#to anyone who clicks that read more link: thank you. i appreciate you very very much 🥹🥹🥹 also im sorry HSDHGHDSGDGH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

Text

all’s faire - chapter five

Pairing: Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Series rating: M

Chapter rating: M

Word count: 4,988

Notes: It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for! We’re really in it now and I’m so excited. Big thank you to everyone who’s left such lovely and enthusiastic feedback on the first four chapters. Beta-read as always by the lovely and wonderful @ezrasbirdie. Thank you to Birdie as well as @lowlights for being the main cheerleaders of this fic.

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Chapter warnings: Swearing, food mention, alcohol mention, enemies to lovers, fake dating/marriage, yearning, kissing.

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist (main) || masterlist (pero tovar)

No one stays too late at Nick’s, since bright and early you all have to be back in costume and in character for Faire.

Sarah notices your disappointment. “He’s just introverted,” she says as she slips her purse across her body.

“Huh?” You aren’t sure what she’s referring to.

“Pero. He’s always so worn out after days at Faire. He needs to recharge at the end of every day. But this year he seems to have more energy.” She gives you a meaningful look that you very nearly squirm under.

Shrugging, you say, “You know him better than I do.”

But Sarah isn’t so sure. “That may be true, but you are spending a lot of time with him. Even if it is in character, it’s not really in character in Faire. Most of our Faire characters are just an extension of us, if that makes any sense.”

It does make sense. But you’ve never thought of it like that before. “He doesn’t even like me,” you try arguing. “At least not out of character.”

Sarah’s not convinced, you can tell. “I’m not gonna push anything,” she says and you appreciate that. “But I will say that I’ve never seen him look at anyone with anything other than… well, you’ve seen his resting face. Except for William, but William was the only one who saw through his bluster.” You’ve reached the parking lot by now. Sarah gets her keys from her purse and clicks her keyfob. “I guess what I’m saying is you won’t know him unless you try. He’s a bit like a clam. Shut tight, but once you get it open, inside is a pearl.”

It’s not harsh. Quite the opposite. And it’s a good analogy. “Are you sure you’re a file clerk and not secretly an author?” you ask.

She grins. “I’m a woman of many talents.”

The night air is still and warm. The sky is streaked with bursts of orange and pink and purple. It’s going to be another hot day tomorrow.

Sarah reaches out, squeezes your arm. “Don’t worry about Pero Tovar if you don’t want to. But there’s more to him than meets the eye. And I think you’re starting to see that.” With that she wishes you a good night and gets into her car.

As she drives away and you walk the short distance to your own car, you consider her words. You are getting to know him better. And you’re seeing beneath the facade of grumpiness and brusque shortness. You like what you see; you’re not so sure that Sarah’s correct about him liking you, though.

Who knew such a grumpy, brusque man is such an enigma?

You drive home on autopilot. It’s not too late when you pull into the driveway of Tess’s house. She’s still up when you get in. “You’re home early,” she says when you come into the living room. Pausing her movie, Tess turns to look at you.

“Yeah, we have an early morning tomorrow. It never runs that late.”

Your mind is elsewhere, still mulling over Sarah’s words. Tess picks up on your rumination. “Did something happen?” Protective big sister mode is still a thing even when you’re both fully grown women.

Shaking your head, you say, “No. Not really.”

Tess isn’t buying it. “Come. Sit. Watch trashy rom-coms with me and tell me what’s up.” Her tone brooks no denial.

Even though all you want to do is go to bed and sleep, you slump down on the couch next to your older sister. She props her leg up on the sofa table again. “Spill, sister.”

One of the many things you love about Tess is that she is very pragmatic. She’s also not as objective to Pero Tovar as Sarah is. Apart from meeting him a few times here and there, she doesn’t know him that well. “It’s not anything really that new. But Pero’s being really nice to me? And he’s asking me if it’s okay to kiss me when we’re in character. And I don’t know, maybe I like him. Maybe,” you point your finger as Tess’s face changes from a serious, listening expression to one of a smug “I knew it!” one. “And I guess I just figured out that I don’t dislike him as much as I thought I did when he didn’t show up at Nick’s and I was… I don’t know, disappointed?”

Tess nods sagely. “He’s a tough nut to crack.” She sighs in thought. “Well, do you like him, like him? Or just like him?”

You scoff. “That isn’t a confusing question at all.”

“You know what I mean.”

You do know what she means. “I don’t know. I just know that he’s confusing and grumpy and surly. But he’s also considerate and caring and always makes sure it’s okay to kiss me in character.”

Tess exhales. By the sounds of it to her, you’ve got it bad. She can’t be the one to tell you that, she knows that you have to work this out on your own. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I’m not Mom.” The two of you share a look and giggle. “What I am going to say is that I think you should do what feels right.”

- - - -

Armed with a good night’s sleep and Tess and Sarah’s words of wisdom, you arrive at Faire earlier than usual, Cassie in tow, ready for another day.

Since you’re so early, you have a better parking selection. You park next to a silver car that’s also just parked, not noticing who is getting out of the driver’s side until you hear Cassie. “Oh, look, it's Mr. Tovar.”

It’s who now?

“Good morning, Cassandra,” Pero is saying to Cassie as you finally get your bearings and get out of the car. Your dress isn’t laced. Pero greets you.

“Morning,” you reply, trying to notice how he looks at you. Sarah had said that he doesn’t look at anyone else like he looks at you. He doesn’t look any different to you; his costume is immaculate, not a thread out of place. Cassie excuses herself and runs off to find her friends.

“Do you need help with your laces?” he offers.

You’re stunned. “I — Sure, please. If you don’t mind.”

Pero makes a grunting sound and gestures for you to turn around so he can start lacing you up.

“You weren’t at Nick’s,” you blurt out, cringing inwardly as soon as the words have left your mouth. “Last night.” You had promised yourself that you weren’t going to ask about that. But here you are, first thing out of your mouth. Turning your head, you look at him expectantly, even though he owes you nothing, not even an explanation. You’re not together. You’re not anything to him.

Pero frowns quizzically. “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t know I was expected.”

You shake your head. “I just thought… when Sarah said everyone was going, I assumed…”

His expression changes. A smirk twitches at his lips. “Are you saying you are disappointed, bonita?”

You miss his look of panic, a flash in his eyes, at his choice of words. “N-no. It’s like I said… I just thought that you would be there.”

Pero nods. “Perhaps next weekend.” He’s surprisingly an expert on lacing up a corset. You tell yourself not to think too much about that and how he knows how to do this so well.

“For my birthday,” you say without thinking.

He pauses in his lacing. “It is your birthday next weekend?” he asks.

You nod. “A week today.”

He makes a humming sound, filing the information in his mind, and resumes in his lacing. He doesn’t lace them too tight like you expect him to. You can actually mostly breathe properly but the dress still doesn’t look unshapely or loose. If you pay close enough attention, you can feel his breath on your neck as he ties the lacings together with a tight knot. “There. Done.”

You turn back around to face him. There’s a glint of something in his eyes. Something… soft. That you hadn’t noticed before. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome… florecita. A Captain must see to the needs of his intended.” You turn your face away to hide your sigh and slightly crestfallen expression. This had been done in character. Of course it had.

Maybe this is a sign. He doesn’t want you as Pero. Only Captain Bastian wants you. And it’s not even you that Pero-as-Captain Bastian wants. It’s your character.

He glances at you sidelong, taking note of your almost-deflated countenance. If he sees your confusion and disappointment, he doesn’t say anything. He holds out an arm. “Shall we?” he asks.

Does he know that he’s leading you on? Or is it unintentional? All the same, you loop your arm through his, plastering what you hope is a mostly real smile on your face. “We shall.”

Sarah’s been doing this for longer than you have. Maybe she was wrong when she said that Faire characters are extensions of you. If they are for you and her, it isn’t for Pero Tovar.

- - - -

You’re distracted during Faire on Sunday; your mind keeps going back to your interaction with Pero in the parking lot. You might like him, but he’s made no indication that he likes you. At least none that you can decipher. Still, when he comes into the tavern, when he brings you to the dueling grounds, when he kisses you, all in character, you play along. It’s lackluster compared to yesterday’s performance, just you going through the motions, even if it sets your heart pounding and your nerve endings aflame. You like him. You can admit that to yourself. But you can also admit to yourself that he doesn’t like you. If he does, why hasn’t he done anything about it yet?

This was supposed to be fun.

It isn’t that you’re not having fun. You are, when you’re hanging out with Sarah, who’s become a real friend. And there is some fun to be had when Pero isn’t giving you mixed signals.

You slip out of Faire after saying goodnight to Lin-Mae and Sarah, lingering a lot longer than you expect. Cassie’s spending the night at a friend’s house, already on her way there.

Pero’s just arriving at his own car when you reach the makeshift parking lot. Shit. You’d been hoping that you would be able to avoid him.

Sarah hadn’t unlaced your dress this evening; it is still laced up. You’re banking on Tess to unlace it when you get home. “Do you need help getting out of that?” he asks.

“Captain,” you force your voice to be scandalized. “We are not yet wed, are you sure that is prudent?”

Pero makes a face that you can’t read. “I am asking as Pero. Not Captain Bastian.”

Oh. Your face flames with heat. “Oh. Right. Um… I’m sure you want to get home. Clementine is probably wondering where you are.”

He grumbles something that you can’t hear. “Clementine doesn’t care. It is no trouble.”

Forcing back a sigh — you just want to go home and have a long shower or maybe a bath and a big glass of something — you nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

You turn around so that he can begin unlacing. Even if it’s not in character, it feels oddly intimate, even if no clothes are actually being removed. Pero’s clearly found a place to change since he’s wearing a faded burnt orange t-shirt and some shorts. His Faire costume must be in the gym bag that’s sitting on the ground next to his car. “You were distracted today,” he says as he begins working on the knot.

“Was I?” You play coy. You’d thought you did a good job hiding your distraction. “Just tired, I guess. Late night last night.”

Your attempts at being blase don’t hit the mark. Pero gets the knot untied at last. “You know we can stop this if you like, right? I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

He’s frustrating sometimes. “Mr. Tovar, I’ve told you once before, I have no issue with it. I’m fine with continuing this storyline as long as you are. It’s only acting, right? Not real.”

Pero swallows. “That’s correct.” He gets closer to you to unlace the corset holding everything together. He’s in your personal space again and you think back to your thought of only a minute ago. It is intimate. You can’t help but think what this would be like if you were actually in a relationship with him. What it would be like if he was unlacing you for a different reason than for the sake of comfort and ease. “And please, I am no longer Cassandra’s teacher. You’ve kissed me … in character, that is, many times now. And I’m currently untying your corset. I think you can call me Pero.”

You shouldn’t be startled. But you are. And then you say, “Do you make a habit of lacing and unlacing wenches’ corsets, Pero?” Embarrassment snakes its way around you as soon as the words have left your mouth. Why did you choose now of all times to attempt flirting with him?

Pero, to his credit, responds to it with a quip of his own. “I like to be prepared.” Due to his proximity, the words are spoken almost into your ear. Like he’s speaking to a lover instead of someone he just kind of tolerates. It sends tingles down your spine. Or maybe that’s from the fact that you can breathe properly again. Seriously, how did women do this on a daily basis for so long? Neither of you notice Sarah coming towards the parking lot, seeing what’s happening with a grin, and turning around to give you some privacy.

The last lace comes loose and you’re standing there, swimming in the fabric. “There.” But even without the corset, you find that breath is not easy coming to you when you turn to look at Pero. His burning gaze. There’s something there. Something so frustratingly, deceptively simple. His gaze flicks from eyes to lower on your face for a quarter of a second.

“Thank you.” You have no idea what your own face is doing, but the burning gaze remains on Pero’s. You wish him a good night and that you’ll see him next weekend. But he stops you before you can get in the car.

“You’d tell me… if you were uncomfortable with anything, right?” And there’s that deceptively simple look in his eyes again.

If asked a few weeks ago, you’d probably be inclined to say no, you don’t think you would tell him. You were more likely to tell Sarah or Lin-Mae if something was making you uncomfortable. But there’s something in Pero’s gaze now that tells you that you could tell him if anything is making you feel discomfort.

“Yeah, Pero,” you say. “I’d tell you.”

His gaze lingers on you for a long second and then he wishes you goodnight.

- - - -

On Wednesday afternoon Pero’s order is delivered to the store. It’s slow and you’re the only one here since Lin-Mae is at a dentist appointment. You felt a stab of pride when she said that she trusts you know how to run the store without her. A sense of accomplishment and a job well done.

You pull up the order information that has Pero’s contact information, vaguely remembering his phone number from the information sheet that was handed out on the first day of Faire. You twist your makeshift necklace. You’d lost the chain in your relocation, but you didn’t have time to find it or get a new one. So when you felt the need to wear it this morning, you grabbed the first thing you saw that would work — the handfasting twine.

Punching his number into the store phone, you hope that it goes to voicemail. You’re still feeling the tiniest bit awkward about Sunday. About your ill-advised flirting and the way that you had completely misread the entire situation. You like to think that you’re good at reading people. But with him? It’s like attempting to read a book that’s seventy-five percent blank.

You realize that he’s answered while you were lost in thought. “Hello?” he repeats.

“Pero, hi! Sorry.” You say who it is. “Just calling to say that your books came in and are ready to be picked up and paid for whenever you’re ready.”

Still feeling embarrassed, you secretly hope that he comes in tomorrow when both you and Lin-Mae are here and that she can deal with him. But he has other thoughts. “Excellent. I’ll be there soon,” he says without so much as a goodbye.

Your heart is hammering, thundering in your chest cavity. “Shut up,” you say to it.

Approximately fifteen minutes come and go before the bells over the door jingle. Hope of who it is, wars in you; part of you hopes it’s Pero, another part of you hopes it’s a customer. You feel like you’re in high school, a girl with her first real crush all over again. It’s bordering on ridiculous.

But it isn’t another customer. It’s the man of the hour himself, Pero Tovar. “Good afternoon,” he says.

“Good afternoon,” you reply. The box of his books is sitting on the desk. “I have your books for you.” It’s a redundant statement since you just called him not half an hour ago.

Pero nods. “Excellent. Thank you for doing that for me.”

Why is he being so nice to you? “Of course,” you reply. Punching in the total on the debit machine you hand it to Pero, who has his credit card at the ready. He notices your makeshift necklace, but doesn’t comment. Just smiles to himself as he reads the instructions on the machine.

“I also wondered if any of the students or their parents have come in yet to get their summer reading books.” Pero swipes his card and presses the green button.

You shake your head. “Not many. Some, but not a lot. It is still early July. They still have time. Or they’re finding ebook copies online.”

Pero gives his trademark quizzical frown. “That takes business away from the store.”

The receipt prints and you snatch a pen from the mug on your desk. “Sign here?” You pass him the slip of paper and pen. “I know, you’re right,” you continue as he scribbles his name in a messy scrawl. “But like I said, they still have over a month left before school starts. I can show you the display if you like?”

Picking up his box of books, Pero follows you to the display. You feel his eyes on your back the entire time. Fixing his gaze on the display of summer reading books he nods. “No, that looks about right. I guess I keep hoping that this year will be the year that students get ahead with their reading.”

“They’re teenagers. They don’t really think ahead,” you offer, remembering how you and Tess were as teenagers.

Pero nods, possibly remembering his own time as a teenager. Or maybe what William was like as a teenager. “Cassandra thinks ahead,” he says suddenly.

You smile. “Well, Cassie’s an exception to the rule. I know my mentality as a teenager was that the sooner I read my summer reading list to the start of school, the more I would remember when it actually started again.”

He’s quiet a long moment. That indecipherable look in his eyes again. He says your name and you look up from where you’re staring at the carpet. “I was wondering…”

But whatever he was wondering has to wait because before he can finish his sentence, the bells jingle. “Hello in there!” It’s Sarah.

“Back here!” you call back before returning your attention to Pero. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, something like disappointment in his face for such a fleeting second you half-wonder if you imagine it before he says goodbye.

What the fuck was that about?

Sarah pulls your attention away. “I am in desperate need of a pick me up. I told myself this morning that I was going to be fine with just the one cup of coffee that I had with breakfast. But my brain is crying. I need caffeine and a treat.”

You smile. “I can help with that,” you say, taking her to the cafe. “What can I get you?”

Sarah rattles off her coffee order and takes a look at the display case. “Oh, fuck it. I’ll get a lemon square too.” While you’re making her drink, she asks, “Why was Pero Tovar here?”

Pouring her drink into a cup, you say, “Oh, he was just picking up an order.” You give her her coffee and lemon square. She takes a sip.

“Oh, that’s good.” Sarah groans in appreciation before passing over a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change, sweets.”

You make yourself a coffee and you and Sarah catch up on Faire gossip. “Oh, I wanted to tell you before I forget. I can’t make it to Nick’s this weekend. I’m having a birthday dinner with Tess and Cassie.”

Sarah’s eyes widen. “It’s your birthday on Saturday?” she practically screeches.

“On Sunday. But we all figured that it would be easier to do the celebration on Saturday. Not anything exciting but still, something nice.”

She’s quiet for a long minute, contemplating something. “Hey, what’s your favourite kind of birthday cake?”

You’re taken aback by the question. “Um… I’m easy when it comes to cake. But gun to my head have to choose answer? Chocolate. Why?”

Sarah plays coy. “Oh, no reason. That reminds me, actually. Em and I are having a garden party on Sunday. After Faire, of course.”

You see right through it. Part of you wants to protest, but you’re too touched at the gesture to object. “Sounds great. I’ll be there.”

She beams. “Of course you will.”

- - - -

The rest of the week passes without anything noteworthy happening. Sunday dawns warm and clear and you’re another year older. When you come downstairs, Tess is already up. “You’re up early,” you say. Usually she sleeps until at least eight.

“I know; I’m going back to bed when you and Cassie go but I just wanted to say happy birthday.” She hugs you.

Once you and Cassie have eaten and Tess has gone back up to bed, you’re on the road, just as the sun is rising. You hadn’t been expecting to be in a faire on your birthday a few months ago, but here you are.

You and Cassie make your way through the thicket and are greeted by Sarah and Lin-Mae. “Happy birthday!” they both say. You smile and thank them, hoping that they haven’t told everyone; you hate being the centre of attention, even on your birthday. You do like being celebrated, though. Just in small doses.

Linking arms with Sarah, the two of you make your way to the tavern. She talks about the garden party that is not actually a garden party. Neither of you say what it actually is: a birthday party. “Em made the cake last night and girl, when I tell you you’re going to die of a foodgasm.”

Sarah spots the rose on the bar before you do. “What’s this?” she asks, picking it up.

Candace shrugs. “It was already here when I got here.”

There’s a tag attached to the rose. Sarah reads it and a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “It’s for you,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“For me?” you echo. “Who sent it?”

Sarah hands you the rose, which has had its thorns removed. You recognize the rose; they’re sold by one of the vendors. You lift it to your nose and smell its sweet scent before reading the tag. It has your name at the top. Happy birthday, it reads.

You don’t recognize the handwriting. Perhaps the vendor wrote it for whoever purchased the rose? Apart from Cassie, Sarah, and Lin-Mae, who else here knows it’s your birthday?

Thinking back, you remember that you told Pero off-handedly last weekend when he laced you up that today is your birthday. But he wouldn’t remember that, let alone send you a rose.

…would he?

Sarah takes the rose from you and strategically places it in your hair, making sure it stays in place. “Perfect. A true pirate queen.”

You sputter. “I’m not — I’m just a tavern wench.”

If the protestation sounds weak to you, it sounds practically non-existent to Sarah, who just smirks knowingly. “Mmm-hmmm. Right. Keep telling yourself that, babe.”

The day goes by quickly. When Pero comes in for his afternoon drink, his eyes flit to the rose in your hair, but doesn’t say anything. Just kisses your hand before stealing a proper kiss from you. A proper staged kiss, that is. Still, you’re not going to let that bother you, not on your birthday.

Once you’re done for the day, you and Cassie rush home for quick showers and to change. You opt for a backless sundress, the one that Tess had given to you as a birthday present. You replace the rose in your hair, liking the way it looks. And then you, Tess and Cassie pile into her car and head over to Sarah’s not-garden party.

People have already arrived when you show up. “Welcome! So glad you could make it!” Sarah greets the three of you. Cassie immediately finds some of her friends as Emily comes over. She’s petite, wears glasses and has dark, mouse-brown hair and a nose-ring. “I can’t believe you two haven’t met yet.” You and Emily make introductions and she wishes you a happy birthday.

“Thanks so much for doing this,” you say. “You really didn’t have to.”

Sarah and Emily wave away your protests. “Nonsense. We wanted to,” says Emily. “Any friend of Sarah’s is a friend of mine.”

Out of the corner of your eye you notice that Tess is chatting with Will Ballard. You didn’t know that they knew each other so well.

“Grab some food. Help yourself, birthday girl. Can I get you something to drink?” asks Sarah, who follows your gaze. “Oh. Yeah. It’s nice that they get along so well; it makes me wonder why they never go for it, you know?” You can’t help but wonder if she is also talking about you and Pero. “Sure, please,” you say instead.

Sarah grabs you a glass of punch and you start perusing the food options, taking a little bit of everything. People passing you by wish you a happy birthday and you thank them.

You mingle with your friends from Faire before your eyes find Pero. He’s standing under the maple tree. He’s wearing the green shirt again. The one that you love on him.

Excusing yourself from the discussion you’re having with Dan and Lin-Mae— though really, the two of them are carrying the conversation just fine on their own— you meander over to the maple tree. “Happy birthday,” he greets you as you’re coming within earshot, his eyes flitting to the rose that’s still in your hair.

You’re stunned that he remembers. “T-thank you,” you manage to get out, your sandal catching on a root as you make your way closer to him.

You’re convinced that you’re going to trip when Pero’s hands come out and steady you at your shoulders. Despite the warmth of his callused hands, a chill runs through you. “Easy there, bonita. Can’t have you having accidents on your birthday.”

Your laugh is breathless, more an exhalation of air than an actual laugh. “Thank you.”

Pero lifts a hand to fix the rose in your hair. “You’re still wearing it. I am so glad you —” He cuts himself off as he realizes what he was about to say.

“You were the one who gave it to me,” you realize. Pero doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. “Why?” you ask bravely as he rests his hand on your shoulder again.

“Why what?” he asks.

You swallow your nerves. “Why send me a rose? Why are you being so nice to me? I thought —”

Pero says your name hoarsely, half a prayer, half a lamentation. It catches your attention and you are finally able to pinpoint what the look in his eyes is that you’ve had such trouble identifying. “Don’t you know?” he breathes.

Before you can ask “Know what?” his mouth is on yours. Pero is kissing you. Not as Captain Bastian kissing you as your tavern maid for a bit. But Pero. Kissing you. Because he wants to.

It’s different from your in character kisses at faire. While those are mostly chaste but confident, this one is explorative yet tentative, like he’s afraid that this is all just a dream that he doesn’t want to wake from.

It takes you a minute for your brain to catch up with your body, just as he’s pulling back. He says your name again. “I’ve overstepped,” he says when he finally notices that you weren’t kissing him back right away, mistaking your shock for hesitation and reluctance. “I’m sorry, I’ll take my leave —”

No. “Wait,” you implore, and lean up on your toes to kiss him, properly this time. And Pero wastes no time in responding. Gathering you against him, moving his mouth against yours, his hands roaming across your bare back (retroactively you thank yourself for choosing this sundress) as yours reach up to his shoulders, gripping his shirt like a lifeline.

When the kiss reaches its natural conclusion, you’re greedy. “More,” you gasp against his lips, drunk on his kisses.

Yeah, all in all, great garden party, you think to tell Sarah later. Much, much later. For right now though, more kissing.

--- taglist in reblog

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pedro pascal #modern au #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my writing

412 notes · View notes

milklattecat · 3 months

Text

I'm making this post to hopefully spread more information on Tumblr (because I see a lot more on Twitter/X) about the ongoing genocide of the Palestine people so please don't just look at the art take the time to read through the articles and directly go to the threads/posts I'll be linking. If you can't donate, then share, reblog, and do your daily click. If you want to repost my art on another app, go ahead, but I would appreciate a link back here so other people can still get to the threads and information. Also, including a thread about the KOSA act that's trying to be passed in the US; supporting Palestine or anything, for that matter, will become near impossible if we don't take it seriously.

I wanted to add so much more, but I reached the link limit, at least for the fancy ones(?) and I don't know if people would be comfortable clinking on links with no context. I'm not good at writing, which is why I try to stick to reblogging and sharing information that other people can actually explain to you, unlike me. Now, if you want to learn anything in more depth or hear what's happening from actual Palestinian people, do your own research, follow reporters from Palestine that are currently risking their lives to get news out to the world, look at the content Israeli posts they don't hide their crimes. If you're willing check out my Twitter/X, I've only been reblogging information about the genocide, places, and people currently going through the same situations. I'm so very thankful to you, and I apologize for the lengthy post; there was a lot that needed to be shared, and I hope it can continue to be spread around so nobody can claim ignorance in the future. This is a terrible part of our history happening right now, and whether you were on the right side or not, you can't claim you didn't know. Ah, one more thing spreading the happy moments is also okay. In fact, please remember to do so because it really helps humanize Palestine and its people.

#information about palestine #palestine awareness #permanent ceasefire #end the genocide #end the occupation #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #daily click reminder #donate if you can #share if you can #don't stop talking about palestine

8 notes · View notes

fainthedcherry · 21 days

Text

HAPPY TURTLE TUESDAYYY TMNT FANDOMMM!!!! I have a treat for y'all artists who love to make TMNT OCs!!! If you love the 2012 era, you're gonna love this one too!!!

A FREE TO USE TMNT DARK HORIZONS FLASH GAME CHARACTER SELECT TEMPLATE, MADE FROM THE ACTUAL GAME SPRITES!!! (Scroll below for the Google Drive of the files, credits first to the artist though sorry! :D)

(ft also the fancy animation particles for when you get to this menu, for those who wanna add it too! (( the GIF is the raw version, without the effect settings/scripts added in Flash tho.)))

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND!! I DID NOT CREATE THESE ASSETS, NOR HAVE I DRAWN THEM

(I am an artist posting this, who has replicated the game's art as a fan, so I want to disclose clearly, that these are NOT MY WORKS HERE.)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE give all the credit to the SENIOR ART DIRECTOR working on this Flash game, Damian Aliberti and his team of artists from Quadramma (I could not find sources online that confirm who are said artists unfortunately, so I can only credit the art-director for now)!!!

He even made a page about this project, for his portfolio! Check it out, it's AWESOME!! (CLICK MEE / TAP MEEE)

^I didn't know they planned to bring this to mobile, so you can predict that I'm happy, that this game is still seemingly loved by the Italian studio that made it seemingly. x) (I can only assume they're Italian, due to the file-names, don't quote me on this though, barely any info exists on this Flash game as you can predict LOL)

GOOD NOW THAT YOU HOPEFULLY READ WHO MADE THE PRETTY ART: CLICK ME OR TAP ME FOR THE GOOGLE DRIVEE (drive provides the GIF, a PSD, SAI2, PNG and MDP file!! [the joys of owning several art programs, making this much more accessible to people :v])

btw, also like..Maybe not use this for commercial/profit purposes though, that'd be profiting off resources you didn't make, and that are copyrighted. I don't think that's legal. :"v

NO CREDIT REQUIRED. COMPLETELY F2U. I did not after all make the assets, nor will claim so. :V as I mentioned, I extracted these from the actual game, which is why these are all so crisp and nice looking, instead of me using a snipping tool like 2 yrs ago for my fun challenge of recreating the game's artstyle LOL

I do NOT claim these assets or the art I've extracted as my own, this is all purely from the game, and very obviously, these are I guess, owned by Nickelodeon, so I ask you ofc do not...Do some legally questionable things w/ this stuff sdfklsd, pls behave fans, I'd rather not get reported for something I didn't do for providing this to the internet. xD

Whilst credit would be nice, and linking back to this would be even nicer for other fans who might just like me,, wanna replicate this cool game's aesthetic sdfskldglk, it's optional, completely LOL. It did only take like 2 hrs to piece this stuff together, to look like a real screenshot thank god. xD

FEEL FREE TO SHOW ME IF YOU ALSO DRAW IN THE GAME'S STYLE OR WANNA BANTER ABOUT TMNT OCS OROROR YKNOW USED THE THING AND WANT ME TO SEE ITTTT I GLADLY STARE AT TMNT POSTS NO MATTER WHAT ERAAAAA~

I JUST WANT PEOPLE TO APPRECIATE THIS GAME'S ARTSTYLE NGL. THAT'S ALL I WANT. And if more ppl also would wanna draw in it it'd make me so happy. I am like...The most acoustic TMNT fan out there man, I have the weirdest wishes in mind xD

Hope anyone wants this orrr like needs it orr dreamt of doing this too orrrr just never thought about doing it, but now that a free template is out there, someone might also wanna do it!! I love whenever like- fandom templates and stuff is made. I plan to maybe make this a Toyhou.se code too, since I do have the raw files of the games and could try to see if I can replicate the animations and stuff and make it non-premium and premium!

(Maybe I should make fandom codes more often in general tho at the topic of that, did it before for Terraria and helped out w/ a Monster High code, to give it a mobile compatible version LMAO)

If anyone or me figures out the artists behind the sprites, I'd gladly show them too, bc GORGEOUS GAME MAN!!!! THEY DESERVE ANY PRAISE THEY GET FOR THE ART AND THE GAME ITSELF ANSAHSHAJS, here I go again I swear, I'm done yapping now. I should participate in internet olympics when it comes to writing essays in every post I ever made. xD

4 notes · View notes

ohyoru · 6 months

Note

Hey im not good with words or english, but its ok to feel burnt out or tired. Youre not obligated to provide anything to us. You are an author who writes for free. Maybe to have fun maybe to express yourself. You have your own life and thats a good thing. I havent been playing genshin in a while because theres so much work i need to do there like building characters. I havent watched link click s2 because i cant bring myself to sit down for that long. Im sure everyone has something like this happening to them and i just remind myself that it doesnt matter that much. Post unfinished things, make your character builds crap, dont finish a book youve started it doesntmatter. Its about having fun. Its about forgetting your problems(at least for me) or its about spending time with your online friends. Taking a break is necessary. Spending time for yourself is necessary. Taking care of yourself is necessary. I hope i could get my message across. I cant even take my own advice seriously as im too scared to post this without anon but i hope i was able to make you feel better somehow. I also want to say i really love your works even if i dont know who the person you’re writing about is. Ive been following your works for a while and i dont regret it one bit. I would be pretty sad if you were to stop writing for certain people but if it makes you feel happy then i dont mind and im sure others wouldn’t mind it as well. Youre free to do whatever you want ( as long as youre not intruding on other peoples freedom obviously) thank you for reading my wordvomit written in an attempt to comfort you.

dearie anon,

to have you in my inbox is already a blessing enough for me. thank you so much for taking the time of your day to cheer me up, you have no idea how much this means to me (brb crying i dont deserve you sob)

first of all, your message got across. i'm not sure about your english being not good part, but really, your message resonates with me on a level deeper than language can ever explain, truly.

i appreciate your kind reminder that i shouldn't feel obliged to write for anyone. i honestly feel like it's eating me out because i put myself in the equation as well. i had been a writer before, back when tokyo revengers (anime) was still in its first season since i'm more of a manga reader. if you were in that era, you might came across my work. alas, things happened. what used to be good memories (including writing) turned into very hurtful ones and i stopped doing what i love because they're causing me so much pain. nonetheless, i still slowly died inside. it took me a while to be at peace with my past and understand that writing is what makes me the person i am. so i'm determined to start again and keep it up. but when life gets in the way and hold me back from writing (again), it depresses me. (including not playing genshin). honestly, i'm feeling lonely. what and who i used to know and love seemed to only exist in the past. people moved on, topics became irrelevant, relationship broke. which i don't blame, but it still makes me cry once in a while.

sorry for the traumadump uh- i feel like i should explain myself a little. i hope that didn't scare you too much. but anyway, you're right! i should do whatever i want. maybe i need to reframe my perspective. i love that you mention about reading book thingy because i have the same issue and yes, i'm a reader through and through. but it's been so long since i read.. the irony. maybe all i need to do is start. and love myself a bit more to stop torturing myself with unnecessary thoughts..

you know what anon? i love the past me. i dont remember exactly what i love about her, but she used to be so at peace. i'm trying to find my way back to her, and i think you're helping me set my way there, so thank you. i dont know about your problems, but if you're willing to share, i'm more than happy to listen. don't forget to take care of yourself too okay? i hope your days ahead are the loveliest yet!

also, thank you for appreciating my works! when i started writing again, i told myself and whoever that's willing to take the time of their day to consume my content that i don't need anyone's attention or approval (shadowban be damned. if it happens, it happens). i did it solely for myself. but god knows how much your kind words and others' fill up the spaces in my heart.

i'm not going to ask anything from my works. your support is something i could never repay, but i'll always appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

(btw yes, you did send this on anon hehe i got a hunch on who you might be but if you prefer to keep it a secret, then rest assured, your secret is safe with me!)

#no seriously anon #are you an angel????#also link click 2 is a pain to watch #please take your time to watch it #thank you once again anon for sending me this ilysm mwah mwah mwah!!#yoru's mailbox

2 notes · View notes

randomfoggytiger · 10 months

Note

I think your interpretation of that scene is skewed and contributed to what happened. Whether or not the specific term “man crush” had been invented by the time of that scene, what David and Gary are discussing is bisexuality. Bisexuality has been around longer than we’ve had the words to talk about it and certainly much before either Gary or David’s times. My understanding of “the humor” in that scene is that David is describing the feelings of being attracted to a woman and comparing them to the same feelings he has towards Gary, thus verbally contradicting himself. It’s funny because while David is saying he’s NOT gay, he is describing himself BEING gay. (Re bisexual due to his history and admittance to wanting/liking/desiring women as well).

No matter the intent of the skit, the impact is a discussion of bisexuality.

Your response to the other person denies and rejects the duality of intent and impact and leans heavily on the insistence that only the intent is valid. Which is where I see the disconnect. (And how the hell do you know David and Gary’s initial intent with this scene?). If you speak with such authority, you need to give that same authority back to those in the same position as you. Neither of you were there in the making of that skit and both of your responses lay on the same level of assumption.

As someone who has faced continuous denial and rejection of my existence and identities, being cast away with words of “it’s just funny to me” is not funny to me and does more harm than good. It’s especially difficult to have discussions and back and forths online because you lose a lot of nuance and tone indicators when reading in your own voice and from your own perspective. I’m sure your impact of this anon will differ from my intent in sending it.

I’m interjecting my voice and my opinion on the matter because your “call-out” post made this all public and indicated that some sort of external input was needed or desired. You seem to be trying to understand what’s happening and without personally speaking to either of you or having any additional context out of seeing your post on my dash and clicking the links (seeing those posts for the very first time too) i understand how much it sucks to feel misinterpreted and wish you peace in whatever level of understanding you are left with.

Tagging this as "drama" (shorter than misconceptions) for anyone that wants to avoid.

Referring to this post.

Well, I only "know" because David has repeatedly said in all his interviews about the topic that the skit was about a "man crush" before the term existed, not about gay or bisexuality. I'm just repeating what he's said--reference (2:37 onward is the specific backstory.) It's funny either way; the original intent just tickled my funny bone more.

I'm fine that anyone can interpret it differently-- that's comedy-- but that doesn't give someone the right to paint me as a bigot for not agreeing with one interpretation, just as it wouldn't give me the right to lambast jewish-mulder for her own take on that skit.

And let's say you're 100% correct and I'm 100% wrong... am I a bigot because I accidentally hurt or minimized your or Anna's personal experiences? The intent is important: why was I brushed with the same brush as an actual bigot and dismissed so quickly without being given the chance to correct if I'd offended?

Thank you for taking the time to drop in with your thoughts. I appreciate it; and hope you have a lovely day.

#asks #anon #the misunderstanding topic #important #txf #fandom #DD #Gary Shandling #thank you for taking the time #drama #not really but for those who don't want to read #jewish-mulder #BananaChef

3 notes · View notes

scarves-and-coffee · 2 years

Text

Scarves & Coffee Survey Results

Thank you very much to everyone that filled out the survey from last month! I truly appreciate each and every one of you sharing your thoughts on the site.

I wanted to go over most of the responses (some were redundant/already discussed) and respond to those publicly so you all know what's going on and what the future has in store for S&C (and maybe even field some more insight). Responses are under the cut:

Are there any changes or updates you would like to see to current features on Scarves & Coffee?

Currently the "Categories" available seem really limited - while posting things I noticed there were no options for historical, alternate meeting, canon compliant, or other common tropes. Also, the way of selecting categories and characters using the ctrl key is a little clunky and unintuitive.

All of the current categories on the site were directly ported from the original site and haven't really been updated since 2011. If you have any categories you would like to see added, please send in an Ask or reply below. (Though the categories may be split into major categories and tags in the future.) But yes, the form requiring the ctrl key to select multiple categories/characters is super annoying, adding that to the list.

Yes! I would like to see all the fics posted by kudos or most read not only the first ten!

You can sort the entire library by kudos/most read using the Browse Library page. Just click what you want to sort by in the search menu and then press "Search." You don't have to have anything in the Search box to sort/filter entries. The Top Tens page is just a page that was on the original site that showcases the top ten in each category for fun.

Some sort of RSS feed so I can track new stuff posted to the site without having to check ever couple days. The site is currently low traffic so I stopped visiting regularly.

Noted. Email notifications should be coming back soon as well.

What features would you like to see added to Scarves & Coffee? (this can be anything! feel free to request as much as you want, from anything as small as font size buttons on entries to something as ambitious as an archive gallery or forum)

- a similar thing to the *private* bookmark option on ao3 - If it is not already there, a function to DM a writer instead of having to leave a review or manually searching them out on tumblr. - A part of the website specifically designated for anyone to post prompts instead of fics, which works in the same way with the categories etc. A bit like a crossover between a forum and a fic archive. Writers could just browse through lists of prompts and pick whatever tickles their fancy. - Again, if not already present, a dark mode for reading at night, because let's be real here.. Who ever put away a book just because it was bedtime, when they were enjoying themselves?

Private bookmarks have been added to the to-do list. You can DM any user on the site by going to their profile page and clicking the "Message" link in the left sidebar (at the top on mobile). A prompts system is already on the to-do list, but I like the way it's described here. A dark mode for the text section of stories has already been implemented, but a full-site dark mode is on the to-do list.

back dating uploads

I know AO3 allows backdating entries, but I'm not 100% sure if it's a great idea for various reasons. But if many of you are interested in having that ability, I may implement it. If anyone else has an opinion on this, I'd love to hear about it below/in Asks.

Forums or more opportunities for user interactions would be great - I think making it more of a social space for users to post questions/ideas/thoughts about klaine, recommend or discuss fics, and have conversations about related topics would set the site apart from other options for posting fic.

Yes, I agree! I would love to have more interaction options on the site. I do plan on adding in a forum, maybe even a chat and journal posting system as well. These might be a ways away, but they are on the list, I promise.

I would like found the stories which are labelled with the special attention because they are most relevant and people liked these stories so much. A special section.

I think you're referring to some kind of Featured section, which the original S&C did have. I am open to adding that back in, I even have the log of what was originally featured. It has been added to the list.

I would like you to add the options You can save authors or books and also add the option for an author to follow a story abandoned many years ago.

We currently have the option to track/bookmark/give kudos to stories and track authors. But, favoriting for stories and adding them to Lists is on the to-do list.

What do you think would draw more active authors to add to the archive?

- Active partnership/collaboration with things like prompt bangs, the Lima Bean and the Klaine CC library for maximum exposure. - The prompt archive I mentioned previously.

I'm open to working with other Klaine fandom groups and events. I do have a really exciting feature planned that would allow events to be hosted on the site. I can't wait to share it with you all :)

knowing it is up and not going away

I hear you. I'm sure the site going down for over a year damaged some trust in the validity and longevity of separate site archives. However, rest assured that I plan on keeping this site alive as long as I'm here, and have taken measures to ensure that it'll never get lost again. In the event that things do go south (extremely unlikely at this point), the archive will be handed over to AO3's Open Doors project for preservation.

It needs to have elements that make it, in some way or another, equally or more attractive to post on than AO3. Somehow leaning into the Klaine-centric nature of it, or offering user interaction features that don't exist on AO3, might make it a better place to engage with readers about Klaine fic.

I agree. I think the upcoming interaction features I have planned will help with this.

Implementing the Cloudflare security like ff.net. I HATE that I have to authenticate regularly and it often fails.

I'm not sure what you're referring to regarding having to authenticate, and you didn't leave a contact account on the survey so I can't ask you directly about your experience. But I've personally never had an issue with authentication on the site on PC or mobile. The SSL certificate is valid and should show the Secure lock on browsers. If anyone has any more information on this issue or recently experienced anything similar, I'd love to hear about it below, in an Ask, or by message.

As a reader, what would draw you to or prevent you from using Scarves & Coffee?

Tag searching and filtering. The more specific the better, but it should still search for things if you misspell them or if you word your search differently than the popular tag. (Like on ao3)

Yes! I have adding a section for tags on my to-do list that would include blacklisting. However, I can't promise that it would work quite like on AO3, simply because S&C doesn't have a giant team of tag wranglers like AO3 does that allows it to have such a dynamic tagging system. But I'll try to make it as usable as possible.

I can’t find a story that I want to read in that moment easily. It’s difficult sorting stories.

I'm not really sure how to make it more straightforward besides adding a tagging system. There's the Categories page for specific categories and all of the filters on the browsing page. If you or anyone else has specific suggestions or ideas to improve finding stories, let me know.

How would you feel about Scarves & Coffee expanding to include entries from its former sister site, Sebklaine.net? Should they remain separate archives?

The majority has spoken! Sebklaine and S&C will remain separate archives, but....

Would you be open to Scarves & Coffee being part of a network of separate archives, such that you could use the same account to access each individual archive? Why or why not?

sure

Yes, so long as I can still choose what to share with the world (private bookmarks etc)

yes

I think this is a good compromise - ultimately I feel that they should remain separate, because I think a lot of users strongly feel that they want to see content from certain ships and not others. But having them be closely-connected sister sites in some fashion sounds like a great idea.

It’s easy use the same account!

Look out for some Sebklaine.net and It-Could-Happen.net related news at some point ;)

---------------------------------

Thank you again to everyone that participated. If you missed the survey and would like to share your opinion on any of the questions or responses, feel free to do so in the replies, by sending in an Ask, by messaging ritco, or emailing the site at [email protected].

-admin atlas

#scarves and coffee #klaine #klaine fanfiction #scarvesandcoffee #glee #S&C surveys #sebklaine.net and it-could-happen.net mention

19 notes · View notes

undertale-data · 3 years

Text

[Image Description: an Undertale chat box with the name "PAPYRUS", in all caps and Papyrus font, in its center. On its left is a talksprite of Papyrus sweating anxiously, and on its right is a talksprite of Papyrus wearing sunglasses. End I.D.]

The Great Papyrus is the most popular Undertale character among the fans surveyed here. 19.6% of responders chose him as their favorite. That’s a total of 519 fans! (Wowie!!)

Not all Papyrus fans are unified on his characterization, however. The most obvious divide was between fans who call him a “cinnamon roll” or “precious baby,” and those who find these takes infantilizing. A lot of people like the friendliness and optimism of this character, while others recognize this but highlight his maturity too. Fans who worry about his infantilization seem most concerned with how he can be portrayed as naive or dumb by the fandom. A portion of fans specifically mentioned this naivety as a point in his favor, though the marginally more popular take seems to be that he is not naive, regardless of how he first appears. This fandom divide seems to relate to Papyrus’s autistic or ADHD coding. Many fans relate to him as ADHD and autistic themselves.

Fans also related to him in his desire for friends. Many responders think of him as a friend and a comfort character, so at least in one way his wish has been fulfilled.

The phone calls were a major reason that fans said they felt connected to Papyrus. Thanks to these calls, he has the most dialogue of any character in the game. His humor and dialogue were often highlighted as favorite qualities.

While fans may disagree on some aspects of Papyrus’s personality, it is clear that his fans all value his optimism and kindness. His fans do not see his kindness as weakness. Many talked about the complexity of his character and the strength it took for him to show mercy to the player character, even when the player doesn’t show it in return. He believes in himself, and he believes in you! This kindness and trust has inspired his fans to be kinder themselves.

Papyrus fans were also drawn to his mysteriousness. Several responses pointed out that he is a more mysterious character than Sans, who is also often loved for his mystery. As shown in the phone calls, Papyrus will put on fronts depending on who he is around, making it even more difficult for fans to uncover his secrets. Some people in other sections of the survey found this frustrating, but Papyrus fans tend to see it as another point in his favor.

Among the greatest proportion of responses were from fans who couldn’t choose a favorite trait, or who just love everything about Papyrus. While these responses may be less lengthy, they are still as full of love as the essay-length answers. These responses tended to say phrases like “cool dude” or “Papyrus my beloved” or “THE GREAT PAPYRUS.”

(You were overcome by writing about such a handsome skeleton. He understands.)

Highlights: (under the cut)

Honestly Papyrus just feels like joy. Funny, incredibly kind, with a few mysteries/weird quirks about him that are fun to ponder over. I especially love how he often acts proud and self aggrandizing without putting others down, and in fact sometimes uses that to lift his friends up alongside him. You don't see this take on proud characters often.

Papyrus is strong. Strong in body, but also morally strong. He knows what is right, what it means to be merciful and kind, even in the face of danger or death. Some think him naive. And yet, even facing death and seeing the dust of those he knew, he did not falter or turn from his ideals of mercy and change for the better.

BECAUSE HE IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS

His optimism and his overall personality is endearing! You're always having fun with him :D

He's meeting all of my standards.

Papyrus is very under appreciated, and overlooked, and it's very frustrating to me—he's a complex character but people treat him like he's a baby!!! I like him because he's kind of goofy with how he talks and he's just very charming and kind.

He's weirder than Sans, and it wasn't acknowledged for years because he acts oblivious and dumb, even when he's clearly not. Quite frankly, I find it iconic. Also, his entire personality helps a lot.

I'm ND, trans, and projecting!

OK SO he's just a friendly guy!! A dude who likes cooking for his friends!! We love a hype man!! Also smart as hell and I feel like fanon majorly overlooks this. Making good, fun puzzles is HARD and setting up a flamethrower to go off wirelessly is complicated. Like even if that bridge puzzle didn't go off the components were complicated. Love that cool dude!!!!

I heavily relate to Papyrus as a character and consider him my favorite fictional character of all time. He is a very well-written and thought out character with several quirks and layers in his personality. It is headcanoned by some (myself included) that Papyrus may possibly be on the Autism Spectrum due to his nature, his interactions with others, and overall how he displays himself to the world we see.

I could talk about Papyrus forever, and you have made a grave mistake in allowing me to do so. He is a charming, strong spirited, well intentioned, complex character that is often wildly misinterpreted, and I think originally this is why I was drawn to him. He is presented as one thing and in fact acts as one thing (though not the same way as presented by fandom), and in reality when you look closer than you are meant to he is not, in fact, any of these things. It was intriguing to me. Secondly, and rather contradictorily, another thing that drew me to him is that he is very true to himself, when it comes to idiosyncrasies and moral values. It's true that he does not offer much in the way of personal backstory and feelings, but he offers very much indeed in the way of personality. What a guy! He wears silly crop tops and bright colors, he speaks in a manner specific to him that sometimes doesn't make sense, he cares about something or someone and goes whole hog with it -- he's passionate, damn it! I love him and his weirdo, goofy self with all my heart. He cares about other people to a fault, too. He would sacrifice everything to help someone, and his belief in the potential of both others and himself is indomitable. When faced with the responsibility of a kingdom, his friends gone, his brother lying to him, and himself all alone without a reliable support system, he recognized what he was facing and still bucked up and became determined to get through it. When faced with a murderous, over powerful enemy, someone who had killed many of his friends and fellow monsters, someone who had repeatedly been rude and borderline aggressive and showed no signs of stopping, he saw that they were having difficulty and offered to help and to care for them, and didn't regret his decision or change his opinion on what they needed and their potential for change, even when quite literally killed by them a moment after. Even in death, even directly after a betrayal like that, he never stops believing that they can get better, that anyone can be a good person if they want to be. That's important, I think; that concept of giving people the chances they need to grow and to change. I have a tattoo of that moment on my thigh, it's that important to me. I guess I really like Papyrus because even though he is fictional, watching him out there makes it easy to believe in people, in our inherent goodness and desire to love each other. He makes it easy to see that we can change, that no matter what you've done in the past or who you currently are, no one is inherently a bad person, and no one is incapable of learning how to be a good one. It is just a step by step process that we have to take day by day.

[Image Description: A wordcloud shaped like Papyrus. His gloves, boots, and cape are red; his Battle Body is blue, yellow, and white; and his bones are white. Some of the most visible words are: Kind, Love, Good, Cool, Relate, Funny, Friend, Mystery, and Papyrus. These are the words that responders mentioned most in their essays about him. End I.D.]

Read the full list of responses shared with permission by clicking this link! (The document is 25 pages long, so you may want to make a copy to prevent lagging.)

#papyrus #character analysis #undertale #undertale fandom census #results

979 notes · View notes

kirishoshego · 3 years

Text

Confidental Composition//Bakugo

!!!MINORS DNI!!! 18+ONLY !!!

This is the first part of my little 'Teachers Pet Series' (I will add the link once I got all parts covered and the right ideas).

Summary: A simple task fucked up late at night as you send the wrong version of a piece of homework to your English literature teacher Mister Bakugo. Of course, he would want to see you after class the next day. But not for the reasons you might think. Pairing: Docent!Bakugo x afab!student!y/n // Words: 4.2k+ Side note: Insert a friend or random name you want for X :)

TW: nsfw: slow burn (sorry), spanking with a ruler, hair pulling, being bend over a desk, calling him sir, spitting, choking, dirty talk, degrading, slight praise

„Write an essay about the worst description of a woman or coitus. In the essay, explain why it is bad and then rewrite it. At least 30 pages, max. 60 pages (sources and any other extras you please to include, excluded). Due Date: 8 weeks from now on, 35% worth of your end grade. Questions can be asked per E-Mail, or, if you must, I’m free every Wednesday afternoon for meetings strictly for this essay and this essay only.“

A sigh left your lips as you starred at the piece of paper for the tenth time today ever since he handed it out to you and your classmates. The options you had were endless, you knew so many bad pieces about both topics and could write more than 100 pages about them as well. Everyone in class you talked to had decided on their topic already, some were even further. It was X who told you to just write the topics on a piece of paper and let fate do its work.

Black ink on a badly ripped blue note decided that you were going to write about a sex scene. Just now that you thought about it, rewriting something like that for your professor to read was an awfully stupid idea, yet you decided to listen to a small piece of paper.

At first, you were going to go with Fifty Shades of Grey but you felt like the choice was chewed up and spat out. It took you three days to finally decide on a book and once you settled there was no turning back. Considering your ignited interest in this topic you weren’t surprised when you were done within the first four weeks. Knowing the editing is going to take another week, maybe even a week and a half, you decided to take a small break, just one or two days off. On your second day, you decided to visit the new coffee shop that had just opened up around the corner.

Never had you expected to see your professor near your living spot. You were about to greet him when you noticed his pissed-off expression on his face and only now did you spot the woman behind him. She grabbed his arm and made him turn on the relatively small and empty street.

„Suki you can’t be serious,“ she was angry and hurt, while he seemed to be angry and annoyed. Not much of a difference than to how you see him on the daily, to be honest. „Are you fucking stupid? Of course, I’m fucking god damn serious. It was your choice to cheat on me and now I choose to throw you on the streets where you apparently belong, go ask one of your little boy toys to take you in for all I care,“ you were frozen in place, not entirely sure what to do. Right now your eyes were glued on his chest that was clad in a tight, black pullover, rising up and down heavily as his nostrils were flared caused by his anger. „Because you gave me no choice! If you like that sort of weird, rough shit then paddle your own canoe! I need something soft and tender-,“ before she could finish her sentence he laughed. Cold and slightly maniac in a way.

„Then get some fucking chicken! If you don’t like how I’m in bed then break up with me and piss off but don’t send my best friend a nude to ask him to come over. Even a ten-year-old would see how stupid that is,“at that moment your eyes met. His eyebrows were furled together, red eyes expression furry and disgust. Blond hair usually styled like he was going to be on the cover of Vogue, like he had been before, now slightly messy. Plump lips slightly apart to let his teeth shine through slightly before wetting them with his tongue. Your eyes widened and before you knew what you were doing you waved at him, making him cock his eyebrows in confusion for a second before noticing it was you who he was looking at. Turning on your heels you walked past busy crowds of people as you walked back home, trying to understand what you had just seen and why your angry professor had turned you on more than anyone had done before.

It was a stupid idea to ditch the next teaching unit of his but you had absolutely no clue how you were going to look at him. You knew teachers had a private life themselves, but never would you have guessed that you would run into one of them in your small area. As far as you knew he lived across town according to the very, very few private stories he had shared in magazines.

„Dear Professor,

down below is my finished project as an attachment in form of a PDF. I know you request it to be printed as well and I had planned to hand it in today, but sadly I came down with the flu. I’m looking forward to attending your next unit in the following week.

Have a nice week,

Y/N Y/L/N“

Maybe he had forgotten that you were there already and you were worrying too much about it. You were his student, nothing more, nothing less. Bakugo could care less about you, right? The flu did go around a lot right now, so it wouldn’t be completely unthinkable that you were sick. Itching eyes signaled you that it was time to go to bed now, so you closed your laptop and went to bed, not knowing what the next day will hold for you.

X had waited for you at the main entrance the next day to give you all the information you might need and ask why you weren’t there, considering it was obvious that you had the flu for one day only. At first, you were hesitant to explain what you had witnessed, it was messy already and you doubt Mister Bakugo would want the fight to go viral at his workplace. „Just one of those days you know? I had my mind completely full and felt like crap,“ that was the best excuse you could come up with, a white little lie that wouldn’t harm anyone. „Glad to see you’re doing- Oh, hello Professor,“ X smiled at someone behind you. There was no need to turn around to know who it was, the scent of his very expensive and extremely beguiling perfume clouding your mind. „Hello,“ his gruff voice greeted your friend shortly as you turned around, met with his muscular chest. You didn’t expect him to be so close to you, but here you were, tilting your head slightly as you looked up to him through your lashes, feeling not just your cheeks growing hot. „Good morning Sir,“ your voice sounded a lot more confident than you were feeling. Bakugo clenched his fist around the fake leather of his bag, his red eyes starring right into your soul as you had no chance of escaping whatever was going to happen next. „Miss Y/L/N, just the person I was looking for,“ fuck. „You were?“ X and you said at the same time, but your friend decided to excuse themself after a single glare from the older man. „How may I help you, Professor?“ You asked after swallowing down the anxious feeling that threatened to rise. „I received your Mail yesterday, with the PDF,“ okay, why did he search you just to tell you he got your assignment? Was it that bad? „But I’m relatively sure that it was the wrong one, considering I doubt that you want your teacher to know that 'this shit is so bad, but I wouldn’t mind being bent over a writing desk like that' with a smirking emoji at the end,“ only when his finger pushed your chin upwards gently you noticed that it was agape, shame filling every molecule in your body as you already planned your escape out of this country. Nobody was near you to see the weirdly intimidating scene happening between you and your teacher.

„Also I know you didn’t have the flu. I don’t appreciate being lied to. Tomorrow five p.m. in my office, don’t be late or you will get in more trouble. Send me the actual version tonight so I can grade it. I won’t let something as unprofessional as this slide again, understood?“ You nodded, taking in all of the information given to you, and somewhat in all of this mess felt thankful that he was giving you a second chance. The man in front of you rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, ordering you to speak up. „Yes Sir, thank you,“ you sounded more confident than you felt inside. „Good,“ was all Bakugo said before he turned around, leaving you behind in the big hall dumbfounded and confused… And horny.

As if Chronos himself felt immense joy in your misery, minutes appeared to be hours and the panic inside of you only grew the closer you came to five in the afternoon. You tried everything, watching a show, listening to podcasts and audiobooks, reading a book you had put of for so long, went outside, cooked something, worked on another assignment, stopped yourself from destroying your hair, made the phone call you so desperately had put off and it’s still only ten p.m on the same day. How was that even possible? As you laid in bed you tossed and turned, the thought of your really hot teacher all angry, breathing heavily, his hands roaming your body. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when those thoughts turned into a very lucid dream, but when you woke up in the morning, already an hour too late to your first period, all you wanted to do was scream into your pillow.

Considering first class is canceled, you wanna go grab breakfast? X texted you.

Canceled? Checking your mails you saw your teacher had sent out a mail, excusing themselves and explaining they came down with the flu. A blessing in disguise. You let X know that you would meet up at the building and go grab something near it. Once agreed, you took a quick shower, a moment of peace given to you as water hit your body. There was no way you could do anything between your last class and the meeting with Professor Bakugo, so you tried to look your best possible for the next upcoming hours.

Suddenly time flew by and the closer you got the more you begged for a little bit more time, for him to postpone it, anything. But no, here you were, five minutes early and looking around to spot the blond man with no luck. „Miss Y/L/N. Step inside,“ you jumped slightly as his voice boomed up behind you, not expecting him to be in the office already.

Once you walked inside you were stunned about how clean everything was, no matter where you looked it was neat. His books were sorted alphabetically with marks between them to let him know when a new letter began. As far as you could tell he used cherry wood for his pieces of furniture, a big, black carpet in a corner underneath a small seating area, and some books placed on the table. Even his paperwork was stacked in order. Big glass windows allowed the evening sun to fall into the room, its warmness kissing your skin while you were seated in front of him, a big writing desk between the two of you, on it your work.

It was quiet for a short moment, before he leaned back in his chair, red eyes mustering you up and down which didn’t help at all. „What would you like to talk about first? Your assignment or the fact that you lied to me?“ Why was he so bothered by your lie? You knew plenty of students calling in sick every once in a while even though they aren’t. „I apologize for both of it. It shouldn’t have happened and I learned from my mistake,“ you were hoping that it would ease his anger a little bit but he seemed more worked up than usual. „Although I don’t understand why you are so angry at me for it? Plenty students lie-,“ „Yes, but they aren’t stupid enough to make it so obvious,“ he interrupted you. „I could care less about who’s missing my class, it’s their fault in the end if they decide learning is unnecessary. However you are one of my top students, I expected better from you. You could have excused yourself with no explanation. But you chose to add the feeble lie about being sick for what?“

You took in a deep breath, feeling as if another lie would be caught immediate, so you had no other choice but to tell him the real reason: „I heard the fight you had with the woman you were with, in the café, and I didn’t know how to react when I see you in your class,“ there was a small moment where he looked honestly confused before something clicked in his brain. „So it was you who I saw. What did you hear?“ „I can’t really rem-,“ „One more lie and I will lose my temper, don’t test me,“ shit, why was he turning you on so much right now. He’s your teacher for god’s sake and angry at you, this wasn’t the right time. „That she doesn’t agree with certain things in your private life,“ „Like?“ he knew you tried to talk around it, yet he wanted you to talk about, to see you embarrassed again, he liked that look on you. „The way you fuck,“ it was said before your brain could even comprehend the words, another apology laying at the tip of your tongue but his next question cut you off before you could say something else. „Why were you there in the first place? I’ve been there a few times and never saw you or any other student,“ he explained. „Because I live close by?“ It sounded more defiantly than you had wanted, causing your opponent to cock his eyebrow.

„I feel like you’re forgetting who’s the authority figure here,“ he walked up to his door, locking it before coming back. Now he was right in front of you, slightly sitting on his desk and the sleeves of his button-up shirt pushed up a little. „No sir, I’m sorry,“ „You see, the problem is, I don’t really believe you,“ with that he pulled you up, bodies pressed against each other, letting you feel his toned torso while the muscles in his arms flexed slightly.

„You lied to me once already, I think I have to teach you a lesson,“ everything happened so fast and you suddenly found yourself face down on his desk with his hand between your shoulder blades, the other one grabbing his wooden ruler. „If I recall correctly this is what you wanted right?“ His voice was low, slightly above a whisper as his upper body was pressed against your back while he pulled a few hair strands from your face. „Yes, but Professor I don’t think this is a good idea,“ your inner voice yelled at you, saying this was the best idea ever, angry that you possibly ruined your dreams coming true.

„Tell me to stop and I will do so immediately. Your choice. There will be no consequences if you worry about that,“ he reassured you, waiting for you to get up and run, but you didn’t and the current position allowed him to feel you clench your legs. „So?“ He asked again, the ruler in his hand basically burning with the anticipation of hitting your skin. „No, don't stop,“ you breathed, awaiting his next move.

„Good,“ with that he exposed your raised ass, your underwear the only thing between your bare skin and the wood that came down upon it, one foot raising in the air because of the sudden pain. „From now on if you say stop I won’t listen, you will tell me how you feel through colors. If it’s too much you tell me red and I will drop everything, understood?“ Another spank was delivered to the same spot.

„Yes,“ another one. You weren’t sure if he hit harder or if your skin turned more sensitive with every blow.

„It’s sir to you,“ you could feel him lunge out but shortly before the ruler came down he stoped, laughing slightly at your small jump.

„Yes sir,“ another one.

„You’re going to apologize every time my ruler paints your cute ass even redder, got it?“ You nodded your head, a moan escaping the back of your throat as he spanked you yet again.

„One more thing, be a good girl and stay quiet, wouldn’t wanna get caught now do we?“ He knew it was going to be torture for you to follow his order the more he continued and in a way he wanted you to fail. There was so much build-up inside of him and it appears that you were willing enough for him to use you as he pleased. That’s why you were his favorite. Bakugo knew what he was doing was wrong and he never expected to feel this way for one of his students but forbidden fruit tastes the best.

You stopped counting after the seventh blow, sorries, sirs and small whimpers fall from your lips as if they were your whole vocabulary. At one point you started crying, tears mixed with mascara running down your cheeks. He tried to remember something that turned him on more than the sight of your messed-up body with no luck. Everything build up inside of him, everything itching in his hands, the inner desires he had to soften for his ex, it all was going to come down on you. His thick girth twitched at the simple thought of finally being surrounded by your dripping wet cunt.

A warm soft hand rubbed over your bruised flesh while the other one found its way into your hair to pull you up to him, your back arched.

„What are you sorry for?“ Your mind was clouded with pleasure and pain, the only thought right now was the feeling of his dick print right between your sore cheeks. „I asked my little bitch a question, I expect you to fucking answer,“ this time he spanked you with his hand but it was just as intense as his ruler. „I don’t know,“ you breathed, a soft moan slipping out of you when his thumb barely circled your throbbing clit. „You’re just apologizing because you want me to use you?“ You could hear him chuckle lowly before he pushed your underwear to the side, his middle finger now playing with you. „Yes sir,“ Katsuki couldn’t hear a single ounce of shame in your voice and he wondered how long you had been thinking about him like this before.

„I never expected you to be such a dumb, cock hungry whore,“ The sound of his belt hitting the floor was dull like it was far away from you but at the same time, you felt him closer than before. Strong hands around your waist turned you around and once again he lifted your head with his finger underneath your chin, studying your ruined make-up as if he was memorizing every little detail he never wanted to forget. The blond, muscular man lifted you with ease, your behind getting a small moment of cooling as it hit his wooden desk.

Bakugo dried your tears slightly with his thumb, smearing it even more. „Only for you,“ you whispered and in that moment he couldn’t stop himself, he just had to kiss you. Not sweet and gentle, but passionately and hungry, like he was poisoned and your kiss was the antidote. The hand behind your head traveling to the front as you were laid down completely.

„If I had known before I would have fucked you so much sooner,“ with one hard thrust he was buried deep inside of you, one hand over your mouth because he knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet and the other one around your throat, squeezing shut and watching you struggle against it slightly. Your professor was thicker than what you were used to and you didn’t know how good it would feel until now. With the first few snaps of his hips, you knew you never wanted to feel something else anymore.

Your hands went to his arms and you tugged on them, causing him to let go as the blood found its way back to your brain. „Color?“ he asked, afraid you weren’t able to handle him. „Green,“ was all you could get out before another moan cut off your ability to talk.

„Good girl,“ he whispered into your ear, kissing down from your earlobe to your shoulder before sucking on a rather sensitive spot. Both of your wrists were held over your head with his left hand, with the explanation that he doesn’t appreciate being stopped while using you however he pleased. The right hand was going from between your chest after he admired your bouncing tits thoroughly, to your stomach to connect with your most sensitive bundle of nerves. Bakugo switched from circles to eights, from fast to slow, but the harshness of his hips never haltered.

„I know you wanna scream right now, but I can’t allow that. Can’t let others hear what a dirty slut you are for me right now. I promise I will fuck you in my house if you behave now. You can moan my name as much as you want. Or maybe I will gag you, watch you drool all over yourself. Maybe I will tie you up and edge you for an hour straight until you’re begging me to fuck you, you like the sound of that, huh? I can feel you squeezing around me,“ another chuckle left his plump lips as he watched you struggle to stay up on your feet.

„Maybe I will let you choke on my dick while I work on something for the next lesson. Gonna use you as my little cum dump. Let you think about it again when I talk about it in front of the whole class. Do-,“ you were so close when a sudden knock on the door startled you both, but he never once stopped what he was doing, if anything he went even harder, whispering into your ear to be quiet for him.

„Hey Kat, your ex is outside and says she wants to talk, want me to send her in?“ It was the psychologist professor Shinso, his voice as done and deep as usual. „No, I’m occupied,“ Bakugo saw your mouth open after you fought so hard against it, he couldn’t let you moan, not right now. He did the first thing he could think of, spitting into it and watching you swallow. Oh, he would definitely film you do this with his cum covering you everywhere and the thought brought him slightly closer to his release. „Still grading papers huh? I don’t get where you got all of that energy from,“ his voice was blurred out by Bakugo whispering into your ear. „Do you want me to tell you what we're doing right now? Let him know I’m fucking my little toy stupid right now?“ And while you were shaking your head no it was the last straw for you and you found yourself grabbing his hand to put over your mouth, biting your lips until you tasted blood to muffle the scream you couldn’t stop. Bakugo cursed under his breath when he could feel you throbbing around his dick and your nails digging into his arm. „Tell her to leave me the fuck alone, she’s already forgotten,“ his voice sounded strained and you knew he was close as well. „Ah, I see. Well then have fun,“ his laugh was fading away the further he went.

„Can’t believe that made you cum, you’re even more perfect than I thought, such a dirty girl, tsk,“ both his hands are on your hips and he pulled your body against him with every thrust. You were still coming down from your orgasm when you felt his thrusts turning sloppy before he stopped completely, his dick now pulsing while he was holding you tightly. Breath uneven and getting stable on his feet again he turned you around, careful so he wouldn’t hurt you.

„Next time I gonna make sure you can’t walk but right now I need you to be able to leave the building,“ he pulled his pants back up and added: „Sadly,“ before walking around his desk.

It was still hard for you to stand so you sat down, wincing as the usually soft cushion now felt like thousand of tiny spikes on your bruised ass. Before you pull your bottoms up again he grabbed your wrist and pulled you up, once again with a stern expression on his face you were so familiar with.

„I apparently really fucked you stupid if you think I let you leave like this,“ having him put cooling cream on your bare bum felt more intimate than having him be balls deep inside you. „Sorry I just thought-,“ „Well, you thought wrong. I don’t know what kind of boys you had in the past but now that you have me there are going to be changes, got that?“

860 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

thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

Text

all’s faire - chapter two

Pairing: Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Series rating: M

Chapter rating: M

Word count: 4,005

Notes: Chapter two! These two are still very much in the enemies stage of their relationship but there are developments made in this chapter. Thank you to everyone who’s shown their enthusiasm for this fic, especially @lowlights and to @ezrasbirdie for reading it over. I’m no longer putting “outside” links (AO3/taglist form) in my fics but they can be found in my bio and on my masterlist. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Chapter warnings: Swearing, enemies to lovers, medication mention, injury mention, tension, sex mention

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist (main) || masterlist (pero tovar)

A few, Pero Tovar thought-free, days later, your phone pings with an email notification. Most of your emails these days are shipping confirmations for books you’d preordered months ago. So you are surprised when an email from Pero Tovar pops up on your lock screen.

Ugh. You’d been having a good day up until now. What did he want with you? A partner to kick some puppies? Someone to yell at sweet old ladies with?

The subject line is Medieval Faire. And, clicking it open, you see it’s addressed to a number of people.

This note is to inform you that you have been accepted into the cast of the fifth annual summer medieval faire. Rehearsals for everyone are weekly and begin on June 4 at 8am at Lockwood Falls High School in the gymnasium. Do NOT be late. Please find your name and role from the list below. If anyone has any questions, do not hesitate to email me or Will Ballard.

P. Tovar.

That’s got to be the most joyless “you got the job” email you think you’ve ever seen. Sure, it’s to the point, but can he not use some enthusiasm for once? You see your name below Cassie’s — role, tavern wench. Below your name is Sarah’s, also a tavern wench. And that’s it for the tavern by the looks of things. Unless there’s others that have yet to be confirmed. Or maybe there’s volunteers? Two people seems to be not enough to serve drinks to all the customers that will make their way through. Even on slow nights at the pub you used to work at, you never had fewer than four staff on.

There’s a number of volunteers at the bottom of the list, so hopefully some of them are allotted to you and Sarah because otherwise it’s going to feel a lot more like work than Sarah and Cassie both said it would feel like.

You read over the email again, certain the warning against lateness is directed at you. Asshole. At least your niece got in. That’s the important part, that she has fun.

Getting up from the couch where you had been looking at job postings in a purely hypothetical manner (more for when Tess is more mobile and back on her feet), you check on dinner that’s cooking in the slow cooker — mac and cheese — before looking at your phone for the time; you still have fifteen minutes before having to go pick up Tess at her physical therapy appointment. You’ve prepared a nest for your sister on her bed for optimal comfort — Percocet and water bottle at the ready on her night table in case she needs it.

Cassie’s due back from school at around the same time that you and Tess will be getting back from her physical therapy appointment. Since it’s almost the end of the school year, it’s crunch time for Cassie. Studying for finals, final assignments, all the fun stuff about school that you absolutely do not miss. Cassie’s a good student, though, on top of everything. You don’t know where she gets it from. Neither you nor Tess were ever ahead of schedule in school, so Cassie must come by it naturally.

You’re not looking forward to a solid two and a half months of early weekend morning wakeups. Weekends are your sleep-in mornings. Where you roll out of bed at nine a.m. or later. To be honest, you’re surprised that a teenager is doing this willingly. But Cassie tells you it’s worth it. You’ll see about that.

The alarm on your phone goes off, indicating that it’s time to go pick up Tess. It’s her third physical therapy appointment; it’s been kicking her ass, but in a good way. The therapist is optimistic for a full recovery; your sister was lucky, he said. The break had been clean.

You drive across the town that you grew up in, the town you never thought you’d relocate to again. Not much has changed in the years since you left, for what you thought was for good. The only difference is that your parents had retired to Florida five years ago.

Tess is sitting down in the waiting room when you arrive, a slightly pained expression on her face, mixed with utter exhaustion.

“How’d it go?” you ask as you help her to your car. She grimaces as she buckles herself in.

“Painful. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to come here anymore.” Tess yawns.

“Did the doc give a timeline for when the boot can come off?” Your sister’s been chomping at the bit for the removal of the boot cast since it was first put on.

Tess shakes her head. “No. Not really.” She sighs. “I don’t think they want to get my hopes up with a false promise.”

It’s a mostly quiet car ride home; Tess is too worn out to contribute much to the conversation. “I got the part of bar wench,” you tell her. “Cassie’s wonderful and totally not grumpy teacher emailed me today.”

Tess manages a smile; you’d told her all about Pero Tovar, both after the interview and after the information meeting. Both tirades had been punctuated with huffy sighs and rolled eyes and over exaggerated hand gestures, all on your part. Tess had just sat there, bemused by your passionate feelings towards Cassie’s history teacher. “Don’t contain your enthusiasm for my benefit,” Tess quips. “Try to keep some for Cassie, though.”

You roll your eyes as you turn onto your street. “He’s just so…” You pause, thinking for the right word.

“Cantankerous? Annoying? Rude? Grumpy? Peevish? Assaholic? Another word that you didn’t use the last time you talked about him?” Tess offers with a smirk.

Pulling into the driveway, you offer her a withering glance as you put the car in park. “Very funny.”

Cassie is just unlocking the door as you arrive, the timing could not be better. She turns to you with a grin. “Did you get the email from Mr. Tovar?!” she squeals. “We got in! And I’m a lady-in-waiting to Mrs. Garin!”

You have to pause to remember who that is, a lot of new names and faces swirling in your mind. She comes to you; Mrs. Garin is the petite woman with long dark hair that Pero had talked to at the end of the information session. She’s playing the queen if you remember correctly. You think her name is Lin-Mae. “I did. Pretty exciting isn’t it, kid?”

Cassie nods, her beam still plastered to her face. As always, her enthusiasm is contagious. You have to remember why you’re doing this. For her. “Can we watch Snow White and the Huntsman tonight?” An odd topic change if ever there was one. “Or maybe some episodes of Downton Abbey? Mr. Ballard and Mr. Tovar said we have to practice our accents.”

Tess jumps in. “What about your homework? Any assignments left to do?”

Cassie shakes her head. “Nope. I handed in the last one today. I have to prep for a history presentation but that isn’t until Monday.” She looks a little nervous, recalling what you told her about what Tovar said and you have another flare of annoyance at him that you try to hide.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure you have it down pat. Your mom and I will be your practice audience,” you reassure her. “But for tonight, mac and cheese and Downton Abbey. On one condition: we watch the Robin Hood movie with Russell Crowe as part of our research. It’s close to the time period we’re recreating.”

Cassie tries to hide a smirk. “You mean, the one with Oscar Isaac?”

Busted.

- - - -

On Saturday at stupid o’clock, you pull yourself out of bed after pressing snooze as many times as possible without being late. For some ungodly reason, Cassie is bright eyed and bushy tailed when she meets you downstairs in the kitchen. Tess is still asleep.

“I think we’re choosing our faire names today,” she says. You yawn again before grunting an unintelligible answer, your motions done by rote.

Once you’ve had your first coffee, you’re more awake — or at least more willing to pretend you’re awake. You make another one for the road, topping up your tall travel mug. For the first time in a very long while, perhaps ever, you and Cassie are the first to arrive besides Pero and Will Ballard.

Pero shoots you a look of incredulity. You return it with a questioning glare of your own, as if to say “what?”

People begin to file in, a slow trickle at first and then a flood of them. It’s a smaller group than last time, since not everyone made the cut. Given how Pero seems to think you can do no right, you’re surprised you made the cut.

He calls for attention at precisely 7:59:59 a.m. “Let us not waste time in retreading old ground. You all know who Will and Lin and I are and who we are playing. Let us instead go around the room. Introduce yourself using your real name, your chosen Faire name, and your Faire role.” He nods at Sarah to start.

“All right, hi everyone. I’m Sarah Bradford. Most of you know me already. I’ve been with the Faire since the beginning. As always, if you want to find me, I’ll be in the tavern serving drinks as Matilda.”

Will Ballard nods a welcome back to her. Pero just gives a curt nod in approval. It’s clearly old hat for the two of them at this point; Sarah — Matilda, rather — isn’t introducing herself for Pero’s sake, except perhaps to confirm that she’s using the same name for Faire as she always has.

You look down at the list of names clutched in your fingers as you listen absently to the others introducing themselves, first with their real names and then their Faire names. Cassie speaks beside you. “I’m Cassie Miller. Um, this is my first year in Faire —”

“Could you speak up a little bit?” asks Pero, not unkindly.

Cassie nods. “And I’m a lady-in-waiting to her Majesty. And I was wondering if my name could be Clara?”

“I don’t see why not,” Pero agrees.

There’s a long pause and then you realize it’s your turn. “Oh. Hi.” You introduce yourself with a smile that has too many teeth, giving a wave that looks ridiculous. Sarah, already a good friend, gives a wave back. “Ummm. This is my first year doing this. I’m going to be a tavern wench with Sarah.”

“Matilda,” corrects Pero as if you’re stupid.

“Right, yes. Matilda. Sorry.”

If Pero stares at you any harder, he’s going to burn a hole in your forehead. “And what’s your name, my dear?” he asks, the use of my dear almost mocking; you ignore it. You say your name and Pero sighs in frustration. “No. Not your real name, your Faire name.”

“Oh, right.” You almost feel small in his presence. Looking down at the list of names to buy yourself a few seconds of time, you say the first one that crosses your field of vision. It’s a variation of your real name. Sarah hides a grin. Pero repeats it, almost disbelievingly, his voice flat. You can practically feel the tension in the room, all the fun sucked out as soon as he makes clear his disapproval.

“Yes,” you say, with more confidence than you feel. “It’s period appropriate and I’ll be sure to remember it and respond to it.”

There’s another eye-roll from Pero. “Glad to see you’ve given a lot of thought and effort,” he drawls flatly. You open your mouth to retort, but he’s moved on to the person standing next to you, evident that you aren’t worth his time or energy.

Once everyone’s introduced themselves, you make your way over to Sarah, Cassie finding her friends. “Hey,” she says, your Faire name said teasingly. But her expression changes from teasing to one of concern when she sees your grimace. “What is it? Is it Pero again? Don’t listen to him; your Faire name is perfectly fine. He’s just a killjoy,” she says this part loud enough for him to hear. He pauses for a moment as everyone sits down on the mats on the floor for him to give his first accuracy lesson, but makes no other indication that he’s heard. As you sit down on a mat next to Sarah, he shoots you a glance that you miss but Sarah does not. She meets his gaze with a questioning one of her own as if to say “what’s up with you?”

- - - -

The next few weeks are a crash course in medieval history. It’s all old information, given that history — specifically medieval — was your minor in college. So what if you scrolled on your phone, making arrangements and putting Tess’s appointment times into your calendar while Pero or Will Ballard discussed something that you had written papers and exams on? It doesn’t matter. No one’s going to quiz you while you’re serving them drinks.

Your accent is more on the side of Eliza Doolittle than Lady Mary Crawley. But it works. And it’s as good as it’s going to get. You and Cassie and Sarah have full conversations using your Faire names in your accents to keep up the routine of it.

After week four of mostly irrelevant-to-you history lessons, it’s time for costume fitting. Sarah brings a bundle of what look like bedsheets. You lift an eyebrow. “I thought I gave you my measurements?” you ask.

“You did. Just wait until I lace it all together. You’re going to look great. Wine red or blue?” she asks.

You look at the colourful fabric. “Ummm… Wine red, I guess.”

“Excellent choice.” Her own dress is green. Across the way, you see Cassie with the other nobility cast members; Lin-Mae is helping her into her own dress, a periwinkle thing. You put on the pieces of fabric as Sarah instructs you to. You’re still swimming in them when you’ve put on all of them. “Now comes the fun part. I would say you’ll get used to it, but, well…” She tugs on the laces.

“Jesus, Sarah!” you grumble.

“Who’s Sarah?” she asks.

Right. You’re supposed to be using the Faire names. “Sorry. Matilda.”

Just as the dress is starting to have some shape to it, Pero Tovar chooses that moment to come inspect things.

“How are things over here?” he asks.

“Just peachy,” you say under your breath.

He inspects you for a long moment, looking for any defect or thing out of place. Instead of feeling like a bug under a microscope this time around, you defiantly look right back at him. Checking him for any defect or out-of-place thing. He’s let his hair grow a bit, his beard more defined than it had been when you first met him.

Usually he’s so well put together, but today he looks like he just rolled out of bed. You lift an eyebrow at his slovenly appearance. But, much to your chagrin, he’s still handsome as ever, even when he’s looking more like a slob than you thought you would ever see. You know part of the appearance is for his role of Captain Bastian. You wonder if he and the person playing Gideon are doing more practice after this.

“Everything’s finalized?” he asks.

Sarah confirms that it is. “Yep. Matilda’s been my Faire name for five years, I’m not changing it now. William gave it to me.”

The ghost of a smile quirks on Pero’s face; it’s the closest thing you’ve seen to a real smile on him. You find you want to see what a true-blue smile looks like coming from Pero Tovar. You’re sure, though you don’t know why, it would be like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. Jeez. Where did that come from? you ask yourself. “I know he did,” Pero murmurs. He turns to you, his imitation of a smile gone by the time he’s facing you. “And you?”

Trying to catch your breath but quickly realizing that it will be fighting a losing battle when wearing this getup so tightly, you say, “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

He gives you another quick once-over. You can’t tell if he likes you in the dress or not. “Still keeping the name?” he asks, still inexplicably annoyed at your name selection.

“Yep,” you intone dryly, not bothering to hide your annoyance at his own annoyance; when Sarah and the others had mentioned the name, it had been in a fun, teasing, ribbing kind of way. Pero just sounds as he always does with you. Annoyed. To your surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t be given who he is, Pero practically snarls at you.

“Come with me. I need to talk to you,” he spits before turning on his heel and quite literally storming out of the auditorium.

“What is your problem?” you ask once you’ve reached an alcove for privacy. “You’re more tightly laced than I am and I’m the one wearing a corset.”

Pero actually rolls his eyes. “Are you taking any of this seriously at all?” he demands.

“What?” you ask. “Of course I—”

“It does not seem that way to me. You clearly don’t give a shit about any of this. From the name you chose to your attitude to the way you don’t pay any attention. You spend more time scrolling your phone than listening.”

“Okay, listen,” you manage to cut in. “I don’t know what your deal is, but you’ve been making me feel very unwelcome from the very fucking beginning. It’s just a name, okay? I know it’s not the most creative, I know that. But it’s period, I know it, I’m going to respond to it. Do you know where I currently live?” You don’t give him the time to respond, not even knowing why you’re going to tell him all this. “I live in my sister’s guest room. Everything I do these days is either for my sister or my niece. I’m on-call all the time, ready at the drop of a hat. That’s why I’m on my phone all the fucking time, so I can make sure my schedule is clear to do this, making sure that I have all her doctor’s appointments and physical therapy time in my calendar because guess who’s the chauffeur for the time being? Me.” You’re not complaining, you’d do anything for your sister and her daughter, but Pero doesn’t understand just how thinly stretched you are sometimes. “I know all this shit already, backwards and forwards. Because guess what? Not only am I here every fucking weekend on time, but medieval studies was my minor in college. I’m doing this as a way to support my niece who is having the time of her life doing this, so she can get her mind off worrying about her mom, because she’s passionate about this and I want to foster that passion even if it means giving up my weekends to do this and having to deal with you and your grouchy ass; I’m doing this to give Tess some space while she heals so we’re not always on top of each other — it isn’t a big house. I don’t know what your problem is with me, or why you seem to want me to quit, but I’m not going to, so you can give up your little crusade against me. If Cassie stays, then so do I. My internal organs are currently in a death grip in this getup and will be for six weeks. If none of what I just told you indicates that I’m taking this seriously I don’t know what else to tell you. And another thing; if I go, you’re down half your barmaids. So I’m actually doing Sarah and you a favour by not dropppng out, even when you make it so fucking tempting.” You fix Pero’s hard glare with one of your own, refusing to break eye contact. You mean business, refusing to be cowed by this man. If he doesn’t respect you, you’re going to damn well make him.

Pero’s eyes flare and he holds your gaze for a long minute in a staring contest, a game of chicken, both of you unwilling to be the first one to flinch. Eventually, though, after a long minute of staring at each other, his jaw set and his brow furrowed, Pero is the first one to look away; your diatribe seems to have set in and his face softens, softer than you’ve ever seen it before and likely softer than you’ll see it again.

“Family is important,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you’ll likely hear it again. He has a faraway look on his face for a second before he remembers where he is. “It’s fine; you’re fine,” he says. It isn’t quite the ringing approval that you were half-expecting, but from Pero it’s practically high praise. And then he says the second most shocking thing all day. “I’m sorry.”

Wait, what? You blink, not quite believing your ears. Surely you’ve stepped into Wonderland if you’re hearing Pero Tovar apologize. “What?” you sputter.

Pero sighs, his jaw setting again. This is clearly a difficult topic of discussion for Pero. “This time of year is hard for me. Especially this year because…” He sighs again, changing his mind. “It doesn’t matter. But it is not fair that I have been taking it out on you.”

“No, it isn’t fair,” you can’t help but say, almost reproachfully. “But I appreciate you saying it. Thank you.”

He gives you one last lingering look, a look you can’t quite put your finger on, and then he lets you go in a shared baffled silence. Sarah shoots you a questioning glance as you return to the auditorium, but you don’t say anything pertaining to your, quite frankly, bizarre interaction with Pero just now.

“Is he always like that?” you ask Sarah as she unlaces your dress enough for you to slip out of it, leaving you in your casual street clothes underneath; you neatly fold the bedsheet that is a dress and tuck it into your bag. “So uptight and intense?”

Sarah shrugs. “He’s always been intense, but you seem to bring it out in him.”

“Tovar just needs to get laid,” says a tall, burly guy coming up next to you. Dan, you think his name is. He’s playing Gideon, the lawman who is Tovar’s enemy in the context of the Faire. You snort at his assessment. “It’s true, the man’s practically been living like a monk for the past four years. And no, Daisy doesn’t count; they lasted all of five minutes,” he says when Sarah opens her mouth to protest. “He just needs to get laid,” he repeats, “might let out some of that pent up tension he’s got.”

Sarah pouts. “You guys need to be nicer to Pero,” she says, more to Dan than you. “You know it’s hard on him. He hasn’t been the same since William’s been gone.”

You don’t know who this William is, or why he left, but whoever he is, he’s clearly important to the bunch of them. Though you fail to see what his leaving town has to do with anything.

“I promise, Pero will grow on you. Just give him time and get to know him and you’ll see, he’s just a big softie,” Sarah assures you again.

You suppose you’re just going to have to take her word for it, even if Dan doesn’t seem to share her conviction. As you glance in Pero’s direction, you see that he’s chatting with a couple of other cast mates. You don’t know what troubles you more: the fact that he doesn’t deem you worthy to share his friendship with, or that it bothers you as much as it does.

--- taglist in reblog

#pedro pascal #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #modern pero tovar #my writing #pero tovar x f!reader #my fic

378 notes · View notes