#SORRY SUCH A SIDE BAR THERE I MIGHT MAKE AN ACTUAL POST ABOUT IT LATER GOOD DAY

[schrodinger-swriter]

Can I Ask for Husks fluff alphabet?

A, C, I, J, K, N, P, Z preatty please?🥺

(I'm sorry I almost hit the limit. I'm obsessed with him😭)

A, C, I, J, K, N, P, and Z for Husk

No need to apologize! If I wanted a smaller limit I would have said so in the original post! Nothing wrong in wanting to get the most out of something C:

I hope you enjoy this, Anon, it was fun playing with Husk's personality in this! He reminds me of a grumpy grandfather.

Confession, I thought for the longest time Husk was a.. well dog. I.. Don't know why I thought that, perhaps it's the face markings and his name being "Husk" (Like Husky) that caused my confusion. For two years after the pilot I was... rather dumb..

What do you mean Husk is 75.

ATTRACTION:

He enjoys those who are more honest with themselves and aren't pushovers. He can hardly stand those in denial. He calls it as he sees it when he's pushed to do so. This is less of an attraction thing, but I feel he would be most compatible with someone he can be real with and can be able to deal with his bluntness. In a way, you keep each other in check.

CUDDLES:

Small and soft, warm too. He's a cat, so it feels like snuggling into a large cat! I don't think he would be too deep into PDA, the most he would be comfortable with doing is quick kisses when someone else is passing by.. usually... more on that later. Though, now that it's mentioned, I don't think he would be too big on physical affection all that much.. now don't get me wrong he loves a good back massage every now and then, but it's going to take him a while to curl up next to you for cuddling. Little spoon.

INJURY:

Would ask you what the hell happened while wrapping your wound.. Goes from scolding you for being a jackass if you just. Threw yourself into danger, but will go on to say you have some guts. Stern when it comes to you taking it easy so you can heal properly... is not phased by any false play ups of your pain, though depending on his mood he might let it pass. For a bit..

If he's the one injured he's stubborn, insisting that it's not that big of a deal. Dresses and cleans it appropriately, all while nursing a bottle of booze. Dismissive when talking about what led to the injury. Might be a little standoffish if you try to take care of him, especially if you come off as trying to baby him.

JEALOUSY:

He deals with his jealousy the same way he deals with all of his other problems. Alcohol. He sees another man chatting you up? Alcohol. Sees you laughing a little too much at some chumps joke? Alcohol. Someone talks brings up how you seem so lively around another person? Alcohol. I think you get the point. However, if it's a case of you being pushed into a situation you don't want to be in, he's going to pick up on your discomfort and drag you away... does not make it seem like you have somewhere else to be, no, he just tells the other person to fuck off as he takes you away. His fur sometimes fluffs up in annoyance. Pulling that pin from the C section, in regards to PDA, he will tug you to his side to further push the effect that you're taken.

KISSES:

Bunny kisses. You know, you two touch noses and nuzzle a bit. He doesn't allow it often, but it is something you two do every now and again. He defaults to kissing you on the mouth, quick pecks usually aren't for him, though... Sometimes leans over the counter of his bar to steal a kiss when no one else is around. This goes for both giving and receiving!

NO:

He can't be with someone who heavily relies on physical touch, it's simply not for him and he can only compromise so much. That's not to say he wouldn't try, because he would. However you can only sacrifice your comfort so much before it becomes a problem, you know? I don't think he would do well with people who complain.. not vent, more so whine about everything. He seems far too irritable to be able to deal with that in his day to day, outside of the bar.

As for actual deal breakers within an established relationship... I think it would have to be a stubborn person. Funny, coming from him since he's stubborn. But Husk appears to still go with the flow of everything, even eventually befriending the rest of the cast. No, when I say stubborn I mean people who can't take their heads out of their asses to see that there's other things to worry about and shit like that. He can only give you so many reality checks before throwing in the towel. Bonus negative points if combined with the complaining thing.

PETNAMES:

Do not call him "Kitten" he might actually be upset by that. On top of that, it's so... basic... predictable. It's not special. No, something that basic wouldn't work on him... and that's not considering the fact he himself isn't too big on petnames. Though.. seeing that he died in the 70s, I enjoy that the thought that he defaults to names from that decade. I believe he would call you "Dollface" or even just "Doll"

It'd take him a while to grow used to the idea of being called anything other than his.. name.. but he looks like a "Pumpkin" or a "Lovey"

.. just don't call him that around Angel, he won't hear the end of it..

ZZZ:

Tends to sleep either sprawled out of curled into a ball. Really it depends, though more often than not he sleeps sprawled out. Doesn't like being held while he sleeps, so cuddling while you guys doze off is off the table. Though, he wouldn't mind you scratching between his ears or shoulder blades sometimes... maybe you'll even hear him purr. Will take a decent amount of time before you get to the "sleeping in the same bed" stage. Old man snores, so good luck with that.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin imagine #husk x reader #husk x you #husk imagine #husker x reader #husker x you #husker imagine

[pascallatte]

Fish and Chips

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Actress!reader

Summary: some interesting fan interactions and sightings while pubbing around London.

Date: March-April 2021

A/N: aaaa got this out finally!!! sorry for the wait, I'm still sick but finally managed to finish the next two fics, so I tried something different (just added one twot sht, might do it again, let's see). also, I know this isn't much seeing that you've waited but I will post again soon (like very) and like before enjoy and let me know what you think!! To those who wished me a speedy recovery, thank you and I love u guys!!

@/deadrncuzofpedro

The video from this user was rather a mess, to say the least, with the girl having to build up the courage to come up to your table after mumbling to herself for a few seconds. Your voice as well as Pedro’s were heard in the background every step closer she got to your table at the far end of the place.

She takes in a breath as soon as she has stopped at a respectable distance from the two, yet instead of asking for a picture, she seems to have asked for a rather odd one instead.

“Hi! I love the both of you so much and…” she paused for a breath, “- I was wondering what drink you have?”

This earned audible sounds of confusion from the both of you before the girl, herself, gasped and raised her other hand to cover her mouth out of embarrassment and shock at what she had said.

Eyes seen scanning the two of you as she stuttered out multiple apologies, “Im sorr- oh lord I’m really sorry. I just- I wanted to ask another thing but..” She ranted but soon calmed down when you were heard asking if she wanted something to drink.

And even though the video didn’t end up like how she expected it to, she was still able to take a picture with the two of you as soon as she’d calmed down.

@/henryontour

Content creators often post the most unexpected and shocking situations when they’re out to travel. Nothing changed when Henryontour, a famous travel blogger got a chance to bump into Pedro at a pub his fans recommended. And when the video said “I bumped into Pedro Pascal in a pub in London,” it really and quite literally meant he bumped into Pedro.

Entering the establishment, he was in awe of the ambience and the interior design of the place. Having gone to multiple pubs at that point he explained that he really wasn’t expecting anything different than to previous ones, but this place had stunned him. Walking deeper into the place, he situates himself at a table by the window. Placing his bags down he continues to compliment the place.

“Oh look here, they have these vintage records as well as a most probably now customized jukebox. The feel of the table and the front bar is as sleek as it looks. Now let’s take a look at the-“ Henry stopped as soon as he bumped into something and turned around to look and apologize to who or whatever he had bumped into.

Not expecting the person he’s bumped into, he can only stay silent as his expression morphed into something of a shock, which was later identified as starstruck as soon as Pedro was seen in the video.

Composing himself, he clears his throat and lowers his camera, out of respect. “Sir, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t looking.” 

Pedro’s voice was now heard, "It's okay," as well as soft laughing from the side, “No worries dear, it was no one’s fault. You were both doing your own thing no need to fret about anything.” Your voice was heard in the background while Pedro who was now about to sit down just nods and pointed at the camera.

“What’s with the camera?” He asks out of curiosity. Making Henry moves his head to the camera and then back to the two of you.

“It’s- I’m actually a youtuber so I’m currently filming my tour around London. Is it ok if I show you guys on here? I’m sure my fans would love it when they see the two of you on here seeing that you’re both big names in the acting industry.” Respectfully, Henry asks and soon was raising the camera to show the two of you seated side by side on bar stools having drinks of your own.

“What a surprise, I bumped into the one only Pedro Pascal along with his muse Y/n L/n,” he introduced the two of you to the camera. Pedro was seen making a peace sign accompanying his dimpled smile while you were seen waving and smiling sweetly before raising your cup to take a sip of your drink of choice.

The video extended for a few more seconds of Henry expressing his huge admiration for Pedro earning him shy chuckles from the man.

@/vicstaria

“There!!! Turn back there, I swear I saw him!” A female voice later on named Victoria was heard. Her phone was aimed towards the sidewalk as the car turned left.

Zooming in her shrieks were heard when two figures are seen walking from afar. Rolling down her window, she zooms out when they get closer. Now seeing a clearer view, a man wearing a quilt jacket as well as a smaller figure in leather are seen walking hand in hand in the streets seemingly having the time of their lives with all the laugh the could be heard.

Passing by the two, Victoria took the chance to shout, “Pedro!!!! I Love you!!!!” her voice rang out making the pair look at her with funny and shocked expressions. 

You, who first found it amusing, raised your joined hands to wave, jumping as you blow her a kiss. A short shout from Victoria was heard before it was followed by continuous shouting, as soon as Pedro joined in on the fun and shouts back, “Hello to you too!!”

At this point, the pair was long gone as the car has now passed the two. What was left however were the gasps for air that were heard as well as the laughs of whoever was with her.

“Oh my lo-“The video ended with the camera turning to Victoria, revealing her current state. Which appears to be red-faced and out of breath.

@Pedy/nupdates: 

Usually, paps are these overly intrusive people who shove their cameras on your face just to write and tell the world something you’ve probably answered a couple of times. While some are people who still respect the celebrities they encounter as well as their space.

Like this one, this pap was just sitting around the corner after having been notified that you were in the area. As soon as they hear the shutter sounds of a camera pop off he stands and focuses on the mob of people just right outside of a pretty well-known pub.

And as always, the notification was correct. There you were in all of your glory, exiting the pub with Pedro in front of you, trying to get the two of you away as much as possible while still being polite.

This particular pap, instead of charging to the horde that was currently mobbing you, decides to wait and follow them from afar before walking with you. Also, in alternative to shoving their camera to your faces, he keeps it at a low angle to which your face was still seen.

Greeting Pedro with a “Good Evening,” obviously since he was leading the two of you to the car.

Pedro greeted back with a small smile and a nod, “Good evening to you too.”

“What were you two up to this fine evening?” He asks as casually as possible.

Sensing that the pap wasn’t going to stop unless they were satisfied, you answered seeing that this was better than those who’ve chosen to intrude.

“We just went out for drinks. That’s all, nothing really to it,” you answered softly as you nudged Pedro to take a turn.

“I see that now. It really is a fine evening to go out for some drinks. What’s your go-to pair with the drink you have while here in London?” He asks once again, walking a few paces ahead of you.

Intrigued by the question, Pedro lets out a laugh followed by, “Ooo that’s a nice one, but I’ll probably go with the classic steak and fries.” He said taking your hand when he sees your car nearing.

“That’s good. How ‘bout you, y/n? Anything you favour?”

“Me? In London?” You thought for quite a bit. Mostly to stall, but also think of a definite answer.

“Hmm, in London? I might get some good old fish and chips. Is that a common pair here? Or not?” You answer laughing at yourself, making Pedro shake his head at your confusion before wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he opens the door to your side of the car.

“I actually don’t know either, but thank you to the both of you and enjoy the rest of your night.” The paps stopped ways away from your car.

Pedro smiled, “You too and thank you.” The pap confused about what he was thanking him for can only wave and record as the pair drives off.

Taglist: @benonlinear @t-stark35 @heyitsme-2 @elleeeee21 @holmesstrange @tagakalat @flyestvenustrap @oldermenaremyreligion @cherryred444 @hobiismyhopeu @ilovehotdadsandshit @djarinsstuff @guacala @avengersheart @pukka-latte @lilvampirina

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x actress!reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[megplant]

Killshot Pt. 2

Tangerine x F!Reader

Summary: Rival assassins/enemies to lovers Tangerine and Fem!Reader. You haven't seen Tangerine in years, since an unfortunate incident between the two of you in Johannesburg. He's popped up again while you're undercover hunting a mark - the same mark he's after.

Wordcount: 5.4k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, language, some nudity, drugs/mention of drugs.

A/N: This will probably actually end up being chapter 3 when I clean everything up and put it on AO3, but I'm bad at waiting and I love posting my finished scenes for some feedback! This scene would serve as a flashback - chronologically maybe a year prior to the events of Pt. 1. Let me know if you're liking the direction this headed, or if it's feeling too slow/drawn out! Thanks so much for all the positive feedback on the first chapter !!

Read Pt 1 - here

__________________________________________________________

Your head pivots slowly, surveying the ballroom and surrounding crowds while the Duke schmoozes. Introductions made, you are now not much more than an accessory. The shiny bauble on his arm to complement his image, nothing more. You play the part: simpering, beautiful, bored. Your gaze roams around the milling crowd, outwardly lazy, disguising your focused searching.

You're hoping to get a glimpse of your mark out here in the open before you need to pin down his location more precisely. It will make things easier later when you’ll need to find him in the dark, dingy corners of a secret bacchanalia in the basement. This opening hour of the benefit will be your best chance; if you just keep an eye on the entrance and the bar you’re sure to catch a glimpse of him.

Someone does catch your eye, a man's flashy gold jewelry catches the light in a way that grabs your attention. You scan the general area, and sip your champagne, choking on a gasp when you realize just who this man is.

Your date checks in on your polite coughs with nothing more than an annoyed side-eye and a squeeze on your arm that has you giggle appropriately and make your excuses. Of course, you will return when you have properly collected yourself, so sorry, so sorry. 

He stands at the outskirts of the bar, a fresh glass of what you’d bet is whiskey in one hand. He looks to be surveying the party himself, but with no plus one sparkling on his arm to draw the eye he stands out. 

You think he would stand out anywhere.

In this case, the classic lines of his crisp black three piece suit offer a striking contrast to his thick gold jewelry, slicked back hair, and perfectly groomed mustache. 

He is quite distinctive in the crowd. His white collared shirt is loose, unbuttoned one too many to be entirely decent and without a tie. He looks at once expensive, but there's an aura of grit and sleaze about him that marks him as other in this crowd. 

Dangerous. 

The word materializes in your mind with a flash of gunsmoke and a throbbing in your shoulder. You dismiss the frisson of fear that runs through you at the unbidden memory, and square your shoulders. 

Before you know it, you have nearly downed your champagne glass and are heading over to the bar. Presumably, for a refill. 

You sidle into place at his side, silently, fiddling with your glass between your fingers as you mimic his stance looking out across the crowd. 

“It’s been a long time,” You greet him with a barely restrained smirk. “Since Johannesburg.” 

You can’t help yourself, you drop an inch of pretense to turn your head and take in his reaction. You never could have attempted to guess at his reaction, but as you meet his gaze, the intensity there surprises you. He doesn’t look angry, like you might have expected, but he also doesn’t look nearly as surprised as you imagined. 

He holds your gaze for a long minute, and there’s something intense and unspoken behind his piercing blue eyes that you couldn’t hope to decipher. Finally, he lifts his glass to his lips, and swallows a slow sip. 

“Working?” He questions, voice hard, and you can feel the slamming of the door between you as he shifts into his more put-on professional demeanor. 

Despite the tension hanging between you, you realize that he most definitely is here working and it’s likely the exact same contract that you’re here for. 

You know in that instant that the two of you will most certainly not be having some kind of terse heart-to-heart here tonight. Pity.

He seems to have the same realization as you, as you catch his eyes flick to yours quickly, accusingly. 

Your heartbeat kicks into overdrive in response, your muscles tense expectantly. 

His eyes narrow. 

Your shoulder throbs with phantom pain around a long-healed bullet wound. 

You know exactly what Tangerine is capable of. 

You shift your weight to your back foot, ready to run - 

“There you are!” The booming voice of your date carries across the crowd, and you’re so tense that you jump at the sudden intrusion. The champagne in your glass splashes back in your trembling hand, and you turn away from Tangerine. 

“Are you alright?” 

His timing could not have been better. He strides into place at your side with one hand sliding around your waist as he checks in with you with a glance. His other hand is thrown out for a handshake with your new conversation partner. 

Before Tangerine can say something stupid to ruin your cover you rush to fill in the blanks of introductions yourself, and you interject before anyone can speak. 

“Ah, William, yes, I’m so sorry! I’d gone for refreshments, and ran into an old friend. William, this is an old colleague of mine, Percy Smith. Percy, this is William Statton, he is a very generous donor to our foundation.” 

Your eyebrows are raised high at Tangerine, pleading, as you make the “introductions”. Your hand shakes as you place it on William’s arm, adrenaline surging through you. 

Tangerine shakes hands with the man, finally looking his way after tearing his disbelieving gaze away from yours. You can see the mocking laugh on his lips even if no one else can, but he is a professional, after all. He plays Gentleman to the hilt. If you didn’t know him much, much better, you might even buy it. 

“Mr. Statton, charmed. Yes, I just had the delightful surprise of running into our mutual friend here.” Tangerine gestures his glass in your direction with a knowing smile. 

You notice he’s careful not to say your name, since he doesn’t know which one you’re using. It might make you blush, if your nerves weren’t so frayed trying to figure out exactly what game he’s playing. 

 “It really has been a long, long time since we worked together.” 

He bites off the second ‘long’ in a way that hints at his aggravation just below the surface. His thumb runs along his mustache absently as he takes in the two of you together. It’s an uncomfortably analytical gaze.

William watches ‘Percy’ watch you, and glances in your direction, uncertain and clearly confused. Slowly, he asks, “Sorry…where did you say you two used to work together?”

“Johannesburg!” Tangerine cuts you off, forcefully interjecting the word before you can state your carefully crafted lie. You can practically see the mischief twinkling in his blue eyes as he looks your way. 

“...Yes, that’s right!” There’s a long pause before you’re able to jump back in with a cheerful cadence, despite your faltering. “The foundation had a mission out there, and Percy was one of the other volunteers.” 

“Right, the foundation.” Tangerine stresses the word ‘foundation’ in a way that lets you know he thinks this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. 

“Oh, with his brother - Thomas!” You add brightly, and you don’t miss the way his mustache twitches in annoyance at your cover names. “Is Thomas with you tonight? I would certainly love to catch up with him, as well.” 

Tan’s eyes narrow at you, as he realizes what you’re playing at. You want to know if he has backup, and where it’s coming from. He smirks, glancing around the crowded ballroom. You follow his eyeline, sure you see a glimpse of blonde curls in the crowd, but you blink and there’s no Lemon in sight.

“I’m sure he’s around. Never quite know what that Thomas is getting up to.” His tone is much too amiable to be genuine. He is definitely loving messing with you way too much. 

You smile thinly while you glare at him, annoyed. “Of course!” You force out, intent on carefully extricating yourself from this conversation. Just as you open your mouth, ready to make your excuses to the ladies room, Tangerine cuts in.

“So, William, you must have made a hefty donation to her foundation to score the VIP tickets tonight…” He pauses to take a sip from his glass, clearly savoring the moment. “But, that doesn’t even matter does it, because you own this mansion, don’t you - Duke Statton?” 

Tangerine locks eyes with you, although it would appear that he was still talking to William. He wants you to know that he knows just what you’re up to. “I do apologize, I’m sure you’re trying to go incognito this evening. But, ah, I couldn’t help but recognize you.”

“You recognized a Duke from a small Scottish Peerage?” You snort. You don’t think you could emanate a more hateful aura if you tried. 

William looks bashful and laughs loudly, embarrassed in the way where he’s not embarrassed at all and loves being recognized. 

“You’ve got me there! I may be hosting their benefit, but the Foundation does such incredible work that I wanted to get involved on a more personal level. Anna has been so fantastic, she’s been working with me to get my own charity off the ground!” He says.

William’s hand comes up to rest over yours on his arm, giving it the slightest squeeze. Tangerine’s eyes follow the movement with laser precision. He clears his throat and looks back up at William, the posh professional gent plastered on his face in full force. “Anna. Well. She’s always been a very hard worker. You couldn’t be in better hands.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think he winks at you. 

William misses the gesture, as he had taken the pause in conversation to check his watch, and tap it thoughtfully. He taps your hand, as well, a reminder. 

“Anna - we have the…other engagement.” He says to you quietly. 

You nod, nearly delirious in relief for the excuse to get away from Tangerine. The sooner you could get this job done and get as far away from here as possible, the better. 

“Yes, of course - I’m so sorry, Percy, we actually have to be going. But, it was so lovely to see you, and please give my love to Thomas!” 

“Hold on a moment-” Tangerine raises his eyebrows, more knowingly than you like, and lifts his own wrist to check his watch, as well. He chuckles and glances at William, fishing two fingers into his vest pocket and pulling out a familiar red keycard. 

You recall William handing you an identical keycard while in the limo on the way here. It will allow you access to the sprawling complex below your feet, where the real party is taking place tonight. 

William’s hosting your benefit, sure, but only as the cover to auction off some priceless piece of art recently plundered from its indigenous home. The bidding is closed, the sealed envelopes from all bidders due by 10:15 pm, precisely. 

It turned out that your Foundation’s benefit served as a lovely cover for William to host a large number of auspicious attendees and for those attendees to drop large sums of money without raising any suspicions. William had been quick to accept your invitation to work together, thinking he was using you.

The mark you’re after happens to be a black market dealer that runs in the same circles as Stanton, so the obvious way in was to make the connection with the Duke. You were able to provide him a perfect cover for his auction and wiggle into his inner circle over the last few weeks. And if he happened to be pursuing you beyond a professional capacity, then it was useful to you as an option to exploit if necessary. Just being on the arm of the Duke would open every door in this place without having to worry about security at all, and that really was priceless. 

And yet. Here you are watching your perfectly laid plans unravel before your eyes. This was supposed to be a quick and easy job, with the benefits of a luxurious date with a rich and handsome Duke. It was all set up to be a cakewalk with the Duke as your unwitting skeleton key. The Twins being here was making things decidedly more complex.

Your eyes widen as you see Tangerine with the keycard, and you glance at William. The two men look each other over, doing one last size up of the other, trying to discern if they were both ‘in’ on the secret. You see William break into a knowing grin, matched by Percy, and you barely suppress a groan. 

“Downstairs?” William questions, knowingly. 

“I guess we do have an appointment.” The delight dripping off Tangerine’s words was sickly sweet. The two men chuckle together conspiratorially and you start thinking of ways to get rid of Tangerine. Get rid of William. Get them away from each other, get Tangerine away from you - you were scrambling to come up with contingencies.  

You softly clear your throat, patting William’s hand over your own. “The bids are due any minute…” You diligently avoid Tangerine’s gaze as you play the part of the simpering date. If his eyes are lit up with mockery, you don’t care to see it. 

William nods with finality, and he reaches out for a last handshake with Tangerine. “Knew you were a good sort, Percy, old chap. Find me after, we’ll have a drink.” 

You notice the sharp smile from Tangerine and tense - you’re never quite sure what he’s going to do next, and you know that crazed look in his eyes. It never means anything good. 

Tangerine returns the forceful handshake, his smile dripping sarcasm as he catches your eye and holds your gaze while he speaks. “I’d love that.” 

When he saunters away, towards the sweeping staircases that lead to the private elevators, you let out a long and slow breath. You keep your eye on him long enough to note that no Lemon appears out of the crowd to join him before he disappears down the stairs. 

William is chatting benignly with you about the auction as he steers you towards the same staircases and you make blithe responses, only half-listening. 

The two of you descend the grand staircase, the exquisitely appointed decor of the glittering ballroom melting away and revealing the practical concrete and plexiglass of the complex hidden below. The clip of your heels change timbre from light and staccato on imported marble to loud and echoing off of cold concrete. 

There are a few other couples and groups milling around as the auction deadline approaches, waiting to get to the party. But, all you really notice is that Tangerine is nowhere to be seen. 

Is he already downstairs?

Your anxiety ratchets up a notch. You won’t be able to get the mark alone for a little while, yet. If Tangerine’s “plan” is to burst in guns blazing, you’re fucked. 

You approach an elevator bank, and William leads you to one off to the side. “This is my private elevator - even your card won’t work here.” He presses a thumb into the sensor, calling the elevator as he leans against it. He obviously thinks this is incredibly swoon worthy. 

Obliging, you look appropriately awestruck, and slip the keycard back into your clutch. 

“Will this take us to the party?” You ask, using your real nerves to lend credibility to your character. 

You might be terrified that an unhinged wildcard is roaming around unchecked and very likely to ruin your plans - but Anna is very nervous about breaking the law, but she’s just so excited to be here with the dashing Duke that she would do anything he asked. 

“I have business to attend to, first,” He reminds you, ushering you into the elevator after it opens. It’s as opulent as the ballroom above, completely out of place within these sterile concrete halls. 

You pout up at him, and he chuckles, caressing your cheek and using his finger to push your chin up to hold your gaze. 

“Don’t fret. You can go on ahead without me and start…enjoying. I’ll find you once I’m done with all the tedious paperwork.” 

You simper appropriately, averting your gaze as if you were just too overwhelmed by his attention. Everything was going according to plan. The original plan, anyway. He should be occupied with the auction long enough for you to set up the next pieces of Plan A and perhaps prep some backup contingencies for when things inevitably go off the rails. 

The elevator dings: a muted, polite sound, and you are let out into what looks like an identical set of concrete hallways. William gestures to a tuxedo-clad brick shithouse of a man to escort you. You certainly wouldn’t want to run into this guard if you were down here alone.

“This way to the party, ma’m.” The guard grunts at you after William takes his leave. 

You follow his hulking form through the complex, taking careful note of each turn and distance traveled. Plan A does involve calmly coming back the way you came, and you diligently note the route, but…part of you has a sinking feeling you’ll end up needing some other exit strategy.

It doesn’t take long to reach a door that looks different than all the others. Its large, double doors are a tufted black leather that reminds you of an upscale strip club. The guard opens one of the doors for you, and you step into the dimly lit space, hesitantly. 

Despite your meticulous planning, you weren’t sure exactly what to expect here. William had been cagey with the details, wanting to surprise you, he said. Test you, you thought. 

You only knew for certain what you’d been able to glean from his hacked financials. You’d found receipts for imported liquors and cigars, a DJ, and an entirely unique staff from the benefit. But there were plenty more cash payouts you couldn’t trace. You imagined most of that cash had gone to sex workers and drugs, but you still didn’t know what the Duke might be capable of. God knows you’d seen much worse than strippers and coke before. Ultimately, you were prepared for any number of debauched possibilities. 

Entering the lounge, you find that your suspicions were only mostly right. Strippers are spotlighted on small, raised daises with crowds grouped around them. You see several card tables set up, with what looks like professional dealers manning them. The seating is plush and abundant, with long couches and tucked away booths encouraging attendees to cuddle up and get comfortable. You see people - both subtly and not - kissing, touching, sucking, even fucking.

You quickly avert your gaze from flashes of naked bodies only partially obscured by tasteful velvet curtains, feeling your face heat up. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but not quite what you had expected. It seemed the Duke’s well of possible depravity ran deeper than you had given him credit for.

The lighting is politely dim, allowing the partygoers the illusion of anonymity and privacy. You take advantage, keeping your face in shadow as you step through the lounge and head for the bar. It gives you a moment to compose yourself, and to scan your surroundings.

Naked and nearly naked women walk around distributing refreshments. You can see the bar now, it’s classic mahogany, a Victorian marvel nestled in the back of the large room. It isn’t very crowded, you note as you approach, with most couples enjoying themselves elsewhere. 

Before you get there, a topless blonde walks up to you with a tray filled with long, white lines. You give her a shy smile, and reach into your clutch. You pull out fifty quid and lay it on her tray, shaking your head as she presents the tray to you. 

“No, thanks, just - can you tell Natasha to find me at the bar? Tell her Anna’s here, please.” 

The woman just shrugs, pocketing the money in a small pouch around her waist. “Whatever you want, sugar.” She says easily, turning and moving back through the crowd. 

Your shoulders hunch with tension as you find a barstool to perch on and wait. You go over and over what needs to happen next in your head, running it like a drill, again and again. The time is limited and there are wildcards at play, and you will not be able to relax until you regain some semblance of control over this fucking situation. 

The bartender nodding at you is a welcome intrusion, and you at least have the clarity of mind to ask for two glasses of champagne. It isn’t long before another woman sidles up behind you, quietly making her presence known. 

“Natasha,” You greet her with a nod, which she returns. 

She forgoes a greeting, and speaks directly, her Russian accent making her words sound clipped and harsh. “Your man will be in third room down the private hallway. One hour. He ask for me - a blonde.” 

She looks you up and down, in your high-necked gold ballgown with your long, brown hair tumbling down your shoulder. You chuckle at her expression, well aware of how you look next to Natasha, clad in nothing but a lacy, black thong and a sheer bra. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a severe braid. The two of you hardly look alike.

“Is that all?” She questions, suspicion lacing her words. She likely still couldn’t believe how this incredibly simple sharing of information had netted her such a large cash advance from you. 

“That’s it,” You reassured her with a smile, pulling out your phone and swiping through to send the final half of her payment. “The rest is in your account, now. Just give me the signal when the dressing room is empty and leave the room key in your locker. Do not acknowledge me from this point forward.” 

Natasha nodded, looking mildly intimidated by your sudden shift in demeanor, but ultimately cool and collected. She gave you another long look, and then turned to head back into the crowd. That was one piece slotted into place, you thought, letting out a long breath. 

You stare out across the lounge for a moment longer, cataloging your surroundings. You determine that you have at least a minute or two to yourself, and you slump in your seat. Two glasses of champagne sit at your elbow, having been silently delivered while you were speaking with Natasha. 

With smooth, practiced movements, you slip a small dropper bottle out of your clutch and quickly dispense four drops of clear liquid into one of the champagne glasses. You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip and smear it on the bottom edge of the dosed glass. The glass is gently set on a cocktail napkin just slightly to the left of your elbow and your clutch is snapped closed with the dropper inside when you feel a hand on your arm behind you. 

Your sultry smile is fixed in place as you turn, expecting the Duke back slightly earlier than planned. 

Of course, it’s Tangerine. 

Your expression deadens as you realize your mistake, then hardens as your pulse quickens anxiously. Tangerine only smirks at you, one hand in his pocket with a casual lean as he stands in front of you. 

His swagger emanates off of him - it’s dreadful. He thinks he’s “got” you and he’s so goddamned smug about it. 

It’s cute. 

He runs his hand up your arm and skims it just over your shoulder and skates his fingers across the back of your neck, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in his wake. You sit still, breath held tightly in your chest. You’re trapped in between the desire to lean into the touch or run for your life. 

It takes you a beat too long to realize he was reaching around you to grab your champagne glass. Cheeky bastard. 

You strike out with a sharp pinch to the nerves in his wrist, sending a buzzing pain through his arm. He winces mockingly, pulling his hand back as he slides into the empty barstool beside you. 

You keep a haughty expression on your face, deliberately lifting and replacing the champagne flutes in front of you. You are looking straight ahead, knowing that if you pretend to ignore him it’ll only piss him off more. Your lips twitch with amusement, feeling his glare burn holes in the side of your head. 

It feels gleeful to see him squirm, and so you make an elaborate meal out of taking a drink of your champagne. You swirl the golden liquid, observe the bubbles, and savor your long, slow sip. After you gently set the glass back down, you use a cocktail napkin to pat your lips dry. You open your clutch to pull out a compact mirror and lipstick, when Tangerine exclaims- 

“All right-”

He leans in close to you and slides his hand under the bar top, pressing a blade to your side, tucked into you and facing the bar - from behind anyone would think you’re just having an intimate conversation. You freeze in place, hardly daring to breathe.

“I don’t appreciate you taking the piss, love.” He says, voice rumbling, low and mean. He digs the blade in, making sure you feel it through the thick boning of your dress’ corset. You can’t help the shiver that runs through you; a potent mix of fear and headiness at being this close to him after so long. 

“But, it’s so easy to work you up. And you’re so cute when you’re pissy.” You match his volume, keeping yourself as still as you can while you smirk up at his furious glare. 

You haven't got a fucking clue where you stand with Tangerine, and it makes you feel like you’re playing with a live wire. As far as you know, he’s only just found out you aren’t dead. As far as you know, the last time you saw him, he'd just sold you out and left you for dead. He’s unpredictable in the best of circumstances and you have no idea what he’ll do. 

He exhales through his nose loudly, and the muscles in his neck all clench - he’s utterly enraged, and you know you’re poking the bear. You know. But you want to push him to his limit, fuck up his night and his money as thoroughly as you can - you want to rattle him.

You can’t help it, watching him try to reign in his rage is just too fucking funny and your smirk widens into a grin, taunting. 

You’re reaching out for the livewire even as it sparks.

Lightning fast, Tangerine moves his free hand from the small of your back to the back of your neck. Before you can react, his fingers thread through your curls to lock onto the roots at the base of your scalp and he pulls - hard. 

You gasp in pain and surprise, tears springing into your eyes at the sharp pain. He holds you in place like this, and he’s still subtle enough that from behind he just looks like your lover caressing your neck and playing with your hair. 

“Cunt,” You hiss out, trapped between his unyielding grip and a knife at your belly. You see the way his mustache twitches at that - he likes to see you squirm, too. 

You look down at the hand pressing a knife into you and glance at the the ostentatious gold watch on its wrist. It confirms your hunch - time’s just about up, and you really need to wrap this shit up. You cut to the chase. 

“What do you want, Tangerine? How much do I have to pay you to fuck off?” You say, grinding out the demand as he keeps the iron grip on the back of your head. 

He grins, and you catch a wolfish glint of white as a strobe light flashes past. His grip relaxes just slightly, enough to pass as pleasurable in different circumstances. 

Not helpful.

“Ooh, that’s right. Wouldn’t want poncy Percy to come back and see us, would we?” Tangerine gives an experimental tug on your hair, and you just fucking know his narrowed eyes catch the way your eyelids flutter before you wince. 

“You’re poncy Percy, you twat. He’s William.” You ignore his chuckle, ignoring the way the warm sound vibrates in your chest with want and settling on being fucking annoyed. “So, yes, would you mind, please, pissing the hell off?” 

Something in the air between you has lightened, and you finally let yourself relax - you don't think he actually wants to kill you. At least not right now.

You test the waters by moving to pull your head slightly forward out of his grip. He tightens his hold for a moment, and then he lets you go entirely, dropping his hand. You note that he keeps the knife at your side - no trust amongst killers, you suppose. 

“Are you still with the Firm?” He asks. 

Your eyebrows raise, unable to hide your surprise at the question. This question is loaded, and you swallow hard - throat suddenly dry. 

“Yes.” You nod once, forcing yourself to keep his eye contact. 

Now Tangerine knows that the Firm knows you’re alive. And, of course, they handled your faked death. He knows you didn’t do it to get away and start a new life, like you always said. He knows what you’ve done. 

He watches you with sharp focus and he asks you-

“Drop the contract.”

You’re unafraid of the knife at your side, but terrified of the piercing blue eyes holding you in place. 

“You know I can’t.” Your voice is quiet, but you can hear the plea in your own words. He knows now you’re still at the Firm - he knows you complete your assignments. There is no other option. 

You see the slightest softening in his body language, so you decide to push your luck. 

“You owe me, one, anyway. For Joburg.” You say. 

His nostrils flare and his mustache twitches in a way that lets you know he thinks you’re dead wrong and you fix him with a hateful glare. 

“After Joburg?” You press, finally leaning into him and slipping your hand down to where his is holding the blade. 

You know you’re running out of time, and you feel as breathless as if you had just fought him to the death. His hand is clenched hard around the handle of the knife, and he feels as unyielding as stone. His hands are as achingly warm as you remember, practically radiating heat under your own hand. 

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can feel the muscles in his arm flex and unflex. He's arguing with himself, you know, and you can only hope that he lands on ‘letting you live’ in his deliberation. 

You let out a long breath of held tension as he pulls his hand away and tucks the blade in his waistcoat. Before you can open your mouth to say another word, he’s standing and straightening his jacket. 

He’s fiddling with his cufflinks and staring off into the middle distance. You feel a wistful pang, watching him - closer than you ever thought you would get again, but he's still a million miles away.

You would give anything to be able to read his thoughts in this moment. 

He finally looks at you, and you catch the same hardening of his demeanor as he turns to business. Your chest feels cold, you know he's shut you out - maybe for good now. 

But, he's Tangerine. So he's unpredictable. Adaptable.

“Ten minutes lead, usual rules.” He speaks so casually, like he hasn’t invoked a shared past that you hadn’t dared acknowledge. Your mouth hangs open, shocked, and he smirks - happy to throw you off. 

“I imagine your Prince will be here any second. You’ll need the head start.” He’s as cocky a bastard as ever, you think. 

Tangerine glances in the mirrored wall behind the bar to smooth his mustache down and you catch his eye in the mirror. He stills his preening, meeting your stare. 

You feel the timid flame of hope spark to life behind your heart and you swear you see something besides hate in his eyes.

You barely dare to breathe, let alone move, lest you break the spell. 

“Why?” You croak out, tension making your voice rasp. 

Tangerine holds your gaze, and you see him soften - just for a moment, you see a flash of the man you used to know - and then he looks away, like he can’t look you in the eye and answer. 

“You don’t know everything.” 

He’s already halfway across the lounge, about to disappear into another room, before you can collect yourself. 

What the fuck does that mean? 

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #mine #mineFic #killshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #tangerine fic #mineTangerine

[sesamestreep]

50 jyn/cassian? 👀

50. the hands of fate (from this prompt list)

After such a crushing defeat, Cassian decides that what he and his teammates really need is another round, and since everyone else is still arguing over the finer points of the last question, he decides it’s up to him to make that happen. Luckily, the bar is not particularly crowded at that moment, so he’s able to get the attention of the bartender right away.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, leaning slightly across the bar to hear him better.

It takes him a minute to remember why he’s there, because he’s been doing trivia at this bar for the last few months and he’s never seen this bartender before, which is only notable because she’s exceptionally pretty. She’s got bright green eyes, and hair that manages to be messy in a way he suspects might actually be fashionable, and she’s wearing a black tank top that shows off some very cool-looking tattoos on her biceps. The usual Thursday night bartender barely even looks at him when she takes his order, let alone going so far as to actually speak to him in full sentences.

“Did you want to order something?” she asks, warily, and her expression shutters in the way of an experienced customer service professional who’s used to dealing with drunk people and skeevy men with alarming frequency.

Cassian shakes his head, as if to clear his mind so he doesn’t (rightfully) earn this bartender’s wrath by staring for another minute. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, adopting what he hopes is a genial expression. “We just got our asses handed to us at trivia, so my cognitive function hasn’t fully returned yet.”

The bartender offers him a half-smile at that and nods. “Take your time.”

“Uh, I think I’m just going to get another round for everyone,” Cassian says, and then rattles off his team’s drink orders. The bartender nods and, even though she doesn’t stop to write it down, he has a feeling she’s got it memorized.

She starts making a drink in front of him, and only looks up a moment later when she realizes he’s still there. “I can bring them over when I’m done,” she says, pointing her chin in the direction of his table while her hands are occupied pouring vodka into a cocktail shaker.

“Oh, right,” Cassian says, stupidly. “That would be great. I, uh, already mentioned my brain’s not working, right?”

She laughs a little, which feels sort of like a victory, and shakes her head. “Must have been a tough loss.”

“We came this close to winning for once!” he can’t help griping. “But no one on my team knew the names of the three Fates in Greek mythology.”

The bartender tosses the shaker from side to side in a practiced motion, and gives him a barely interested look. “You mean, the Moirai?” she asks.

Cassian barely stops himself from gaping at her. “I, uh, think they wanted the individual names, actually.”

“Oh, so like Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, then?”

“Jesus, do you write the questions?”

She smiles and pulls a glass out from under the counter. “No,” she says, as she deftly pours the contents of the shaker into the glass. “I just went through a very intense Greek mythology phase when I was a kid.”

“Thank god. I was beginning to think I was just stupid!”

“The two ideas are not mutually exclusive,” she replies, breezily, as she tosses an olive into the drink. “I’ll bring your drinks right over, unless you want me to keep talking to you about mythology.”

There actually isn’t anything Cassian wants more at the moment, but he’s already lost so much dignity at trivia that he can’t afford to lose anymore getting shut down by this beautiful bartender, so he nods and thanks her before he heads back to his table. Bodhi has finally stopped reading Wikipedia on his phone (a time-honored post-loss tradition for them) and is sitting with his head resting on Taidu’s shoulder. Melshi, on the other side of the table, is slumped in his chair, staring into the dregs of his beer.

“Another round incoming,” he says, clapping Melshi on the shoulder.

“Thank god,” Melshi replies, sitting up.

“We are bad at trivia,” Bodhi proclaims, which is also a time-honored tradition.

“We did better this time,” Taidu counters.

“Yeah, but we still lost.”

“Progress over perfection.”

“Stop being reasonable,” Melshi groans. “The wound is still too fresh.”

“You know what’s great for treating wounds?” a voice over Cassian’s shoulder asks. “Alcohol!”

The beautiful bartender appears then, with their drinks on a small tray and starts depositing them on the table, where Taidu immediately helps divvy them up to their respective recipients.

“What are you doing here?” Bodhi asks her, which seems like an odd response. Cassian looks between the two of them, puzzled.

“I told you I was working tonight,” the bartender replies, resting the now-empty tray on her hip.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I sent you a text!”

“Oh,” Taidu says. “That was your first mistake. He never reads his texts.”

“Shut up,” Bodhi says, thumping him lightly on the shoulder. “I read texts! I even reply to them! I am a functional person!”

Taidu and the bartender scoff at the same time, and Cassian is definitely missing something.

“So, why are you working tonight?” Bodhi asks, before Cassian can figure out a way to ask what’s going on without seeming rude. “I mean, I read your text, for sure, but like…remind me?”

“Kennel no-call, no-showed and Baze asked me to fill in.”

“What?! Tell me everything!”

“I just did. She didn’t call out or give notice so I have no idea what happened.”

“Okay, that’s more boring than I expected,” Bodhi says, sounding disappointed. “I always thought she’d get fired for coming after you with a knife or something.”

“You and me both, buddy,” the bartender says.

“Kennel is the usual Thursday night bartender?” Taidu asks, speaking for all of them.

“Yeah,” Bodhi says. “She’s fucking nuts.”

“Good riddance,” she agrees. Then, she turns her attention to Cassian, pointing at him with her elbow. “I put the drinks on your tab, by the way.”

Cassian blinks at her in surprise. “Oh, right. Yeah. Good. Did I—sorry, I don’t think I gave you my name, so…”

“No, but I know Bodhi, which means I also know Taidu, naturally, and I’ve met Melshi before, so I guessed you were probably Bodhi’s other co-worker, Cassian, who he does trivia with but whom I’ve never met and there was a card with that name behind the bar, so…”

“Okay, seriously, are you some kind of savant or something? Between this and knowing all of the trivia answers…”

She smiles. “I have the distinct advantage of being more sober than almost everyone in the room, which gives the impression of genius where there is none.”

“Bodhi, you didn’t tell Cassian your roommate worked here, did you?” Taidu asks suddenly, sounding amused.

Bodhi smacks himself on the forehead. “She doesn’t normally work Thursdays,” he admits, miserably, before looking up. “Cassian, this is my roommate, Jyn. She works here.”

“Jyn. Right,” Cassian says, feeling some puzzle pieces slot into place. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet.”

“Same,” she says, extending a hand for him to shake and giving him a mysterious smile. “Though Bodhi did say you were the ringer on the trivia team, and you didn’t even know the names of the Moirai.”

“Cassian is the ringer,” Melshi says, “which just goes to show how terrible the rest of us are.”

“I think Kay was technically our ringer,” Cassian replies.

“Until he got perma-banned,” Bodhi adds, dejectedly.

“Kay?” Jyn asks. 

“My roommate,” Cassian specifies. “It was for the best, he argued with the host too much.”

“Oh, that guy,” she says, nodding. “Baze and Chirrut have his picture hung up in the office. We throw darts at it, uh, lovingly.”

Cassian waves away the sheepish look she gives him. “I live with him. I understand the impulse. Anyway, that’s how Taidu ended up joining us.”

“Lucky them,” he says, raising his glass in a mock toast. “I know nothing, it turns out.”

“I mean, if they ever need someone to answer a question about the intricacies of Formula 1, you’re their man,” Jyn says.

“Taidu watches a lot of F1 at our apartment,” Bodhi explains. “He’s trying to get Jyn into it.”

“It’s not nearly violent enough for my tastes,” she says, mildly. “Anything else before I go back to the bar? Need me to name all the Argonauts, perhaps?”

“Oh, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?” Bodhi asks, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s going to be like the eagle, pecking out Prometheus’s liver every day, only it’ll be me taunting you with Greek mythology facts.”

“Mythological facts, huh?” Melshi asks.

“I’m sorry,” Jyn says, leaning in close. “I have trouble hearing people who’ve never won bar trivia in their lives.”

“You’re right,” he replies, holding his hands up in defeat. “You got us there.”

“Next week,” Cassian says emphatically, “is going to be our week. I’m calling it.”

The pitying look Jyn gives him before she leaves their table does nothing to bolster his confidence—nor does it quell the spark of attraction he felt when he first saw her. He was really hoping the revelation that she’s Bodhi’s roommate might help with that, but no such luck. If anything, he likes her more now; Bodhi has always talked about Jyn in glowing terms and Cassian can see now that she lives up to her reputation. 

He realizes only a little belatedly that he’s been watching her walk away, which feels like a bridge too far, and catches Melshi giving him an unimpressed look. He schools his expression into something overly innocent and Melshi snorts before returning his attention to his beer.

They hang around, replaying their demoralizing defeat for the tenth time and vowing (as always) to do better next time, until their drinks are finished and then everyone gets ready to leave. Melshi heads off for the train with a sardonic salute and Taidu and Bodhi head off in search of a cab, while Cassian lives close enough that he’s just going to walk home. He is already halfway out the door when he realizes he left his credit card at the bar.

He does a heel turn and heads back in, waiting at the least crowded corner of the bar until he can get someone’s attention. He’s seen a few people milling around behind the bar all night, but as far as he can tell Jyn is the only bartender on and she’s the only one there now, which means she’s busy, so he settles in to wait once he catches her eye and she gives him a nod to say she’ll be right with him.

“Sorry about that,” she says, when she finally makes her way over to him around five minutes later. “We’re short-staffed, as you know. I didn’t know Thursdays were this busy!”

“No problem,” Cassian says, signing his receipt and handing it back to her while he pockets his card. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Jyn drums her fingers on the bar as she considers him. “You should know,” she says, after obvious deliberation, “I only date people who win at bar trivia.”

He could not possibly have heard that correctly. “I…what?”

“I think it’s only fair that you know this about me, since you’re making your interest known.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not what—I wasn’t saying I’ve got nowhere to be like that, just that I wasn’t in a hurry! I was not trying to—”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. It was just an expression!”

She treats him to the most exaggerated, patronizing nod of all time. “Right. And you were absolutely not checking me out earlier.”

“I was not doing that,” Cassian says, and it’s frankly embarrassing how transparent of a lie it is.

“I don’t blame you,” Jyn says, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m very cute.”

“Huh. Now that you mention it…”

She smiles, one of those mysterious, knowing ones he finds so intriguing. “Bodhi did always say he thought you and I would get along if we ever met.”

“Too bad you have such high standards,” he replies, easily. “I could think of a few ways we could get along better.”

“Well, there’s always next week,” she offers.

“You mean, next week when we’re going to win trivia and you’re going to give me your number? That next week?”

Jyn shakes her head, but he can see she’s fighting a smile. “I admire your optimism.”

“Get ready to admire my intellect too,” he says, “when I win bar trivia.”

“Whatever you say, Cassian.”

*

“So,” Cassian says, as he leans up against the bar a week later after trivia has wrapped up, “are you absolutely sure you couldn’t be talked into dating someone much much dumber than you?”

Jyn’s answering laugh, surprised and delighted and unrestrained, makes him feel so much prouder of himself than winning trivia ever could. Not that he knows for sure, of course, never having done the latter, but if he had to guess.

#PHEW OKAY #hi ani I’m so sorry this took me legit six months to write I hope you like it!!! #literally get this away from me I can’t edit it anymore 🫠 #taylor swift song prompts #wovesaxe #ask #writing prompts #rebelcaptain #cassian andor #jyn erso #jyncassian #jyn x cassian #i don’t remember what my most common tag for them is ooooop #rogue one #you can tell Bodhi is my number one boy because I gave him all my ADHD in this fic #also I kinda feel like Jyn and Melshi would get along really well but like specifically in a super bitchy way #if that makes sense #anyway i should have finished editing this like two hours ago BYE #homelywenchsociety #that’s me! #that’s my writing tag don’t worry abt it #my guarantee is that I will finish a prompt you send me it just might need to haunt me for 8 months or more first

[owlafterhours]

[ac6] g5/621: i guess you could call him 'the boy next door'

Side B to the first Vegas AU mess. Very unedited, sorry ahead of time

So the first, was more pick n’ choose with who Raven’s with bc there’re so many people that both Freud and Rusty could be unimpressed by, and that dump wasn’t about Raven. So this is a very self-indulgent side B. It’s G5/621 so like, whatever dysfunctional relationship tags, slaps them on (though, as before, a softer, fluffier variant.). They’re just both idiots. 

C1, which gets a throwaway mention, is ‘Core Theorem 1’. The vibes are loosely based off F1 (surprise surprise) and my solution to ‘I Want The Mechs But Generally Non-Lethal’. This isn’t to say there aren’t military uses, But since vegas AU Grew Legs And Started Running, I might go into it in a worldbuilding dump post later or smth idk

CW: Lots of Alcohol, getting married for Questionable Reasons

In Which: Raven’s here for a good time, Iguazu was having a bad time, and everyone else is having A Time.

Sometimes, you get asked to go to an expo at the last minute ‘cause the garage you’re consulting for can’t make it and they need three people there. Please! Expenses paid! It’s in the same city that Rusty said he had some work thing at, so you can even call for emergency help if you need it.

Sometimes, you’ll end up in a crappy motel with them - they’re strapped for cash, like most independent garages, and this isn’t too far from the venue. You think you should be able to make it over without needing a taxi or exerting your leg too much.

And sometimes, sometimes, you open your door to find that a former rival-turned-who-the-hell-knows-what was staying in the same crappy motel. 

You think you see Michigan and Volta’s utes behind him.

“The fuck are you doing here, freelancer?”

Raven shuts the door in Iguazu’s face.

–

That’s the last that Iguazu sees of Raven for the next two days. 

Long story short, the Redguns are on like, vacation. No. Michigan calls it a vacation but it’s really team bonding. He’s managed to bribe them all there with the promise of picking up the tab for everything. Iguazu and Volta make a pact to drink a hole in Michigan’s wallet. 

Which is good and all, until Iguazu keeps. Getting like. Needled. Yes, Michigan’s making comments on everyone, but it’s personal alright?? First, it’s just the regular ol’ getting signed up for more things because Iguazu keeps trying to get out of them. But then Michigan starts making more targeted quips. How Iguazu really needed to move his arms n legs before his mouth. How he keeps losing these little challenges. How he should save yapping for those who’ve actually got a gift for it, like Gun Three. How it’s not even Iguazu that lets him know that Gun Thirteen’s apparently been living in the same motel as they were.

“You said he’s been here the last two days Volta?” Michigan had said. “That sneaky maggot hasn’t shown his face to me even once.” 

And then he called…someone and rattled off Raven’s description, barked into his phone a bit more before hanging up and grinning. 

“Alright - Gun Five, I got a job for you!”

–

Raven’s with a bunch of nerds in a tucked away bar, paper spread over several tables and bartenders observing them with some concerned curiosity. They’re drawing out the schematics for something. Some things. There’re a lot of propellers, and Iguazu thinks he recognizes a generator or two there. He’s not sure. 

Either way, Iguazu can see that Raven’s not integral to whatever nerd ritual it was that they were doing, so loomed behind Raven before setting his hands on his shoulders.

Raven leans back and tilts his head to look up. There’s a glimmer of recognition - before the lights turn off and Raven tries to go back to whatever it was he was working on. 

“You-” Iguazu pulled him back again. 

It’s a song and dance they’re familiar with.

They go through it every time they see each other.

(Which…is more often than Raven would like to admit. They’d been ‘rivals’ in the C1 scene, and gone through a wild thing or two together, but it didn’t really explain how their paths kept crossing. Then again, sometimes, Raven just…needed to be Somewhere Else, and if Iguazu and Volta kept on letting him into their apartment, then who was he to say no? He just brings an offering - usually food, or some of the booze he knows they like - and then crashes on their couch for the night.

Sometimes he’ll even wake up with Iguazu’s jacket on him.)

It means that Raven sighs at him before letting Iguazu shepherd him away with an arm around his shoulders. ‘Keeps him from running’, Iguazu had said, the first time he did it, and Raven's just gone along with it since.

One of the nerds - a Balam tech, by the looks of it - seems more apologetic than the others when he’s bidding farewell, and it’s only twenty minutes and drive later that he connects it with a triumphant Michigan and amused Nile.

“Gun Thirteen! I’m surprised to see you in this neck of the woods – why did I have to find out from Gun Four you were just next door?” 

Turns out, it wasn’t that Iguazu had miraculously found where Raven was but, rather, Michigan who had used his considerable sway over the Balam engineers to hunt Raven down.

Anyway, Raven’s roped into the Redgun festivities for the night; they’re not exactly what he expected. For one, Wuhuahai and Volta seemed to be in deep conversation over an arrangement of pepper shakers and glasses - Raven thinks he overhears something about ‘mergers and ‘arbitrage’’ and decides he doesn’t need to know what that is. Red’s got an impressive number of glasses in front of him, eyes sparkling as he talks about his family back home to Albany and Osawa. 

Half the bar is made of Redguns tonight, and Michigan has his eyes on every one of them.

For example: Iguazu had steered Raven into the pub with an arm around his shoulder. Iguazu intercepted any drinks that came to Raven. (Michigan’s heard from Walter that the kid wasn’t allowed alcohol.) Volta seemed increasingly exasperated every time he looked over as the night progressed - and Nile was giving Michigan the Look that told him to Shut Up For The Sake Of A Drama Free Vacation. For Once.

Who did he think he was?? A Vesper? Fuck no. So Michigan does what Michigan does best, and starts ribbing the two about lovebirds and ‘oh wouldn’t you look at that, guess you two kissed and made up hm???????’

And sure, Raven didn’t give two shits - he puts up with enough of this from Ziyi if he’s being real - but Iguazu. He’s half-way to drunk from tipsy and he is So Tired. Sooooo fucking tired of this bullshit. It’s been five fucking days of nothing but this and he is Done. He stalked up to Michigan. 

“Fuck Off.” Iguazu snarled, before storming out of the pub.

He doesn’t realize he’d grabbed Raven on his way out until Raven’s cane hits the back of his legs, forcing him to stagger.

“Fuck was that for!?” he snapped, before noticing that Raven had a tight grip around Iguazu’s arm. He was leaning quite heavily on Iguazu, now that he thought about it, and his breath was coming in a bit short. “Tch.” 

Iguazu’s not sure when it happened, but he’s gotten used to Raven’s quirks. Really, he thinks they spend too much time together, for someone who makes Iguazu feel sick in the stomach. Volta always says he’s in a worse mood after Raven stays over, so he has no clue why either of them keep letting the guy in. 

He walks a little slower after that though, and eventually, Raven catches his breath. It’s just them, the lights and passing by revellers for a moment - before Freud makes a lovely appearance with Rusty. They’re holding hands.

“Raven! Just who I wanted to see.” Freud says, and Raven zeroes in on the ‘I Have An Idea’ tone of voice. Looks like Freud had finally broken or something, and wanted to get married to Rusty, like. At this moment. Right now. Look, the walk-in wedding venue’s Right There. Could you be our witness Raven? 

(With how Rusty seemed totally unsurprised by Raven standing in front of him, Raven puts a wager on him being completely smashed. He has to admire Rusty’s composure when it comes to drinks. He never looks as drunk as he actually was.)

And Iguazu has no idea what’s happening anymore - or he doesn’t until Freud mentions, off-hand, this was how he was making a statement to Rusty.

A lightblub goes off in his head. Iguazu waited with more patience and grace than either Freud or Rusty deserved from him. He needs Raven for this.

“Hey. Freelancer.” he said, after Rusty and Freud had shared a sloppy kiss and then left the venue after all due paperwork was completed. “Let’s get married. That’ll show ‘em.”

Raven doesn’t have to guess who that ‘someone is’, but he’s definitely wondering about this sequence of events. How, exactly, is getting married going to matter to Michigan? 

He says as much, but Iguazu is. Oddly confident about this. 

“It’ll show him.” he insists. Raven points out that he’s had enough alcohol. Iguazu waves him away - he’s not a bloody lightweight. Raven says they need a witness; and No, they won’t be calling Freud back for this. That’d be terrible. 

Sure, he can work with that. Iguazu uses ‘Call a friend’. 

“Hey Volta, get your ass over here. Need you for somethin’.”

Thus their witness is procured! Volta knows he deserves to be here for all the bullshit he’s put up with. He almost feels proud of them. He also can’t believe he’s been roped into every fucking step of this not-relationship until it’s become…This. Whatever it was. He’s not calling this a proper fucking wedding, when he knows Iguazu’s doing it to be a little shit and Raven–

(“You don’t mind?” Volta asked Raven half-heartedly when he’d reached the place. Raven just shook his head and shrugged, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that told Volta that the guy’s Invested in this. Somehow.)

 –who the hell knows. 

–

When Iguazu wakes up the next morning, he panics. What the hell was he thinking last night? Alright, maybe he overestimated how much he could drink (like usual), but that didn’t fucking mean he had to go get hitched to the freelancer. 

He’s still panicking when he gets a knock on the door. He doesn’t want to open it.

He gets up to open it anyway. It’s Raven. He looks like nothing happened the night before. He’s saying that they should go down to the place sometime in the next hour so they can get it sorted. Iguazu thinks he should feel relieved. Here’s an out. 

“We should deal with it.” Raven said, matter of fact. “Me and my colleagues are leaving today.”

Iguazu takes a breath. Iguazu feels that familiar discomfort in his stomach. Yes, they can go. Just give him a moment. Just,

He can hear Michigan’s mocking laughter. Volta’s going to be exasperated - if not a bit pissed. He’ll be the laughingstock again. Fuck that.

“No.”

“No?” “No. Fuck that. I’ll show them.”

“...I’ll tell my colleagues I’ll be staying another day then.” Raven said, “My room’s only booked til today eleven though, so I’ll stay in yours for the night.”

Iguazu didn’t expect Raven to agree so…easily. He took a breath. This could work out. How hard could it be to stay married for a little longer? 

“Fuck. Sure.”

–

In the end, neither of them actually announced that they got married, but word must’ve gotten around, because Michigan had accepted that Raven was getting back home with them without much comment. It’s a quiet trip home, Volta with his eyes on the road and Iguazu with his head pillowed on Raven’s shoulder, fast asleep. 

[what were u doing there]

[did i ask u to come?]

Raven stared at the message from Rusty - ah, looks like he finally realized that Raven had been somewhere he wasn’t meant to be? Careful not to dislodge Iguazu, Raven angled his phone juuuust right and took a selfie.

#armored core 6 #coral containment sphere #c4 621 #g5 iguazu #owlscratch #there were other notes i wanted to put down here but i think my brain is a bit empty now #might go back and fix some tenses or something #or maybe just go-over the two of them so i can slap it onto ao3 or something #there do be somethnig about ac6 that's gotten me writing though damn

[fionajames]

Hey, Jamie. Sorry if I’m bombarding you with requests. I’m going through a really hard time right now and it sucks and might sound weird but your writing actually makes it a lot better and I’ve been re reading a lot of your recent works to feel better.

Anyway I’m not here to talk about myself sorry. Requesting time once again: can i please have prompt #13 “I thought you were dead” with your choice of characters and maybe a little horror and/or gore?

Thanks, sincerely, your number one fan, Sha 🫡

If I’m asking too much or too many times, tell me and I’ll chill

SHA IF YOU STOP REQUESTING IM DELETING MY ACC

DONT STOP I LOVE YOUR REQUESTS, PLS MOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I LOVE WRITING FOR THEM

I totally understand that and its not weird. I hope you feel better soon and im very very very grateful that my writing helps you.

alright you gave me the option of whom ever oc i choose so here is Satsuki Noriko an oc of mine. I introduced her in this: https://www.tumblr.com/fionajames/731230304426131456/ocs-pt-2?source=share&ref=fionajames post and if your interesting I did a smoll drabble about her first meeting with rex: https://www.tumblr.com/fionajames/731242121789636608/satsuki-meets-rex?source=share&ref=fionajames.

anyways, people REQUEST MORE IM BLESSED EVERY TIME I SEE A NOTIFICATION ON THE INBOX SECTION WHEN I ENTRE TUMBLR.

ENJOY!!!!!

Satsuki grunted as she spat on the ground of her cell, attempting to get the metallic taste of her own blood out of her mouth. She shivered as she shuffled backwards on her knees towards the wall, rubbing her wrists in pain. The cuffs bounding her wrists were so tight the skin underneath them was red and raw, but her captives didn’t care about that.

Satsuki breathed in deeply, savouring the feeling of the cold air on her tongue to try and block out the ache of her throat when it throbbed from the brittle wind scratching at it. It had been so long since she’d been in this cell, and the only way she was able to keep track of the days was by the light coming in through the tiny window at the top of the wall.

The guards outside her cell and the others paced back and forth, face hidden by their helmets. Satsuki coughed as she shuffled to the metal bed she slept on, using her tied up hands to haul herself to her feet. The bed was beyond uncomfortable - it was probably more comfortable to sleep on the floor - but Satsuki relished the thin sheet she’d been provided as a blanket. It hurt too much to lie on her back so she lay on her side instead, waiting for the call from the guards. 

“Lights out!” One of the Mandalorians called - as though there were lights to turn off - as he marched away from the cell corridor in his shiny black armour. Satsuki hated that sleek, black armour more than anything. 

‘Lights out’ meant to sleep on your bed - not on the floor - facing the wall so the guards could see your bound hands. Satsuki listened to the quiet rustling of clothes as the other prisoners copied her, clambering onto their metal slabs for the night. 

A few moments later, the Mandoralian guards of the night shift entered and Satsuki watched the faint shadows of the bars from her window fade, her signal that it was nighttime. 

Sleep never came easy to any of the prisoners, but at least they were allowed it. Satsuki knew that every single one of the prisoners - including herself - feared the day where sleep was not permitted, and so they forced themselves to sleep. Satsuki squeezed her dull black eyes shut - dull from the days of hiding in the dark - and waited for uneasy and silent sleep to take her. 

                                -

“Lights on!” A voice shouted and Satsuki shook herself awake, blinking away the tears in her eyes away as she scrambled from her bed to her cell bars, collapsing on her knees. 

The sleekly armoured Mandolorian returned - or at least it looked like the same one, it was hard to tell when they all bore matching armour - clutching a metal tray. He shoved it through the gap in the bars near the floor and Satsuki managed a ‘thank you’ as she bent down. 

No-hands eating was rather hard - she’d discovered - as she took the rations bar in her mouth and tilted her head back, letting it fall into her mouth and chewing hurriedly. The Mandolorian reached through the bars and clicked with his mouth. Satsuki stood up quickly as the guard pressed a cup of water to her lips and gently tipped it back.

He - Satsuki could tell it was a boy - refilled the cup and let her drink from it again, as she savoured the taste of the fresh cold water. After she’d finished the second cup, Satsuki watched as the Mandolorian filled the third cup to the brim, letting her drink from it again. But when she was done, she noticed something at the bottom of the cup. The Mandolorian tilted the cup back so the contents fell on the floor and without a moments hesitation, Satsuki placed her foot over the object. 

“Hey, what do you think you're doing!” The Mandolorian shouted but Satsuki could see from his body language that he was faking - acting - for whatever reason she did not know. “Get back to your wall!” Satsuki nodded and did as she was told, dragging her foot along the ground to bring the objects with her. The Mandolorian took the tray and left - but she knew he would return shortly to stand guard. Satsuki bent down and lifted her foot, using her hands to awkwardly pick up the two objects, placing them in front of her so her body hid it from everyone but her.

Satsuki managed to somehow stifle a gasp open seeing the reveal of the two objects - eyes widening as her mouth fell open in a gape. Footsteps behind her signalled the guard had returned to his post, but she didn’t turn around. 

In front of her was a small black remote with two singular buttons alongside a piece of crispy, old flimsi that read six simple words. Six simple words that changed Satsuki’s life. ‘I’m getting you out of here’ was scribbled on the paper in messy, Galactic Aurebesh. 

Hesitantly, Satsuki looked back at the remote and at the shining green and red buttons. Glancing behind her once - seeing only her guard - Satsuki bent down and pressed the green button with her nose roughly. She gasped when the pressure on her wrists ceased, and the cuffs clattered to the ground behind her. Satsuki hurriedly shuffled around to hide all three objects as she massaged her bruised and abused wrists, licking the cuts with a grimace. They’d need treating. If we can get out of her, she reminded herself, glancing at the Mandolorian who was watching her carefully. 

She moved a ‘thank you’ and he gave her the smallest of nods. 

Then, all of a sudden, the Mandolorian whipped his pistol out of his holster and shot two nearby guards, their bodies falling to the ground slightly within Satsuki’s view. She gaped and then stood up, rushing to the bars as the Mandolorian ducked away from blasts, shooting at the remaining guards who collapsed lifelessly. 

They were not expecting a fight, Satsuki inwardly mused with wide eyes. The Mandolorian turned to her and typed a code into the keypad. The red-haired girl watched - frozen - as the gate slid open, the bars no longer in front of her. 

“C’mon,” the Mandolorian commanded but Satsuki didn’t hear as she stared open-mouthed at the empty space where the bars had been. The Mandolorian snorted and shrugged off his helmet, revealing a boy around Satsuki’s age with fluffy black hair that covered his face, dark swirling eyes and natural-tan skin. He rolled his eyes at her. “Come on, Noriko, let’s go!”

Satsuki could barely comprehend the open-doorway in front of her as she accepted the pistol he shoved into her chest and scrambled after him, glancing back at the remaining prisoners. “Can’t we free them?” She asked in a hushed voice as they reached the exit. 

The Mandolorian rolled his eyes again and slammed a button on the keypad, watching all the doors open. “Happy?” He snarked with a sarcastic grin, grabbing her wrist and dragging her through the doorway and up the stairs. 

“Who are you?” Satsuki shouted at him as he ran his free hand through his hair, tossing the fluffy wisps around as he let go of Satsuki’s wrist and grasped his other pistol. 

“I’m Aramis Yvain,” he replied as she tripped over a step clumsily. Aramis ducked to pull her back up to her feet, continuing to hurry up the stairwell. “I’m getting you home.”

“Why?” Satsuki huffed as Aramis opened the next door. She rolled through the open doorway and fell into a sort-of crouch, placing her pistol-gripping-hand in her open palm to steady it as she shot down two Mandolorians. The remaining three spun around and Aramis quickly fired three blasts, two hitting their targets and the final missing. Satsuki rotated sharply and shot the final. 

“Impressive,” he muttered, ignoring her question. Satsuki grinned proudly before her stomach twisted at the reminder of Rex - who taught her how to fight like that. “I don’t think you deserve to be here.”

“Thank you,” Satsuki told Aramis as she watched him open the door ahead, showing no relief when it was empty. “For saving me, and believing me.”

“Well,” Aramis smirked as he opened the next door, abruptly tackling the Mandolorian ahead. Satsuki shot the other three whilst her companion grabbed his opponent in a choke hold and brought back his arm sharply, killing the man. “No one else was going to.”

Satsuki nodded sadly, knowing the truth that everyone else thought she had died. It shook her to the bone as she thought about her friends and family. Hopefully they’d been upset about her ‘death’, as she’d be devastated if they didn’t care.

“How do you plan on getting us out of here?” The red-haired girl asked as they continued through the base, shooting and killing everyone they saw. 

“Well,” Aramis began, kicking a guy in the face before shooting him in the chest. “Assuming that comm you had on you can contact a friend, we’re going to get it back from the belongings room.”

Satsuki grinned wildly, knowing that the comm he was talking about was connected to Rex’s channel, meaning she’d be able to contact the Captain and 501st with it. “Of course, my new friend.”

Aramis rolled his eyes at the mention of being her ‘new friend’ and shot her opponent. Satsuki jumped over his crouched figure and shot the Mandolorian behind him. 

Then the door in front of her opened quickly, and a group of Mandalorians entered the room. They fired quickly and Aramis dropped to the ground, watching as Satsuki did the same but… differently. “Noriko!” He screamed as he scrambled to her figure, dragging her collapsed body behind a cargo crate as he killed the Mandolorians quickly. Aramis sucked in a breath as he studied the harsh black wound on her shoulder, meeting her raven-eyes with a horrified expression. “That doesn’t look good.”

“Doesn’ feel good ei’er,” Satsuki muttered, her face paling as it scrunched up with pain. She whimpered. “Aramis I don’ wanna die.”

“Hush, Noriko,” he told her, cradling her body as he pulled a canteen of water off of his belt, pouring it onto a cloth and dabbing it on her wound. Satsuki cried out but he persisted. “You’re going to be okay.” He told her sternly, as though it were an order. 

Aramis pulled Satsuki up and draped her arms over his shoulders and her legs around his waist, carrying her like a baby as he continued to the belongings room. “We’re almost there,” he assured her, shooting down another few Mandolorians before they had time to even register the arrival of the pair. 

“‘Hat’s good,” Satsuki murmured, eyes closing as she tried to push against the pain. Aramis smiled grimly at her attempt to stay awake as he entered the next room.

“We’re here,” he told her, placing her down on a cargo crate gently as he hurried around the room. “Noriko, Noriko, Noriko” Aramis muttered as he glanced at each box, searching for the one labelled as Satsuki’s. “Aha!” He cried out as he yanked a wooden box down from a high shelf, breaking it open on the floor and rummaging through the objects.

A comm fell into Aramis’ palm and he tossed it to the injured girl as he gathered the rest of her stuff. “Comm your friends, quickly!”

Satsuki muttered something under her breath before pressing the button. “Rex this is Satsuki, Captain Rex come in,” she called into the device as Aramis left her side. He began muttering his own name under his breath and then gasped from out of sight. 

“Aha!” Amaris exclaimed as he tugged a box down and began changing out-of-sight from Satsuki. The girl continued attempting to comm her friend and frowned when she received no response. “Ya like?” Amaris asked as he stepped into view. He’d ditched the sleek black amour and was wearing black jeans, a grey t-shirt and a black leather jacket. He had three silver rings on each hand and a dark brown belt with a holster on his right side. 

“Lookin’ badass,” Satsuki mused as she yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Captain Rex, do you copy?” Amaris’ grin dropped at the silent response before a beep from the comm made both of their faces light up.

“I copy,” a familiar voice replied - monotone and emotionless. Satsuki frowned. “Who is this?” Amaris raised an eyebrow at the girl who offered a short shrug.

“Rex?” Satsuki repeated. “It’s me, Satsuki.”

The line went silent for a second, before the Clone replied. “Satsuki?!” He exclaimed, sounding alive rather than dead like he had moments ago. “Where are you?” Amaris silently showed her the coordinates from his wristband and she repeated them to Rex. “Alright, the General’s permitted us to come get you, as long as he comes with.”

“Good ol’ Skywalker,” Satsuki chuckled, before coughing loudly as the first drop of blood fell from her wound, landing on her tattered clothes. Amaris cursed as his brow furrowed. He used the cloth he’d cleaned her wound with to bandage it. “How long will you be?”

“Your in luck,” Rex replied. “We’ll be there within the hour.”

“Good,” Amaris muttered, so quietly the Clone didn’t hear him. Satsuki smiled at her new friend as he passed her a ring he wasn’t wearing. It was a silver ring of a tooka and she grinned as he slipped it onto her pointer finger. “For good luck.”

Satsuki nodded and reached out her pinky finger as the line went dead. Amaris copied and intertwined their fingers. “Good luck for us,” the red-haired girl grinned maniacally. Amaris nodded as he sat down beside her. She rested her head on his shoulder as sleep grew more and more tempting, eventually letting it take her.

                                -

Amaris’ hand shot to his pistol as the door opened and he raised it, prepared to shoot. “Don’t shoot!” A voice called as a Clone with white and blue armour appeared around the corner. “I’m Rex!” The teenager dropped his hand with a sigh of relief as the rest of the Clones filed in. The Captain yanked off his helmet as he rushed to the sleeping Satsuki, cursing colourfully at the sight of her wound. “Kix!”

A Clone with a red medic symbol on his shoulder pad rushed in, placing a pack beside the trio as he began to tend to Satsuki’s wound. She shifted in her sleep and her arms opened at the feeling of someone touching her wound. “Aramis?”

“Right here,” he responded as he ignored the sharp, suspicious look the blonde Clone shot at him. “Your friends are here.” Aramis fiddled with the silver ring on his left middle finger - a shimmering skull ring - as the gazes of the room's occupants turned to him. 

“Rex?” Satsuki sat up abruptly but Kix pushed her back down. Rex nodded and moved to pat her uninjured shoulder fondly. 

“Right here, Vod’ika” the Captain soothed gently and Satsuki relaxed back into Aramis’ shoulder - who had stiffened at the Mando’a. “I thought you were dead, sorry, we thought you were dead.” Aramis couldn’t help but soften at the gentle and loving tone of the Clone. 

“You should’ve known better,” Satsuki choked out with a grin and Amaris chuckled. “I don’t die.” Rex chuckled too, reaching up and ruffling the teenager’s hair fondly.

“I should’ve known. I’ll remember from now on.”

THAT WAS MY LONGEST ONE YET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@techs-goggles9902 i hope you enjoyed that and request every. second. of. the. day.

REQUEST PEOPLE

IM SRS RN.

#star wars #clone wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #tcw #501st legion #clones #captain rex #anakin skywalker #prison #captive #oc #my oc #my ocs #satsuki noriko #amaris yvain #lookatmetaggingmyownocs #request #ka’ra writes ❤️

[feral4austinbutler]

infidelities (Austin Butler x OC)

Warnings: cheating, swearing, age gap, that’s all… for now.

Chapter 2

link to chapter 1: ⬇️

https://feral4austinbutler.tumblr.com/post/693258302128373761/infidelities-austin-butler-x-oc

An hour and a million makeup wipes later, I was ready. I sprayed some perfume and fixed my eyelashes one last time before I was out the door and down the stairs. As I was making my way down the cobblestone streets of Dublin, I stopped dead in my tracks. What was I doing? I had a fiancé back home. I had built whole life with him for the past two years. Was I about to throw all that out the door to entertain some man I might never even see again? As I stood there, contemplating, my phone started ringing.

Austin was calling. Before I knew what I was doing, I hit the green answer button and held the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?” I answered in a shaky voice.

“Hey, it’s been well over an hour now. Where are you?” Austin asked firmly.

This was it. I could say, “Sorry no I’m actually engaged, I can’t come. Bye!” I can go on with my trip, pretending these interactions never even happened. I could end it all right here, right now.

“I’m actually right now the street. I should be there in 5.” I said, my knuckles turning white as I gripped my phone harder. Shit.

“Alright darling, hustle now. I don’t like to be kept waiting.” He said and hung up the phone promptly.

I stood there stunned with my phone still up next to my ear, trying to register what just happened. There really is no backing out now. I slid my phone back into my pocket and continued my walk to the pub.

I stood outside the entrance to the pub for a moment, taking in the beautiful red building as well as gathering my thoughts. I shook my head and took out my phone, ready to send a text to Austin saying that I actually wasn’t going to be able to make it. Before I could even open our messages, I felt someone looming over me.

“Well, hello there.” I instantly knew who it was. That deep voice will forever be burned in my memory.  

I look up at him and the breath I was holding in gets caught in my throat. He looked divine. He was wearing a black button up with the the first few buttons undone— so slutty. On the bottom he had on black pants that fit him oh so right. He adorned a few ring on his middle and pink fingers— god his hands, I could stare at them all day long.

“You know if you take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He said, snapping me out of the spell he had cast on me.

“I think permanently etching you in my mind is just as good.” I say, grinning up and winking at him. I am in so much trouble.

“Hmm, well as much as I would like for us to stare at each other all night long,” He smirked as one of his hands came up to my face to tuck back a piece of fallen hair behind my ear , “We should head inside and get a drink.”

I nodded, too stunned to speak. Satisfied with my reply, he intertwined my hand in his and lead the way into the pub.

The inside of the The Temple Bar was beautiful— a live band made up of older men played in the corner, locals and tourists with smiles plastered on their faces, and most importantly, the alcohol display behind the bar was fully stocked, floor to ceiling.

Austin and I made our way towards a round table in the middle of the floor, surrounded by people on all sides. As we approached, Austin walked in front of me to pull out my chair for me.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” I say as I take a seat.

He only hums in response to my comment before he says, “I’m going to go up to the bar and order our drinks, what would you like?”

“A glass of Riesling, please and thank you.”

Austin nods and makes his way over to the bar. As I wait for him to return, I scroll through my phone. My stomach drops when I see text message notification come down. It’s a message from Shawn.

Hey babe, just wondering if you landed safely and got to your hotel ok. Let me know! Love you xx.

A wave of guilt makes my stomach start twisting into knots. My thumbs dance over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. I look up from my phone to see Austin got our drinks and is about to start making his way back over to our table. I have to send some sort of message back and I have to send it quick.

Hey babe! Yep, I landed safe and sound. I’m about to turn in for the night actually. Long day. I’ll call you in the morning. Love you too!

“Love you too!” burned my fingers to type— but I hit the arrow button and sent the message on its way.

“I hope you didn’t have too much fun without me.” Austin says, setting my glass of wine in front of me.

I turn my phone off and put it face down on the table “I was actually hoping you wouldn’t return— pity.” I frown.

He sits down in his chair and puts his glass of whiskey to his lips to take a sip, “You’ve got quite the attitude, don’t you?”

“I try.” I shrug and simultaneously bring my glass up to my mouth to take a sip.

Austin places his glass back down on the table and just stares at me, biting his lip. A stare that makes me choke on my drink a little. A state the burns a hole into me.

“So, Isabel,” — God my name sounds heavenly coming from his lips. I would pay big bucks to have him say it over and over again, “What brings you to Ireland?”

“Well,” I say as I place my glass back down on the table, “I just turned 21 this past week and I decided it was time for me to take my first solo trip to literally anywhere.”

“That’s a big leap for a little girl like you.” He says as he continues to stare at me, bringing his drink back up for another sip.

“Little girl? Who the hell are you calling little? Aren’t you like pretty close to my age?” I bring my glass back up to my lips.

“Actually no, I’m 31.” I nearly spit my drink out. 31!? 31. There is literally no way.

“There is no way you’re 31!” I shout in disbelief.

“You can literally look it up.” He states bluntly.

So that’s exactly what I did. I picked up my phone, my hands shaking as I typed “Austin Butler” into the google search bar. It takes a second to load, and there is was. Austin Robert Butler, born August 17, 1991, age 31 years old.

I turn my phone off and set it back down. “Yep, you’re definitely 31.”

“Does that bother you?” He asks.

Does it bother me? It’s a 10 year age gap. I’m not sure if it bothers me, or if it makes me even more attracted to him.

“No, it doesn’t.” I try and answer as stern as I could.

“Good, I’m glad.” He smiles.

“So Austin Butler,” I quirk my eyebrow at him, “What bring you to Ireland? Business or pleasure?”

“Most definitely pleasure, especially now.” He brings his hand up to caress his jawline. His eyes still fixated on me. How flirtatious can one person be? “I’m here for a vacation, I’ve been working so much and I’m filming so many different things. I just wanted something for myself.”

“Cheers to that.” I say holding up my glass to him. He taps it gently with his and we both take an agonizingly slow slip before setting our glasses down.

After a long pause— I ask, “What king of activities do you have planned while you’re here? Any tours?”

“No, nothing booked yet. I was just going to play it by ear.”

I can feel like wine start to take effect. At least what I hope was the wine, because the next words out of my mouth were, “You should come with me on the tours I’m going on.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just kept staring at me with that shit eating grin on his face.

“I mean— uh, um,” I stutter, “You don’t have to go with me, totally just a suggestion. I’m not even sure why I said that. Don’t feel pressured to say yes because I totally understand if you’re busy or if you don’t want—.”

Austin cuts me off mid ramble, “Isabel, do you want me to go with you?”

“I—uh, I mean, only if you want to.” I say, trying to avoid his question.

“That’s not what I asked.” He states, “I asked if you want me to go with you. Simple yes or no question.”

I took a deep breath in to calm my nerves before I answer, “Yes, I would really like it if you would go with me.”

He smirks at me again, “Well, it’s settled then. I’ll go.”

“Ok, it’s settled then.” I repeated back to him.

A few more hours and glasses of wine later— I’m telling Austin everything there is to know about me. Stories of my childhood, how it was growing up as an only child to a single mom, even about the rebellious phase I had in high school until I was about 19. I evidently leave out the engaged to another man part though. He is probably the world’s best listener. Leaning in order to hear me better, coming up with quick and witty responses, literally hanging on to every syllable that come out of my mouth. I just don’t want to stop talking.

“After the way I was treated by boys for most of my teenage years, I had an epiphany during my freshman year of college and I literally swore off men.” I admit to Austin.

“If you swore off men, what are you doing going out with me?” He questions.

“Well, I feel like you’re different. You’re much more domineering than most of the men I’ve met. You also seem like you actually care about what I’ve been spewing for the past few hours, even though I’m talking your ear off.” I giggle and take another sip.

“For one, I am going to take this wine glass from you. I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight.” He laughs and take my glass from its spot on the table. “Second, why wouldn’t I care about what you have to say? You’re very funny and you are a good story teller. I could listen to you talk for hours.” He smiles at me. The faintest tinged of red covering his cheeks.

“Thank you Austin. That’s really nice to hear.” I look down at the table top, suddenly shy from his gaze.

“I wouldn’t say something that wasn’t true.” He says.

I look up to make eye contact and my heart skips a beat.

“Do you think we should call it a night ?” I ask.

“Sure, let me walk you back to your hotel room.” He stands up from his chair, holding his hand out for me to take. I graciously accept and place my hand in his— feeling the hairs on my neck stand straight up.

We start to make our way down the street towards my hotel. Walking hand in hand, enjoying each other’s company and taking in the sights around us.

Austin interrupts the silence to say, “I had a really nice time tonight.”

I look over to him, “Yeah, I did too. I really did.”

As we approach my hotel, I stop to turn and look at him.

“Well, this is me.” I say motioning to the building next to us.

“Before I let you go, I have to know when I’m going to see you again.” He pleads.

“Give me your phone.” I state holding my hand out, repeating what he did to me earlier that day.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts it in my hand. I open his notes and type the meeting spot address for the tour I was taking tomorrow.

I turn the phone around to show him, “Meet me at this address tomorrow morning at 7 am. Don’t be late. We are going on that tour.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He says taking his phone back.

I turn and start to walk up to the entrance of hotel. I get up to the door and turn to Austin.

“Good night Austin. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”

“Goodnight Isabel, sweet dreams darling.”

I smile at him and turn back around. I turn the door knob and walk into the lobby of my hotel. I close the door behind and press my back up against the door to take a nice and long deep breath.

I so am massively screwed.

————————————————————————————-

hey guys! i’m actually surprisingly proud of how good this is like flowing out of me lol. idk if anyone would be interested in being tagged when i post new chapters but leave your user in the comments if you are and i’ll make a tag list for news chapter <333

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfiction #fanfic

[poisonouswritings]

So you remember the post you did about M4 being jealous? Well In rime’s part you said imagine if you made headcanons about Rime being jealous of mc because he still loves Felix. So I was wondering if you could actually write it ?

Here's the jealousy post in question

GN!Reader, mentions of alcohol, sorry it took me so long to get to this I have a really clogged up inbox

I mean we've seen the violent side of Rime's jealousy already, but what would a more subdued version of that look like? Maybe a Rime who's re-joined the Starsworn and has (reluctantly) accepted the fact that a relationship with Felix is no longer on the table?

And maybe he doesn't hate you for it anymore - how can he, when you went through so much shit to defeat LoS and save Astraea and protect Felix - but he's still angry. Still hurt. Still... Jealous.

Rime doesn't like being around you two. Or, specifically, around you. Sometimes he'll still spend one-on-one time with Felix (usually talking about some new spells they've been researching together) but Felix will inevitably bring you up somehow and that ruins it.

There are a lot of little ways Rime tries to one-up you. He's already a naturally competitive person so that doesn't help. Every little thing turns into some sort of contest, even when Felix isn't around.

He feels a little better when he manages to beat you but it always turns very hollow. You already won the most important thing.

Always passive-aggressive and/or sarcastic. Maybe not as much when Anisa or Felix are there, but still.

That being said he doesn't try to hurt you (anymore) and if you need backup, then he'll help you. He won't like it, and he might rub it in your face later depending on the context, but he'll help you.

Surprisingly he does not try to be underhanded and manipulate you and Felix into breaking up, but only because he knows it would hurt Fe.

Definitely makes it clear to you that if you ever fuck up and hurt Felix, he'll kill you. And if you and Felix ever break up, Rime is asking him out.

Which uh,, fair enough you guess.

Rime starts going to bars more. Sometimes it's with the express goal of hooking up, but usually it's just to get sloppy drunk and stop thinking for a while. There's more than one time Sage ends up finding him and dragging his drunk ass back to Fathom.

I actually think Rime and Sage get along a little better. While Sage doesn't exactly like Rime trash-talking you, he does like getting to see Rime's bitchy rebellious side.

#last legacy #fictif last legacy #rime varela #rime solano varela #fictif rime #last legacy rime #ozzy answers #ozzy daydreams

[gothmoneyswag]

i know you left this as the tags on some old post but im interested in hearing your thoughts on d-vilman crybaby especially as someone who didnt read the original manga ^_^

yo ok so i haven't actually read the manga however. i have seen devilman crybaby and its got Issues imo. i can tend to break down most of my main complaints into 4 or 5 points. it might get a bit long so imma put it beneath the cut :) also because spoilers for specific things perhaps

possesion anime in general is kind of a hit or miss concept to me. imo the only "possession"/gets powers type anime i really care for is parasyte. tokyo ghoul didnt do much for me from what i saw, havent seen csm but it doesnt do much for me either. likewise devilman just... doesnt really do it for me as far as its premise and initial set up goes (side note: does code geass count here? i have so many thoughts on that series it wouldnt fit here but regardless)

i feel bad for saying this but i really do not like devilman crybaby's artstyle. like it just does not look good to me. im okay with different artstyles but this one just looks ugly. sorry

i feel like the story is just. poor. not good. it starts much too slow for how insane the story gets on later. if you take a show it influenced (evangelion), its pretty up front with its premise up front. i know people have made jokes for years about how eva gets weird and its a bait and switch but like.... not really? like at its core it is a mecha show about kids fighting aliens in robots and even with the character study stuff it doesnt veer that far from that initial premise. devilman crybaby has... a nightclub rave where akira gets posssessed so some white boy can play god while akira does good at track? like its not a strong start and it only gets worse from there. again, i know the reason the end of evangelion ends the way it does is BECAUSE of devilman but like. they just did not execute that ending correctly at all the final few episodes feels so constrained and so much happens in such a short period that it feels like the ultimate anticlimax. its hard for me to care about any of what happens because so much happens in so little time. its worthless and makes me feel nothing as a viewer. these bitches gay! good for them. good for them. what's not good for them is the story. cuz it sucks.

this ties in with my general distaste for the story but i also feel the characters are super weak. again, i feel nothing towards them and they all feel like cardboard cut outs with little personality to them at all. it all returns to nothing so i have no reason to care about them when theyre all gonna be killed off screen in the most contrived and terrible battle sequence maybe ever. ryo is the worst offender by far. his character fucking sucks dude. i dont think he even does anything in the story besides ruin akira's life and then sit in his ivory tower and act gay until the narrative decides "actually he was Satan the whole time!!" fuck you. and fuck those rap battle dudes too your bars fucking suck

i think a final point to end this on is that it is just far and away so much worse than everything it influenced. even if i read the manga or watched the original devilman, im pretty sure the story would remain much the same. and as such, there is literally not reason to watch devilman (much less crybaby) in 2023 when literally everything that came after it is better. i realize this is kind of a silly argument given how i listen to music but im standing by it. just watch evangelion. watch parasyte. watch berserk. play shin megami tensei. consume literally anything else that isn't this trite

i think that's all my main points. im sure i had more but i wrote this over the course of my day whenever id think of something else so. if i think of any more criticisms i had and forgot i'll reblog this and amend the post. sorry it's so long i just had way more to say that i originally thought. lol

#my post #asks #devilman #devilman crybaby #akira fudo #fudo akira #ryo asuka #not tagging this with the other anime i mentioned cuz that feels silly #also as i was looking up stuff for this post i remembered that one monogatari ass sequence with track meet and that one girl #like turning into a demon on live tv or something? #idk i just remember it being fucking stupid #nd that while being stupid i didnt think it was signifigant enough of a stupid thing to put into this mass of a post #yea. thats all i got. i think

[frosty-oak]

Sevenish English students and fiveish jugs of Pim’s

First act

I was in a Bristol Wetherspoon’s the other night (the one by Will’s if you’re a student), out for a drink to celebrate finishing my first essay. Three of five people had cancelled on me but I was determined to make friends and be sociable. While waiting at the bar I was telling the one person who had arrived that she had a very nice jacket, and the red converses (matching mine) were a nice touch. I worried that it seemed like I was flirting, so I made an offhand, not-very-subtle comment about my girlfriend, mostly because women do love my awkward charm and confused dress sense, but especially because of my strong feminist values (and social anxiety.) Once I finally had my pint of (really very cheap and slightly crap) Thatchers, we managed to find the only other person who had actually shown up; luckily with a host of friends. I awkwardly sat at the edge, introduced myself to five or so people, forgot all of their names and tried not to stare at the huge amount of empty glasses and pitchers on the table.

Main course

I began to stereotype slash categorise everyone at the table, deciding that Mary (not her real name) definitely listened to Lana Del Ray, and Harvey (not a real name either!) was a film buff who stumbled into the interesting side of socially clumsy. He also had a tendency to ask me about a selection of interesting films and books in rapid succession which went a little like this:

“Theo (that one is a real name), have you ever seen The Piano Teacher?”

“No sorry, why is it good?”

“Its alright. Whiplash?”

“Oh yeah that one was really good.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

And then the conversation would move elsewhere, I still haven’t figured out if there was a connection or he was just understanding/categorising me in his own way. Mary was then told off for vaping inside, it turns out that Spoons is surprisingly strict on the rules, as any seventeen year old trying to stay past nine PM will discover.

Chapter three

Things then took an interesting turn somewhere between ordering my second pint and it still not bloody arriving nine minutes later. Timothy (that ones definitely not her name, I’m bad at aliases) was telling us about her ‘type’ for some reason or other, and this was when my long standing theory  that an amazing amount of people have terrible taste in men was proved right. Timothy (I will get a better name eventually) described her type as “tall” going fine so far “brown hair” still fine “and emotionally unavailable” and oh dear we’ve fucked it. Someone else then said that they had a thing for men who were “mostly not into me” which is funny but also just bad, but then I was asked and got lots of brownie points by saying “my girlfriend” and showing a picture of her looking as gorgeous as ever (I normally get her to edit these so hi darling!) Despite what you might guess though, Timothy’s love-life is going absolutely fine! I’m kidding she committed flatcest immediately and then he shagged his ex the same day, and also he’s just a dick in general.

The fourth bit.

It was about when my pint finally did arrive and Mary had been warned for the last time, again, not to vape indoors that two new people arrived who looked a tiny bit like GTA characters. There was a bloke called Jacob or something (that actually might be his name I’m quite bad with names) and he had thick rimmed glasses and was unbelievably Bristol with his third Gallagher brother look and most importantly he started telling me about how he was doing a DJ set at a local club that was only for members. Which actually sounded like a lovely time but also unbelievably Bristol. He arrived with his friend who was the other side of the Bristol coin, with a collection of necklaces and bracelets along with bleached eyebrows. I didn’t actually manage to chat to her much but I did hear the stream of indie-post-pre-punk-queer-grunge-pop-indie bands that were being discussed and sounded quite good.

Around this time someone called smoke break and everyone disappeared and I quickly realised I was being left with a selection of coats and bags as I sat awkwardly (and slightly pissed as I had been to the bar to get a pint repeatedly) and waited for everyone to arrive so I could make my exit. Everyone has had that moment, generally in a bathroom but when you are quite drunk and are suddenly left with your thoughts and time sloooows doooowwwwwnn. Suddenly you are desperately trying to find entertainment in anything nearby, waiting for Instagram to load because somehow this corner of Spoons is a faraday cage. Just after the nearest ice age had came and went Mary reappeared and I made to leave but she convinced me to stay just a little longer until everyone else arrived.

The Final Act

In the final act of the night, we sat and discussed the tense, difficult and upsetting situation with her ex, which despite the many pints between us was actually a very interesting conversation. Unfortunately we were cut short by the bouncer arriving directly as Mary had raised her vape to her lips and he slowly marched over. Fair cop, and he was very lovely about it but we did have to go. I hovered outside and made a bit of chat as people smoked and finally said my goodbyes and headed for home. Uphill of course, its Bristol.

#bristol #writing #writerscorner #true story #short story #alcohol #spoons

[hwavsg4ch4n]

Helloooo can I request something? Something like Hyunjin’s best friend being like really cool and dragging him and mutual friends to a strip club where she encourages him to have fun, but he keeps turning it down. She later makes a light joke about it and he tells her really seductively that it’s because his eyes are set on only one woman, which was her. After this yk, things turn sexy

ME? |H.H|

note: thank you sm for the request!!! It was actually really fun writing this. Sorry for taking so long, I'm a bit busy with school right now as well as writing the series, but requests are always fun! I might actually close my asks for a while, just until the series is done though. I'll close requests on Feb 14th, so get all of yours in until then so I can work on some stuff besides the series! I'll make a separate post probably.

warnings/tags: dom!hyunjin, sub!reader, fem!reader, dryhumping, makingout, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), creampie, prasing, teasing, orgasam (both), mentions of other members, mentions of alcohol, aftercare

this is purely fiction <masterlist>

The boy sighed, his eyes squinting as the obnoxiously loud music practically burst his eardrums. "Y/n, I wanna go home." He chuckled sarcastically, watching as his best friend pouted playfully. You stuck your tongue before not so secretly whispering into Minho's ear, no doubt informing him about his foul mood. You walked off to the bar after ruffling uncomfortable boy's hair, informing that you'll be right back.

"Ugh, Hyunjin! Live a little!" Minho yelled, clearly tipsy as he slapped his shoulder; laughing as Hyunjin flinched away. "Here, I got you a beer. At least drink a bit!" His face scrunched as he looked at the green glass bottle that you handed him.

He took a forced gulp, watching as all his friends sang along to the blaring music, frowning as you pulled Changbin to the section of poles occupied by hard-working dancers, throwing money as you danced along to the music, clapping and yelling excitedly as a dancer did a trick. He loved seeing you have fun, but why did it have to be this kind of fun?

Hyunjin felt miserable, why couldn't this just be a normal friends night? Watching a movie on the couch, maybe going out to dinner. And if you insisted on drinking, the sum of you could just drink in the dorms! He'd be comfortable, he'd be able to talk to you in ways that didn't involve shouting over heart-pumping beats. But no, you suggested a strip club; Hyunjin's worst nightmare. It wasn't always his worst nightmare, not until he started viewing you differently. Unfortunately, he couldn't say no to you, not when you were practically jumping off the walls when everyone else agreed.

"Jinnie, you're not leaving until you get a lap dance." His eyes widened at your command, all the while steadying your tipsy form as you plopped down next to him, stumbling over your platforms. "Y/n, I'm not sure about that." He said timidly. His face heated up as he spotted a dancer strutting over to their section, clad in silver sequence lingerie and heels that Hyunjin wondered if they were even comfortable to maneuver in. "Mmmm, well… too late!" He looked at you annoyed as a bubbly giggle left your lips. "What? She's pretty Hyun, why not?!" His face flushed with embarrassment, acting on pure instinct as the dancer placed herself on his lap.

"Hyunjin, what the hell was that?" You chucked, taking your heels off lazily at his front door. "I told you I didn't wanna do it." He whined childishly, his ears still red from the events that took place at the strip club.

You shook your head in disbelief, plopping down on the soft couch as he followed behind you quietly. "You literally pushed her to the side..." He avoided eye contact. "The poor woman landed on Jeongin." Hyunjin couldn't help but chuckle, remembering how wide the younger's eyes got, followed by him becoming a stuttery mess in the car ride to drop him home. "I don't think we should've brung him." Hyunjin joked, laying back on the couch cushions with ease. "I don't think I should've brought you either." A laugh ripped out of your chest as your best friend groaned.

"I didn't even wanna go! I just wanted to go get bbq or something, I don't know... We could've drank some soju and.. yeah." You watched him ramble on in confusion. "I just wanted you all to have some fun, that's all." You smiled sweetly at his tense form. He sighed, sitting up and facing you fully. "That's not my idea of fun, y/n." He mumbled, playing with his fingers to avoid looking at your expressions. "Well, I can see that. Even the guys were surprised.” Hyunjin ruffled through his hair, thinking about how they all teased him after the little incident.

"Why don't you like those kinds of things? Hm?" He didn't answer, too busy trying to calm his racing pulse. Why did you have to ask him that? "You always used to be so bold, and flirty. Like, in high school, girls would hate me! They'd always say they hooked up with you so I had no chance... gross." Hyunjin noticeably winced at the distant memory. Out of all things... you had to bring that up? "Y/n... I'm not like that anymore." You chuckled, "Well I'm curious as to why you're not like that anymore Hyun."

Why did you have to know everything? Why can't he just keep this one secret? The traces of alcohol in Hyunjin's bloodstream made him question if you'd even care about his feelings. How you made him feel when you touched his shoulder or tapped his thigh to get his attention. Could you really not tell when he had to excuse himself 5 minutes after you sitting on his lap when there are no more seats? He looked at your curious expression as you waited for his answer. He wondered if you were being this oblivious on purpose.

He rolled his eyes, annoyed at his constant flow of thoughts, but finally, he came to the conclusion... fuck it. "I'm tired of you being so damn clueless." You were taken back by his sudden change in demeanor. With widened eyes, you stumbled out your response. "W-what do you mean?" you ask hesitantly, not being able to predict the answer you'd get as he - for this first time tonight - was stern with you; holding your gaze in a way that made you wish to look away, but you didn't. "Y/n, I don't pay attention to anyone else... because of you." With parted lips, you took in a soft breath. "Me?"

"You really couldn't tell?" You felt small as he scooted closer to you. "When a girl comes up to me, and I reject her... you don’t get anything from that?" you shook your head, "I just thought you were shy?" He chuckled at your naivety, "When have I ever been shy, y/n? You said it yourself, I'm flirty, bold... aren't I?" You didn't realize how close he was until he glanced down to your parted lips, licking his before gazing back into your flustered orbs. Your chest tightened as his nose grazed yours. "H-Hyunj-" he soon interrupted, "I'm surprised you didn't ask me what was different about me sooner. Asked me if I liked someone. I would've told you how you make my heart flutter just by breathing in my fucking direction."

Hyunjin blamed his actions on that little bit of alcohol, thinking it was now getting to him, and he didn't seem to care. If he was sober he would've let out a simple "I like you." And left it at that, dealing with the long talk that would've come with the confession. But he was tired of not acting on his feelings. If you didn't want him, he'd stop, he'll apologize, he'd push all the alcohol in his system out by force if he had to, just to talk to you about how long he's been feeling, maturely. But it didn't seem like you wanted to stop him. Not when your lashes were fluttering and your eyes were following the movement of his tongue as the muscle ran over his plump lips.

He smirked as you gulped, "Am I too close to you?" his grin widened as you whispered a "no". Hyunjin brought his hand up, stroking your cheek softly. "Would you like to kiss me?" You didn't know how to answer the question. Well, you knew your answer. The thoughts of kissing your best friend never left your mind, not when his full lips were always in your line of sight. But what would happen after the deed was done? "Gosh, who cares?" You tell yourself, the consequences will be dealt with later.

"I wanna kiss you." His thumb ran over your bottom lip gently, "Then do it." You felt even smaller at his command. "Seems like you're the shy one now, hm?" Your face heated up at his sentence, followed by a tingle in your fingertips as Hyunjin cupped your cheek, tilting his head as he inched closer to you. His lips grazed yours as he smiled at the way your eyelids fluttered closed. "You're so cute." He whispered, pecking your cupid's bow, to both corners of your mouth. You sighed, getting impatient at his teasing. "Hyunjin-" The grip on your cheek got a bit sturdier. "Ah ah ah, let me take my time with you. Can I have that?"

What was he doing to you? Your legs felt weak and you were already sitting down. You wanted to touch him but felt as if you weren't allowed to. Before another thought could form, his soft lips found yours. Taking you into a deep kiss that you had no intentions of backing away from. An uninvited whimper ripped from you. The sound waves of your whimper flowed through Hyunjin and straight to his groin, he quickly pulled you closer and onto his lap. He soon got a better angle, kissing you deeper as he squeezed your thighs, your dress hiking up while you rested your palms on his neck.

Hyunjin's tongue slipped past your lips, massaging your tongue with his. The slow steady movements felt like a dream as his big hands gripped your flesh, sliding under your dress as the cold metal of his rings made you shiver. Your breath hitched against his moving lips as you felt poking to your clothed core. Your dress was up to your tummy by now, but the only thing you cared about was Hyunjin's hands grabbing your bottom, his fingers slightly dipping under the black cotton. But most importantly, the feeling of the growing erection under you was taking up space in your mind.

You grinded down slightly, a soft moan was let out by him. He grips your flesh tighter, helping with your rhythm. Hyunjin pulled away, resting his forehead on yours as your hips ground harder into him. "Fuck, keep going," he murmured, his eyes closed as you dipped your head into his sensitive neck. "Y-y/n..." He gasped, throwing his head back to give your eager lips more access. He was in awe, feeling your warmth through the clothing separating you two. He only imagined how warm you were, how wet you could get. However, his head wasn't thrown back in ecstasy for long, as your hips gifted him a particularly deep movement. His head shot up and he stopped your hips, holding them still with his hands.

"God, you almost made me cum." he breathed out. You looked into his lowly set eyes, tracing over the marks you gave him. "Are you gonna fuck me, Hyun?" He grew surprised at your question. "How wet are you exactly, hm?" You whined in embarrassment and he laughed, the sound of his chuckling making more arousal pool into your underwear. "Let me see." You didn't even try to protest as you climbed off his lap and onto your back, the L-couch giving you enough space to comply and open your legs willingly. Hyunjin's dick twitched at your actions, "You're such a good girl, who knew you'd be so good?" You bit your lip, your eyes sparkling as his gaze averted to the dark wet spot in your underwear. "Oh y/n... we have to take care of you don't we?" He asked, using his fingers to press into the spot.

Your hips swirled, looking for any friction possible. "P-please fuck me, please I'll be good." He cooed, cupping your core before slipping off the ruined cloth. Hyunjin almost drooled at the sight before him, your heat glistening as your hole contracted around nothing. He soon unbuckled his belt, sliding his boxers and pants down, letting his member spring free. Your needy whimper wasn't noticed, as he was too occupied staring at you dripping onto his couch.

He couldn't help but dip two fingers in your cunt, the sound of entry making his lips part. You moaned, throwing your head back on the arm of the couch as his fingers swirled inside of you. You fought the urge to clench your walls as he slid his fingers out of your entrance, using your arousal to coat his dick. "Hyunie, please." You sighed out, flinching slightly as he slapped his member on your clit. He chuckled softly, watching as he slowly dipped his tip in you with ease, your relieved moan flowing through his body as his member jumped at the sound, forcing his length to go an inch deeper. Hyunjin hissed as your walls already tightened around his girth.

"F-fuck y/n, try to relax a bit for me." You let out a hushed sorry, relaxing your walls, allowing him to fill you up fully as he pushed himself in all the way. He stayed still, helping you adjust to the new size, but also to help him grasp onto the little bit of sanity he had left. He took in a deep breath, looking to the gray ceiling and closing his eyes as he tried to ground himself. "You feel so fucking good." He grumbled, looking down and placing a hand on your belly, noticing how his print showed through your skin. He started to move, thrusting his hips fluidly as you struggled to take in deep steady breaths. "Fa-faster please." He looked up, smiling as your eyes were glued shut; he let you get away with this for this one time.

He sped up, quickly finding a rhythm you both fell in love with. Your hands shot down, placing the tips of your fingers on his tummy, he was so deep. Your breasts were spilling out of your dress from the power of his thrusts. Hyunjin stared, biting his lip as the flesh bounced, finally escaping the confinements of your dress. His hands reached up and gripped one of your mounds, clutching as he gripped onto one of your hips, swiftly changing the angle.

You squeaked at the difference, "Oh my god, oh my god," You chanted.  Your walls clenched around him, Hyunjin hissed, dipping his head into your neck and biting the flesh, sucking as he struggled to hold in his exclaims of pleasure.

You felt him twitch, "Cum in me," He stopped sucking at your skin, letting out a deep groan in response. His thrusts got harder, his tip hitting against your g-spot repeatedly.

"Hyun, gonna-" He nodded, looking into your eyes as he tried to calm himself down; looking at your face didn't help his case at all. Your mascara was slightly smeared, and your skin was glowing as your lips were parted. "Cum y/n," He whispered, his thrusts getting sloppier as your walls pulsed around him. Hyunjin was done for, done when your back arched and your eyes rolled back, whining out his name and a string of incoherent pleas.

His brows furrowed and his stomach clenched, feeling your walls pull him in snugly. Hyunjin released into you, groaning as his head dipped into your shoulder. His member throbbed, pushing his cum into you as he fucked you two though the climax.

Hyunjin looked up, watching your expression become relaxed as you slowly opened your eyes. "So that's what I was missing?" he chuckled at your playfulness, pulling out of you slowly. Hyunjin watched with a shy smile as his cum spilled out of you. "Uhm… I'll be right back." He pulled up his pants and walked to the bathroom, getting a damp cloth. "It might be a bit cold." He says rushing over, wiping you off.

Hours later, you were under the covers in his bed. His band-T over your torso as you leaned on his chest. "I didn't think you'd be that much of a sub." You rolled your eyes at his random comment, not taking your eyes off the movie he picked. "Well don't get used to it."

#skz hyunjin #skz smut #skz imagines #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin #skz au #skz hard thoughts #gif #stray kids #skz scenarios #skz fluff #skz

[kats-baku1999]

Hidden Secrets, Part Two.

wait I can’t believe you guys actually like part one (read that here) I was so insecure about posting it. I’m glad, I’m so glad. Everyone was asking for Bakugo’s suffering so here it is…

READ PART THREE HERE

warnings: I won’t even lie to you all, I have father problems, so this writing hit a little close to home. if in any way you think it’ll hurt or upset you, please don’t read any further okay? mentions of cheating and sex too. also there is some momo slander. I am so sorry.

It was as if the entire world stopped spinning for a second. Kirishima took a step in front of you and Haru, standing chest to chest with Bakugo. Bakugo glared at him, before looking at you. Every ounce of anger you felt towards him began bubbling up. There was so much you wanted to say. So much you wanted to scream at him. You couldn’t yet though, not in front of Haru.

“Kirishima, will you take Haru to your office? I know how excited he has been to see it since the renovation,” You forced a smile, and looked at your son who’s middle brow was creased, which was a for sure sign he was worrying about something, “It’s alright Ru, I will come meet you in there soon,”

“Yeah, come on little monster, I have a huge TV in there now!” Kirishima’s tone did not match the glare on his face, “The conference room is open you two,”

“Thank you Ei, have fun sweetheart,” Haru released himself from you, and let Kirishima take him. He perked his head back over Kirishima’s shoulder and gave you a small wave with his tiny little hand. You forced another smile and waved back, before turning around to face your ex boyfriend. His face was still frozen in shock, as he watched his old best friend walk off with the tiny little human.

“Please tell me what the fuck-”

“Go to the conference room, now.” You snapped and stomped away from him. Bakugo followed after, the boots of his hero costume echoing on the floor of the lobby. He clicked the door behind him as soon as he was in the same room as you.

“So did you just plan on never fucking telling me I had a kid?!” Bakugo yelled, his voice echoing. You turned around and glared at him, “When the fuck did you even find out you were pregnant?”

“Oh, I found out a few days before I found out you were cheating on me,” You laughed dryly, “I was going to tell you that night, but I got a little side tracked,”

“Bullshit absolute bullshit, you should have told me!” Bakugo yelled, not backing down, “Four fucking years! Four!”

“Cut the bullshit Bakugo, I came to your office two weeks before he was born, I ran into Momo and she said you would call me, that night I get a simple text that says you wanted nothing to do with him,” You yelled, jabbing a finger into his chest, “Then you just mysteriously move away with Momo, and no one hears from you, and now you are in Kirishima’s office demanding to know things?!”

“What the fuck are you talk about?! What text?!” Bakugo yelled, grabbing your hand and moving it away from him, “I just found out about the kid today! You still haven’t even confirmed that he was mine?!”

“Take one fucking look at him and tell me he isn’t yours, the only thing that even convinced me he might be from some magical conception is that he is so sensitive and caring!”

“(Y/N) what fucking messages? We haven’t talked since the night you left?” Bakugo’s voice lowered, “I promise you, if I would have known about him I would have, I would have-”

“What? Come back to me? Be with me?” Your voice was monotone and cold, he felt like he was talking to a stranger. A stranger that hates him.

“I mean, yeah maybe, or at least I would’ve been there for his first steps, words, breath, just anything,” Bakugo’s anger was subsiding for the first time in years, “Momo, that day, I know what you’re talking about, because she told me that her and I would never be happy as long as we were here,”

“Oh wow, so the person who you cheated on me with was also a liar, what a shock,” You scoffed, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I heard about her and Todoroki, and their affair,”

Bakugo paused for a second, shocked by your apology. Also by the fact that you even knew. It wasn’t public knowledge yet, considering it just happened two weeks ago. That was the one reason Kirishima was even acknowledging his presence again. He was the one who found them together, and despite his anger towards him, at one point Bakugo was his best friend. So he called him, told him to come to the bar he was at. When Bakugo got there, he found Momo practically on top of Todoroki. A poor, still oblivious, Todoroki who was convinced that Momo had left Bakugo. That she had called off their two year engagement.

“I didn’t realize Kirishima told you, still don’t know how he failed to mention my son-”

“Hey, don’t do that okay? Be mad at me for not trying harder, but don’t be mad at Kirishima, he knew if he would have said anything he wouldn’t have been able to see Haru anymore,” You sat down in one of the chairs, “To be honest, I had just planned on you never finding out,”

“That isn’t fair (Y/n), he is my son.” Bakugo’s tone of voice was frustrated and angry. He didn’t want to be mad at you, he knew he couldn’t be mad at you.

“No, he is my son, mine, I’ve done everything, I was there for all of the bruises and scratches, for when he got into my hair gel to try and make himself look like Kirishima, for his birthdays and Christmases, you weren’t there,” You snapped, “Sharing his genetics does not make him your son,”

“No but you don’t get to hold this shit against me, it wasn’t my fault,” Bakugo fired back.

“You’re the one who fucked her,” You sneered. Standing up again, running your hand through your hair, “You cheated on me with her, you chose her over me, you don’t get to be the victim here either, I don’t even get to be the victim, the only person who deserves to even act like the victim is my son,”

“I’m here now, I know now, and I want nothing more but than to get to know him,” Bakugo looked at you with pleading eyes, “To be apart of his life, of your life,”

“I don’t know, I can’t just tell him that you’re his dad, he has been asking for the past year, and he has so much more going on already,” You laughed, “He doesn’t have his quirk yet, it’s becoming evident that he might not ever have his quirk, so how do I tell him that his dad is the number one hero, and a person he idolizes?”

“So you’ve faulted me because my ex fiancé was a psychopath who didn’t think I needed to know about my son, and now because I’m the number one hero- wait, he doesn’t have his quirk?”

“No, no he doesn’t, that’s why we are in town, for Denki and Hitoshi’s wedding, and to see a doctor,” You explained, the tears finally spilling over, “I can’t just dump this on him too Bakugo, please, you have to understand,”

“I do, okay I do, but please I can’t just let you walk away today with him and not do anything, I have to know him, but I don’t want to make this a problem bigger than it needs to be,” Bakugo grabbed your shoulders, “Please don’t make me villain here, okay I don’t want to be,”

“As much as I want to, I can’t, I know I can’t it wouldn’t be fair to him,” You grabbed his hands off your shoulders and held them for a second, a small sob threatening to escape your throat, “But please don’t take him from me, he’s all I have,”

Bakugo stopped and tightened his grip on your hands. Forcing you to look up at him. His eyebrows were creased, furrowed up exactly like Haru’s always did. The same look of concern Haru’s always had on his face when you said something close to sad.

“I wouldn’t think about taking him away, so get that shitty ass thought out of your head right now,” Bakugo sighed, “He doesn’t even have to know I’m his father right now, not until your ready, but I would like to be your friend, your friend that comes around him, your friend that he gets to know like he knows Kirishima,”

“Okay, okay,” You mumbled, nodding your head, “You can pick us up and take us to his doctor’s appointment, then we can all go out with Kirishima after so he feels more comfortable, we can start there,”

“Okay, let’s start there,” Bakugo let go of your hands slowly, “Does he you know like anything?”

“Yes, Bakugo he likes things, heroes specifically, are you going to blow up this office if I say Deku is his favorite?” You wiped the tears off your face, and finally bust out laughing at Bakugo’s groan that followed, “I’m going to grab Haru, I’ll have Kirishima send you my number okay?”

“Okay, thank you, let me know about the doctors thing.”

You gave him a small nod and walked out of the room. Stopping the bathroom to rinse off the tears. When you opened up the door to Kirishima’s office, you found Haru staring at the large tv completely awe struck by the footage of Midoriya fighting alongside Bakugo. One of their earlier fights, they were just barely pros. You remembered it because that was when he and Shinso agreed to work together. That was the fight that introduced you to him.

— a few days later

“Momma, you’re doing your upset walk,” Haru whispered, as if he was telling some kind of secret. Shinso snorted into his coffee, and earned him self a dirty look from you.

“Your mother is just nervous over seeing her friend small human,” Shinso called you out, and earned another dirty look.

“Momma is friends with Dynamight, Uncle Toshi! She has even met Deku!” Haru’s eyes were sparkling as he said it, waving around his Deku plushie.

“You know, I’ve worked with Deku before, almost beat him-”

“In the sports festival, yes Uncle Toshi we knowwww,” Haru groaned, having heard the story at least fifty time. It was your turn to laugh. Haru loved Shinso, but when it came to his favorite heroes, being ranked under his own fiancé was a bit of a sting.. So poor Shinso tries to impress the kid every chance he can.

“You’ve told him the story at least ten times,” You backed up your son, shrugging your shoulders.

“You know, I was in the room when you came into this world little man, I deserve some props as a hero,” Shinso groaned, and Haru just laughed, taking another bite of his cereal.

“I know, but you’re a hero like you know a dad would be,” Haru said casually and both of you froze. He was trying so desperately to figure out what it meant to have a Dad. The last time Kirishima came to visit, he had even asked him if he was his dad because of their red eyes, and how Kirishima is always there for his big moments. Then he asked you if Shinso was his dad, because they both liked cats.

“Haru, our ride is here, we better go outside okay?” You smiled, changing the subject, “Give Toshi a hug!”

Haru jumped down and gave Shinso a quick hug. You grabbed your things, and your files about Haru’s past doctor’s appointments. After he grabbed his backpack you walked over and kissed Shinso’s cheeks, mouthing a quick apology. He waved you off.

“Let me know how it goes,” He smiled, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about the doctors appointment.

You picked up Haru and carried him outside. Bakugo waved at you both, and Haru hid his face again. Although he was excited to get to meet one of his heroes, he was also terrified. Bakugo pouted a little bit, and you gave him a small glare. He straightened up and forced a smile.

“I just need to grab his seat!” You forced a smile, trying to avoid how awkward this was. Bakugo shook his head.

“Nope, I bought one, it’s got all the things,” Bakugo sounded proud of himself, you raised an eyebrow but walked towards his car. He opened the door and you saw a seat, one of the ones with a cup holder, and in it was a collectible Deku doll that Haru had wanted for months. Along with a signed picture of him.

“Haru, look,” You whispered, making sure to tell Bakugo later that he can’t just buy his love. Haru’s face lit up though, and he quickly jumped down out of your arms. He grabbed the doll and picture, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Thank you Mr. Dynamight sir!” Haru grinned, before climbing in his seat so you could buckle him in. Bakugo stood behind you, and you could practically feel the grin radiating off of him.

“Call me Katsuki kid, all of my friends do,” Bakugo smiled, and got in the drivers seat. You walked over to the other side, and climbed into the passenger seat.

The ride was quiet, just the sounds of Haru playing with his new toy in the background. Neither you or Bakugo knew what to say to one another. So you just sat in comfortable silence, looking through Haru’s main doctor’s notes. Then Haru needed to blow his nose, and out of habit you opened up the glove box to grab a tissue as if you were in your own car. Inside it though you found Bakugo’s necklace that had matched yours, that you gave back to him when you left. You grabbed a tissue and handed it back to Haru.

“Yours is hanging up on the rearview mirror of my other car,” Bakugo mumbled, his eyes not leaving the road. You studied the side of his face, just nodding in response. It was odd that after all of this time he still had that dumb thing. You two had gotten them on your fourth time of hanging out, he had found them at a festival he made some appearance at. They were cheap, but you both wore them all of the time. The necklaces meant something to both of you, the day you took yours off was the day you knew it was over.

The rest of the ride felt tense. You felt silly over thinking the necklace. You figured he would have thrown them away at this point. When you finally got to the hospital, Bakugo went and found a parking spot. He went to walk in with you two but you shook your head.

“I’m not ready for the rumors to start surrounding Haru, so would you mind just hanging out here?” You whispered.

“Oh, yeah no you’re right, I’ll be here,” Bakugo nodded his head, looking a little disappointed. You climbed out of the car and grabbed Haru, who waved a tiny hand at Bakugo as the two of you walked towards the entrance.

You weren’t in the waiting room for long till you were called into the exam room. They did a few X-rays, and tests, on Haru. Then after about an hour you were sitting in the Doctor’s office as Haru played with his toys on the floor. The doctor say down across from you and showed you all of the test results.

“Well the good news is, Haru will most definitely have a quirk, his body is already adjusted to what his quirk would be,” The doctor smiled, “I’m guessing his father’s quirk has something to do with nitroglycerin?”

“Uh well we don’t actually know much about his father,” You lied, knowing Haru was paying attention now.

“Well Haru has high levels of it in his sweat glands according to the tests, but my only concern is that I think he has some kind of mental block keeping him from using his quirk,” The doctor explained, “You’re quirkless correct?”

“Uh yes sir, I am,” You nodded your head. Haru walked over to you and grabbed your hand. So you put him in your lap.

“Maybe he just won’t use his quirk because he doesn’t want to be different from you, since you are his sole provider,”

“No that’s not it,” Haru interrupted and you both looked at him, “It’s not Mommy’s fault, I just want to use my quirk when Dad comes back for us,”

You felt your heart break into a million pieces.

“Haru sweetie, have you known about your quirk?” You whispered, and he nodded his head sadly.

“I accidentally blew up Mira’s doll at the playground, but made her promise to not tell her parents so you wouldn’t know,” Haru hung his head, and avoided eye contact. Like he did whenever he thought he was going to be in trouble.

“Haru you could’ve told me, then we wouldn’t have had to do all these tests, why didn’t you-”

“I just wanted dad to be the one to help me,” Haru cut you off again, his eyes watering. You let out a sigh and pulled him closer to you. The doctor nodded his head, smiling softly at you.

The two of you walked out to the car again. Bakugo’s head perked up at the sight of you both. He jumped out of the car and opened the door for you to put Haru in. Bakugo raised an eyebrow at the sad look on his face, and then looked at you.

“Tell me he has his quirk? Or at least a hope of one?” Bakugo asked, and you closed Haru’s door. Glaring at Bakugo, before walking over to your door. You climbed in the car and didn’t say a word until you got the park where Kirishima was meeting you guys.

“Hey, Haru why don’t you go with Uncle Ei and play while I talk to Katsuki?” You smiled at Haru, who climbed out of his seat and went to Kirishima who had opened the door for him. Kirishima closed the door and walked away with Haru. Bakugo looked towards you with a raised eyebrow.

“Why did you do it?” You whispered and Bakugo just looked even more confused, “Why did you fuck all of this up?”

“What do you mean?” Bakugo’s tone was proof enough that he was annoyed. Not necessarily at you, but more so at the fact he could see Kirishima playing with his son so effortlessly.

“Cheat on me, leave me alone to raise him, leave him confused and upset because all he wanted was his dad,” Your eyes started water, tears threatening to spill over. Bakugo turned his head back towards you, your words stinging a little bit.

“I didn’t leave you alone, I didn’t know.” His voice was stern, “You can’t make me out to be the dead beat father in this situation (Y/n) I would have been there for him if I would have known he was alive,”

You let out a sigh of defeat, making eye contact with him. Bakugo felt his heart break at the look in your eyes. You looked.. Defeated.

“I know, I know it’s my fault okay?” You whispered, “I should have never kept him from you, I should have told you I was pregnant but I was selfish, and hurt, and-”

You were sobbing now. Your words falling off. Bakugo unbuckled your seat belt, and pulled you over the center console so you were sitting on him. He hugged you, tightly. Letting you let out every single sob, as he rubbed your back. You cling onto his shirt as you buried your face in his shoulder.

“I know why you were mad, and I don’t blame you but (Y/n), I would have been there for you both if I would have know,” He whispered against you, you pulled your head back and looked at him.

“I know, and I’m sorry, I still hate what you did to me, to our relationship, but Haru deserves to know his father,” You sighed, Bakugo reached up and wiped some of the stray make up on your face.

“So we’ll tell him?” He smiled hopefully, and you nodded.

“Eventually, eventually we will tell him, but for now I just want you to get to know him, ease him into it,” His smile faded a little but he knew you were right.

Bakugo stared at you and it settled in for him that it was never Momo. It was never once her for him, it was you. Back then, he was too scared to let himself admit it. Despite how long you two had been together when his affair with Momo started, he was scared. Scared of how much he could love a single person. Then he felt guilty because he had no reason to have that fear. He grew up watching his parents have that kind of love. It was his own selfish mindset that pushed him to that decision.. That pushed him to losing you.

You crawled back into your seat, flipping the visor down. Bakugo watched as you wiped the make up off your face. You turned back to look at him, smiling a little.

"I have a proposition for you, if you want to spend more time with him?" Your voice sounded a little nervous, and Bakugo grinned a little nodding his head, "Go to the wedding with us to the wedding? I mean you and Denki were friends right?"

"Are you sure? I mean I know how all of them must feel about me?" Bakugo laughed a little, and you shook your head looking back at Haru and Kirishima.

"They all love Ru, so much, so I think they will understand why I want you there, and besides Hitoshi does nothing but tell me to get back in the dating game," You rolled your eyes, and Bakugo laughed at you a little bit.

"How long has it been since you've been on a date if Dead Eyes is making jokes about it?" Bakugo was half teasing, and half curious what the answer was.

"Oh don't you start asshole, I have been raising our kid," You laughed, a genuine laugh. A laugh that made Bakugo's heart do some kind of internal flip. He smiled softly at you.

"You said our kid," He whispered, and you blushed a little.

"Our kid who is staring in here trying to figure out what's wrong," You laughed, pointing towards Haru who now had an adorable pout on his face. You climbed out of the car and ran towards him, picking him up and spinning him all crazy like. Bakugo smiled as he watched you two together. Realizing that all he ever wanted in life was right here, and in his reach again.

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

tagging all of the people who replied to hidden secrets part one <3

there is going to be a part three, and i promise for everyone who asked for bakugo suffering.. it is coming because i am feeling evil >:]

@girl-who-likes-cold-bois , @leximoron , @shyonigirichan , @tspice283 , @heyomie , @beigeunburdened , @xoxo-teddybear , @silentw-lkr , @semhal , @justmewoo , @jazzylove , @nolimitsam , @da1chisjuicywatermelons , @ayoooooooooooo

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo fic #katsuki x reader #reader insert mha #bakugo angst

[comfortbucky]

Hey! If requests are still open I was wondering if I could request a fluffy fic where reader is having a bad day and Bucky notices and cheers them up? 💗💗

HELL YEAH!!!

REQUESTS!!! ARE!!! OPEN!!!

𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗲𝘁 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚

pairing: bodyguard!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack

tags: grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, fluffy bucky!!!

A/N: okay i have never written bodyguard!bucky before but i just thought it would be such a sweet concept to see him being soft🥺

sorry if the ending is kind of bad😭 i didn’t know how to quite wrap it all up, but i hope u enjoy!!!!!!!! <3 i had so much fun writing about bodyguard!bucky!!!!!

word count: 2.9k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

Y/N groaned as her phone alarm went off and hit snooze for the fifth time. She reached her hand out, head facing away and resting on her pillow, fumbling for her phone to turn off the incessant sound. Before she could shut it off, the noise stopped. Y/N turned her head slightly to see a large, dark figure in the corner of her eye. She turned her head fully to see her bodyguard with a frown on his face as he shut her alarm off.

“Your alarm, it’s annoying,” Bucky grumbled. “You should get up anyways, busy schedule today.” He walked out of the room before she could respond. Super soldier hearing was no joke if he was able to hear her alarm from his bedroom down the hall. Y/N sighed as her face planted into the pillow.

She was not looking forward to the events planned out for the day. During the day, there was a slew of interviews she had, back to back, and at night, a gala she was being forced to attend by her father.

Being the daughter of a wealthy tech tycoon had its perks for sure, but Y/N did not consider all of the press she did as a part of them. She never liked being in the spotlight but was forced to be, a birthright she had. Growing up with her dad, she’d developed a fascination for tinkering with computers, game consoles, and everything in-between. She spent a lot, practically all of her free time, with her dad when her mom had passed away. Her dad ended up throwing himself into his life’s work and she worked with him closely in the beginning, but slowly started to drift apart from him as she started to make a name for herself.

Earlier that week, her dad had sent her a text, informing her that a big announcement would be made at the gala. Big parties and large crowds weren’t really her thing, but it seemed like she didn’t have the option to avoid this one.

She got ready for the day, walking down to her kitchen to see her bodyguard, Bucky, sitting at the table, reading a book. As soon as he heard her come down the steps, he stood up and put his book away.

“C’mon, we’re already running late,” he mumbled, making his way to the door. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, grabbing a granola bar as she briskly followed behind him.

When her dad became a big name in the world of tech, the last thing Y/N thought she needed was a bodyguard, but her dad felt otherwise. It took one, very close call, of her almost getting mugged for her dad to immediately assign a personal bodyguard for her. She insisted that it was unnecessary, seeing that she was a fully grown adult, but her dad refused, as he was the one paying for Bucky’s salary.

Bucky had always been rather closed off since the beginning, and not much had changed since he was first assigned to her a little over a year ago. He kept their relationship very professional, only speaking when necessary and leaving the room whenever he wasn’t needed. She had tried to get him to open up more, learn about his past, but he always shut her questions down by either ignoring her or changing the topic to discussing something work-related. He was an enigma to her, which only left her wanting to solve the mystery that was James Bucky Barnes but couldn’t seem to crack the code.

Her first two interviews went smoothly, exactly what she was used to. A couple of questions about her current projects at work, some about her dad sprinkled in, and what she had planned for the future. It was a format she was used to and had come to appreciate, not exactly enjoying being the center of attention. During her last interview, however, she was caught off guard by one of the last questions she was asked.

“I know this might be an awkward question to ask, but I just have to! The people want to know: do you think your dad’s ever going to return to the dating pool?”

Y/N choked on her saliva. She knew her dad was an attractive man, seeing posts on social media of people fawning over him. Although she found it to be very weird and uncomfortable, she just brushed it all aside, not wanting to think about it as it only led to her thinking about the loss of her mom, a sore spot for her.

Y/N cleared her throat and forced out a chuckle. “I think that’s a question only he can answer, I don’t always know what’s going on in that crazy head of his.”

The interviewer laughed and proceeded to transition into the next segment. Y/N quickly thanked the interviewer and left, Bucky swiftly following behind. He had a feeling that something was off, as Y/N would typically stay behind to chat with the interviewer, crew members, even the service staff, whenever she finished an interview. It was always something he admired about her, how down to earth she remained, despite all of the privileges she had. She went out of her way to thank everyone on set, no matter how small their role might seem. He always told the drivers to pull the car up a little later than originally planned, just so she would have the extra time to talk.

Y/N pushed the doors open, only to find an empty street. She turned around and gave Bucky a curious look.

“Sorry, the driver just texted me,” he said, as he sent a text to the driver, telling him to come now. “He’s running late.”

Y/N nodded and leaned against the wall, looking down to fiddle with her hands. Bucky leaned against the opposite wall, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You okay?”

Y/N looked up at Bucky to find a gentle look in his eyes, slightly taken aback at the sight. She always found herself drawn to his piercing blue eyes, but they usually had a colder glint to them. This was a look she’d never seen before.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” she replied, averting her gaze down as she felt her cheeks flush at the sight of Bucky’s soft gaze.

The car arrived, cutting off Bucky’s train of thought as he was thinking of what to say to her. For a moment he debated on continuing the conversation in the car but figured she already had a long night ahead of her and didn’t want to push any further.

After a quick pit stop back to Y/N’s place, allowing her to change into an evening gown, the car headed to the venue of the gala. Bucky got out of the car before her, walking around to the other side to open her door. Before she stepped out, Y/N took a deep breath in and exhaled, plastering a fake smile on her face as a surge of flashing lights from cameras greeted her. Bucky watched, seeing her seamlessly transform from Y/N, the girl who needed to set a million alarms before actually waking up, to Y/N, tech extraordinaire, one of the most powerful people in the tech world.

Once they were inside the venue, Bucky stuck to his usual routine. Scope out the exits, look for any potential threats, and make sure Y/N was in his eyesight. Bucky kept close by but also kept his distance. He wanted to make sure that he gave her enough space whenever they were out, knowing that having him around was her dad’s idea and that she wasn’t too fond of having security detail in the first place. So he did everything he could to make himself blend in with the crowd, allowing her to roam freely, only following her when she moved out of his line of vision.

Y/N walked around, not knowing a single soul but making polite small talk with the rest of the guests. She became accustomed to knowing how to act at these types of events over the span of her adult life. Food, drinks, more food, home. Crowds made her uneasy, but she always felt calmer when she saw Bucky in her peripheral vision. Y/N would never admit it out loud, but over the last year, he had become a constant source of relief at these public events. Just knowing that he was there if she felt uncomfortable, unsafe, or wanted to leave early made her public outings much more bearable.

“Hey, sweetie! I’m so glad you made it.” Y/N turned around at the sound of her dad’s voice and smiled, moving in to hug him.

“Yeah well, you said you had a big announcement, so I figured I’d stop by,” she joked, eliciting a chuckle from her dad as they pulled away from each other.

“I’m about to make it now,” he started, placing his hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “And I was wondering if you could join me on stage for it? I know that’s not your thing, but it would mean so much to me, Y/N.”

While she absolutely hated the idea of having to stand in front of thousands of people, she reluctantly nodded. Y/N and her dad had slowly grown apart the past several years, only talking a couple times a month to catch up. With both of their busy schedules, they always seemed to miss each other. Despite their growing apart, she would do anything for her dad, especially if it meant so much to him.

Bucky slowly followed behind, as Y/N and her dad walked up to the stage. Y/N glanced behind her to give a slight smile to Bucky, to which he nodded back. He stood backstage, watching them from behind the curtains.

“Hi everyone, thanks so much for coming out tonight,” Y/N’s dad spoke into the mic. She was standing beside him, hands clasped in front of her, trying to look calm and not totally anxious.

“Since the success of my brand, people have said that I am a man who has everything. And I definitely have a lot to be thankful for, my company, my friends, and most importantly, my daughter.” Her dad extended a hand out to point to Y/N and the crowd cheered. Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips. Despite his brooding attitude, he had come to grow fond of Y/N, being able to see her for who she truly was. She was smart, witty, and had a heart of gold.

“The only thing I’ve been missing,” her dad looks down at the ground for a second, before looking back out at the crowd. “Is someone to share it all with.” Y/N’s smile faltered and felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t fully register the words coming out of her dad’s mouth.

“After Sarah, my wife had passed, I didn’t think I would be able to love again. Until I met Alyssa.” Y/N was frozen in place upon hearing her dad’s confession. She’d never heard of anyone named Alyssa during any of their catch-up calls and now he was saying he loved her? Y/N quickly turned as a woman walked out on stage. The woman walked over to her dad and he wrapped one of his arms around her waist before speaking.

“Now I feel complete, now I have everything.” He pulled Y/N to him and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, smiling for the cameras ahead. There were a lot of strategies Y/N had devised over the years to deal with potential unexpected and uncomfortable situations in a composed manner to avoid having a PR nightmare.

She didn’t have one for this.

Tearing herself from her dad’s hold, she ran off stage, heading towards the exit that led to the outside. Y/N took in the fresh air, trying to stop her hyperventilating. It wasn’t working. Her chest felt tight as she began gasping for air, struggling to take in oxygen.

She was having a panic attack. It was nothing she hadn’t experienced before, but it had been so long since she’d had one. The last time she remembered, was at her mom’s funeral.

Her mom. Her dad. Alyssa.

Her thoughts were pushed aside as her vision blurred, her eyes swelling up with tears. Y/N felt like she had no control over her body and shut her eyes, allowing the panic to consume her.

Then, a firm, but gentle, warm feeling in her hands.

Y/N blinked her eyes open to reveal Bucky, standing in front of her. She looked down and saw that it was his hands in hers, holding them tight.

“Can you breathe for me, honey?”

His voice came out in a soft whisper, accompanied by the warmest and welcoming smile. She shook her head, unable to control her quick and rapid breaths. Bucky squeezed her hands a little tighter, rubbing his thumb in small circles on the back of her hand.

“Yes you can, just breathe with me, okay?”

He started to breathe in and out slowly and eventually, she was able to follow his lead, deciding to focus on his eyes. There was that look from before the ride to the gala, the gentle look in his eyes. She’d always felt that his blue eyes reminded her of stormy seas, but now, now they made her think of the calmness of the ocean in the early morning, waves crashing softly on the shores.

As she regained her composure, she realized she’d been staring into Bucky’s eyes for, probably, far too long. Bucky felt her tight grip on his hands loosen and reluctantly let go of her hands. He immediately missed the softness of her hands and how small they were in comparison to his much larger, calloused, hands.

“T- Thank you,” she stuttered out, her gaze locked on the ground, as she placed her hands to her sides.

“It’s no problem. I get them too,” he replied. She looked up at him as he clarified. “Panic attacks. PTSD from serving overseas.”

Y/N face drops, her stomach churning at the thought that Bucky had ever experienced panic like she had. She returned her gaze to the ground as a silence washed over them.

“He didn’t tell me about her,” she spoke in a quiet voice. “Never brought her up once. But I guess she must be pretty special for him to do all of this.”

Bucky stood a couple steps in front of her, seeing teardrops fall from her face. She lifted her head up to wipe away her tears, her hands shaking from anxiety. Y/N placed her hands on her face and started to sob.

She was slightly hurt by the idea of her dad loving any other woman than her mom but knew that he’d have to move on eventually. What hurt her the most was the fact that he didn’t tell her, not until they were on stage, standing before a crowd of people. It was too much for her to handle and she reached her breaking point.

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sight. He cautiously stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly. Something his PTSD had taught him was how pressure from a hug could help relax the nervous system and calm him down. He held her firmly in his arms until he felt her breathing slow. She looked up at him, remaining in his embrace, her eyes glassy from crying, nose red and sniffly. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat and immediately pushed the thought away.

“You wanna leave, honey?”

She nodded in response, staying in his arms for just a second longer before pulling away. Y/N longed for his warm touch, feeling like a child who had their security blanket taken away. It didn’t help that it was also cold outside, sending a chill down her spine.

Bucky noticed and shrugged his suit jacket off to wrap around her shoulders. She beamed a smile at him and he smiled back.

The pair walked around the outside of the venue to find the car when they ran into a mob of paparazzi, shouting questions at Y/N about her sudden exit. Like a reflex, she grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand and he gave her a comforting squeeze as he cleared a path towards the car.

Bucky and Y/N were sat next to each other in the car, which was not the typical seating arrangement they usually had, usually sitting on opposite ends of the car. But Y/N hadn’t let go of his hand, not quite ready to separate herself from his warmth. Bucky had absolutely no problem with that, mindlessly rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. She felt safe. She always felt safe with Bucky around.

Y/N felt her eyelids become heavy, struggling to keep them open. She was exhausted from her long day, and her panic attack had taken most of her energy away.

Bucky felt a weight on his shoulder and turned his head slightly to see Y/N’s head resting there. He felt a warmth rush to his cheeks and smiled, resting his head on top of hers.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed. “You always make me feel so safe.”

Bucky felt a surge of tenderness rush through him. That was all he ever wanted to do. He wanted to keep her safe. He kissed her forehead, causing her to snuggle closer to him.

“Of course, honey. I’m here, always.”

#bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky oneshot #bucky imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x fem!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #fem!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bodyguard!bucky #bodyguard!bucky x reader #grumpy!bucky #bodyguard!bucky imagine #soft!bucky x reader #soft bucky #soft!bucky #bodyguard!bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x female reader

[spilledkauffie]

Game Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Word Count: 2.2k T/W: fluff A/N: Part 2 of Bingo — a few months later

I am SO SORRY this took me way longer to post than it should have!

Bucky Tag List: @anreeixcobra ❤︎ @tsnelf7 ❤︎ @fandom-princess-forevermore​

It was Friday night, which meant one thing: Game Night. Ever since Yori introduced you at Bingo, you made it a tradition in your relationship to play board games on Fridays. For the most part you kept it to fairly modern games, but tonight was going to be a surprise.

Tonight it was your place, 8 o’clock. Bucky showed up with a six pack of root-beer in glass bottles. You added a few to the fridge as he found his usual seat at your apartment table. He waited for you to round the small apartment’s bar and join him. Sliding the glass bottles across the table to Bucky, you smiled, biting in your bottom lip, as he slid your bottle back, now without its top.

Easily he popped the top off his own bottle with his left hand; it was as he was about to take a sip that he caught sight of your look, “what?” he furrowed his eyebrows, questionably. 

“So. . . tonight,” you tried not to giggle.

“What?” Bucky asked again, this time finding himself following your smile despite his will not to.

“Tonight is going to be special,” you clasped your hands together, “because I found some stuff that’s as old as you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Bucky said sarcastically, taking a sip, shaking his head, blinking softly as he saw you rush to convince him it would be fun. Sighing deeply, he gave in, “alright, what is it?”

“I’ll be right back,” you twirled on your heel and left the room.

Returning to shaking his head and the glass bottle, he paused after settling the bottle on the table. It’d been a long time since anyone cared about anything actually as old as him. He’d been pretty good at keeping up with the times, a lot of things he knew just got an upgrade, but the thought of something from his actual childhood felt a little heartwarming. 

“Okay,” you declared, reentering the room with a stack of vintage boxes in your arms that made Bucky lean back in his chair out of shock, “here we are.” 

His jaw dropped a little at what you had brought out as you set the stack on the table. Watching you take a deep breath and exhale with a smirk, he shook his head, this time silently asking “how?” You set your hands atop the stack, rapping your fingers across the top box as you smiled again. 

Smoothing your hands out across the box top, you cleared your throat, “no peeking,”  bringing Bucky’s attention entirely to you. 

“Option number one,” you held up the rectangular shape with severely faded letters across it, “Scrabble, released 1938.” The box very gently met the table, “option number two,” you looked at him attempting not to giggle as you saw him cross his arms over his chest, genuinely listening to you intently, “Sorry! released 1934, Battleship, original pen and paper game,” you clarified, he lifted his eyebrows, impressed, “and last but not least, Monopoly, released 1935.”

“Wow, you uh- you really did your research,” he commented, looking over the stack of authentically vintage boxes.

“Of course,” you shrugged with a smile, “my boyfriend’s 106, if I want to bring back some childhood nostalgia, that requires some research. . . and late hour ebay bidding in our case.”  

He nodded, a faint smile showing, before it faded with his next words, “I hope you didn’t do too much research on me,” he looked up, hand resting on Monopoly.

You calmly slid down into the seat across from him and stared with a kind smile still on your lips, reaching to touch his hand, you stroked your thumb against his knuckles, “I’m more of a first hand account, direct source, kind of girl when it comes to people,” the corner of his mouth tugged into a smile. 

You knew, just not everything, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to have another living soul know it all quite yet. Luckily, you were someone who seemed to actually understand that.

“Or,” you announced, lifting a pointer finger, as if requesting a pause whilst you went to a nearby drawer, returning with a much smaller box, “we can get really really old school, even for you” the box met the table top, “standard 52 card deck, English edition, circa 1516. . .obviously not original.”

Bucky chuckled, looking to you, tonguing his cheek, before picking up the cards, “I hate to tell you, but that’s just a little before my time,” he squinted at you, teasingly.

Biting your lip, your shoulders shifted with the giggle that came after his comment, “so, come on,” you sat back down, this time with your elbows on the table and hands laced, to support your resting chin on top of them, “what should I beat your butt in?”

“Oh,” Bucky, attempting to appear insulted, began raising his eyebrows, “you think?”

“Yeah,” you laughed your words while looking at his serious face, “I think, better yet, I know.”

“Well, I don’t know where you get your confidence from. You know you are talking to a local senior Bingo night champion,” he shrugged with a head tilt, as if that was supposed to be a big deal.

“Woooow,” you drew out, smiling uncontrollably.

“But,” he sighed, “okay,” he shook his head once, accepting your challenge, “let’s go, you’re on! Monopoly,” he brought the box towards himself as you set the others on the floor next to your chair.

You watched as he picked up the little metal pieces, examining each one individually. There was an expression you’d never seen before, he was remembering something positive from his past. A memory that sparked a smile that you helped bring about. He surveyed the board, with all its bright colours and familiar street names.

“It’s been-” he paused, looking upward, doing the math in his head, “it’s been 85 years since I played this game,” setting each piece he stopped at the boat, laughing to himself, “you know, Steve used to always be the battleship.” 

A soft smile came across your lips, while you watched him remember exactly how to set it up. You picked the Scottie dog and he picked the vintage race car piece.

“Were you always the race car?” you ventured, wanting to know more about his childhood, you knew he didn’t talk about it often.

“Oh,” he glanced to the piece he had just naturally picked up without a thought, “yeah, well, I think,” he gave a quick, but somber smile, before clearing his throat, and actually looking up, “and my sister, whenever she’d actually manage to get mom and dad to let her stay up with us, she’d always be the thimble,” he leaned back in his chair, smiling, “whenever it was her turn to move she’d put it on her finger and hop it down the street names.” He leaned back to the table, “we never made her go to jail, even if she landed on it, Steve would make up some rule that let her skip it.” 

“That’s really sweet of you guys,” you said, looking softly at his smile.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “but don’t think you can skip jail,” he changed his tone, preferring not to dwell on the past even if it was positive. 

“Don’t think I’ll be visiting,” you smirk confidently, “better watch out for the money man yourself.” 

“Wow, who is this?” he dropped his jaw, “she’s so sarcastic, does Yori know this side of you? Do you sneak jellybeans under the table or something evil like that?”

Laughing, you took your root-beer, “just give me my $1,500 so the smack down can actually begin.”

Two hours later, after a long battle between Boardwalk, control over the railroads, and many, many visits to jail, you sat back, lips quirked, arms across your chest as your little Scottie sat in jail.

“And three thousand, six hundred, and five. . . I’m sorry, but that leaves you,” Bucky set his elbows on the table, wincing at you, “bankrupt.”

“Fine,” you huffed jokingly, giving your best pout,“you win.”

“Aww, c’mon,” Bucky reached out a hand to touch your forearm comfortingly, accompanied by a smile you couldn’t deny.

“You wanna go again?” You offered seriously, resting your hand on top of his tenderly, happy to see him so happy.

“It was really fun, but let’s play something else, this time you pick,” he offered.

Breaking into a smile, you gave a nod, and he asked what you had in mind. It took a moment, you wanted to make this good, and you wanted to see it be a little more of a struggle for him, if you were honest. 

“You know, I know it’s later than your. . .original timeline, but there’s this fantastic game called Twister,” you smirked, perking an eyebrow to ask if he was up for it. 

“Twister?” He repeated you, tilting his head like a confused puppy, “what’s Twister?”

“I’ll show you, but,” you glanced over to your small apartment living room, “we might need to arrange the furniture a little.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky stood, “I can handle that.” 

Smiling, you stand, “okay, just push it all to one side, I’ll get the game.” 

Ten minutes later, shoeless, you both stood looking over the polka dotted sheet on the floor. Nodding happily to yourself, Bucky shook his head almost in fear. 

“Make sense?” You asked, having just explained the very simple rules, you turned to face him.

“Oh, I’m sorry I asked,” he sighed, shouldering off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch along with his glove, “yeah, it makes sense,” he set his hands on his hips, pondering this new game intently. 

“Okay, you first,” you held up the spinning arrow, and began.

One hand and foot at a time, sometimes struggling to reach the spinner, but you both made it work pretty well. Having kept to one side of the sheet, it came time to get a smidge more twisted.

Bucky managed to keep balanced and spin a green dot with his left arm, conveniently it placed him right over you. As he began to reach for green, he carefully calculated how best to approach the green dot in order to keep his balance. It was a pretty far reach and he’d need to balance himself whilst reaching over you. 

“What’s the matter old man, can’t quite move like you used to?” you shamelessly giggled. 

Raising his eyebrows at your tone, “ohhh, wow,” Bucky said sincerely, finally placing his left arm over you and to a green dot, now above you he tilted his head sassily, “respect your elders.”

His last sentence only made your giggle turn into a genuine laugh. You closed your eyes and threw your head back a little. Admittedly, Bucky thought it was funny too, but he didn’t laugh, he just took in your smile and the sound of your laugh, enjoying every single moment of it.

When you brought your head back up, you were about to respond sassily, but instead you found his lips meeting yours. With a small squeak of surprise, you relaxed into the kiss, glad that he was finally confident enough with you to take a chance now and then. He tasted like vanilla root beer, which mixed wonderfully with the scent of his cologne you were finally close enough to smell. 

It was soft and slow at first, but slowly, with his right hand palming the arch of your back, you eased into his touch, lower back almost meeting the floor as you both sunk down a little. You completely forgot about the game, as you reached your arms around his neck gently. Keeping the kiss close, you felt him hesitate to deepen it, so you gave him a small sign of encouragement, by moving your hand to the side of his neck, naturally bringing him even closer. 

You had no idea how long you’d been there, on that polka dot sheet, but it was such bliss that you didn’t even care. Smiling into the kiss, you felt him smile back. 

Parting, he pressed his forehead to yours, “I win,” he whispered, lips in a smile. 

“What?” was all you could ask, still mesmerised by the kiss. 

Bucky motioned his head to his left arm which happened to have been keeping the two of you steady. . . all the while remaining on the green dot. You dropped your arms from around his neck, to the floor, elbows supporting you as you looked up at him, shaking your head. 

“That does not count, Bucky,” you tried not to smile as he kept his arm as still as possible.

“What? But my hand’s still on green,” he dramatically gestured to it, making you bite your lip to repress a giggle, trying to match his seriousness.

Shoving his chest directly above you, he feigned an ‘ow!’ before you softly pull him closer again.

“If I kiss you are you gonna hit me again?”

You smirk, “I might if you don’t.” 

Bucky smiled, lips almost touching yours, “alright, sorry,” he smiled, voice almost a whisper as his lips brushed against yours, “I’m still learning the rules to this game.”

#spilledkauffie #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucy imagine #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #winter solider x you #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier fluff #james bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan

[dervampireprince]

Would love to read some of your thoughts on Jayce/transmasc reader and Vander/transmasc reader 🥺🧡✨

vander x trans man reader | n-sfw headcannons

I'm so sorry about how late I'm getting to this!! I kept meaning to answer it and then forgetting and it got lost within all the audio requests. Already done one for Jayce, but hell yeah Vander! You can find the Jayce one in my masterlist that's linked at the top of my pinned posts. I'm still taking sfw but primarily n-sfw requests for Viktor, Jayce, Silco and Vander headcanons/writings in this style (and audios for Viktor and Silco).

he might not be able to afford much, but he will try and scape together what little he can to get you a binder if your top dysphoria is that bad.

because he will not let you bind unsafely. no fucking way. if he catches you trying to bind with bandages he's going to be disappointed. he'll have a long talk with you, making it clear he's not angry and he understands, but you have to look after your health.

won't constantly keep tabs on you and how long it's been since you put your binder on. but if he sees you pulling at it or getting out of breath or if he knows in the back of his mind that it's been a while, he's just put a firm hand on your back, tugging at the hem of your binder, a gentle reminder.

such a fucking soft man. will gather you in his arms, because let's face it even if you're the most masculine man vander is likely still taller than you, and hold you close and rock you on his cock.

just loves enclosing you and holding you to him. having you pulled against him, sitting in his lap, pulling you flush against him if you're back is against his chest, helping you warm his cock.

man has a breeding kink. will be as careful as he can if you're squicked about pregnancy, but breeding can be entirely it's own thing. "fuck, i'm close darl. you gonna let me fill you up? want me to breed you? you can keep all my come safe and warm inside you, can't you? even let me plug you up with my fingers afterwards so nothing leaks out. keep my fingers in you as you drift off to sleep?" (but of course wouldn't actually come inside if you asked him not too, even if he talks about the fantasy of it)

very willing to indulge you in any praise kink. probably will ramble out praise to you without you asking. if you want any harsher talk out of him you're going to have to let him know. it doesn't come naturally to him, but he's willing to try things out for you.

10/10 skills at eating you out. he could stay down there as long as you want. getting on his knees at the edge of your bed, or laying you down on the bar, beard tickling and scratching at your thighs. will let you and encourage you to ride his face.

not adverse to you warming his cock in other ways. always tries to be careful with you though, doesn't like to intentionally choke you or make you cry on his cock but if you assure him that you're into that he'll indulge and might let himself lose some composure and fuck your face.

lets you straddle his thigh and grind and hump it as much as you need

realises you get turned on by him manhandling you? or your size difference? will find excused to lean over your head to grab things, pick you up and set you down instead of asking you to move out of the way, put his hands around your waist, around your wrists, pulling you to his side, all to watch you blush as his eyes crinkle at your reactions. he can certainty pin your wrists to the bed later if that's what you want? perhaps pick you up and fuck you on his cock while he's standing? he can start out fucking you into a wall, but do you want to see if he can hold you up all on his own? do you want him to fuck you on all fours and when you can't hold yourself up anymore he'll grab your wrists and pull your arms back and use them as leverage to keep fucking into you?

you want to top but still be the sub? he's got you. would rather you fuck him on his back or all fours rather than ride you. he'll lay back and pull your hips into him while he praises how well you're doing, reassures you that he's feeling good.

amused by the suggestion of you domming him, but not against it. it's not his natural state, but once he tries out subbing oh. realising he might have a thing for being your good little puppy.

because this man deserves to get to relax and destress and be assured that the world doesn't have to weigh on his shoulders and that it's okay if he just lets go for a while

just because he's subbing doesn't mean he can't still top. he's more of a fan of penetrating than being penetrated. he's fucking you while you got a collar on him and tugging on a leash that's attached as he calls you sir. getting him a little plug? maybe it has a little tail? nothing too big. perhaps you can work up to that if he's comfortable with it, but if not then just the little plug is a reminder while he's working who he belongs too.

restraining his hands, tying them behind his back, because he thinks he needs to responsible for making you feel good by being more active, but you teach him that he makes you feel good no matter what

what if his breeding kink works both ways? what if as soon as you start telling him that you want to fill him up, that you want to come inside him, make his belly swell, claim him, it just unlocks an entire new kink for him and he cums hard?

bonus t4t: you want him to ride your face?? he's so worried about crushing you, but you're so eager how could he refuse? straddling your legs and rubbing his clit against yours until you're both thoroughly soaked.

#vander #arcane #arcane imagines #arcane nsft #vander x reader #trans reader #vander arcane #arcane vander #arcane x reader #trans man nsft #trans nsft #ftm nsft #t4t nsft #arcane writing #the vampire answers #the vampire writes #vanco #zaun dads #vander x silco #vander x viktor #zaundads

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys.  I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite​ (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law.  Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her.  The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time.  She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street.  Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl.  Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years.  To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning.  And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume.  However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law.  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.  When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things.  The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado.  These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am.  It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in.  The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today.  I’m the maid of honour.  I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath.  Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her.  What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright.  Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice.  We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again.  It could be a day, or it could be five.  If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment.  In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she���ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old.  They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails.  From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild.  Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused.  Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop.  Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice.  To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur.  Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce.  Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD.  Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack.  In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name.  It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer.  She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N!  Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous.  Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point!  I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go!  A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already.  There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours.  She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out.  I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands.  I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine.  We can work around this.  We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking.  The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room.  When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What are you doing here?” She demands.  She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour.  And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not?  It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor.  Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her.  Alright.  So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal.  But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything.  Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life.  While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah.  That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened.  Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod.  She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So?  He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her.  She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes.  We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through.  Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room.  When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear.  If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go.  Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks.  As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car.  Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist.  I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car?  You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses.  He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes.  Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.  Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours.  Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts.  Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message.  Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight?  Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction.  Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright?  Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody.  Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait.  She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her.  She knows she shouldn’t take it.  And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening.  Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N.  Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car.  Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him.  But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them.  Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything.  However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there.  She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt.  Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language.  You don’t really want him.  He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant.  Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time.  You’re wasting his time, too.  Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type.  Right. What is my type, then?  What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road.  With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel.  Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window.  Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own.  He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that.  And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right?  Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date.  But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine.  But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday.  Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail.  Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks.  She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks.  If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment.  His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago.  Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been.  Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself.  When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left.  It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N.  The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms.  I got one room left.  Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together.  No way in hell.  They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff.  If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which.  Now do you want to share the room with him or not?  If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own.  She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height.  When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right.  To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned.  However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder.  She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.  For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly.  To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in.  The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas.  Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college.  Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N!  How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day?  Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert?  Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass.  He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly.  If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear.  It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it?  He named it, Jo.  He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating?  Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too.  I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person.  You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that.  But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later.  Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone.  On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence.  Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated.  There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.  

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive.  Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle.  His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes.  Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again.  For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right.  Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes.  He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable.  His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips.  His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground.  He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder.  He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest.  Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.  

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala.  His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles.  Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot.  She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse.  I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face.  Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it?  Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject.  Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner.  Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it.  And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason.  It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears.  Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know.  However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites.  She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes.  There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds.  I’m not a fan of big crowds, really.  Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff?  Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them.  Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other.  As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile.  His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile.  It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same.  Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight.  And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her.  Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous.  It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort.  Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle.  She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.  The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before.  I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really?  Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway.  If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter.  The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower.  Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it.  She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting.  He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back.  And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else.  Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while.  Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory.  Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern.  Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop.  Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them.  She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop.  Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach.  Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen.  She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach.  Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her.  It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly.  She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No.  I wish something had happened to you.  Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough.  Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice.  While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief.  Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted.  When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table.  She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel.  She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato.  Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips.  It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film.  As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in.  Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID.  She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N.  I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine.  How are you?”

“Oh, alright.  Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip?  I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though.  And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N.  Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind.  Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.  

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day.  I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with?  Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him.  Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t.  All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone.  Why had she done that, she wonders?  She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once.  When she talked about the wedding, probably.  As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding?  About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life?  Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read.  Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth.  She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her.  She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado.  That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead.  Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call.  The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call.  She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true.  She hadn’t lied.  And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care?  It’s just Harry.  There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again.  Things are different between them.  There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks.  They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that.  So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right.  Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands.  He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs.  His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning.  You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know.  I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before.  Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip.  As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel.  It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment.  The silence between them.  It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension.  It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion.  One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough.  I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality.  Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering.  The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose.  I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior.  She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes?  Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong?  It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry!  Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal.  Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral.  While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry.  Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him?  You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air.  It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to.  We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends.  I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips.  His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment.  Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way.  Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does.  It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives.  Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes.  It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends.  Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then.  Let’s go.”

…

“Hello!  My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away.  Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable.  After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard.  Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together.  She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry?  Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue.  They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news.  Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please.  And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen.  A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window.  He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before.  There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him.  Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.  

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand.  Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.  

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately.  It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right.  Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine.  Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them.  His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse.  His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here.  I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away.  When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me.  I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty.  I thought it was wrong.  I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it.  And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same.  There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best.  If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you.  I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me.  I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world.  I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt.  I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were.  I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible.  I promise to love, period.  I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye.  She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her.  Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words.  The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you.  ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel.  ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close.  I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing.  The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want.  I want us to be permanent to each other.  Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart.  Committing to you isn’t any trouble.  It’s as easy as breathing.  I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us.  I love you, permanently.  I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out.  I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that.  I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you.  You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it.  I love you permanently, Laure.  I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table.  She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right.  They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face.  His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend.  I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows?  I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

#feedback is appreciated!! #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles preference #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #one direction imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #enemies to lovers #road trip au #fine line #fine line album #dreamwithharry #42 hours #writing