#just a short and sweet thing inspired by the fact i might be moving | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mayfieldss · 3 months

Note

ok idk who this could be with, but fic idea: fake dating trope inspired by the song 'hate to be lame' by lizzy mcalpine and finneas... it has POTENTIAL.!!

Hate to be lame, but I might love you | Steve Harrington

BABE THIS CONCEPT IS SO </3 POTENTIAL INDEED!!! I'm gonna admit I went wayyy off track from the song and kind of just went feral with the concept of fake dating Steve.

"You're hands are sweaty."

"Yeah, well, so are yours."

"That's because my hand is covered in the sweat from your sweaty hand." your voice comes as a sharp whisper that only Steve can hear as you walk toward your friends not two days after your little agreement.

"Oh shut up."

"Why do we have to hold hands anyway?"

"Because that's what couples do, trust me I'm the expert." Steve nudges your side with his elbow, and you push back harder, making him flinch.

"Yeah, because you've had such successful past relationships." You're grumbling and acting more like a child as the regret sinks in. Why you'd agreed to this even to assist the romance between your two friends was beyond you. There were far easier ways to get the same result.

"That was a low blow." Steve sounds only slightly deflated but his energy returns as the rest of your friends begin to notice the intertwined fingers and the smiles you're sending them, that while fake, are convincing enough.

"Hey, this is new!" It's Dustin, always the first to voice an opinion, and he's eyeing the both of you as though he's Sherlock Holmes inspecting a fresh crime scene. "Is this a cute thing or a friend thing?" he's frowning, and you offer up an answer.

"Can't a friend thing be a cute thing also?"

"So it's a friend thing?" Dustin raises a brow and looks to Steve. For a second you swear they have some sort of silent and private conversation before Steve interjects with words that seem to startle the entire group surrounding you.

"No, it's not a friend thing." He moves his hand from yours, opting to drape his arm over your shoulder, making a show whilst you wipe your hand discreetly on your shorts.

"Surprise..??" the word comes strained from your lips and you are thankful for the fact that Steve is such a charmer. Whilst he's been more than a bad liar in the past he seems like a professional actor now, award-winning even as he sells your relationship to the group.

Your first kiss in his car one day after work, and first date at the small bakery down the street from your house. The way he'd been crushing on you since he saw you beat the hell out of some Demogorgons to defend the kids, and just how happy you were together. How he was so convincing you didn't know, but you almost found yourself believing him for parts of it, as if you didn't already know the truth. It was all fake, a ruse put together so that Steve could convince Robin and Nancy that he had in fact moved on. A perfectly crafted fake relationship so that Robin and Nancy could finally get together and feel guilt free.

"Well, I can't say I didn't see it coming." It's Dustin again, forever the speechmaker, and the smile on his lips is unbearably sweet. He's oblivious, it seems, and it occurs to you then that the little scheme you and Steve put together might have some negative impacts. Dustin cared about Steve in the way a little brother looks up to the older sibling, or perhaps the way a son looked up to a father, and maybe it wasn't so good for the boy to get attached to the idea of Steve finally finding some romantic peace. After all, it was nothing romantic of the sort, and whilst the game you had going wouldn't affect Dustin directly, it did seem that he was excited over the concept of you and Steve together.

Despite these thoughts, you find yourself moving an arm around Steve's waist, leaning into him as if it were real, because if you were doing this, you were sure as hell gonna do it right. Dustin smiles, somehow wider than before, before moving off to meet the other younger members of the group. Robin eyes the two of you from a distance, with something of a confused yet proud expression, and you hope that for whatever reason, she believes the show you're putting on.

When you feel Steve's breath against your ear, the shivers that run down your spine are barely controlled. "Good job." it's a whisper as he squeezes your shoulder, "I'm gonna go get us some drinks."

And with that, he walks away, leaving you to wonder how exactly this is going to work.

It goes well for the most part and soon you start to see changes in Robin and Nancy's behavior toward each other. They seem closer, more interested now that Robin's not afraid to make a move on the girl Steve had once been so hung up on.

But you can't deny that in private it has become somewhat awkward between you and Steve. Something changed over the past few weeks of pretending and you're not quite sure where it all went wrong, but the teasing relationship you'd once had was now evaporating before your eyes.

Steve currently had an arm over your shoulder as he sat beside you in the old bakery café where he had claimed you'd had your first kiss to the rest of the group. The old leather booth was supposedly filled with the fondest of memories for the both of you, though in truth you had never entered the place until today.

"You two really do make a hot couple." It's Robin leaning her elbows on the table from the booth across from you and Steve, Nancy at her side though they sit further apart.

"I second this," Nancy smiles, a wide and sweet expression that makes you really believe her. And suddenly you feel bad for lying to them both.

"Here," Before you can dwell on the feeling, Nancy's pulled out an old camera, one she was gifted by Jonathan back when they were something of a pair themselves. She still keeps it close, and she'd planned to use it for some journalism work later in the day, but it seems she's willing to waste some of the camera's potential now.

"Smile you two." She's peering into the camera, and instinctively you lean into Steve, smiling for the shot. But that doesn't seem to appease either Robin or the eldest Wheeler sibling, both of them scheming to create the best memories for you both.

"C'mon Steve," Robin instructs, "Give her a kiss for the camera." Steve does so hesitantly, pressing a short peck to your cheek and waiting for the camera to click, but nothing happens.

When he looks up he finds both Nancy and Robin chuckling before Nancy herself begins to speak. "Look, Steve, I know you're trying to be polite because, well, we used to be something—but I really don't mind if you two kiss. I'm happy for you both, and I assure you I've moved on." She spares a glance to Robin and it would have been sweet if you weren't panicking deep inside. You had yet to kiss Steve at all and the plan had been that you would never have to but now that your excuse seemed to be up in flames you weren't sure what to do, or say.

Steve didn't seem at all bothered, and maybe that should have concerned you more than it did, but honestly, you were grateful for the confidence he held when yours was nowhere to be found.

"Yeah, you're right. We didn't want to cause any drama with, you know," Steve gestures between himself and you, "Us."

"But that's the thing!" Nancy exclaims in a rather Robin-like fashion. (Perhaps the girl was rubbing off on her a little too much.) "I'm happy for you, and I really don't mind." She raises the camera again, a smile tugging at her lips as Robin shuffles a little closer to peak through the lens with her. "Do some cute couple shit for the camera. You may kiss your girlfriend." Robin says, and a nervous laugh escapes you as Steve locks his eyes with yours. it's a look that speaks,'You really wanna do this?' and 'We can back out now if you want.' all at once, but there's something else there that you can't quite decode.

You nod in response to his silent question, however, and it takes a moment before either of you can get up the guts to do anything at all. Steve leans in first, slow and steady, and you know he notices the breath that catches in your throat. His lips so close, his hair just barely brushing your forehead as he moves downward, his face inching ever closer to yours. But he stops, and it seems as if time itself does too, when Mike Wheeler bursts into the bakery, tall frame and skinny limps carrying him through the door and toward the booth at which the four of you sit.

"Nancy, god it took forever to find you! Mom's going crazy over dinner tonight and—" It all seems to fade off. Mike is still talking but you block him out, a ringing in your ears replacing his words as you wonder what could have happened had a few more seconds passed before the boys' arrival.

Either way, it would have meant nothing, because you don't like Steve like that, and you never will. Right?

Steve is sitting, brows furrowed beside you, staring at your figure as you watch Mike Wheeler ramble on about something Nancy needs to come home for. You don't seem to be listening and he doesn't blame you because honestly, he doesn't know if he is either, but he wonders what you are thinking about.

He's certainly thinking about things he shouldn't be.

But soon Nancy stands, and Robin follows suit and they say something that the both of you ignore. And they leave, as you wave them goodbye, and they say they'll be in touch. All of a sudden you're sat next to Steve, alone with a chocolate chip muffin between you.

"That was a close one don't you think?" It's you who says it and your voice startles Steve. You see him jump, and then adjust himself to sit like the cool high school heartthrob he had once been.

"Real close, sorry." the apology is genuine, and Steve pauses, looking around the bakery. "You wanna get out of here?"

You manage a nod, shuffling from the booth awkwardly. "Let's go."

"Did you want me to drop you home?" Steve's leaning on the side of his car as he watches you, waiting. He looks so different somehow, changed from the teenager you would sit next to in the chemistry lab. He hadn't spoken to you much at all back then, and you would do all the hard work for the passing grades, but now he seems....lost.

You suppose fighting interdimensional monsters can do that to a person. That kind of thing changes a perspective for sure, and the look in his eyes can be thrown down to such a concept.

"Sure," you go to say more, but decide against it as Steve moves around the car to open the passenger side door for you. The kind of thing you had yet to experience for a long time. When he gets behind the wheel he's focused, staring out the windshield.

"So, I'll drop you home." it's awkward, unsure and it's hard to find a response.

"Well, I don't know what else we're supposed to do."

Steve clears his throat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "We could go to work—your work I mean, show off a little to the kid at the checkout. The one you have a crush on."

"He's literally the same age as us Steve. Stop calling him a kid." with your arms folded over your chest you watch Steve for a reaction, and he gives you one. His nose wrinkles up, turning to face you.

"He looks like a kid."

"He does not!" there's a laugh hidden behind your words, and Steve smiles, just a little. It's a nice thing to see.

"He has a babyface, he's got the smooth face of a baby."

"Like you're one to talk Harrington," you reach over, running a hand across his cheek. "You've got nothing on this face of yours."

Steve isn't nervous. He's not. The feeling of your skin on his, the warmth of your hand on his face has no effect on his heart rate. His heart beats this fast all the time. "I'll have you know that I've got a moustache coming in."

You pull back, buckling yourself into your seat. "That stubble on your upper lip doesn't count for shit Steve, don't give yourself a big head."

"Alright, well am I taking you home or what?" He wants to hide the grin on his lips, though he can't seem to put it away. It's stuck, the expression seemingly permanent. You're smiling too, and when you look over at him, his hands on the wheel and yours in your lap, it's all over.

"Let's go give babyface a run for his money."

It doesn't work out like it's supposed to, and as you walk into the store, out of uniform and entirely out of character, your confidence fades. "This was a bad idea." you mumble the words to Steve, who stands beside you, waiting to make a minor scene.

He looks down at you, peculiar frown pulling at his brows. "It's a great idea. Just making a little chaos, that's all." he doesn't sound like himself either, and in truth, his eyes are now scanning around the store, waiting for your target to show.

"Let's just go, Steve. It's dumb—this is dumb." before you can say anything more Steve's got his arm sliding softly around your waist, pulling you just that bit closer to his side. You don't flinch at the touch, the touch of a friend acting as though they're more. You should think more of it, feel more uncomfortable than you do, but you don't. You see your coworker approaching, apron over his regular uniform. You don't think you'd ever had a crush on him in the first place, despite what Steve had persisted, and even though the guy is cute, it doesn't seem to mean anything. Looking up at Steve is a struggle, and when you do you find his eyes still locked on the fated supermarket employee.

"Steve," muttering his name brings his eyes back to yours, and his gaze looks slightly different than it did before. "Let's get out of here."

"You sure?" the question hangs in the words, but something in him sounds relieved at the concept, as if all of a sudden this doesn't matter to him either. But he doesn't have a second to lead you away from the store before something else seems to enter the equation. Someone else.

"Hey, didn't expect to see you here." it's your coworker 'crush' standing before you with a strained grin. "It's your day off." He's says it in a way that suggests he's reminding you, in case you've forgotten. You don't miss the way his eyes flicker to Steve, and in particular, Steve's arm, still around your waist, his hand placed so convincingly as his fingers press affectionately into your side.

"Yeah, just came in to get some things." you smile back at the boy genuinely, as Steve buts into the conversation.

"Just some snacks...for date night." he's playing his part still, you realize, even if you weren't.

"Date night? You two are—I didn't see that coming." you think you must have imagined it, the deflated falter in your friends words. He didn't like you, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He was hardly a friend anyway, just the guy behind the checkout that you would wave and smile to during the work day. You couldn't possibly be hurting him with this, could you?

Steve squeezes you closer to his side, and it seems to be going a little too far. You're not sure if he does it just to get under the skin of the guy in front of you, or if he's trying to tell you something along the lines of "it's working."

You hope it's none of the above.

"Well, we should get going." diffusing the situation is all you can think to do, but now leaving isn't an option. If you don't exit the store with the so called 'snacks' you came in for, it might just mix things up further. You grab Steve by the hand, pulling him toward the candy aisle, sending your seemingly heartbroken coworker a sympathetic goodbye smile.

Once out of sight and snooping range, you give up the act. "Steve, this has to stop."

"What no, Nancy and Robin—they've just started connecting." Steve sounds disappointed, grasping for something to hold on to.

"There are other ways we can play matchmaker with them, but this...it's going too far. I can't do it." the way your eyes plead with Steve to end things, sends shivers across his spine. He feels the sting of your words as if it's all real, but of course it never was.

"So, we're breaking up?" he mumbles, trying not to let the words remind him of the familiar heartbreaks he's had before.

"Don't say it like that," there's a gentle laugh from your lips, soft, calmer than you were before. "That makes it sound like we were really a thing."

That cuts Steve deep. He can't help it, and his mind wanders to the feeling of your hand still holding his. He doesn't think you know that you're still doing it, so he squeezes your hand with his own, testing the waters. You let go.

You'd been Steve's fake girlfriend for over a month, and now suddenly, standing amongst bags of chocolate and sweets, you weren't anymore.

"So, just friends again?" You extend a hand as if to shake on the deal, and Steve accepts, though this time there is no affection in the way his hand holds yours.

"Friends." He confirms, and it really is over.

You don't let on to your friends directly that you'd split apart. Maybe due to the hopes that Robin and Nancy could make their own way a little faster whilst they were still under the impression of you and Steve in love. But you no longer hold hands in public, and you don't follow each other around like lost dogs.

It's weird, knowing that Steve isn't trailing behind you like he used to, and it's odd not having his car pull up in your driveway every day. You were so used to him surrounding you after the few months of being his partner in crime, that the distance from him has set up an ache in your heart.

Steve feels similarly, and the way the man goes about his days now are less interesting, and far less fun. Dustin caught on almost immediately, and despite the deal Steve made with you to never tell a soul in the group about your little agreement, he can't help but tell the young boy everything.

"So what you're saying is you never dated in the first place?" Dustin questions, Steve nodding.

"Yeah."

"But you think you might have fallen in love with her for real?"

Hearing Dustin say it out loud sends a pang of longing through Steve and he knows then that he most definitely has fallen head over heels for someone he was never supposed to love in the first place.

"Yeah. That sounds about right."

"Dude," Dustin has a grin on his lips and Steve can tell he's about to made fun of before it happens. "You are so lame. Honestly, can you just admit to yourself that you had a crush on her from the start? It was never fake to you, was it?" The kid is smart, and can see right through his older friend. He held no surprise when Steve told him the truth, because he found it quite obvious how Steve truly felt. It was why Steve's stories about how he fell in love with you felt so real to the group in the first place. Because they were the furthest thing from fake.

Steve doesn't respond, thinking it over. Dustin is right he realizes, and it's not surprising at all.

"You gotta tell her, man." Dustin speaks again, and Steve nods.

"Yeah. I know."

Two days later and Mike has invited everyone over, including the older kids, to spend the day together. It gives you Deja vu as you enter the house, having been to a similar hangout with Steve months before when you first introduced yourselves as a couple. Now you walk in alone, no sweaty hand to hold.

Steve's heart skips a beat when he sees you, and Dustin nudges him hard with his shoulder, as if Steve hasn't already been alerted of your presence. He thinks you look beautiful, but he always does. He realizes these things now. Now that he knows how he feels.

"Hey," Steve stands to greet you and you offer him a friendly smile back.

"Hey, Steve." It's still awkward between you, and has been ever since the fake breakup. Perhaps that's due to the fact you've both been avoiding each other like the plague since it happened.

"I need to talk to you about something later, is that okay?" He keeps his voice low, not wanting the others to hear about the private matters he wants to discuss. He can tell he's confusing you, but you agree thanks to his puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah, okay." Despite your agreeance, you plan to avoid Steve for the rest of the day, solely due to the fact you've begun to feel things that you shouldn't be. You were so used to being his friend, and seeing him as one, but now your thoughts have begun to linger on him more than they should, as do your eyes.

You can't help but admire the way he is with the kids, and the way his hands comb through his hair casually as if he doesn't know just how appealing it makes him. You focus a little too much on whether he's looking at you or not, and the sound of his laugh is too familiar now.

He was your friend, and whilst you'd promised he would stay that way, you weren't so sure you could keep it.

"Hey," Steve has caught you in the kitchen, going to get more soda for the party after a long day of avoidance. You'd hoped to spend a few minutes alone, and most of all, had hoped to keep evading him, but Steve had other plans.

You place the sodas on the counter, closing the fridge with caution. "It sure is hot today." You mumble in the hopes of keeping the conversation light. You know he's here to confront you about the distance you've been keeping from him. It can't be anything else.

"Yeah, it's summer." He feels bad about cornering you in the kitchen, but he knows this might be one of the only chances he has at asking you how you feel. Even with what Dustin had said, Steve doesn't know if he can bring himself to tell you what's been going on inside his head over the past couple of months, but he hopes you'll be willing to tell him what's been happening in yours.

"Are you okay?" even though you saw it coming, Steve's question still startles you.

You nod, though your voice involuntarily raises an octave. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you?" You're not fine, and the lie is clear, but Steve is more than honest with you.

"I'm tired of us acting like we haven't fucked up our relationship." He leans against the counter in a kind of defeated gesture, weakening your resolve. "I don't want to keep fighting to be around you. I want you to feel comfortable around me again. Call me an idiot, a loser or something, like you used to."

"I can't." your whisper seems so loud in your own ears.

"I promise I'll call you pretentious and dramatic right back, just say it. Call me a name, make it how it used to be." there's a kind of desperation hidden within Steve's words, one you haven't heard before. One you doubt anyone has heard before. It stands in the silence, for your ears alone.

"You really want me to list all the shit I hate about you?" There's a shake to your voice, as if you're close to screaming or crying, but you're not sure which will come first.

"Well, I didn't say that—"

"I hate your stupid hair. Your teeth are too straight, and I don't like the way you talk to me, how your voice gets all soft and sweet. It's irritating when you smile because it makes me smile too, and you're laugh just—it just pisses me off." You stop for breath, sucking in the air as you focus on the boy in front of you. You've taken a few steps toward him with your words spoken, slow, and steady. "And I hate the fact you made me like you. I hate the way you're so unhateable to everyone around you, including me."

There's a small twitch of Steve's lips, and you can tell they want to pull upwards into the smile you just claimed to despise. He doesn't let them though, pushing himself back from the counter. "You wanna know what I hate about you?"

Your heart leaps into your throat but you don't show any sign of response, staring at him with as much blankness as you can muster.

"Absolutely everything, and nothing at all." He says it quietly. He doesn't need volume to get his point across. He's taken the steps needed to close the gap between you, and he's waiting for your approval. "In fact, I think I could love you, if you'll let me."

You let out a breath, somewhere between relief and excitement. "You're so lame, Harrington."

"You know you love it." he leans in closer, and you do the same, lips brushing against his.

"You know, I think I could love you too, if you'll let me of course." you allow yourself a grin at the sight of one on Steve's own lips, contagious as always.

"I think we could come to an arrangement." He's fucking with you, but you're too impatient to respond with anything but a kiss, gentle and sweet to his lips. You're not the first person to kiss Steve Harrington, but Steve thinks you might be the best.

"Come on, the others are waiting." You pick up the sodas left on the counter and push past Steve with the widest smile you've held in weeks, and Steve follows close behind.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @heliads @candywh0r3 @caplanreadss @hiya-itsamber @s00buwu

STRANGER THINGS TAGLIST: @buckys2thicc @browneyes528

453 notes · View notes

t-lostinworlds · 5 months

Text

Competitively Stupid | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: rivals-ish (since childhood) to lovers, some angst; fluff

》 SUMMARY: It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergent (everyone is alive & well & happy thanks), pet names (sweetheart, baby), shitty parents (on both sides), competitiveness on all accounts, r is basically a counterpart of steve during high school (cheerleading captain, queen of hawkins high, swim team captain, etc.), peer pressure-ish, some stupid decisions & stupider actions, very irresponsible cliff jumping (which doesn't end well), drowning, CPR, injuries, an emotional moment™, love confessions, and a happy, sappy ending.

》 WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

A/N: hi! okay, well, it's been a while since i posted a steve fic so i'm kinda nervous ngl. also, not me making it a habit to include swimmer!steve in all my fics from here on out. this was meant to be short & sweet to dust off the cobwebs but lol. super random. i saw a video of someone cliff-jumping & boom, the idea was born. also, not me using the first aid training i learned in college.

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE H. MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

You genuinely have no idea why you were even doing this in the first place.

"There's no way you can do it."

Right.

That's why.

The taunting voice of Steve fucking Harrington was the reason why you were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a thirty-foot drop into the dark ocean.

This was supposed to be a relaxing trip with your new found family.

"You know you don't have to listen to him, right?" Robin sighed, so completely over the fact that her two best friends who never got along no matter what she tried, somehow came to an agreement to not listen to her right now.

Not that you could blame her.

You and Steve had been rivals ever since you were kids.

It was what you had always known.

What with narcissistic parents who used their children as pawns to one up each other, you had been conditioned to see him as an enemy from the second you step foot into their home.

Your family was invited into the Harrington residence for dinner as a way of welcoming you to the neighborhood. You recently just moved in, so you didn't know anyone else yet. When you heard that the next-door neighbor had a son who was your age, you had been really excited to gain a new friend.

All that changed when your dad sat you down an hour before, prepping you about how the Harringtons were a respected family in the town, and that you needed to show them you weren't any less than them, if not show them you were better. He drilled it in your brain to be on your best behavior, to be the best and the perfect daughter.

It only got worse when you finally sat down at that dinner table.

The comparisons were endless.

"See, my daughter here is a wonderful gymnast, quite amazing for someone her age."

"How wonderful. Steven here has swimming lessons every weekend. His coach said he might end up in the Olympic team once he's of age."

"Splendid. How about his academics? I'm sure he can take inspiration from my daughter's exemplary grades."

"He's the top of his class. Maybe if they study together, your daughter would be able to catch up in time."

It was harsh, pitting two seven-year-olds against each other—impressionable kids who only wanted to make their mom and dad proud.

But neither your parents nor his truly gave a shit. All they cared about was becoming the best family in the street, if not the whole town.

The sad thing was, those dinners became a regular thing, held alternately between your house and his.

It always looked like a preparation for battle whenever your mom would pull out the finest china in her collection along with the cookbook she only ever used for special occasions.

It was in the guise of cordiality when it was, in fact, an excuse to show off, to make a competition out of everything, a moment to compare who did what best. Those dinners were like monthly scoreboards, tallying up the respective families' recent achievements—and that included yours and Steve's.

Nobody was surprised that the competitiveness stuck with you both.

And it only got worse during high school.

Whether that was something as mundane as winning the popularity contest when running different circles—even going as far as getting crowned the King and Queen of Hawkins High—down to academics and extracurriculars.

Captain of the basketball team. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Prom Queen. Prom King. MVP of the season. Brightest student of the year. Beer pong Queen. Kegstand King. Best summer camp counselor. Lifeguard of the month and it went on and on and on and on.

When he got co-captain for the men's swim team, you rubbed it in his face that you were the captain of the women's team. When you got second place at the science fair, he made sure to rub his first place medal right in your face. When you became president of the student council, you ordered him around to do extra work whenever the basketball team was required to help with community service.

It was a constant back and forth.

There was always a competition between you and Steve Harrington.

And sure, since you graduated, it became subdued. But it was still very much there. Vying on who was the coolest babysitter in your band of ragtags, even fighting to have the title of Robin Buckley's ultimate best friend.

This thing between you and Steve was deeply rooted. So there really wasn't much Robin could do apart from getting in between your frequent squabbles before you started actually killing each other.

In Robin's words, something drastic had to happen for you both to finally wake up and see that this rivalry between you both wasn't what it seemed to be on the surface.

You had no idea what she was even implying.

Now, on a little getaway on the nearest beach you could drive to, the competition started with a race on who could get there first. It wasn't even fair seeing that you weren't the one driving.

The group had split into two, some were in Eddie's van—along with everyone's belongings since he had ample space in the back—while the others were in Steve's Beemer. Since you and Steve couldn't be in the same room together without an argument ensuing, it was a unanimous decision to have you two separated. Nobody wanted to deal with that for hours on the road.

Not that you could blame them, either.

And sure, it was the kids who suggested the race, but with Steve's smug smirk and that arrogant wink he threw once you got into Eddie's passenger seat, you knew it was game on between you too.

Yet despite the metal head being a fast—albeit slightly reckless—driver, he somehow took his sweet goddamn time getting to your destination.

Only when your group arrived at the beach last, did he say something about Steve threatening him to be extra careful with driving because there's important cargo in his van—whatever the hell that meant.

You lost to Steve on that one, but you would argue it was rigged from the start.

The next was a supposed friendly bout on who could build the biggest sandcastle that didn't topple over after a few minutes.

It was boys versus girls with you and him being team leaders. The girls won, obviously and El never used her powers. It was fair and square since the other team mostly argued over everything they could think of and had no teamwork at all. You made sure to point that out to Steve as you watched their sandcastle crumble into ruins.

Another one was beach volleyball. Same leaders as before, but you get to pick the members of your teams this time. Steve made it his mission to pick the tallest of the bunch. Still, it wasn't the advantage he thought it was because it ended up being one point too close.

Your team would've won if Steve wasn't such a dramatic asshole.

It was truly an accident. When you spiked that ball, you were not aiming for his face. He simply thought it was a good idea to catch the ball with it. Besides, he was distracted, flirting with some random girl in a bikini who was passing by, right in the middle of the game.

How was it your fault that he wasn't paying attention?

He made sure to oversell his injury after that, curled up on the sand as the girl fussed over him. But you saw that smirk on his face. You would've hit him again—definitely not by accident this time—if you weren't busy arguing with Robin about the point deduction. She said it was only fair since you hit the ball when she hadn't blown her imaginary whistle yet.

You decided to let it go when Steve commented on you being a whiny sore loser.

Unfortunately, the competition was ending with who could make jumping off a cliff and into the ocean look the coolest—adults only, despite the groans of protest from the mischievous bunch.

Eddie offered to stay behind and watch the rascals. When teased, he simply said he didn't want to test Death today.

His comment didn't help your nerves.

Robin said she was only coming purely as a voice of reason. She'd been saying nonstop how it was a horribly stupid idea, that there really was no need to be doing this in the first place.

But Steve wasn't backing down, so you weren't going to either.

So once again, it was only you and him.

As it always had been.

He volunteered to go first, throwing in a comment about rushing back up the cliff's edge before you could take your turn because he wanted a front-row seat for when you'd chicken out.

It only made you want to do it more.

His dive was smooth, almost flawless, you admit. He even showed off with a little flip near the end. It didn't take long for him to swim back to the shore, either. His years of training as a swimmer were obviously paying off.

But you trained just as much if not more than he had.

The only difference was, adrenaline didn't fuel you as much as it did Steve. So instead of getting all powered up looking down at a cliff's edge like he was, you were terrified.

But who wouldn’t get scared looking down at harsh waves crashing against sharp and jagged rocks? There was no margin for error here because one wrong slip and you'd be dead.

Still, if Steve could do it, you could do it better.

You weren't about to lose to his stupid ass.

"I'm not listening to him," you argued back, taking in a shaky breath as you took a step.

"He's doing reverse psychology!" she squeaked. "So you doing it is still listening to him!"

"I'm fine, Robs, I can do it," you mumbled, a slight questioning lilt at the end of your sentence.

"Look, sweetheart, it's okay to admit defeat," Steve said, cocky voice with an even cockier smile as he crossed his toned arms against his bare chest. His hair was still damp, quick to climb back up so he could get his front-row seat as he promised.

But you weren't chickening out.

Never.

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time you lost to me so, it shouldn't sting as much."

You ignored him.

Instead, you took another step, the tips of your toes now hanging over the edge.

You can do this. Wipe that smug smirk off his face. You got this.

"Listen, you don't have to do—"

"Shut it, Harrington," you growled.

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, counting from three, two, one…

You jumped.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

This was stupid.

Absolutely idiotic.

He shouldn't have pressured you like that.

The jump wasn't deadly, per se, but it also wasn't exactly deemed the safest, especially if you weren't an expert in any sort of way.

And he didn't want to say it out loud because if he did, he knew it would only push you to do it more just to prove him wrong.

But Steve could see how scared you were.

He was already dropping the act, voice laced with concern as he started telling you that he wasn't worth all of this, that he was stupid and that you were always going to be better than him.

But, obviously, you didn't listen.

You simply jumped.

You and your stupidly competitive ass.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, rushing to the edge of the cliff, tensely watching your falling figure disappear into the water with a splash.

"You two are complete idiots."

"Shut up," Steve gritted, never looking away from the water. Yet any annoyance was quickly overpowered by sheer worry as he scanned the deep blue for anything.

There was no sign of you.

"Like seriously! It's like I'm the only one with a brain cell here!"

"Come on, come on, come on," Steve mumbled, completely ignoring Robin when you still hadn't emerged to the surface. "Come on, Y/N, don't scare me like this."

"Uh, Steve?" Robin asked after a moment, carefully looking over the cliff before shooting him a worried glance. "You look anxious and you being anxious is making me nervous."

"She hasn't come up," he grumbled, glancing at his watch.

It was nearing a minute.

"Maybe you didn't see her?"

"I haven't taken my eyes off the water, Buckley," he gritted, too harsh and uncalled for since Robin didn't do anything wrong.

But he was panicking.

A minute and thirty seconds.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can do it. You're an amazing swimmer," he whispered encouragingly, hoping some sort of magic would let you hear him underwater all while saying it aloud for his own sanity.

Two minutes.

You could never hold your breath any longer than that.

Steve knew because he always won that competition.

And that was in a calm pool.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed, gearing up to dive after you. "I don't think she's coming up!"

"Okay! Okay," Robin rushed, panicking. "Maybe she's already on the shore. We should go down now and see—"

Steve didn't listen.

He jumped right after you.

The biting cold was awakening.

Still, it was the absolute fear of losing you that was keeping him alert.

He ignored the sting of the salty ocean water in his eyes as he frantically searched for you, his heart beating hard and fast, struggling for oxygen all while fearing for your safety.

Steve didn't know which came first, relief or dread when finally found you, aimlessly floating and unconscious under the deep blue.

He swam to you as fast he could, securely hooking his arm under your shoulder and dragging you up to the surface.

Steve always knew that adrenaline can give you a random boost of strength when needed. He simply didn't expect that to be proven true when he was carrying your unresponsive body in his arms as he brought you to the shore.

He gently placed you on your back on the sand, cupping your face as he checked for any injuries.

You were so cold.

"Hey, hey, wake up," he begged, grabbing your shoulders to try and shake you awake.

Nothing.

"You didn't have to make the jump, you idiot. Why do you always want to prove me wrong," he scolded with no ounce of anger, only worry. He started tapping your cheek frantically. "Come on, wake up!"

Still no response.

"Dammit, Y/N, why'd you have to be so fucking stubborn," he scolded, his voice shaking in fear, his chest tightening as he pressed two fingers against your pulse point.

His own heart stopped when he couldn't feel yours.

And you weren't breathing.

Steve tried to keep himself calm. If he panicked now, he wouldn't be able to give you the aid that you direly need.

"Come on, Harrington. You know what to do. You trained for this," he mumbled to himself, getting into the proper position to give you CPR.

He gently cupped your forehead with his left hand, his other two fingers under your chin as he tilted your head up.

"You're going to be okay," he whispered, pinching your nose before slotting his lips against yours.

Breathing into your mouth, one, two, he watched your chest rise as it filled up with air, only for it to settle back down without coming back up again. He quickly kneeled straighter, locking his fingers together and placing the heel of his left hand in the middle of your chest, pushing down with enough pressure to try and get your heart to start again.

"One, two, three, four, come on, sweetheart, breathe for me," he mumbled, easily finding the right rhythm, his first aid training as a lifeguard coming back to him like it was second nature.

Still, he never wanted to use this skill in a real-life situation, much less use it on you.

It was the longest thirty counts in his life.

Check for a pulse. Check for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, Y/N, come on!" he growled, blinking back the tears as he pressed his mouth against yours again.

Two rescue breaths.

Thirty chest compressions.

Steve repeated the cycle over and over. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears, his knees were burning as the rough sand dug deeper into his skin, and his arms were starting to get sore, tiredness slowly covering his aching muscles.

But he'd rather die first than give up on you now.

"Steve—"

"Call for help, Robin!" he ordered, not taking his eyes off you for even a second. When he didn't hear any movement, he yelled, "Don't just stand there! Go!"

He was going to apologize for being an asshole later. For now, he needed you to fucking breathe.

"Come on, come on, please," he begged, leaning back down to give you two more rescue breaths. "Breathe for me, baby, please."

Thirty chest compressions.

"Trying to prove me wrong when I've always been wrong, you idiot."

Five, six, seven—

"Sweetheart, come on," he choked back a sob. "Who's going to call me out when I'm being stupid, huh? You know Robin can't do it alone."

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen—

"And you're really going to leave me alone to watch our kids?"

Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—

"Y/N, baby, please, I can't live without you," he whimpered.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thir—

Steve felt his breath leave his lungs when you finally gasped for air.

He quickly turned you to your side, rubbing your back as you choked out all the ocean water that got into your system.

"There you go, you're okay," he whispered, whether to reassure you or himself, he didn't even know anymore. All he was focused on was making sure you were going to be okay.

"S-Stevie?" you coughed out the nickname that was only ever used by you.

It was the equivalent to his nickname for you—sweetheart.

Names that started out to annoy each other but the more often it was used as time passed, it only managed to grow into an endearment that held something warm underneath it. You both were quick to realize that the nicknames you had for each other weren't out of spite anymore.

Neither of you simply addressed it.

"Steady, sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured, hurriedly getting into your line of sight to stop you from trying to turn around to face him. He gently cupped your cheek, offering you a soft smile when your gaze found him. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes clinging onto his brown ones only for them to screw shut when a shiver ran through your whole body.

"C-Cold," you stammered.

"I know, I know, come here," he said softly, guiding you to sit up before quickly settling behind you. He gently pulled you closer between his legs, his chest pressed against your back as he blanketed his body over yours, rubbing your arms to keep you as warm as possible.

You turned to face him slightly, burying your face into his neck only for you to wince at the slight movement. He quickly tried to steady you again, checking over you twice to look for any visible injury. But he couldn't find any.

"Tell me what hurts," he asked, pressing his lips against your cold forehead as he fully wrapped his arms around you.

"A-Ankle," you whimpered in pain, your grip on his waist tightening and God he hated that sound so much.

You must've rolled it when you jumped, and having landed on it when you reached the water, it definitely made it worse.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured, littering kisses against the side of your head to try and keep your mind off it. "Robin already called for help, they should be on their way, alright?"

You gave him a small nod, inching even closer to him, seeking as much warmth from him as possible. Your cold breath was tickling his skin but he didn’t care. Hell, you could be breathing fucking ice and he still wouldn’t give a shit.

As long as you were breathing.

"I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I-I'll try," you whispered.

"First to fall asleep is the biggest loser," he mumbled, squeezing you slightly when he felt your eyes flutter close. "And you wouldn't want me to win this, babe, because I'll be a little shit about it."

"Not f-fair," you choked out a laugh.

"It's plenty fair," Steve chuckled tearfully, ignoring the sudden wetness on his cheeks. He hugged you tighter instead. "So stay awake or you'll lose to me. Again."

"Right there! They're right over there!"

Steve had never been so grateful to hear Robin's voice.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"So are you finally going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" Steve questioned back, unable to take his eyes off of you, soundly sleeping in a hospital bed with your foot now wrapped in a cast.

The doctor had already checked everything and thankfully, there weren't any further injuries apart from your twisted ankle.

Now, all you needed was to rest and recover.

"That you've been in love with her this whole time."

Steve sighed, squeezing your hand before turning to look at his best friend.

"I'm not in love with her, Robs."

"Right," she scoffed, raising a knowing brow. "Because jumping off a cliff with zero hesitation so you could save her is totally normal behavior for someone you claim you hate."

"I never said I hated her," he argued, and it was true. He couldn't think of a single moment where he hated you.

"Yeah, well, you two definitely don't act like you like each other."

"Does she annoy and frustrate the shit out of me? Yes. But I never hated her," he admitted.

Steve didn't know what it was exactly, maybe it was his tiredness muddling his brain, maybe it was from everything that happened in the last couple of hours finally catching up to him, or maybe it was the overwhelming need to confess everything into the open before it was too late—and it almost had been. Either way, he found himself suddenly spewing out all the things that he always just kept to himself.

"She's also been the most constant person in my life, you know? Hell, we basically grew up together. I can't just not care about her," he continued, memories flooding his system before he could even stop it. "She's been so ingrained in my life, her and the cute dresses she wore at those stupid dinners our parents always dragged us to. Her and her stupid competitions whenever our babysitters would bring us to the park together. Her and that stupid dance she always did whenever she won at anything even if it was my expense—she always does this cute little wiggle whenever she won, and that never left her even as we got older," Steve chuckled at the thought.

"And fuck, don't even get me started with how similar our parents are. She's the only one who will always get me when it comes to that," he continued. "And yeah, we compete a lot, but there was no hatred between us. Maybe at the start but all that went away when we learned that whatever our parents were feeding us was bullshit—that they were bullshit.

"And fine, did I sometimes get so annoyed whenever she got a new boyfriend? Yeah. But only because she always had this bad habit of dating fucking assholes. I don't know where she got those dickheads from but every time I see a glimpse of her crying by her window at night I swear to fucking God I would've killed every single one of those assholes if she asked," he gritted, slumping down in his seat with a sigh.

"She deserves to be treated right, you know? She's already experiencing so much shit at home, she doesn't need any more of that anywhere else. Sure, she irritates me to no end but that doesn't mean she's not a sweet girl who always cried whenever some random pet commercial came on the TV during the holidays. Does her competitiveness drive me up the wall? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean I don't feel so fucking proud of her whenever she wins another medal or achieves another milestone. And yeah, I wonder about how she's doing, if she's taking care of herself, if she's getting enough sleep between her work and classes. But that's only because I worry, you know?

"And maybe I do think about her a lot but that doesn't mean I'm in love with…"

Steve blinked.

Well fuck.

"Wow," Robin marveled. "You're stupider than I thought."

"He hit his head as a kid, cut him some slack."

Steve paled at the sound of your voice, swiftly turning red at the thought that you probably heard all the things he said.

He turned to face you, groaning in annoyance when he saw the smug smile on your lips. "You've been awake this whole time?"

"I'll leave you two love birds alone," Robin sang, quickly slipping out of the hospital room and closing the door behind her.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Enough to say you're stupid," you hummed.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. "I'm not the one who jumped off the cliff and almost died just to prove a fucking point."

"Yeah, well, I guess we're both stupid then," you snorted.

He shrugged. "I guess we are."

"Jesus, you don't have to act so tense. I mean, you've already given me a mouth-to-mouth, we've practically made out already," you scoffed playfully. "I honestly thought I'd die first before swapping spit with you yet here we are."

It was your attempt at alleviating the tension, to throw in a funny quip. But with everything still so fresh in his mind, Steve simply couldn't take it well.

"Don't fucking joke about that will you?" he snapped, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

The silence that followed only made the tension worse.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Steve immediately felt bad.

"No, no, no. You didn't do anything wrong, don't apologize," he sighed, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. It's just—"

He stopped himself, chewing on his bottom as he looked everywhere but at you when he felt the tears well up again.

"Will you come here?"

Steve took a calming breath and did as you asked, moving his chair closer but didn't attempt anything else than that.

"Stevie," you called when he still wouldn't look at you.

Harshly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he lifted his head. You smiled at him sweetly, wiggling your fingers to get him to come even closer.

"You scared me back there," he croaked, taking your hand with a squeeze.

"I didn't mean to," you softly said, remorseful and apologetic even though you didn't have to be.

"I know," he murmured, pressing your warm palm against his cheek as he shot you a glare. "Just don't do that again."

"Promise," you giggled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Steve leaned closer into your touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks to you," you hummed, brows furrowing in thought. "When Marcus got that black eye, you said it was because he was playing dirty on one of your games." You tilted your head knowingly. "That wasn't true, wasn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "He hurt you."

"It was a small bruise on the arm, Steve," you reasoned.

"He shouldn't be giving you a fucking bruise in the first place," he growled, the memory bringing back the same anger he felt when he first saw that bruise. The soft tapping of your finger against his cheek calmed him down. "Sorry."

"Did you lose on purpose to get him expelled?"

"What? No!" he scoffed, offended, rolling his eyes when you giggled. "I tried so fucking hard to win that fight, you know, for you."

"You've always been protective of me," you hummed, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together.

"Don't think I didn't know it was you who dyed that poor girl's hair green that one year in middle school summer camp," he retaliated.

It was a sharp and piercing scream that woke up the whole camp that morning. Everyone rushed out of bed to see what was going on only to find a girl who once was blonde was now sporting bright green hair in the middle of the crowd, crying her eyes out.

Steve would've thought it was only some silly prank if he didn't know who the girl was. But he did. Because the day before he tried to ask her to be his girlfriend, only for her to turn him down in the most embarrassing and humiliating way possible.

It wasn't difficult for him to find out who the culprit was since he immediately noticed how you kept hiding your hands in your pockets for the next few days after the incident.

The counselors quickly found out that the little menace—whoever she was—decided to use permanent dye on the poor girl's hair instead of something washable.

Your green palms colored you oh so guilty.

"She called you pathetic and gross in front of everyone!" you argued, pouting. "You looked like you were about to cry and I hated it."

Steve's heart warmed at that, a smile on his face despite rolling his eyes. "I wasn't about to cry."

"Yeah well," you shrugged, eyes trained on your intertwined fingers, your thumb playing with his. "I'm the only one who's supposed to be mean to you."

"Hmm," he agreed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. "I guess we've always been there for each other, huh?"

"I guess so," you giggled, cupping his cheek and tugging him closer.

He stood up from his seat, following your lead until he was pressing his forehead against yours.

"Thank you for saving my life, Steve," you whispered, eyes turning glossy as so many emotions covered your irises, the weight of what almost happened catching up with you.

"You don't have to thank me for that," he said sincerely, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "I'd do it over and over again in a heartbeat."

You nodded, sniffling, "Still, thank you."

Steve wasn't able to argue some more when you all but kissed him.

The first time Steve felt your mouth on his was a horrible experience considering he was trying to keep you alive.

Now, everything was the complete opposite.

A kiss that was careful but sweet, a hint of nervousness and excitement all the same, completely unhurried yet burning with passion as his lips molded against yours.

But still, it felt like that first gasp of air—a finally.

"I'm in love with you, too, by the way," you murmured as you pulled away, your warm breath tickling his lips.

"Thanks for clarifying," he chuckled, eyes laced with adoration, unable to stop his smile from growing wider, warmer. "I couldn't figure that out from the kiss."

"I mean, you are kinda stupid," you teased.

"We're on that same boat, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I'm sure Robin would remind us about that every single day now."

"Unfortunately," you groaned playfully. "God, she gets annoying when she's right."

"Tell me about it," he hummed, brushing his lips against yours, moving away when you chased it.

You whined.

Steve didn't hesitate to dive back in.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated! ++ consider supporting me on ko-fi if you can <3

✉ NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibrary and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!

© t-lostinworlds, 2023 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

#cs #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #my writing

708 notes · View notes

lilac-5ky · 1 year

Text

Valentine's Day with Takasugi Headcanons

A/N: SHORT VERSION BECAUSE I AM SHORT ON TIME. Inspired by a recent conversation with @sugisyakult :3 Just like my previous post, I am very very veeeeeeeery low energy and had absolutely no time to put my thoughts in order, or proofread. Oopsie.

Warning: A BIT NSFW

He doesn't concern himself with the occasion at all. In fact, you probably are the one who has to convince him to spend it together, suggesting that those in love should celebrate, and if you don't then what does it make you? It's not that you doubt him, really, you just want to keep him landed a day longer, and him not wanting to make you sad with his absence decides to stay.

He might bring in some flowers, but that's as far as he'll go with gifts, and if asked, he will swear it's got nothing to do with this stupid holiday.

Just for that day, he lets you be in charge and sits through whatever activities you've planned; hopefully none that involves leaving the house to do something overly fancy and pretentious, such as dining in the company of idiotic couples who don't shy away from ridiculous public displays of affections.

Much to his luck, you've kept things simple and mundane; homemade dinner, sparsely lit candles, a romatic movie, and a special "ending" you have no intention of revealing until the night's through.

In exchange of the flowers, you hand him over his gift: a purple shaded teddy bear with an eye-patch on its left eye. He rolls his eye at the gesture, but graciously accepts the gift and devices a plan to sneak it into the Kiheitai ship without anyone noticing.

You dine together and he pays the food a compliment, not-so-subtly gawking at your outfit. You've gone all out, and for a second time, he finds himself glad you stayed inside, for he wouldn't know what to do with all the men that'd stare at you the he's staring right now.

After dinner's out of the way, you move to the living room for some quality cozy movie time. Doesn't matter how romantically lame the movie itself is, or how many times he cringes away. More than he could ever admit, he enjoys having his one arm wrapped around your shoulder and the other drifting down your thighs, the sweet smell of your shampoo clinging to his nose in the same way your cheek clings onto his chest.

By the time the movie's over and you suggest you take it to the bedroom, he's expecting his reward for not making a single negative commment over the movie's predictability. But when he notices the candles and the petals that adorn the floor, he has a hard time containing his chuckle.

"And I thought the cliches ended with the credits," he says as he picks a petal up and lets it drop to the ground. "What's next? An over the top romantic declaration, or you listing your ten reasons of hating me?"

You brush off his snarky remark, and instead bring out a bottle of massage oil, thus revealing your intentions- And who is he to deny you?

He strips down to his underwear and sits down in bed. You follow his lead and get behind him, spreading the oil down his back and shoulders, and then knead at his muscles. It doesn't take long for him to relax. Soon, his head's thrown back, and next thing you know your lips meet, the notion of massages and carefully planned surprises, disappearing underneath a pile of messily torn clothes.

You find yourself caged between his arms and legs, his hips slowly sinking down against your own. He stays close enough for your mouths to meet at each thrust, yet not so close as to miss the shadows of the candles flickering across his complexion.

And when you're both reaching the brink of your pleasures, his kiss turns into a light-weight kiss across your ear.

"Are you still doubting my affections? Even when I'm making love to you like this?"

Needless to say there was no need to question him again. Not on that day, and not on any other day.

#takasugi shinsuke #takasugi #gintama #gintama x reader #takasugi x reader #overworking myself today for no reason #im lonely #give me shinsuke already #im paying

23 notes · View notes

thesecrimsonstrings-if · 2 years

Note

You know how you said that Juliette's route is heavily inspired by Romeo and Juliet,, can you write a scenario on that? With Tachibana too,, if you don't mind

sugiwara was not the kind of person who dreamt of a world anew. in fact, they were happy enough with the reality of everything they were living in. it was perhaps this fatalistic nature of theirs that made people like them. they knew that no matter what the consequences, sugiwara wouldn't be the type to try and change the outcome of those events.

maybe that would've stayed the case if they didn't meet the person who would make this attitude of theirs turnaround completely. well, that was not exactly the case when they first met though.

“a blood-sucker in the village,” sugiwara spat out, disgusted. “i suggest you leave as soon as you can. my... colleagues may not be as lenient as me.”

“oh?” you raise a questioning eyebrow. “and is there a reason for such leniency, when i've heard that you've shown none to anyone else?”

how was sugiwara to explain that even if they had hated your nature with every fibre of their being, the thought of killing you just did not sit right with them. the hunter left you with more questions than answers, and you could do nothing but look for them.

it was a dangerous game that you were playing. what if sugiwara had lost their patience with you at any moment and decided that killing you off would save them from the headache you give them on the daily? but with the way their cheeks turned pink with your flirtatious smile, and the way you hear their heart beat louder in their chest with your subtle touches, and the way their eyes seem to subconsciously follow your every move in an effort to not lose track of you, you could have been sure that you meant more to them than just a mere supernatural prey.

“kiss me,” you ask, no, demand of them one night. the saké is getting to you, making you say things that you were usually hesitant to say when sober. “kiss me so that i know that you're real.”

the hunter stares at you, slack-jawed. they never expected you to outright say that! good heavens, this was embarassing. however...

their eyes look a tad bit softer and fonder as they look over your utterly foolish, yet mesmerising self. “i'm right here and you better get some sleep before i toss you outside in the cold.”

you smile to yourself. they were real, alright. in all their sweet and sour glory.

the conflict between the hunters and the supernaturals didn't subside in japan. if you had to say something about it, you'd say that it had gotten worse than you'd have expected it to be. supernaturals ending up dead. hunters going missing in action during their duties.

sugiwara was there with you through it all, though. they didn't show it outright but they were ready to vouch for you if the need ever arises. their group trusted them enough to believe they wouldn't be harbouring a supernatural with them, let alone a vampire.

“you have no intention of leaving?” you ask them one day as you both sit on top of their roof.

the hunter shakes their head, hugging their knees closer. “this village is my home and leaving when they need me the most is nothing short of a betrayal.”

you understood the sentiment, of course you did. but it didn't ease up the pain in your heart anyway.

“hey,” sugiwara calls out, looking at you with a small smile. your heart can't help skipping at the sight of it. “if you're planning on leaving sometime soon, can i ask for one thing?”

“of course,” you say with no hesitance whatsoever.

then, with a speed that has you flabbergasted, they press their lips against yours. you almost choke in your surprise, but keep yourself from doing so as you find enough strength in your hands to cup their face and kiss them back.

gods know how long they had been holding back. fearing they'd alienate you from them, that you'd find their affection for you disgusting. most of all, they feared how everyone else might think of their love for you. but now? while they wouldn't lie and say that those fears have completely vanished, they have enough courage to finally follow their heart.

as for you? with your first kiss, you had decided that you could never leave them. you had memorised the very pattern of every beat of their heart. you had taken a hold of their heart and made a promise to cherish it forever. your brave hunter. your darling hero. how you had not regretted even a second of falling for them.

sugiwara would have fought the whole of japan to keep you safe from harm. they'd burn through vengeance and terror and warfare, burn through everything that fuels the human heart and sears it red, burn through everything that covers the outside with hard muscle and tough sinew. for their love was as undying as the power of a million eternal starlit skies.

“[reiko/renjiro] sugiwara. i love you. i love you. i love you.”

“and i am in love with you, {real_name}.”

“to have and to hold, where even death cannot part us.”

“in this life and the next. for however long our souls remain, mine will always find yours.”

those were the last works you spoke as the fire that blazes in the village consumed sugiwara. you couldn't accept them dying on their own, not when there was nothing you could do to save them. were you just an immortal fool to think death would come easy? that you'd be free of this wretched existence and follow wherever sugiwara went? you... you just couldn't. and you hated yourself all the more for it.

so you ran away, away from your memories, away from the place that will always remind you of something that broke your heart in pieces that cannot be put together ever again.

war rages on. prejudices remain. supernatural unions arise to ensure peace between humans and non-humans. and within all of those, the supernaturals and hunters alike, tell the tale of sugiwara and the vampire like some folk song passed between vendors on their breaks. they speak of those two as the ones who had dared to dream. and for that, in an era consumed by hatred and nightmares, they were cut down without mercy.

and yet how, as the chapter of their story ended, they loved each other so deeply that the remnants remained in the hearts of those who knew them.

#asks #forgive me for the typos #ugh why do i get so emo in my own writings 😭#these crimson strings #bonnie nonnie #ro: i tachibana #ro reactions #ro scenarios #juliette's scenario is not given since it'll be spoilers

131 notes · View notes

blissfulalchemist · 1 year

Text

OCs As Experiences

Tagged by @shellibisshe and @statichvm to take this uquiz for some kids and boy oh boy did it read the ff kids too well. I’m terribly late and so just sending a few tags out to: @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @adelaidedrubman @confidentandgood @strafethesesinners @jackiesarch @shallow-gravy @themarcspector and anyone else that wants to that hasn’t done it!

Siberite Akagane you leave people feeling nostalgic.

drug store valentine's cards. a favorite childhood song crackled through the radio; secret folded notes to find later. a soft yellow. christmas lights. knowing all the movie scenes that make your best friend laugh. birthday candles. a favorite hot chocolate mug. arcade carpets. lazy sunny saturday mornings. young, but not naive. you give people the sense of being held. falling asleep in the car and being carried safely inside. an acknowledgment that no matter how we age, there’s still something small and reaching within us that never goes away completely. (and that it’s not a bad thing.) there’s something sweet about you that feels hard to come by nowadays. a “they don’t make them like you anymore.” maybe it’s a chance to dip a toe back into childhood or a less pressured place—into imagination again, if even for a short while. a chance your presence gives in allowing people to enjoy it all more fully this time around.

Demos Reyes you leave people feeling inspired.

a moment of stolen breath. aquarium peace, walking through an art museum alone; a mesmerizing chorus of crowds singing along at the concert. turquoise blue. a sunshower. stained glass. paint stains on jeans. finishing a good book. pressed flowers. glasses of wine on your best friend’s balcony, the sun flirting from the horizon. spending time with you is nourishing in a way that feeds growth. it is the creative way you view the world, the way you move through life (whether expressed through dance, writing, music, visual art, cooking, or otherwise) that sparks the imagination of those around you. they watch you translate your experience in the truest form you know how, and they feel inspired to do the same. you seek to find universal understanding through these mediums, and the ones you hold close admire that hunger; maybe also happy to join in and get dirt under their nails, digging to the heart of things.

Anthea you leave people feeling refreshed.

a full exhale. first day of spring, a step into a hot bath; fruit eaten in the sunned grass. a full glass of water. birdsong. a cat napping by the window. the smell of a meadow after rain. deep green. laying with your head in a friend’s lap. coming back home after a long trip. freshly laundered sheets. a rallying force and refuge. both steadying and renewing. feeling your shoulders totally relax. when people are close to you, there’s a sense they can take their shoes off in the safety of your presence. to be unguarded and at ease. feeling safe enough to close their eyes; to rest in the peace and the comfort you offer, though you might not even be aware of it. you might ask people how they’re doing, but what they know you mean is, “where can I help? what do you need?” when the world can be such a tumultuous place, it is no small gift to have support like yours.

Azem you leave people feeling alive.

if I were to emphasize what being an experience is with any personality, it's you. you are a good cackle. a thunderstorm. late-night skinny dip. 85 mph, but getting away with 90. the smell of humid summer nights. sharp silver. a meteor shower. letting go of the handlebars for just a moment. the pop of a champagne bottle. swimming in the rain. another street of city lights to explore. there is a deep hum of possibility, and you want to fly within the jetstreams of it. without testing the boundaries of how far someone will go, you do invite a sense of excitement; never playing into the rush, but delighting in the fact that you don’t have to go far to find it. this life is meant to be lived, and you will do it well.

#siberite akagane oc #demos reyes oc #anthea oc #tag games #this was fun and truly red them to filth and honestly im fine with it!

13 notes · View notes

saunne · 6 months

Text

Writing - Reflection and Personal Analysis (Pt 2)

(or the actual plan of what the rest of my NaNo will look like)

I have two main problems at the moment : Lack of STRUCTURE and lack of STYLE. And a less important BRAIN problem.

STRUCTURE

The biggest blockage comes from my lack of planning and the fact that until then I was writing in semi-improvisation. I had an overall plot line to follow, but nothing very detailed.

Which is the heart of the problem.

Because since this isn't a fanfic, I need a lot more careful planning. Chapter by chapter, I need to know what the chapter should be about, who we meet there, who we follow, what information we learn, what scenes take place there, what their purpose is, what clues I should slip in, what false routes pose... I need a step by step manual, a complete checklist, with scene fragments and possibly color coding.

So from now on, this is what I'm going to do for NaNo, officially switching to the Rebel side. No novel writing for me this month, we will focus on the detailed planning of said novel, scene by scene, chapter by chapter.

Well, I say "novel", but it would be more correct to say story. In order not to get stuck by a rigid structure that I'm bad with, I'm just going to put aside the volume by volume structure and simply plan according to my narrative arcs, since I already have some of the planning written during last Camp.

I am more than capable of catching up if I switch to this method. I already have a good backup of information, and putting everything in order and detailing what I want to achieve will help me move forward faster than the blind writing I was doing until now.

STYLE

It’s obvious that I need to develop my novelistic style.

My fanfic style has developed over 4 years but I will not and cannot wait 4 years for my novelistic style to mature. Having a clear plan will already help me avoid going off track when writing, but I need to figure out how I'm going to manage.

Am I more comfortable with a more compact or airier style ? Do I favor very long sentences or short sentences? What is the rhythm of my writing ? Do I have writing tics, words that come back too often, turns of phrase reused in all sorts of ways? How do I deal with dialogue ? Descriptions of decor ? The emotional and reflective side of internal monologue ? How do I integrate the information in a fluid way, the flashbacks, the questions ?

I think the easiest thing would be to practice writing short scenes, or even short stories. This probably won't be something I do during this NaNo, barring sudden bursts of inspiration for Erasde that override my obsessive hyperfocus on my fandoms, but I won't rule out the possibility.

Another possibility could be to restart written role-playing with @gabrielwritessometimes . I have OCs in his world and he has some in mine, so this might be something interesting to do together, depending on everyone's available time and energy.

BRAIN

I can't really change my brain, so we're going to have to learn to overcompensate for the ongoing mess.

I already know that I need to be in a certain mood to write and that if I'm not, there's no point in forcing it. The frustration of not being able to write my fics also plays a big part, so alternating between NaNo and my WIPs according to my mood, energy level and inspiration rather than forcing myself to follow NaNo seems to be a good solution.

Certain places (my bed, the library, cafes, parks) work better for inspiration and concentration. So setting aside a little money to go and spend a few hours in a café at least once a week with one or two drinks and a pastry could be a good idea.

And my brain being a 5 year old with a sugar addiction, it seems that returning to a reward system based on candy and other sweets could alleviate the fluttering in my brain. Watch out for Mom and don't forget dental hygiene I guess.

POST NANO AND CAMP

I'll probably be busy in December, covering shifts at the library, but I plan to continue writing. After NaNo, I'm going to set a daily writing goal : no word limit, but write at least once a day, on any project or WIP.

I plan to submit my thesis and take my oral exam at the beginning of next year, at the earliest for the February holidays and at the latest at the beginning of April. Once my thesis is out of the way, I should be much more relaxed in terms of writing, which will undoubtedly help.

I plan to attend next year's Camp NaNo, both April and July.

If I haven't finished planning by April, this is what I will continue. If I finished it, I will slowly start writing the novel and continue writing during July Camp.

In order to reduce my anxiety, I will work chapter by chapter. That is to say, write a chapter, send it to my friends who wish to give me feedback, whether as readers or official beta-readers. Allow some time to pass, during which I work on other projects or another chapter, before rewriting the revised chapter.

I write primarily for myself, with no publication goals at present.

I don't yet know what I will do with my story once it is sufficiently advanced, if I will try to translate it myself into English to share it, if I will publish it on a platform like ao3 or Wattpad or Webnovel, if I'm going to send it to publishers hoping to get published, if I'm just going to keep it for myself and my group of friends... We'll see.

#writing process #writing analysis #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #erasde #nanowrimo #nano 2023 #nanowrimo 2023 #nano report

3 notes · View notes

livvywritesworld · 1 year

Text

A Fist in the Mouth | Overview & Analysis

For those who don’t know, I am a creative writing student in my first year of university. In my introduction to creative writing class this semester, I wrote a short story called ‘A Fist in the Mouth’ for our fiction unit. After a couple rounds of editing, I submitted this piece to my university’s literary magazine and was later accepted for publication.

This is my first ever publication acceptance so of course this story holds such a special place in my heart now, and I thought I might make a post about it just kind of sharing a couple of snippets and some of the inspiration and thought I put behind the story as a whole.

(please let it be known that I retain all rights to my original work and no plagiarism will be tolerated)

excerpts and analysis under the cut

‘A Fist in the Mouth’ began as a way for me to kind of reintroduce myself to short fiction after a period of not having written anything at all due to some health issues. I had all of these ideas for the short fiction piece that I needed to write for class and none of them were working out how I wanted them to while still fitting within the word limit. So, I decided to discovery write something while listening to one of my many Spotify playlists just to kind of get in the groove of writing once more and really just see what would happen.

As I was writing, the song “Modern Girl” by Sleater-Kinney came on shuffle and for those of you who have never heard the song, there’s a repeating lyric, “hunger makes me a modern girl.” This really sparked some inspiration in me and all of a sudden I was writing about a teenage runaway come riot grrrl serial concert goer experiencing the horrors of girlhood and ambition.

‘A Fist in the Mouth’ begins like this:

There’s a difference between running from and running to. When I left home, I thought I was running towards. I didn’t think of it as me leaving my parents’ oppressive religious household, though that was a fact that I readily acknowledged as a girl. I only ever thought of it as me, freshly eighteen, running full speed at a future I thought I deserved. A future I knew never would have found me if I’d stayed in that town, in that house, with those people, spending my days on my knees praying to a god that didn’t see me as deserving of anything more than I’d already been given.

Now, I think all I was doing was running away from every facet of my life. I didn’t feel the same way about God as the rest of my family, was scared to death of them looking at me one day and suddenly seeing all of me. Back then, I felt like I didn’t have any other choice. And I probably didn’t.

The narrator is kind of inspired by the character Maxine in the film ‘X,’ which I had watched a couple of weeks before writing the story, as well as Ethel Cain’s discography. I really wanted to write from the perspective of a teenage girl fleeing a very religious household (religious trauma for the win) because she wants more out of life than what her parents have laid out for her.

As we move through the story and see how the narrator interacts with the 90s Seattle grunge & punk scene, we are introduced to the narrator’s insatiable hunger (her ambition, queerness, and dedicated yearning). I use a lot of motifs throughout the beginning and middle of the text to try and recreate this feeling for the reader.

I was nineteen and my presence felt both excessive and non-existent. I wasn’t eating as much as I should’ve been, couldn’t really afford three meals a day. Most of my money went towards rent and bills, any real food I got would be leftovers from the diner. The cook was a bit sweet on me, so he’d make me a sandwich every day, free of charge, whatever kind I wanted.

The thing was though, even if I did get enough to eat, I still never felt full. I’d look in the mirror and my mouth would be this gaping cavern, something that didn’t fit on my face. It didn’t matter how old I was, how much life I did or didn’t experience— in the mirror smiling back at me was a gape-toothed girl looking to swallow the whole world if given the chance.

Then, we meet the character of Magdalene Williams, who is the only character in the story that I’ve named. The inspiration for Magdalene was definitely Mary Magdalene— I kind of wanted this holy-like figure to come into the narrator’s life and really give her a taste of the life that she craves for herself.

Magdalene invites the narrator to an all non-men punk show on the edge of Seattle and the narrator feels her hunger clawing up out of her stomach and demanding to go. She is inherently drawn to Magdalene and has no idea why. So she accepts the invitation.

The story kind of unravels from there, and we end with Magdalene coming onstage with her band and giving The Performance of a Lifetime and generally really disturbing the narrator. The narrator knows that something Is Not Right here, she’s been very active in the scene for the last year and has never heard of Magdalene yet the entire crowd is going wild over her, and once Magdalene starts singing she immediately knows that something is wrong. And yet. She just can’t look away.

In Magdalene, the narrator sees everything that she wants, everything that she is so hungry for, and it terrifies her. She’s also a little jealous, and a little horny but very much in a prophet/faithhealer x devotee kind of way.

I wrote the entire story in past tense because I really wanted it to have a sort of confessional vibe, to really keep in tone with the religious themes and imagery. My professor suggested after workshop that I might try it in present tense but it just was not working. During our class workshop however, everyone said that they liked the choice of past tense because it was almost like the narrator was telling us, the reader, that she experienced such an intense period of wanting in her life and still made it out in the end.

I don’t know if it’s too much to share on here like word count-wise, but the last few paragraphs of the story are my absolute favorites and I’m so proud of them. They’ve remained mostly unchanged in my various rounds of edits and I’m so impressed with myself for being able to write like this after having literally not written anything substantial in around six months.

Before I left home, my whole life was like a sepia photograph of a sunny day. Over-exposed, parents with smiling faces and sons with square jaws, daughters with ribbons in their hair. Wooden crosses on the walls, simple and unornate because God doesn’t need to be loved in gold foil. Grass stains on white tights, Sunday kitten heels scuffed from being worn so often, deodorant powder refusing to wash off the baby pink dress Mama thought looked so nice with my brown eyes.

There’s a difference between running from and running to. At eighteen, I was running towards something. I’msure of that. I don’t think I ever had an idea of what that something was, or what I even wanted it to be, but I did know that I didn’t want to be some televangelist’s golden daughter proffered up to God like Icarus was to the sun.

I noticed things about myself the way my family noticed things about God and religion and theology. Studied myself in mirrors, in the dark, in the depths of my own mind. I noticed everything and remembered nothing. Blood never started to fill my mouth until I surrounded myself with idolatry of a different kind, the screams sounded too much like mine.

At nineteen, I was running from. That night, hunger attacked every fiber of my being, ate away at my organs, left behind teeth marks and blood. I saw that hunger reflected in Magdalene, her mouth an open wound as she screamed out her lyrics. I wasn’t scared, though. There’s nothing scary about hunger, what’s scary is the response hunger elicits from other people.

This, I noticed. All in real time. Learned it of myself.

I watched the crowd feed Magdalene, and consequently devour her whole. Sanctify her living and alive, right before my eyes. And I never wanted anything more than I did then. I craved it, would’ve let hordes of women and girls crucify me where I stood just to be in Magdalene’s position. She never could’ve been full, not with the way she sang, but at least she was well fed. Oh how I wanted to be kept in excess.

Have learned to become my own number one fan lol

#really am my own biggest fan lolll who else is gonna do it #writeblr #writerblr #my writing #mywriting #viaspeaks #love how I use a nickname on here that I hate but have already committed to #literally no one has ever called me via #and I do not like it #but all of my posts already have via tags #via speaks #queer teenage girls with religious trauma are terrifying #unnamed narrator you will always be famous #kinda sorta working on a magdalene prequel short fiction piece #because she's an absolute icon #and I'm obsessed with her #I literally love talking about my own writing #so if you made it through this I love you

3 notes · View notes

feelin-lo · 2 years

Text

Random Techno Monster facts with some drawings of them.

Makeup looks were inspired by some music artists that I listen to all the time.

Alphie Summons

(might re do his drawing, it looks dodgy, I'll change it tomorrow..)

- Alphie was born in September of 1800 in Whitby, England. And being born as a demon in a very religious time and place wasn't exactly easy. - he stopped ageing at 18 and left Whitby one year later in the year 1819. He met up with another Monster called Sammy Patches in 1843. - Met with Nathaniel Obsidian in Hawaii in 1852, taking him along for the rock and roll ride. - Sammy was found by Alphie in the catacombs of Monster high in the year 1938, after joining the school with his friends and skipping class as per usual. - the four were soon expelled and went to another school but once the wave of rock and roll came around, the four were all for it, taking up roles in the band with Alphie at the helm as the one with the most personality. - Alphie is allergic to eel's ironically, even though he was born in England where eel is often consumed, he is allergic to it, and most fish. - Notorious for skipping classes he thinks he can pass Occasionally visits his father as his bother was... removed. - despite what he says, he is not the eldest. Sammy is as he was born in the 1600s.

Teddy Vision.

- Teddy was invented in America in 1931, 3 years after the colour TV was invented. - Teddy's creator told Teddy to see the world before his creator died in his arms. - he snuck into a boat and made his way to a hidden place where monsters roam. - he was told Transylvania was a nice place but monsters just wanted his parts. - One day he was turned off and when he woke up again, he was in the arms of Alphie Summons, who explains that some of his parts were missing and he was just dumped in this place called the catacombs. - Teddy agreed to follow Alphie and after three weeks at Monster high, he and his new friends were expelled for a reason that Teddy wasn't told of. - He is fond of all his band mates but adores Alphie the most for saving him. - He doesn't need to eat but does hate the look of squid and is known to short circuit in the vicinity of the creature.

Nate Obsidian.

- Nate was born in Japan in 1779 during the eruption of Sakura-Jima. As he is a fire elemental and he is made of pure molten rock given form. - he moved around quite often, learning how to control his powers and he soon was able to not set things on fire by being near them. - After meeting with Sammy and Alphie he finally felt less alone. - The reason they were expelled from Monster High was because Sammy kept loosing his limbs as an excuse to not be in class, Alphie never went to classes he didn't like, Nate set a bathroom on fire and Teddy didn't want to be without them, he technically wasn't expelled because he didn't do anything wrong but he didn't want to be at Monster high alone. - Nate despises Sweet foods, mainly because he can't eat them. He prefers raw meat as it cooks in his mouth.

Sammy Patches

Born in 1613, Sammy was trialed as a witch and died because he was left handed and liked cats. However he was brought back 200 years later in 1813 by an actual witch. - his hair was different, he had one eye and stitches all over him. - apparently, this was a make shift body the witch had of her previous lover mixed with other people to give it base for her to bring her love back to life, but she was kind enough to Let Sammy keep the body, believing he was unjustly killed for the crimes of which he was accused. - Sammy then met with Alphies parents and helped raise the child when the mother was... disposed of. He then left when Alphie was ten then met back up with him when he was older. - Sammy used to have no allergies but now he's allergic to Nuts, Pineapples, rosewater, Mushrooms and three different kinds of oil. - he also has two voice boxes so when he gets angery to can hear two voices because his voice box is just two voice boxes sewen together.

#Techno Monster #techno monster #monster high oc #Oc #oc #ocs #original character #my art #artists on tumblr

8 notes · View notes

lunarxdaydream · 2 years

Text

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER.

repost don’t reblog

NAME: Steph

PRONOUNS: she/her

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: discord is the easiest and honestly, the fastest way to get a hold of me. dms here works too but i forget to check them

NAME OF MUSE(S): oh gosh i have wayyyy too many

RP EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): i jumped into the tumblr scene around 2013 so it's been about ... wow, 9 years! before this, i used to run two forums and rp'ed on a chat site so, a good solid amount of time.

BEST EXPERIENCE: honestly, the first one that comes to mind is the first full circle story i did with one of my very first partners here (@sxmnus). the story of ayana and aomine touch my heart in so many ways and having been able to befriend my sweet cookie (yesss that's what i love calling her) even well afterwards is just so special. same thing with kitty kat (@vacuitas) and the stories we've made through the years especially satine and nolan. and the stories with angie (@cxrsedsouls) just live rent free in my head! i mean, i can honestly just gush about the amazing people i've met here like kris (@arcxnumvitae), niko (@strawberryxdreams), and blue (@bottleofbabes). y'all are the real mvps and why this has been the best experience

RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: hmmm ... i guess it would have to be forcing things on me? it doesn't happen often thankfully, so i had to give this some extra thought but i'd say that is the biggest pet peeve. i mean, i'm all down for doing things but i'm a 'let's see how things go first' type of rp'er. we can chat about it and give it a shot but if it doesn't mesh, then yeah, it doesn't mesh. and i guess the last one is not really caring about my muses (but i mean who wouldn't be upset about that happening to them???) and claims about one's muse without bothering to ask??? not really the same as an assumption but more like statements about the muse, as if its a fact without bothering to learn???

FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: i am an absolute sucker for all three! the trifecta are just **chefs kiss**

PLOTS OR MEMES: both! i love plotting but know that sometimes it can be hard to get the ball rolling so in comes the memes! plus right now with the move coming up, memes help. oh and it does make things pretty entertaining to see the in-between pieces with the mix!

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: it depends on what's happening. i prefer to match quality vs quantity. not to mention the amount of muse i'm feeling but yep, it varies. love them both!

BEST TIME TO WRITE: so the last year or so, i found that morning is the best time for me. mainly because that's the time i have to myself before i head out to run errands and do whatever else is on my list. sometimes i might hop on at night if i can but i do make notes on my phone and ipad so i don't forget what caused inspiration.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): a couple of them! i mean, i feel like we all put a little piece of ourselves in each but yes, i am. some more than others (but you'll find out as we go along!)

tagged: by the sweet resident green bean (@strawberryxdreams)

tagging: anyone who wants to do this!

#( ooc. )#( i'm emotional so yes i gushed and i'm not ashamed about it :D )

8 notes · View notes

vaplord · 10 months

Text

Choir

Introduction

What is Choir? Long story short, Choir started as a dating sim I wanted to create. Then it was made into a fighting game and a multi-story series around late 2022, which is what the series is known today. The lore and world of this story are surprisingly complicated, as each story has different characters and settings, but they are all connected and overlap. The series is in heavy development and will probably be made into a visual novel series in the far future. The story’s name was changed from Novialexi to Choir in 2023.

What’s the purpose of this? This directs you to any Choir media possible; I’ll keep updating this. Note that I will not add any art since all Choir art is on my Toyhouse. This is just Choir-related media organized that’s made easy for you and me.

What are the languages? Most Choir stuff will be posted in English, but miscellaneous things will be posted in Chinese since they serve little to no importance; plus, they are just ramblings that I randomly thought of. Posts in Chinese will be posted on Twitter due to the translation feature provided. It will also have a (CH) mark next to it.

Media

Crossovers These are crossovers between Choir and my favourite media; there isn’t a lore to connect them as they are something I do purely for fun. I produce these more than the actual Choir lore, so I hope you don’t mind.

Rosenrot and Youji Sakiyama (Sweet Pool)

Shan and Towa (Slow Damage)

Towa meets almost all my OCS

Lore-related These are where the real deal comes in; I don’t need to explain much since these are all canon events that happened in Choir. Note that there might be mistakes made about the order. Otherwise, I will try my best to put them in canon order.

Nothing yet

Non-lore-related: These are character developments, scenarios, etc. There could also be some explanations for why certain situations happened or why does a certain character behaves their way.

Nothing yet

Silly These are jokes, memes, and dumb shit I made for my own entertainment. Don’t take anything shown here seriously.

Choir characters read Omegaverse

Choir posting 1

Luka’s eyepatch

Miscellaneous These are things I don’t know which category they belong to, or I feel like they are too useless to be counted as non-lore-related. They can also be ramblings.

Useless facts about Akira

Did we make it?

Rambling: Choir as the Lychee Hikari Club cast (CH)

Inspirations and early works These are early works archived onto the web of Choir and my ramblings about the inspiration behind certain Choir elements. Any outdated works will also be moved here. Overall, I am just sharing how the Choir has developed throughout the years.

Early Choir 1

Rambling that doesn’t deserve to be here but somehow did 1

Websites These are websites you can visit for more Choir information.

Toyhouse

Retrospring (Ask my OCs)

Pinterest (OC mood boards)

0 notes

tteokdoroki · 3 years

Text

— “PANTY THIEF + BAKUGOU.”

author’s note(s): inspired by this fanart and everyone being horny on THE DASH !! dedicated to @honeykeigo n @lady-bakuhoe for enabling my horny behaviour ok ok. also this turned out longer than i expected so ,,, have fun?

warning(s): mdni, 18+, smut, dubcon, mentions of drinking, uhh sniffed and stolen panties, slight!exhibitionism, power play dynamics, fingering, pussy slaps uwu, fem!reader + pro hero!bakugou.

“y-you uh, you don’t haf’ta do this mishta—?“

“dynamight.”

“r-right, dy-ma-might!”

katsuki had rolled his eyes the first time you spoke to him, a sweet, darling little girl too drunk on whatever shitty alcohol you’d been served at the bar on friday night. you obviously didn’t drink much, maybe even drunk too much— the hero would tell by the way your eyes crossed with your legs as you walked and the fact that you couldn’t remember the right way to spell your own name and it was clear your friends were a bunch of assholes for abandoning their shit faced friend to find her own way home.

he hated, this part of the job but he’d have felt bad if the guy following you home had done something bad to you and besides— the way you pressed yourself to the explosive hero, breasts spilling out of your tight black dress, thick and juicy thighs exposed to the fresh night air makes the whole ordeal worth it. oh you’re so cute, got katsuki’s cock stirring in his pants— his baggy hero costume suddenly becoming way too fucking tight for his liking. you’ll pay him back, he knows that you will, all of his fans do in some way or another.

you’ll be special though, if the smell of your saccharine cunt is anything to go by. slick dripping down your shaky thighs while he guides you down the empty street, and of course you’d be attracted to him. bakugou will have to indulge in you; his reward for being such a gentleman, for being your hero. “this ish me,” you squeak when the pair of you arrive at the door to your apartment complex. your words are smooshed together by your own drunken haze while you unlock the door to let yourself in.

how rude of you, forgetting all about dynamight who’d basically saved your life tonight. without much of a fight, bakugou pushes you against the door, effectively keeping it closed, his eyes cloud over— a storm thick with lust as you look up at him so innocently he could break. “not gonna invite me up, sweet stuff?” he coos, amused at the shiver that runs laps down the base of your spine. your thighs jump apart only just, giving the hero an opportunity to shove his hand up your dress to cup your sweet little cunt.

“i— i didn’t know—“ your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, confusion etched so prettily across your face it makes bakugou want to bend you over and fill your hole to the brim. he’d save that for later though. “didn’t think you’d want to—“

the blonde growls, thick fingers easily finding your panties under that short dress of yours. the black lace is soaked to the bone, a sticky mess spreading across the digits that now pinch at your puffy clit. you jump and bakugou growls hungrily. “s’awfully rude don’cha think, sweet stuff? that’s okay though, i think you can reward me right fuckin’ here, don’chu?” a toothy smirk tugs at the hero’s lips when you dumbly nod in agreement, your body trembling from a mix of cold, neediness and excitement. “atta girl, spread those needy fuckin’ thighs for me then.”

you seem to have sobered up quickly, listening well for the hero that saved you and part your meaty thighs to let bakugou push your panties to the side and give him more access to your runny cunny. “p-please dynamight, d-do somethin,” comes your whiney voice as he lowers his to get a better view of your spread your pussy lips; he watches as your hole oozes just for him, desperate to filled and fucked. it’s too early for his cock, he needs to give you a taste of something else before you get drunk on him.

without warning, he pushes two of his expert fingers past your puckering entrance, immediately curling them in a come hither motion as his heated red eyes flicker up to watch your face. your ruby painted lips hang open in a silent moan while your fingers dig into bakugou’s shoulders so hard your nails form tears in his hero suit. “fuckin’ look atcha baby, barely even touched ya ‘n you’re already suckin’ down my fingers so greedily.” he snarls, sharp teeth coming down on your barley clothed breast.

bakugou’s thumb massages rough circles into your clit, pulling more honeyed cries from your lips as your eyes screw shut. “f-fuck, dynamight, need more of your touch, ‘m begging you please!” is all you can say, mindlessly babbling as you fail to keep yourself up right. the explosive pro hero steadies you with an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers curling again to explore more of your velvet walls.

“it’s katsuki, to you,” he barks out, using the arm around your waist to smack your sloppy cunt, the wet sound echoing across the street. “needy little thing, beggin’ me like this, who am i to deny your wishes?” bakugou grins, mercilessly scissoring his digits into your tight heat to stretch you wide open for him. he can’t believe his luck, the way you’re so pliant and responsive to him and him alone.

it’s too soon for him to be this addicted to your cute moans filling the crisp air but he can’t help himself, not when you clamp around his scarred fingers with every pump of them into your silken heat. not with the way your own fingers now curl in sun kissed blonde hair— pulling the hero upwards to suck on his bottom lip, followed by his tongue.

you cry out, the most beautiful sound katsuki’s every heard in all twenty years of living when his fingers press down hard on that gummy pleasure spot inside you, and like the good girl you are for him, you keep your shaky thighs open for him. “you’re such a good fuckin’ doll, letting me finger you out in the open like this, anyone could see us but you wouldn’t care, not when you’re creamin’ your panties for dynamight, right sweet thing?” bakugou’s lewd words go straight to your cunt, entangled with the squelching noises as he moves within you.

“yes! yes! wouldn’t care, don’ care...j-jus wanna cum for you, s-suki—fuck, please—“ you mewl into the night, doe eyes shimmering with tears as the knot in your lower tummy gets tighter and tighter until you can’t bare it anymore.

bakugou grins, curling his fingers once more to send you hurtling off of the edge. he can’t stop thinking about how soaked your little lace panties must be, about all the things he’s going to do with them once he gets them off of you.

“cum.” your pussy follows his orders for you, white flashing behind your eyes as a scream rips in your throat and shoots out into the quiet night. the knot in your stomach snaps, release splashing out against bakugou’s hand and hero suit— he makes you cum so hard you almost black out, a twitching mess in the hero’s arms.

when you finally come to, bakugou’s slurping your nectar off of his fingers, head cocked to the side as you shakily look up at him. “i, uh...t-thank you!” you breathe, blinking away the buzzing noise in the back of your head. “for...uh...”

you’re so cute, flushed with heat and slick dripping from between your legs. you obviously think that was a one time thing, but bakugou hasn’t finished cashing in his reward. the hero shakes his head, using a thumb and forefinger to tilt your own up to meet his ruby gaze. “give me your phone and take off your panties.” he orders, voice authoritative and never wavering— you’re confused, but don’t question him, just as a good girl should.

rooting around in your now discarded purse, you pull out and unlock your going for katsuki, who busies himself with your contacts. embarrassment crawls up your spine when you reach for your underwear, still wet with your arousal and release, you look to bakugou hesitantly. “do i have to—?”

“off.” he grunts, barely looking up from your device as you shimmy out of the lace garment and hand it to him. bakugou gives you the same evil smirk from earlier while you collect yourself against the door, sniffing the flimsily, wet material before shoving them into the pocket of his pants. his cock is hard as a fucking rock, but he’ll be able to deal with it appropriately after his patrol. “i’ll be keeping these. this is where we say g’night sweet stuff.”

the way you curl in on yourself, perhaps a bit humiliated at the idea of your panties being taken by the number two pro hero is adorable, and if he didn’t have patrol, katsuki would have eaten you up right then and there. “goodnight dynamight— i mean, k-katsuki, thank you for everything and h-have a safe night.” you squeak out quickly, moving to open the door again.

“not a problem, honey,” bakugou whispers with a lowered voice, pulling you in to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, shoving his tongue down your throat in a kiss goodnight. “now get your cute ass upstairs, don’ want anyone to see your leaky cunt like this. that’s fuckin’ mine.”

you do as you’re told, bidding the hero one last farewell before dashing up the steps and into your apartment. your heart and mind race a thousand miles a minute, crazed with the fact that you had just been fingered to the best fucking orgasm of your life by the number two pro hero. you have to force yourself to shower, mapping out all of the spots that bakugou had touched you and growing giddy at the small burn marks he’d left against the inner workings of your thighs.

that night, or rather, early morning— you settle into the sheets, mind still plagued with thoughts of katsuki bakugou, when your phone pings with a text.

to: yn.

from: unknown.

— never got your name sweet stuff, care to tell me who’s name i’ll be moaning tonight?

( one attachment ).

your heartbeat thunders in your ears, familiar warm pooling between your legs yet again as you open the image— knowing that there can be only one person that it’s from. a quiet moan slips past your lips as the picture loads to reveal bakugou in your very same black lace panties from earlier— the slick from your release pressed up against his barely covered cock, while he jerks himself off, precum oozing from his blistering red tip.

you exhale, typing back your name and hitting send— thanking whatever higher power that lead katsuki bakugou to steal your fucking panties.

3K notes · View notes

peachielovies · 3 years

Text

midnight snack

feat; tomura shigaraki, afab reader

warnings; dubcon, somnophilia, oral (f. recieving), stalking, facials, cum play (?), shiggy thinkin dirty thots, I'm not good at writing smut

word count; 1.2k

author's note; helloooo tumblr! this is my very first fic (hurray! ＼(＾▽＾)／) it kinda sucks and I didnt rlly proofread this lolz. I wrote it in a hurry today but I really wanted to get some writing on here while I had the idea. I'm not even finished setting up my masterlist stuff (°ロ°). also I did some animating for the little blink teehee, I might do that for all the pictures on my fics. ig this is kinda dedicated to @tomurasprincess because she inspired me to start this blog!! aaaanyways, sorry for rambling but I hope you like it!

shigaraki didn't intend for things to come this far.

he didn't plan to be sneaking through your window each night, rummaging around your apartment.

really, it was your fault for driving him to this. if you weren't so enticing, he wouldn't have to resort to stealing from your laundry, only to pretend he was holding you in his arms. if you weren't so enticing, he wouldn't have to stalk you on campus, following you through the halls and hiding in stairwells. if you weren't so enticing, he wouldn't have to sneak into the TA's office to find out your name and schedule.

he figured you were the kind of girl who would look at him and sneer— make comments behind his back about his skin and the knots in his tangled hair, about his quiet nature and creepy tendencies. all women were the same in that way.

you should have known that when you said hello in your sweet tone to someone like him everytime you passed by him in the halls that he would be infatuated.

he wasn't in love, never had been. you were more of an obsession; a trophy that he needed to claim.

of course, because of said obsession, he knew that you lived on the 2nd floor of the apartment complex near your campus. because of said obsession, he knew that the window in your bedroom was facing the emergency stairs on the side of the building. because of said obsession, he knew you left that window unlocked. because of said obsession, he also knew that you had been taking melatonin to help yourself get a better sleep. how could he not take advantage of that fact?

it was wednesday today. he knew you always went to bed after getting back from walking your dog.

when he arrived at your home, you were, just as he'd hoped, passed out underneath your covers.

he slowly stepped down onto the carpeted floor of your bedroom, as to not make a sound; the window bringing in a draft from the breeze outside.

he tiptoed over to the end of your bed and cautiously lifted the covers and wiggled underneath them.

you were sleeping with shorts on, as expected. it's almost as if you were waiting just for him. like this was the little bow on top of his perfect gift.

he slowly parted your legs as to not startle you, watching you intently for any movement.

he rubbed a hand over your clothed pussy. he could practically feel its warmth through the fabric. oh, how he wanted to just be inside you already and fuck you stupid, claiming you as his and marking you with his scent, his seed, to let everyone know who you belonged to–

no. he shouldn't rush. he told himself that he would savour his prize. why go through all this effort and not toy with you first?

he cautiously kissed your inner thighs, admiring how soft they were, before moving his hands along your hips and hooking his fingers under your waistband as he inches closer to your pussy.

he pulled down your shorts to see that, what a surprise, you were already a bit wet, leaking through your panties. it really is as if you prepared yourself for him; you're even wearing his favourite pair of panties! (of course, how were you to know which pair was his favourite?)

shigaraki practically starts to salivate. he kisses your clothed pussy and admires the way you shudder, carefully checking that you haven't woken up. he laps at the little spot of wetness and his mind can think of nothing but how good that little bit of your juices taste. he can't wait to dig into the real thing.

he pulls down your panties and blows cold air onto your clit, rubbing it lightly until it turns hard and swollen.

he licks his lips and stares at your pussy, practically hypnotized. the perfect cunt he's been wanting for weeks is right in front of him.

he dives in like a man starved, drinking up your flowing juices and thrusting his tongue into your pussy. god, it was tight.

he pants as he devours you, watching your expression from under the blanket with dazed eyes as your eyebrows quirk and you shiver and shudder.

at this point, he doesn't care if you wake up anymore. he needs to be inside your pussy so bad. he wants to bust his load into you, your fertile little pussy, and get you pregnant. a little trophy wife for him to fuck as he pleases.

but he won't. not tonight. he wants it to be perfect. he wants you to start thinking of him unconsciously, until you come to him on your own and beg him to fuck you.

he rubs his cock through the fabric of his sweats as he eats you out, sliding his knees up and pulling his pants down to his knees.

he begins to rub his middle finger over your little hole and pushes it inside. as he stretches your pussy out, he leans up over your chest. panting heavily, his precum drips onto your covered breasts (he vaguely wonders what your nipples would feel like against his slit), and he moves your hair out of your face.

he gazes with heavy lidded eyes and takes his fingers out of your pussy to put his soaked hand beside your head.

your lips looks so soft, slightly open as you let out small and sleepy huffs.

he gently (not really, he's desperate at this point) places his tip on your pouty lips, suppressing a loud groan as your hot breath tickles his cock.

he furiously pumps his hand over his cock, rubbing it raw as he feels your tongue graze him.

shigaraki's eyebrows furrow and his jaw hangs open, his tongue slipping out as drool begins to drop down his chin.

"mmmm! f-fuck!" he cries out as he cums, painting your lips and cheeks white with his seed.

he breathes heavily, jacking his cock a few more times until he's too sensitive, and tucks his now softening cock into his pants.

pulling your covers back up, he crawls out from under your covers and walks back to your window.

the cold air once again invades your room as he creeps out into the night.

as he's halfway down the street, he realizes that maybe it wasnt a good idea to leave your lips covered in his cum, as much as he thought you looked delicious like that. he wouldn't be able to make his little visits a habit if you reported him.

shigaraki climbed back up the stairs on the side of the building and hooked his fingers on the bottom of your window, ready to pull it up before he noticed movement from your window and ducked down.

he squinted to be able to properly see what was happening, hoping you hadn't spotted him, but the sight left him shocked.

there you were, playing with that gorgeous cunt, wiping his cum off of your cheeks with your little fingers and licking it up. you were clearly savoring the taste, with how you were sucking on your digits.

but what surprised him most was what he heard coming from your lips.

"t-tomura!"

I just like the idea of waking up to see shiggy's little head peaking out from under the covers as he eats me out in secret, that is all ( ◡‿◡ *)

#♡.desserts #tomura shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #shigaraki smut #tomura shigaraki smut #♡.tomura

514 notes · View notes

latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

Text

Church (Choi San) Rated

Pairing: Choi San × Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, College AU, Friends to Enemies(?), Enemies to Lovers (?)

Summary: He used to be her best friend until he abandoned not only his childhood beliefs, but her in the process. One night, he decides to show her a glimpse of what she's been missing out on. Inspired by Chase Atlantic's Church .

Word Count: 6.3+K

Warnings: Mentions of religious beliefs, brazen college parties, allusions to alcohol/nicotine intake, body insecurity (reader has small breasts), oral (female receiving), fingering, nipple play, body worship/praise, slight cumplay, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (always use protection), slight corruption kink, inexperienced reader, experienced San. (Probably forgot something)

Taglist: @little-precious-baby @yunhoiseyecandy @yunhofingers @galaxteez @brie02 @deja-vux @a-soft-hornytiny @multidreams-and-desires @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie

╬╬═════════════╬╬

The infamous rebel let out a pernicious snicker when he saw the serene and usually proper former acquaintance walk in his direction.

"Are my eyes deceiving me or is that really the pastor's prissy little daughter out past her bedtime in a college party?" He found the situation much too amusing that he just had to point it out.

"I have a name you know." The female he was referring to halted in her steps to turn her head and give him an unkind and unfriendly look.

"You have several, actually. There's goody two shoes, priss, prude, prig-"

"Oh shut the fuck up Choi San." She scoffed as she began walking away from him, already feeling annoyed by his presence.

The man trailed after her, his face donning a shocked expression as he flailed his arms around in a dramatic way.

"Guys it's happening! The apocalypse is really here if L/N Y/N has not only attended a wild party full of debauchery, but her mouth has actually uttered out cursed words!" He shouted out, the other attendants either joining in laughing at her or ignoring him in favor of the bottles or sticks in their fingers.

"I'm surprised you even know what that word means." She turned to look at him with a mocking smile, arms crossed over her chest.

"Please, I know a lot more than you have ever pretended to know." He clicked his tongue, elbow coming up to rest on the wall next to him.

"Is that why you turnt corrupt and abandoned everything you believe in?" She couldn't help but spat back at him.

"Hey at least I was honest and didn't hide it like you people who lead double lives. Preaching one thing but living the total opposite. You're all nothing but a bunch of hypocrites." The venom in his voice was unmistakable, nose scrunching up in disgust as he remembered gross sins he had more often than not had witnessed from people who claimed to be pure and holy.

"I do not lead a double life." She remarked.

"Oh really? Then why the hell are you here in a college party? Full of alcohol, drugs and walking STDs? Riddle me that princess." His foot tapped against the floor, patiently awaiting an answer from her.

Y/N swallowed the non existent lump in her throat and turned her gaze to the floor in embarrassment.

"I just wanted to see what it was like. Just once." She admitted begrudgingly, the man in front of her chuckling lowly.

"Well you sure are going to have a lot to confess on Sunday to your dad. Silly girl, walking into the lion's pit like this." He jeered at her.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Just because I came here doesn't mean I've done anything morally wrong." She counteracted his words to which he only snorted.

"Yet."

Tired of his overly obnoxious attitude, Y/N spun on her heel to get away from him, but she spun so carelessly and fast that she ended up bumping into another classmate who unfortunately was holding a full cup of beer that ended up being doused all over her white blouse.

"Oops! Sorry, my bad." He excused himself, looking completely unapologetic about the situation.

Meanwhile Y/N looked absolutely horrified as she took in the drenched state of her shirt that now had the stench of alcohol on it. The fact San was bursting out in giggles only served to make her even more mad.

"Now tell me how do you plan on explaining that to dear old-"

"Can it San or I swear I'll gauge your eyes out." She threatened him as she stormed out the building, not caring that she bumped into a few figures on her way out.

Feeling just a bit of empathy for his old friend, San sighed softly before following after her. Upon catching up to her, he took hold of her wrist and started dragging her in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Get your filthy hands off me! I will not hesitate to scream!" She tried tugging her arm away.

"Calm down I'm not planning on kidnapping or anything like that sweetheart. I'm taking you back to my car."

She let out a dry laugh at that.

"But that's not kidnapping?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have a spare shirt in the backseat that you can change into. Unless you wanna go home smelling like PBR." He looked back to see the mess one more time, lips curling up into a smirk.

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to take her all the way where his car was parked, standing there quietly as San rummaged through the backseat before taking out a clean plain white tshirt and held it out to her.

"Here. Put it on."

She looked at him with a face that asked if he was stupid.

"Well what?" He asked.

"Oh yes..I'm totally going to strip in a middle of the street and let anyone passing by see." She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, there's nobody here, nobody is going to see and frankly I don't think anyone cares about seeing your non existent boobs." He scorned at her as he gestured to her chest.

"Ok rude and uncalled for." She felt slightly hurt by his comment, having always been somewhat insecure about the size of her chest.

"Don't look." She warned him.

"Not like I want to." He jeered at her as he turned away to not only give her privacy, but to also serve as a lookout for anyone that might accidentally show up and see the scene. He could hear her behind him tearing off her clothes and then slipping it back on.

"Ok there. I'm done." Y/N announced as she stuffed the soiled shirt into her bag.

"Not even a thank you?" San pouted slightly, to which Y/N gave a feigned smile.

"Thanks."

With that said and done, she brushed past him and started walking away, absolutely done with the night.

"Careful not to get caught sneaking back inside your house." She heard San say from behind.

"For your information I'm not living with them anymore. I moved into the dorms 2 months ago." She stated in a matter of factly, a proud look on her face.

"Well in that case....want to ride back with me?" He offered.

"Yeah no, I'd rather take my chances at being kidnapped and then butchered up. Besides, I wouldn't want to cut your wild night short." She declined the offer.

"Stop being so negative Nancy and accept my generosity. Geez."

Running over to her, he quickly snatched her up and threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her shocked exclaims and protests.

"Now this is really kidnapping!" She declared.

"Yeah I know, now shut up before I duct tape that bratty mouth of yours." San grinned mischievously as he tossed her into the backseat and shut the door before striding over to get on the driver's seat.

"Oh come on. Stop looking at me like I'm a criminal. Just because I indulge in a few sins every now and then, doesn't make me into a bad person." He stated when he saw the dirty look she gave him.

"Whatever." She muttered as she locked in her seatbelt.

San opted for just driving back to the dorms and get Y/N tucked in her bed since it was clear to him she needed it.

╬╬═════════════╬╬

"You're lucky my roommate is on vacation, otherwise I would have left your ass back there." Y/N spewed out as she threw her keys onto her dresser.

"Thanks Y/N, I always said you were the nicest and most giving person in the planet." San complimented her as he felt he should given she was letting him stay the night in her dorm after a little tiny incident with his keys dropping inside one of the manholes surrounding the university. And the administration office wouldn't be open til the morning, meaning he was screwed unless his roommate showed up to let him in, but that was a definite no since San knew Seonghwa would definitely end up in someone else's bed and come back til the next day, hickeys plastered all over his neck and chest.

"No, you always said I was the most stuck up-"

San shushed her by pressing a hand over her mouth.

"You dwell so much on the present image of me you drew up in your head that you completely erased the friend you had all those years ago." He slid his hand off her mouth, shoulders slumping down as he turned away from her to crouch on the floor.

"That friend doesn't exist anymore, that is if he even existed in the first place. If I recall, my friend wasn't into parties, booze, vaping, tattoos, piercings and fucking around with every whore in the school."

San didn't say anything as he heard her ramble, he just let her talk away as she started pulling out spare blankets and pillows for him to use.

"My Sannie was sweet, cute, adorable, always ready to lend people help and respectful to others." She reminisced with a sad look. Pulling her expression straight, she laid out the blankets and started arranging them neatly on the floor.

"I still am."

San's voice was so quiet that she barely registered that he even opened his mouth in the first place, but she heard him.

"Maybe if you weren't so puffed up with pride and didn't cut me off after I cut ties with the church, you'd see that I'm still the way I was. You think I changed completely because of ink and metal on my body? Because I wanted to try certain substances and yes, satisfy some perfectly normal and humane needs?"

Y/N averted her gaze from him and continued the task she was in. San let out a despondent scoff.

"Of course you do. And yet didn't I just demonstrate to you back there that I haven't changed? Giving you my shirt, giving you a ride, yeah I know, it's not much and no big deal, but wasn't those the types of things I'd do even back then?"

Y/N's tongue poked against her cheek as she knew she couldn't deny that was San said was absolutely true. He did nothing different back at the party as he used to do years ago. Helping old ladies with grocery bags, giving away some of his clothes to less fortunate kids, he was always known as being such a giving and kind person.....

No wonder so many were devastated when it was announced he had resigned as a member of the church. Y/N herself was hurt and even indignated by his decision. And after that she adamantly refused to see him or talk to him, and of course San respected her decision and avoided contacting her so as to not make her uncomfortable. He understood that their friendship was broken and he wasn't going to overstep boundaries just to try and fix it when the other party didn't want it. So he just decided to live his life as he thought was right without his conscience bothering him. And he was much happier now, he felt free, something that he had never felt before. Perhaps he was so chained down by formality, discipline, strict regulations and even fear that he didn't realize that he was miserable all that time until his eyes were fully open and he found he didn't like what he saw, especially after seeing the dark and ugly side of what was supposed to be a safe and pure sanctuary. He was let down severely and he suffered in the process. But now that was behind him and he had no regrets......

Except Y/N. He truly missed her and her company. As he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor, he found himself unable to sleep as he recalled all those fond times spent with her. The trips to the lake, hiking, first day of school, their first accident after he had gotten his driver's license. He let out an involuntary smile at that memory. Unbeknownst to him, the girl on her bed was equally reminiscing on the old days filled with her best friend. She had been so alone ever since she distanced herself from him, the world now feeling empty and cold without him. Shifting around in her bed, she whined into her pillow as she desperate tried to sleep.

"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" Her question startled San momentarily.

"Are you that sleep deprived that you're suddenly asking me to confess my worst sins?" He chuckled amusedly.

"Maybe it'll help me get actual sleep, I don't know. And.... I'm just curious." She clutched one of her plushies and started messing around with it.

"Curiosity killed the cat and I don't think your virgin mind will be able to handle my confession." He asserted confidently.

"I'm not a virgin, but oh well. Just tell me, what's the worst?" Her casual response made San flip out. He sat upright and kneeled at the front of her bed with an incredulous look.

"What do you mean you're not a virgin? When did you-?" He was so flabbergasted he wouldn't even finish his sentence.

Rolling over to where he was, Y/N smirked at him.

"Uh uh. I asked you a question first and you have to answer it before I can answer any you want."

Knowing he had no alternative, San placed his chin on the top of her mattress.

"Had a threesome with 2 of our professors." He laughed when he saw how shocked Y/N looked.

"What?! No way!" She refused to believe him.

"It's true. I won't tell you who they were since you won't be able to look at them the same way if I did...... I'll just dish this: they both got really huge tits and it's a shame they're married." He admitted with a smug expression.

"I can't believe you." She fanned her face which she was sure was now a deep crimson color.

"Ok now your turn. When did this happen? Who was it with?"

Y/N didn't even mind that San got up and crawled into her bed to lay down next to her. His face was rested on his hands as he looked at her with intense inquisitiveness. Knowing she'd have to talk about it sooner or later, she thought it would be best if San was the one to know since he would never tell anyone else and he'd understand since he was tainted as well.

"Remember when that group of missionaries came to stay over at our city for a while back in high school?"

San nodded, vividly remembering everything. Y/N blushed and smiled shyly.

"Do you remember that there was a family with a son our age? Chase?"

San widened his eyes and flopped over on his back as his hands came to hide his face.

"Oh dear lord, please don't tell me it was that Canadian boy." He groaned in pain.

"Yeah....yeah it was."

San couldn't stop cringing at the thought of his friend doing such a thing.

"How even did that happen?" He was so lost.

"I don't know! It just did ok? It happened while we were out in that camping trip. Somewhere there, we were left alone and we started talking about everything and nothing til it spiraled into talking about sex and us being virgins decided to see what was the big deal....." She bit her lower lip as the memory flashed in her mind. Looking over at San, she knew he was judging her as she expected. A tiny snort escaped his lips.

"That must have been the worst 45 seconds of your life." He joked, earning him a slap on his chest by Y/N's hand.

"It was not 45 seconds!............. it was 2 minutes."

San only laughed harder at that, nearly crying from how funny it was to him. He composed himself though when he saw how embarrassed Y/N looked about it. Feeling bad for laughing at her expense, he cleared his throat and patted her head.

"It's ok. First times are always awkward and uncomfortable. The problem was you weren't prepared and you were both inexperienced. He just didn't know how to please you."

Y/N couldn't help herself as she asked:

"And I suppose you can?"

Flipping onto his stomach, San cupped her chin with his hand and ran his thumb across her lower lip.

"Don't tread on dangerous territory little angel lest you want an evil demon to corrupt you." He warned her, and although he wouldn't actually follow through on it, he did want to tease her a little. But he wasn't expecting for Y/N to play along to his teasing, only she was not joking at all as she brought her face closer to his.

"Maybe I want you to corrupt me, show me what I've been missing out on." She brushed her lips against his, tongue daring to poke out and press on his slit briefly, leaving him stunned.

"You have no idea what you're asking for princess." San mused as he held himself back from touching her.

"I know what I'm asking for Choi San and what I'm asking for....is you." She responded with confidence.

Escaping from underneath the blanket that covered her, Y/N reclined back on the mattress, her head laying on her soft pillow as she gestured for San to come over to her, which he promptly did. Parting her legs so he could fit his body between them, he smirked softly down at her eagerness, fingers brushing against the soft skin on her thighs.

"You're serious about this?" He wanted to make sure it wouldn't be something she'd regret.

"I already messed up once, what's one more time gonna do?" She pulled him down against her, not caring when he lost balance and accidentally crushed her under him with his muscular body.

"Besides...." Wanting to further entice him, Y/N brushed her lips against his ear.

"Look at me and tell me you don't want to fuck me. That you don't want to stuff that hard cock of yours into my tight and inexperienced pussy. Bet you're itching to tear into me until I'm crying under you. Don't you want that?"

San let out a moan at hearing such filthy and depraved talk from her. It only fueled his appetite and hunger for indulging in carnal desires.

"Yes... I want that.... I want you."

Closing space between them, San molded his lips over hers, encasing them in a sloppy and wet kiss. Y/N could faintly make out the leftover scent of alcohol and nicotine as she let him taste her mouth, but she didn't mind or felt grossed out by it. She just kept her lips parted and allowed him to move his tongue freely inside her. Cupping her cheeks, San continued to roll his tongue over hers, massaging it gently with both deep yet gentle strokes. When he pulled away, he made sure to tuck her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it towards him as Y/N let out a moan that was like music to his ears. Pausing briefly, their lips were barely touching as they breathed in each other's air. San was the first one to break into a smile, the one that had Y/N melting since it displayed his dimples to the fullest.

"Never thought I'd hear that sound come out of your pretty mouth." He teased her.

"S-shut up." She frowned, hand reaching up to smack his chest.

"It's not a bad thing. I like it. Now let's see if I can make sure you keep them up."

Stuffing his face into her neck, San ghosted his lips across her skin, tongue subtly poking out solely to hear her breath hitch slightly. Dipping his tongue into her collarbone, his lips opened up so they could firmly latch and spread wet kisses across her neck. Y/N gasped when she felt teeth sink down, head tilting back to give San more room which he took advantage of. Focusing on particular spots that he knew she was sensitive in, he sucked her skin into his mouth. Each time he pulled away, he reveled when he saw the finished mark that was now painted on her skin.

"I would love to see your parent's reaction to my love bites." He brushed a fingers across the newest spot he just embedded in her body, hand then reaching up to suddenly clasp around her neck. Y/N shuddered when his grip got tighter, her oxygen intake getting cut and making her feel hazy, but it was nonetheless enjoyable. Snaking a hand under her shirt, or more like his shirt, San swiped his tongue over his bottom lip as he started to pull the material up.

"How about I make some matching ones all across your pretty chest?"

Before he could lift the shirt any further, Y/N's hand clasped around his wrist, preventing him from moving any further.

"Don't." She begged him.

San retracted his hands away from her, fearing he made her uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry." He immediately apologized and began to move away from her, but Y/N's hands raked against his thighs to keep him in place.

"No, it's not you. It's just..... if we're going to do this, can I keep the shirt on? I don't...." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she admitted an insecurity of hers.

"I don't like my chest. My boobs are too small, it's unflattering and I'd rather you not see them." She slowly opened her eyes to see his reaction. San had a sad look on his face, bottom lip poking out as his fingers came up to brush against her cheek. Remembering what he had previously said back in the parking loyal, he felt terrible for saying that ill intended joke about her body. He probably hurt her and he didn't realize it.

"Y/N don't say that. Your chest size doesn't matter. You're beautiful the way you are and I bet underneath that layer is clothing there is the cutest and most adorable set of boobs in the world." She let out an involuntary giggle at his words, letting him run his hand down her clothed sternum.

"But if that's what you want, I'll respect it. Either way, my tshirt looks amazing on you." He acknowledged rather cockily.

Shifting further back, San took hold of the top of her shorts, making sure to look at her.

"Are you ok with these coming off?"

Y/N resisted the temptation to slap the top of his head.

"If you don't take them off, how are you going to fuck me genius?" She retorted.

"You'd be surprised at what I've learned." He uttered, mostly to himself than at her.

Like an expert, he practically tore her shorts down her legs, panties falling to the floor along with them. Y/N let out a soft squeal when he took hold of her thighs and brought her down so his face was at eye level with her most intimate part. San took a few seconds to admire her bare mound, lips parted and threatening to start drooling all over her thighs. Pressing both thumbs against each one is her lips, San pried her folds open, staring intently as he now clearly saw all of her.

"Oh fuck. I'm gonna need to prep you real good. I can tell you're going to be really tight."

She wanted to ask him what he meant by prep, but her words got caught in her throat when she felt his tongue delve into her core. She had never felt someone's mouth anywhere near her folds and she regretted not having experienced it before. Her eyes shut tight as she marveled at the sensation of San's tongue lapping at her bud, his lips making sure to enclose all around the flesh surrounding it before giving it gentle suckles. Shaky breaths blew out from her mouth, her legs wanting to close themselves around San's head but his firm grip on her thighs kept it from happening. He kept her knees pinned to the bed as his mouth continued to ravish at her taste, sloppily consuming her heat fervently. Her mind was so occupied in what he was doing that she didn't register the hand that slowly crept away from her thigh until she felt something poke at her entrance.

"Oh-" She gasped, opening her eyes to see what was going on.

"Relax princess. It's just my finger.....for now." He momentarily pulled off her heat to let her know what was happening before diving back in to continue his task of eating her out.

His finger inside her felt a little weird at first, sliding in slowly before pulling out only to plunge itself back into her. During one of those times where she expected him to slide back in, she was surprised when she felt herself being stretched out as San curled a second finger inside her. Keeping them lodged there, he began scissoring them alternatively so he could further spread her walls apart. During one of those movements, his fingertips brushed along her hood, making her hips slightly jolt up into San's face, who smiled against her folds as he now knew exactly where to angle his hips for later. Using this new knowledge, that was probably unbeknownst to Y/N, he slipped his fingers deeper into her, knuckles deep as he moved his tips rhythmically on the the spot he found. Y/N's mouth fell wide open into an 'O' as whiny gasps and airy moans poured out of it. San's mouth latched to her clit and his fingers working deep in her hole was producing a stirring in the lower pit of her stomach that she couldn't quite make out. But it felt good, especially since it continued to grow more and more, almost as if it was a cord about to snap.

"San- wait. I feel, I feel-" She couldn't finish her sentence as her body trembled slightly, a flood of overwhelming pleasure washing over her that was prolonged by San drinking up the juices that spilled forth out of her body. He didn't pull away until he made sure to swallow every drop she had to give.

"Aren't you grossed out?" She asked him, always having wondered about that.

"Nope. I love licking girl's pussies, especially if they're as sweet as yours." He affirmed while pulling his shirt off his body.

Y/N turned her flustered face away from him, keeping her gaze locked on the wall to her right, which was decorated with several polaroids of her with her family, friends and members of her church, some of them even had San in them, back when they were inseparable. Before she could become nostalgic, a strong set of hands clutched her chin and teared her gaze away from the pictures, forcing her to stare at the now naked man in front of her.

"Forget about that for now. Right now I want your full attention on me and what we're about to do. After we're done, that image of a good girl you have will gone." His words seemed to almost taunt her.

Although she tried not to look, Y/N's eyes fell in between San's legs, filled with astonishment when she glimpsed for the very first time at her former friend's member, fully erect and leaking at the tip as it awaited to be hugged by her warm walls.

"Like it? Maybe later I'll let you play with it." San giggled when her eyes shot up at him in surprise.

Placing himself to hover above her, he hummed lowly as he slowly stuffed himself inside her, working her open until he was fully nestled inside her warmth. Although she felt a light burn scraping against her inner walls, it wasn't unpleasant or painful like her first time. She could tell San knew exactly what he was doing as he began rolling his hips. Perfectly recalling exactly where to aim at, he made sure to angle his thrusts accordingly so each time he pushed back in, he'd hit her pleasure spot.

"Oh God-" Y/N exclaimed when he continued to brushed against the hood of her core.

"Really think it's a good idea to call out the good lord's name when I'm balls deep inside your pussy?" He asked with a malicious smirk plastered across his face.

"No baby. Tonight your only lord is me."

Pinning her wrists above her head, San continued pushing his cock deeper into her. The harsh pounding of his hips against hers was becoming louder, their bodies starting to get heated and producing sweat. Y/N couldn't do anything but whimper and wrap her legs around San's waist, keeping him firmly locked to her body. She closed her eyes once more as she felt the same familiar feeling from before start piling up, only it felt more intense and stronger probably due to the fact that she was getting railed to her bed by her ex best friend, whom she still cared about deeply. She was definitely not planning on making up with him this way, but holy hell, she couldn't deny that he was making her feel so many emotions at once. Pleasure, lust, satisfaction, happiness, euphoria, love? Perhaps that last one was definitely a stretch, but she blamed her confused thoughts on how well his cock was abusing her hole. She felt unable to focus on anything except him.

"Clenching so hard around me babygirl. Are you gonna cum all over my cock?"

Slipping one hand in between their bodies, San pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing it back and forth so it would serve as an extra push to tip her over the edge. Y/N splayed her hands on San's lower back, nails raking against his skin, causing him to hiss.

"Fuck- am I seriously making you feel that good babygirl?" He knew for a fact he was feeling absolutely amazing, her tight warmth gripping along his shaft, making it hard for him to hold back much longer.

"Mmm yeah." She shamelessly moaned.

"Am I better than your first?" Although he already knew the answer, he still wanted to feed his ego and hear her say it.

"So much better! It feels so fucking good." She inhaled sharply when that she began to feel the sensation from before. With even louder cries from before, her body shook underneath San's, blood rushing to her head as an even greater orgasm coursed through her body. She was left speechless, a full on panting mess even after San had pulled out of her after helping her ride out her high.

"Oh geez. Shit." San's voice rasped out as he jerked himself off, his cum painting her thighs white, not stopping until he had finished coating them with everything he had to give.

Looking down at the mess, Y/N couldn't suppress a tiny giggle, one of her hands clasping over her mouth while the other picked up some of his cum and spread it between her fingers.

"Having fun there?" San grinned, finding her fascinated gaze to be completely adorable to him.

"Yeah.." She said as sat up to get a better look at the cum around her thighs.

"Well I was going to clean it off you, but seeing as you're so entertained by it, I'll just leave you with it."

Not forgetting that he was merely a guest, San slid himself off her bed and plopped his tired body onto the blankets on the floor. Closing his eyes, he was thinking he would finally be able to sleep, but he found his plans thwarted when he felt a pair of hands graze across his chest. Looking up, he found Y/N straddling his lap, biting down on her lower lip as she grinded her wet folds along his softened dick which was now becoming hard again thanks to her.

"What in the world are you doing you crazy girl?" He sucked in a breath, not expecting her to suddenly pounce on him.

"I wanna try that again." She pleaded, grinding her hips harder on him.

"Oh my- did I accidentally turn you into a nymphomaniac?" She chuckled at his joke and although he groaned as if he was frustrated, he obliged to her wishes and sat up.

Clasping her waist with his hands, he lifted her up and guided her so she could easily sink herself down on his length. Not letting go, he slowly rolled his hips up, burying himself deep in her body once more. Since they were both still riled up from their previous session, it didn't take long for both of them to start spewing out a clutter of moans and grunts as they once again get lost in a mist of lust that clouded their minds. San drunk up every expression on Y/N's face. Every twitch of her facial muscles, every shuddering breath she exhaled, each time her eyelids shut close, he marveled at seeing her enjoy the experience. He loved seeing her indulge in such an intimate practice with him, more so given how special she was to him, one of the most important people in his life aside from his family. Looking down at her torso, his fingers brushed along the hem of her shirt.

"Please...." His urging caught her attention.

"Please let me see all of you. I want to admire every inch of you and your beautiful body. I promise I won't laugh or judge. I just want to worship you."

Y/N hesitated briefly, still afraid to let him see what was hidden under the shirt.

"It's ok if you don't want to. I won't force you." He shot a kind smile at her as he focused back on making sure to drive his cock up into her.

Feeling safe and knowing she could trust her lifelong friend whom she thought of as a soulmate at one point, Y/N reached for the bottom of her shirt and peeled it off her body. Coming face to face with her bare chest, San groaned in ecstasy as he slid his hands up her body.

"Just as I predicted, you have very cute breasts."

Pulling her chest to his face, he opened his mouth and took one of her nipples in it, swirling his tongue around it before sucking on it. Y/N's fingers raked themselves through his hair, harshly tugging them when she felt his teeth sink themselves into her flesh.

"Aren't they too small?" She inquired.

Letting go of her breast with an audible pop, San cupped her chin.

"No baby, they're absolutely perfect. They're gorgeous, just like every other part of your body. You're gorgeous, absolutely stunning and holy fuck, you're driving me insane honestly." He confessed, his mouth diving into her other breast so it wouldn't feel left out from being tenderly kissed and sucked on.

His words sunk deep in Y/N's heart. He really did found her beautiful, attractive and it spurred something in her. Feeling a newfound passion, Y/N unconsciously began taking over their movements. Pushing against his thrusts, she began to set her own pace, rutting herself on top of his dick. San of course took notice and was happy about it.

"Oh wanna take over now baby? Well go ahead."

Laying back down on the floor, his eyes stared up at her with lust.

"Fuck yourself on me darling."

Encouraged by him, Y/N began bouncing herself on his cock. Finding an angle that she liked, she sunk down on his length over and over, her head thrown back as she used his body to push her down another spiral of immense pleasure. San just relaxed and admired the way she lost herself and gave into her deepest desires. He loved the way she rode his cock, and he loved feeling her walls tighten once more around his shaft.

"Oh shit- Sannie." She cried out his name as she quivered on top of him, her juices spilling out onto his cock once more.

Knowing fully well she was probably aching between her thighs, San gripped her hips and helped her ride out her climax so the feeling she was going through wouldn't go away just yet. He made sure to be gentle, easing her up and down his cock with absolute tenderness. Once he knew she was satisfied, he pulled her of him and set her down on the floor before sitting up above her body. Just like before, he took hold of his cock and began pumping his cum out of his body, plastering it all across her inner thighs and even splattering some on her stomach. Looking up, Y/N had the same giggly expression as before.

"Does my cum really make you burst into a fit of giggles?" He questioned her.

"I can't help it. It's just... I don't know. Maybe it's the fact it's so dirty and wrong, and then to have you spread it all over my body." She explained, which made San chuckle.

"Maybe I should baptize your thighs with my cum more often." Although he was joking, Y/N was more than willing to take him up on that offer.

"Will you?" She looked up at him with puppy eyes.

San studied her for a moment, before a wicked idea popped in his brain.

"How about you let me baptize and stain that pretty face of yours?"

Getting a hint of what he meant, Y/N got up on her knees while San stood up right in front of her, cock in hand as he brought it up to her lips.

"I hope you weren't planning on going to morning services tomorrow because I'm going to keep you up til morning until your knees hurt."

801 notes · View notes

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

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)

7K notes · View notes