#subaru outback

Description: In which Mafia Boss Harry is accidentally kidnapped by a girl in a 2005 Subaru Outback, trying to make money to buy a labubu

Warnings: Language (mild profanity), Gun violence (non-graphic), High-speed car chase, mentions of alcohol.

Pairing: Harry Styles x OC

Authors Note: Hello loves! I wanted to make this One-Shot for my birthday, sort of as a present to myself. I will warn you, it's unedited and very chaotic so read at your own risk! I really hope you enjoy!

I don’t normally take Uber requests this late, especially not in neighborhoods that look sketchy as crap. But rent is due, I still owe my cousin for accidentally ordering that 3-foot Squishmallow off his Amazon account, and there’s this limited edition Labubu I’ve been looking at on eBay for three weeks. Long story short, I needed the cash. (Especially for that Labubu) So I took the request thinking what’s the worst that could happen?

“Pick up: Felix Simineaux. 11:47 PM. Coniston Road.”

Sounds like a location someone has been murdered at before, but okay. I pull up in my trusty 2005 Subaru Outback, or as my mom likes to call it, the Beige Beast. She rattles when I hit 50, smells like wet cats and cinnamon chewing gum (weird combo, I know), and has seen better days, but she’s mine. I roll down the window just an inch and glance at the shadows.

There’s a guy standing under a streetlamp. Really tall. Black coat. Lots of expensive looking riings glinting on his fingers. Tattoos peeking from under his sleeves and shirt collar. He looks like trouble. He also looks like a Felix to me.

I lean over and shout, “Are you Fe-”

“Drive.” His voice is low and sharp like a two edged sword. He swings the door open and slides into the front seat like he owns the dang car. How rude.

I blink. “Wait, are you—?”

“Drive. Now.”

I panic. Like, full body sweat, hands shaking, heart migrating to my throat, panic. I hit the gas, the tires screech, and we race down 7th. He ducks slightly, looking through the side mirror, and that’s when the first shot rings out.

CRACK.

My back window shatters. I scream like I’m in a horror movie. The wheel jerks an the car swerves.

“What the heck is happening?!?!”

“Keep driving!” He shouts, pulling something from his coat. It glints.

Is that a freaking gun?

That’s a freaking gun.

Another shot– He rolls the window down and fires back like this is just a completely normal Tuesday night.

I swerve yet again. “You’re gonna get us both killed!” I shout, staring at him in fear. Which was probably very unsafe, considering I was going 80MPH without looking at the road. 

“You’re the one driving like a drunk goat!”

I almost corrected him but then we hit a pothole the size of Australia and my carr makes a noise like it just gave up on life. I swerve and drive us down an alley I vaguely remember from that one time I got lost trying to find a vegan taco place. Then I hear a loud bang and realize I just ran over to trash cans. The stray dogs and raccoons will have a field day with them.

Thank the Lord above,, the shooting stops. I drive another two blocks before pulling behind a closed down McDonald’s. My fingers are literally gripping the wheel like a cat would to climb a tree.

He exhales, rolls his shoulders, and finally (Thank the Lord again) lowers the gun. I start driving again, slower this time, unsure where I’m supposed to be going now.

“Call Louis. Tell him I’ll be back at base in twenty,” he says, mostly to himself. He pulls out a phone, clicks on a contact, and speaks in fast British. Something a Southern all-American gal like me can’t understand. All I catch is “territory,” “wrong car,” and “situation handled.”

That’s when it hits me. He’s not Felix. He’s not an Uber customer. He’s a mafia boss. And I just…sort of kidnapped him.

Oh sweet baby Jesus

I go still. Slowly turn to look at him. “You’re not Felix, are you.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “No.”

I slam on the brakes so hard it sends the guy jerking forward, almost hitting the dashboard.. “Okay. Alright. Um. Please don’t kill me.”

He tilts his head.

“I didn’t know! I swear! I was just trying to make some extra money so I could get this Labubu–it’s like a collectible toy, okay, and it’s really important to me, and–”

He’s just staring at me like I have two heads.

“I haven’t even bid on it yet!” My voice cracks and a single tear rolls down my face. “I can’t die without bidding!”

Complete silense. And then for some reason, he starts to laugh. Just a low, dry chuckle, like this whole mess is the funniest thing that’s happened to him in years.

❯❯❯❯❯

Apparently, when a mafia boss says ‘base,’ he means a cute little house behind an abandoned bowling alley, with a freaking porch that looks like it could be off of Southern Living Magazine. Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this. We pull in through a rolling metal door and my poor Subaru Outback sputters to a stop next to a matte black Range Rover and something that might actually be a tank (How does this house look so small on the outside yet huge on the inside?) I try not to cry. She was doing her best.

Harry, which was what the guy Louis said his name was on the phone, steps out like he owns the world. I stay in my seat until he opens my door like I’m some kind of house guest.

“Come on,” he says. “You’re already in it.”

So I go. Inside, the place looks like a Bond villain’s Airbnb. Maps, Monitors, you name it. A fridge stocked with beer, almond milk, and a jug of tea. Sadly, the tea was Great Value, and in fact not Milo’s tea. There’s a half-assembled table of guns in the corner and–oh look, snacks. Granola bars. I must be dreaming.

That’s when I see him. Messy blonde hair, Hoodie on, looks like he’s running on two hours of sleep. A cup pf Guinness in hand.

“Piper?”

I blink. “Niall?”

He squints. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!”

Harry just raises a brow like he’s got no clue what the heck is going on.

“You told Auntie Maura you worked at Target!” I point an accusatory finger at my cousin.

“I do! I mean–part time!”

“Part time running guns for the freaking British mafia?!”

“Shhh!” Niall throws his hands up. “She doesn’t know that part!”

“I’m telling her.”

“No! Please! Piper, I swear to God–don’t tell Mum! She’ll make me go to confession! You know she still thinks I’m allergic to alcohol!”

“She’s gonna crucify you and your little gang buddies.”

“Piper,” he whines. “You can’t. I’ll do anything. I’ll buy your limited edition Labubu and not make you pay for the Squishmallow you bought.”

“Swear on One Direction.”

“I swear on Zayn’s cheekbones.”

Harry is looking between us like we’re speaking in another language or something. Eventually, he mutters, “I’m getting a headache,” and walks off.

❯❯❯❯❯

I thought I was finally free. I thought I could, you know, go home, glue plastic over my busted window, and pretend none of this ever happened. But then Niall texted.

 Nialler

Harry said Come to the lot at 5. Trust me.

So I did. Why? I honestly…don’t know. But I showed up anyways, curious why a Mafia Boss wanted me to meet up with him. And there it was. Parked in the lot. A brand new Nissan Rogue.

Black exterior and interior. Fancy Leather seats, unlike my faux leatherr ones in the Beige Beast. A touchscreen the size of a pizza box. Harry stood next to it, like those bad boys in all cheesy dark romance movies do.  Like this was a normal Wednesday thing he does—give out expensive cars to an Uber driver that he almost had shot to death.

“What… is this?”

“You need a car,” he said simply. “Yours is… not a car anymore.”

“That’s a brand new Nissan Rogue.”

He shrugged. “Consider it reimversement.”

I stared at him, then at the car, then back at him like a total idiot.

“…Does it come with car insurance or a hitman in the trunk?” I say, timidly peeking into the window of the car as if this was some kind of prank, and someone was waiting inside to scare me.

Harry smiled. “Just the usual paperwork.”

For a second, we just stood there. Me, still processing. Him, probably thinking about turf wars or whatever mobsters think about when they’re not buying girls cars.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “For… not killing me. And for the Nissan.”

He nodded once. “Don’t crash it.”

Basically, what happened is that a family member needed a sedan, and bought my old hybrid off me. To replace it, I wanted something better for camping, road trips, and outdoors stuff in general.

So I gave myself a set of simple criteria: I wanted a car I could lie down and sleep comfortably in the back of, while still being as small as possible to use as a regular car as well. If I can have as many SUV features in it as possible, then that's an added bonus.

As much as I wanted to avoid the stereotype, the Subaru outback met these criteria quite nicely. There's some maintenance concerns that are a bit more than other similar compact SUVs, but I thought they were well worth it for the wagon form factor, which was ideal for me to slowly convert into a mini sleep-in camper in as compact a way as possible.

As is painfully obvious from my multiple flannels, I can't really avoid the stereotype though LOL

And wow, after an inspection, and testing this thing on roads of various type and quality, I'm absolutely loving it. No regrets about the purchase.

The name comes from possibly the most famous individual dinosaur of all time: Sue the Tyrannosaur. There's some history of calling wagon style cars "dinosaurs" from my childhood, and Sue being an abbreviation of Subaru leans into that, so I personally like that car nickname a lot. I'm open to suggestions, though!

i'll have you know that YAOIMOBILE bought a shamrock cookie for a misfortunated honda driver whose car got totally fucked up on the busiest street in the suburb.

YAOIMOBILE safely delivered me to the lakefront this morning so i could eat my quesadilla in peace listening to Arvo Pärt.

YAOIMOBILE expertly cut off a blue lives matter truck in traffic and left them stranded at a red light.