting your lip and turning the TV off.

When the road trip ended Nate couldn’t wait to get home and see you, try to resolve this clear issue.

Opening the door, he immediately felt off. His eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what was different.

Your favourite blanket that hung over the couch was gone.

Your shoes weren’t littering the floor next to the front door.

You weren’t there.

Nate scrambled for his phone, calling you and texting you to be hit with the voicemail.

37 voicemails.

146 text messages.

27 instagram DM’s.

6 twitter DM’s.

1 email.

You never replied.

It wasn’t until a few days later you called him when you knew he’d be at practice unable to see his phone so you could leave a message.

When Nate returned to the locker room and saw his missed call he cursed, rushing to listen to the voicemail.

“hey nate, I know it was shitty to ghost you like that but I feel like if I didn’t do it this way I would make it worse for everyone. I feel like we need time apart, you made it clear that being in this relationship made you miss out on things so I want to give you the chance to explore that lifestyle! I’ll always be your biggest fan, from Canada to Jersey I’ve got you but I think I just gotta have you from afar for a little while”

Nate looked at his phone for a moment before he threw the phone onto the floor and stood on it repeatedly. Completely unaware everyone was watching the scene he was causing.

It was Mikey’s hands on his shoulders that snapped him out of his bubble “C’mon man, let’s go some-“

“She left me”

“Okay, Nate come on buddy not here”

He looked up at his best friend and let out a soft, shaky breath before he shoved his head on his shoulder and began to sob.

“You’re alright, it’s alright”

The pounding on your front door that night startled you, leaving your desk to answer the clearly urgent guest.

The door wasn’t even open enough to see you before you heard “What the fuck is going on?!”

“Hi Madison, come in, lovely to see you” you joked, rolling your eyes as she barged into your apartment.

“Nate is on my couch right now crying, what is going on? More importantly are you ok?” She asked, eyes fluttering over you to check.

You smiled softly “I’m okay mads, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you I just - my head has been fried”

Her eyes softened “hey listen, I’m here for you okay? I just don’t understand what’s going on? Mikey brought him home and we are both as clueless as each other”

“I broke up with him”

“You What? This is a joke right?”

“Mads i feel bad enough please don’t make me feel worse” you groaned.

She stood there looking at you “I don’t get it, you’re Nate and Y/N. You don’t break up”

“Yeah well…” You trialled off.

You went into all the details. Explaining the cause of the fight and all the things he said to you amidst it all.

By the end you were both in tears and when Madison hugged you, you felt relaxed for the first time in a long time

“We love You, so much! and we support you always-“

“But Mikey-“

“But Mikey nothing, you are our friend too and it’ll take some getting used to but we support our friends”

When Madison returned home that night she didn’t speak to either of the boys. Clearly seeing how much Nate was hurting right now that being angry at him wasn’t an option.

Nate returned home, to an empty house on day three. He felt like he was becoming a burden in their home. So he moved the pity party back to his place.

Life carried on as normal as it could, he played hockey, he practiced and he slept. He did everything he would usually without you. He tried not to think about you too much but it was hard living in the place he had never been without you.

The days and month kind of moulded into one.

Halloween passed, Christmas passed, New Years all without you.

Nate downloaded tinder and bumble. He let his friends set him up. Nothing was working. He hated this.

The next time he saw you was New Year’s Day. Madison had asked for you to come along to the game with her as the Devils were playing the Oilers and her future in-laws would be present.

You’d been friends with Mikey since high school and his parents always enjoyed seeing you.

Michael obviously hadn’t passed on your news.

“We’re super excited for the wedding! And you must be too sweetheart, oh you and Nathan will be next huh?”

Your face went red and you stuttered until Madison replied “actually, Judy. Nate and Y/N broke up in September”

She looked shocked “Oh no, sweetheart I’m so sorry I didn’t know!” Pulling you into a hug to console you.

The hug was showcased on the jumbotron, Nathan watched from the bench, his heart in his throat.

After the game the Mcleod’s were gathered together with you chatting away and Nate overheard Judy speaking as he passed.

“Oh now you’re single maybe we can finally set you up with Ryan, he’s a bit hopeless with romance”

You laughed, making a comment about “Poor Ry”

Nate about-turned bumping into his teammate behind him and poking a finger into his chest before grumbling “If your brother puts his hands near my girl, tell him he’s a fucking dead man”

You did not go out with Ryan. Mikey made sure of that as in his words “I like Ryan, he’s not my favourite brother but he buys me good birthday gifts”

January passed and the rest of the months ran quick.

You were helping Madison out with wedding stuff, constantly flying back to Canada to visit the venue, speak to catering, order flowers. You name it.

The devils never made it to play offs.

You watched them the night they failed to qualify.

You wrote out a text to Nate

i’m sorry. you deserved that one.

You didn’t send it.

The wedding planning soon started coming into play. Bachelorette parties and Bachelor weekends commenced before the big day.

You spent the week before trying to fix everything to be perfect for their big day.

The Friday night was everyone flying into town. You couldn’t be there to pick people up as your own flight out of Newark had been delayed but the team pulled through with Nico and Jack taking point as welcome committee.

Your new flight landed hours later, while everyone was supposed to be at dinner. You texted Jack to ensure someone could pick you up and he told you he had it it sorted.

You wanted to kill him when you exited the airport and you saw Nate’s Old Ford truck waiting for you in the loading zone.

He was leaned up against it, rushing forward for your bags when he saw you

“I thought Jack was picking me up”

“He ran outta fuel and I had a full tank so he sent me”

Your sighed “Well alright then”

The ride back to the hotel was quiet and awkward. Nobody tried to make small talk.

When you arrived at dinner you swiftly knocked Jack’s head and said “Never do that again”

Saturday was the rehearsal dinner and you weren’t feeling so great.

You had put on the dress and headed across to the venue. You did your due diligence and welcomed in both Madison’s and Michael’s families.

Mikey was mingling with people but didn’t miss how his best friends stare hardened when Ryan walked up to you and hugged you hello.

“Please don’t murder my brother this is my wedding after all”

Nate took a drink and grumbled “I make no promises but I’ll at least hold off until after his speech” continuing to watch your interaction.

Mikey laughed and walked off with a “Thanks bud”

Nate kept an eye on you all night long, feeling something was off.

You didn’t look right.

After everyone was sat for the meal and speeches had been done you wandered off to the bathroom and hadn’t returned for quite a while.

A break in the meal service gave Nate the opportunity to slip away to find you.

He found the ladies bathroom, he knocked and said

“Y/N, you in there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You croaked. Nate frowned before saying “I’m coming in”

“Nate, no-“ it was too late, he’d already made his way into the bathroom to find you on the floor hunched over the toilet.

He walked over, pulling his suit jacket off and draped it over your shoulder and then pulling your hair back into a makeshift ponytail to the best of his ability.

“You don’t have to-“ “Just hush, I’m here”

You were silent but grateful, continuing to spew for the next twenty minutes.

“I think I just ate bad chicken on the plane” you mumbled, defeated and laying against the tile wall.

“Let’s get you to bed” he decided, pulling you up from the wall. Your body, weakened, fell into him and you groaned

“But the dinner-“ “can be done without you come on”

He slipped the two of you out the back door and called a cab back to the hotel. For a moment you forgot your situation, opting to think this was all normal.

When Nathan took you up to your room and helped you get ready for bed, all normal.

You knew you shouldn’t have but when Nathan tried to leave you cried out “Please stay, I can’t be alone like this”

It didn’t take an awful lot of convincing, Nate knew you and he knew you were right. You never really got sick but when you did you always needed help.

He stayed.

He stayed all night while you slept, his fingers tangled in your hair scratching lightly at your scalp to soothe you.

At five that next morning he left you in order to return to his room and get ready for the wedding.

When you woke up, slightly confused you found a note on the pillow next to you.

morning, I had to go get mikey up. hope you’re feeling better, I’m sure you’ll look beautiful today. advil and water on the nightstand <3

You smiled lightly, looking over to see a plastic water bottle and the aforementioned pills waiting for you.

You picked up your phone from the other side, a few texts from people checking you were ok was all along with a message in the bridesmaid group chat about getting ready together.

“She’s alive!” Was yelled when you entered the room.

You smiled “Yes, yes I’m here I had food poisoning”

“Nate took care of you though, that was sweet” one of the other bridesmaids said, curling her hair and looking at you in the mirror.

You nodded, picking up a champagne glass from the table “Yeah, he left to go get Mikey up this morning-“

“Wait, wait, wait!” Madison yelled “He stayed over?!”

Yeah nodded sheepishly “Uh yeah, I guess I asked him too when I was tired I think I was just used to him helping me out when I’m sick”

Madison gave you a look bud you didn’t press it further, after all it was her wedding day.

The ceremony didn’t last long, Madison had always said she didn’t want people being bored and just wanted to party.

You’d found your space at the head table, right next to Ryan and you couldn’t help but think his mom had something to do with the table plans.

You were talking after dinner with Ryan about Edmonton and everything going on in his life when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders.

You turned to see Nate smiling down at you “Hey Ry, mind if I steal her for a bit?”

Ryan smiled “Nah man, she’s all yours. I’ll see you in a bit y/n”

You smiled back before pushing the chair out and grabbing Nate’s hand to be directed onto the dance floor.

You didn’t speak for the first few minutes, just basking in each other’s company until you said “Hey thanks for last night you didn’t have to do that”

“I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself”

“I’m not your problem anymore Nate”

“Not by my choice” he noted and you huffed “Nathan-“

“No, please just hear me out because I’ve been waiting for the right time to speak to you and I mean what are weddings for if not love, eh? Whatever that stupid fight we had was about was not worth loosing you over. I hate myself for that and the things I said because I love you so freaking much and I was so stupid for allowing myself to loose you. When you left me I was broken”

You sighed, looking up at him for any sign of a lie.

There was none “Nate… I miss you too but you know it’s not that easy to just get back together”

“I know, I just needed you to know how I felt” he nodded.

“Well Thank you, i appreciate it. Maybe we can talk again whenever we’re back home in jersey?”

“I like the sound of that”

You nodded, Nate twirling you out in the dance and when he pulled you back in he said “You do look beautiful tonight I guess I predicted that right”

Back in Jersey come the fall it had been a while since that night at the McLeod wedding.

The devils home opener was packed with fans.

You were sat with a beer in hand, looking out on the ice at the red jersey’s looking at all the new names around.

Your thoughts were broken when you felt something drape over your shoulders, turning you saw Madison alongside other girlfriends and wives all smiling at you.

“Hey!”

“Hey sweetheart we didn’t think we’d see you here, we saw you from the box” Madison points up to the ‘wags’ box.

You blush “Yeah, i uh haven’t been up there in a while”

“Well we thought you might want this back, a little birdy told me you might need it” you pulled the jacket draped over your shoulders off and looked at it.

The black denim jacket displayed the number fourteen alongside Bastian so nicely.

You smiled “That little birdy would be correct” you answered and the girls all cheered.

“Ugh, finally they’re back together! We’re so happy for you”

“Thank you guys honestly, it’s been a massive journey but we’re here now!”

Come the end of the night the boys were on a winning high and Nate didn’t think it could get better than this. That was until he came out of the locker room to find you with your back turned to him he saw the name and number on your jacket.

He groaned “Oh god I forgot what a beautiful sight this was” slipping behind you, arms travelling around your front to land on your abdomen and kissing the side of your head.

You leaned into him “You like it?”

“Like it? I love It” he announced, leaning in closer to your ear to whisper “I’d like it better on our floor though”

You straightened up “Oh we’ve gotta go guys! We’ve got stuff to do. See you all next week!”

You were halfway out the door when someone shouted

“they really never changed!”



[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)

[violetsandfluff]

Another dad!shawn request if you want:

Dad!Shawn and his 4 year old daughter Daniella on tour and just like the chaos of the tour life like early morning plane flights and then goofing out in soundcheck and things like that over the tour

Yes 😵‍💫😭 ps sorry this took so long 🙈. Think of this picture of them:

“Are you excited for your first plane ride?” Shawn asked, making a swooping motion with his veiny hands.

Daniella started dancing while she shrieked, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She stilled long enough to ask, “Daddy, how fast are we gonna fly?”

Shawn looked at her with amusement and admiration as she panted and coughed due to lack of air. “We’re gonna go so fast, Dani,” he says, eyes bright. Waiting for her to catch her breath from jumping around, he whisked her off the ground and spun her in circles.

She giggled with glee as she looked into her father’s deep eyes. The duo was so genuinely happy that anyone who saw them would instantly have their day made.

“We gotta go to sleep fast tonight so you can wake up early. You think you can do that?”

Daniella turned around and started playing with her backpack. She mentioned something about flying and big girl beds, but Shawn couldn’t make out what she was saying.

He knew she was happy and that was all that mattered.

As Daniella played, Shawn composed a list of what he needed to pack for her: A bathing suit, her softest blanket, her favorite stuffed animal, and countless dolls and various other activities to occupy her.

Soaps, shampoo, spare clothes, washcloths and Tylenol just in case. Many outfits for both of them and everything else they could possibly need.

They were setting out together on the next leg of Shawn’s world tour and they were leaving in sixteen hours. They should get packing.

“Okay, Dani,” Shawn said, handing his daughter a small carry-on bag. “I’m going to say an item and you’re going to put it in the bag. Sound good?”

His precious daughter nodded, excited to help. She packed toys and some clothes for herself, as well as coloring books and washcloths. She couldn’t get everything to fit in the bag, but she did a good job. Shawn decided against putting her down for a nap because she would never sleep at night, let alone hours early.

He rolled her clothes tightly so they took up less space. His goal was to get everything into two carry-on bags and one larger suitcase. He accomplished this while she played, and he made sure to highlight the last-minute things he needed to pack. They would be leaving for the airport at 2:30 the next morning.

And at 1:30, Shawn’s alarm rang readily at his side. He put the remainder of his and his daughters necessities for the next month into his suitcase and they set off.

Daniella was sleepy and disgruntled from being awoken so early, but she was soon singing Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star in the back of the Uber as she looked up at the night sky.

Listening to her little voice made Shawn’s chest feel tight. He couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to have her. He already missed her little presence in his house when she had her first sleepover. He already missed her when she went off to kindergarten for an entire day. He already missed her when she would move off to college in fourteen years.

But now she was all his and he intended to keep it that way at least for the present.

She fell asleep in the car, meaning Shawn carried her inside the airport along with all three of their bags. She woke up with the motion and “helped” him push the suitcase into the building.

She spoke loudly to herself about going on tour with her daddy and flying in an airplane. She was wearing a purple sweatsuit that was just as easy to wear out as it was to sleep in. Her hair was messy and knotted from sleeping on, but it was nothing he couldn’t fix.

She was mesmerized by watching the luggage get checked. They made it through security after ditching their shampoos and finally boarded the plane.

Daniella was extremely excited to be sitting by the window though she could barely look out of it because she was so small. While she looked, Shawn ran his fingers through her knotty hair and put it up in a bun so the mess wasn’t as evident. He could worry about it later.

She was a little shook up after takeoff, but she recovered enough to fall asleep. He woke her up when they were landing and she was upset because, A, she was sleep-deprived, and, B, she had missed most of the flight.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Shawn reassured her. “We’ll be on many more planes this month.”

When they had landed, she flounced off the plane just ahead of Shawn. The sun was shining and, when they got through security and outside, Shawn asked her if she knew where she was.

When she shook her head, Shawn explained that they weren’t in Canada anymore: they were in America. She got all excited from this bit of news because Disney World was in America.

They went with Shawn’s management to the hotel they would be staying at for pre-leg sound checks. Their first show would be in two days in New York City.

Shawn and Dani relaxed in the hotel for the rest of the day to catch up on lost sleep and be together. Aaliyah was flying in to watch Dani when Shawn was unable to and, in typical Daniella fashion, she was more excited for Auntie Liyah than her own father.

The next morning, Shawn got Daniella up early and put her in a cute sun dress and did her hair in pigtails. He packed some toys, coloring books, and crayons in a backpack for her to play with while he did his sound check, but when they got there, she wasn’t taking any interest in them.

She wanted to sing into the microphones like Daddy. So Shawn scooped her up and put her face beside the microphone. She began singing and everyone there let out a collective aww.

One of Shawn’s crew members ran out with a mic for Daniella and lowered it down to her height.

“Do you wanna ding one of Daddy’s songs?” the crew member asked and she nodded with excitement.

Shawn began playing his guitar and when it was time for them to sing, he stopped to point at Dani. She sang and he assisted her, and all of his crew sat down to watch them and how happy they were.

Tour life was crazy, and it was even crazier with a four-year-old along, but Shawn was glad he got to bring his daughter with him to watch her constantly.

The New York opener was packed full, and every being in that stadium enjoyed listening to Shawn’s little Princess sing her heart out.

Sound checks were sometimes tough to get to, and early morning flights could be hard not to miss, but Shawn and Dani enjoyed every second thoroughly.