#apparently just. fucking. leaving shit outside when the boxes broke

[david-watts]

it's that wonderful point that randomly occurs in my life going on for over seven years now where I want to. beat to death with hammers those removalists. fucking cunts

[13urningstars]

There's a knock at the door. It's insistent. Should Cherr get up to see who it is, there is a young minicon femme with bright purple paint standing outside with a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Beside hehr is a red minicon who is apparently her twin brother.

"We're here to apologise," says the femme.

"We kinda fucked up the pie delivery," says her brother.

"Dad said you wanted a cream pie. He says he's sorry he didn't tell us not to be creative."

"Mom said we're to clean up every bit of it. Although..."

"Given that it's all over your frame," the girl says, "we understand if you just want us to clean up the washrack after you've had a shower. My name is Frenzy. This is Rumble, my brother."

There is a cupcake in a box with a bow on it. The note inside reads: Soundwave: will give clearer instructions to twins in the future. Told them you wanted a cream pie. Did NOT tell them you wanted it in the face.

//mun did not mean to imply that the pie would be smashed in Cherr's face

//but appreciates that Cherr-mun has rolled with it anyway

//yes this is Ravage & Soundwave-mun

Its a miracle she somehow fell asleep in last nights mess. Apparently weeks of stress actually does wonders for nightmares.

So when she's roused from her slumber the next day, sorry no, evening, she made the mistake of checking the clock on her way to the door, she's just a smidgen groggy as she greets her visitor. But when she open's the door, at first she see's no one. She knows its not lensflair, they have a special knock, and other then him she's so used to her company being taller then her, and so she doesn't even think to look down under a voice catches her audials.

Oh. Two visitors then. She doesn't have the chance to apologize for not seeing them at first, as the moment the smaller femme starts talking its like the floods broke loose, and they just continue each other sentences. She feel's that she should be offended, just the smallest bit, with them showing up to her house only to not give her the chance to speak at all, but the way they talk reminded her so much of crater and nitrolane she can't but smile softly and nod along as they explain themselves. " Oh don't worry about all that you two, accidents happen, and plus i should've expected it really with a post like that. " She laughs, and while its still a bit tired, its genuine. " Although, i am rather curious on how you got in inside at such a velocity. I didn't leave a window open now did i? " she joked as she opened the offered box, optics lighting up subtly at the treat inside. Oh sweet breakfast. Oh wait there's a note. She's quick to pull it out, amusement shifting into puzzlement as she read who it was from. Soundwave? why was soundwave of all mechs sending her pie?? Okay not like she's complaining, a gift is a gift and- She re-reads the note again, and can't help the snort of laugher. Haha oh man the wording of this is GREAT. She looks up and OH SHIT RIGHT KIDS, or she's guessing, she shouldn't assume really, but when you make a connection to your some kids you know, the resemblance stays. " Would you two like to come in? I won't make you clean anything, but if you REALLY actually genuinely want to, you could wipe off the couch. should be pretty easy. " She smiles, stepping back to open the way in, should they want to. " I have some snacks, if you'd like anything. " Guest rule #1: always offer snacks

[ququm]

a full debrief of what has happened so far in the game that i remember. while writing this i realized that not only were there 5 incidents, but that they can easily be categorized into any of the 5 karma levels/taboos. Which i have done

Karma 1/Violence, AKA, The Couch Hater: i make the household initially and put it into a house but have to leave and when i come back the game loads back up to the brand new couch that i'd just bought reduced to rubble on the floor. who is to blame? well. sig is standing directly next to the rubble looking as guilty as any sims 2 character that has received no direction could be.

naturally, i assume that he tried to sit on the chair but his fatass broke it. i am not happy. we do not have a large couch for the next few in game weeks.

a few paychecks later i get us a new couch. a better one. a fancier one. hopefully nothing happens to this couch. only for when everyone is either at work or asleep does rivulet, the little framing shit, strike yet again, and destroy the brand new, expensive couch. i send someone to scold the cat. rivulet does not listen and instead goes upstairs to steal fp's bed for the 3rd night in a row.

Karma 2/Lust, AKA, No Significant Harrassment getting significantly harrassed: After the bathroom war, NSH is the new highest liked person by everyone in the household given theyve never undergone anything to make them dislike him. Or whatever the fuck sos has going on. To the point that sims are garnering full on crushes on him. Five pebbles started autonomously flirting. i let moon cook breakfast for everyone one morning but in just the room over i had to witness fp grab a cupfull of nsh's bootycheeks and then smooch him on the cheek after. (or something along those lines, idk i don't remember the details i just remember being horrified and apparantly it shocked me so bad my brain tried to block the memory out.) Later, 2 guests are staying over. one of which is a random woman who consistently invites herself into our house, no idea who she is, where she comes from, but everyday like clockwork she is here and trying to assimilate into the family, along with a random guy who wears a leather jacket and sunglasses indoors that fp decided to befriend and start playing football with, as he does with everyone he gets alone with him outside. seriously, this dude is fucking obsessed with football.

i am subjected to witness the girl having hearts coming out of her and looking at nsh lovingly as he enthusiastically plays an air guitar for reasons i strongly believe had absolutely nothing to do with the current conversation topic. later, both her and the potential motercyclist decide to sit and watch fp and nsh sleep through the night in their beds. disturbing behaviour. what are they even doing in there.

Karma 3/Companionship, AKA, The Bathroom War: The selection of unoccupied houses in our price range was very slim. the house bought was meant to be 2 bedroom which led to everyone sharing a room, except for moon, who recieved a closet. What I failed to foresee in buying a house meant to house at most 3 people maybe even a 4th, and cramming 5 people plus an untrained cat, was the lack of bathrooms. This became apparent the morning after the first night. The battle was avoided by none else than NSH, who went to bed really goddamn early and woke up at midnight and had spent the night peacefully eating cereal alone and cleaning ruffles' shit out of a box. to everyone else who woke in the actual morningtime and really needed to piss after, this was when friendships ended. people taking turns walking into the bathroom, seeing someone else already beelining for the toilet, and then getting into an argument yelling at each other to "leave before i take my pants off." to throw a wrench in, we have people like Sliver of Straws, and Looks to the Moon, who have no sense of spatial awareness and apparantly empathy, and decide to take full blown showers while lines are forming at the door.

The loser in this battle was NSH, who took a shower when the war had calmed only for SOS to decide that him showering was better than whatever was going on on the tv downstairs

absolute gooner behaviour right here.

Karma 4/Gluttony, AKA, Work Related Errands: If you've played any sims games you may be familiar with how when your sim goes to work, you can potentially receive a pop-up, telling you something that has happened while they are at work, you will get 2 options on how to handle it. the sims 4 is very gentle with these things. the consequences are not dire. in the sims 2, making the wrong decision can cost you your entire job. thankfully, no one has gotten fired. Seven Red Suns did however lose a days paycheck though. You could say they flew too close to the sun, or in this case, cooked. Srs works at a restaurant as a dishwasher, however one day at work something happens and they are asked to fill in for the chef. They do not give them any prior training, instead simply asking "do you think you're qualified for this?" Seven red suns, having never even touched a refrigerator in their entire short life as a sim, said absolutely. And caught the kitchen on fire. the fact they still have the job and the worst they got was not bringing home any money that day is genuinely astonishing. But then again if they're asking the dishwasher to fill in for the chef they must truly be understaffed.

Another unfortunate request was delivered to Rivulet, whom yes, does have a job despite being a cat. Rivulet works as a vermin catcher at some random corporation. It seems that since rivulet is qualified enough to be working full time, their boss has completely forgotten they are a cat. i will just let you read this.

Again, rivulet is a cat. rivulet can not go grocery shopping for deli. rivulet can not carry a debit card to the local deli store because rivulet is an animal.

Karma 5/Survivor, AKA, Non-fatal Lizard Bite Simulator: i am sure an avid sims 2 player can tell me exactly what had happened and why it is completely normal in the sims universe but my friend desperately wanted this included so it is included.

Moon landed a job in law enforcement, which requires her to work out and gain skills regarding her body. i am happy to do this because she has the highest paying job in the household and most things are coming out of her paycheck. she is the breadwinner among this household. However i am not willing to spend money on personal workout equipment when i could be investing the money into more practical things. like a second bathroom. so while everyone else is at work and moon is not because she works nightshift, as someone named looks to the moon would do, we go to the gym. instead of working out, moon is utterly enthralled with whatever the ACTUAL fuck is this machine

this machine is not productive. the only thing this machine does is simulate to her what being in the jaws of a lizard is like when theyve decided that instead of actually killing you, or better yet, letting you go, they are going to spin you. round and around. like a squeaky toy.

When moon is not being flung around in the circular robot she is watching other people get flung around in the circular robot. she does not get ripped like she is supposed to and promotion has not happened yet.

hello this is my rain world centered blog!! my normal one is @fournicator i post rlly cool art there fyi u should totes check out. but anyway a while ago, like before i was really familiar with the characters in rain world i thought it'd be funny to make the iterators in the sims 2. because the sims 2 is the most chaotic sims game. imo. i got my friend ( @cameroneatsdirt ) to help bcus as i said i was an absolute noob. i would like to share my experiences on this game with you.

[angryinternetduck]

a mutual feeling

harry styles x reader. enemies (kind of) to lovers. 9.5k words. summary/warnings: boxing! boxer!harry x boxer!reader, harry's dad is your trainer, you kind of hate each other, not really, it's not even enemies to lovers they're both just brats, it's boxing so there's kind of a lot of violence and blood, there's nothing too explicit, alcohol consumption, you're a better fighter than he is and you fight and end up doing it, oops, friends w benefits type of deal, he doesn't do relationships but he likes you, oops again, and you like him, triple oops, it's quite the journey but you'll make it.

***

“You look like shit,” Harry greets you when you open the door.

“And you, my love,” you respond with a slight slur, “look handsome as always.” You lean in for a kiss, and Harry gently pushes you away, rolling his eyes as he walks into your apartment. You grimace at the contact, feeling the pain even through the fuzz of the whiskey you’re holding.

“My dad would kill you if he were here,” Harry says.

You giggle, shutting the door behind him. “Well, then, thank goodness he’s not!”

Harry glares at you from your refrigerator and makes a noncommittal grunt.

You frown, suddenly, your alcohol muddled mind working through something. “Wait a minute,” you say slowly, “he’s not here… but you are!” Harry glares even more and walks back over to you. You pout as he guides you to your couch.

Groaning through the pain, you allow him to nudge you onto your back on the couch. “What,” you manage to ask through gritted teeth, “are we gonna fuck now?” Harry sighs, softening the bag of frozen peas he’s holding with his fingers. “You wish.”

He kneels down beside the couch and lays the bag over your bruised nose and black eye. He’s biting on his lip, concentrating and wincing a little bit whenever he hits a sensitive spot and you grimace. He fiddles with the peas, trying to get the bag in exactly the right spot, and you watch his eyes. His green, green, worried eyes.

“He knows,” you murmur.

Harry’s jaw clenches, and that’s the only response you need.

You roll your head away from him, breaking eye contact and letting the bag of peas slide onto your black eye. “Fuck.” Suddenly you’re sober. Harry sighs again, going still for a moment, and then another, and then he stands up and walks away.

“What if I didn’t show up tomorrow?” you ask softly.

You hear him fumbling around in your cabinet.

After a moment, he says, “You will.”

You don’t say anything, because he’s right.

Silence falls over the room, and you’re just about to ask him what he’s doing over there when there’s a loud bang. You gasp, jolting upright, and watch Harry shake out his fist. Your cabinet door is ajar, papers and knick knacks misplaced.

“You promised him, goddammit!”

You exhale slowly, sharply, leaning back as the pain from your sudden movement sets in.

“You promised me!” Harry closes the distance between the cabinet and the couch, throwing your first aid kit onto the coffee table in front of you quite violently. “Christ, you said you’re done! No more fighting.”

You close your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He breathes a second, and you can hear he’s panting. So angry. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do,” you go on softly when he doesn’t talk for a moment. “I get antsy, and it’s late, and, well…” You turn over a little bit, grimacing, and hold up the wad of cash.

“Train!” he bursts, ignoring the money. “You said training! Fight with my dad! It’s so easy. Fight with gloves! Spar! For fuck’s sake, you said no more of this - this underground - rubbish. You can’t be out there fighting random people just to get your rocks off.”

You frown. “It’s not -”

“You’re so fucking reckless it’s insane!” he interrupts, apparently on a rant. “I cannot believe how stupid you are. After all this, you won’t go pro, won’t stop, won’t - won’t do anything but keep fucking yourself up and leaving me to clean up after!”

That strikes a nerve, and you sit up, anger brewing in your stomach. It always seems to come to this with him. “What?” you scoff incredulously. “Leave you to clean up after?” Harry scowls at you. “What else would you call this?”

“I’d call this you getting into my business!” you exclaim. “I’d call this you coming to my house in the dead of night because you’re - you’re worried about me. That has nothing to do with me, Styles, and you fucking know it. I never asked for this. I’d be just fucking fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“Yeah?” Harry spits, grabbing the half empty bottle of whiskey and shaking it at you. “Just fine, huh? Bleeding out on your couch passed out from too much to drink, that’s fine? We have very different definitions of fine then, don’t we?”

You scowl at him, vision going red with anger, and you shout, “I’ll prove it! Leave!” You jump to your feet, getting riled up, but can only start, “There’s the -” before pain shoots through your body and you fall back down, struggling for breath.

“Shit,” Harry mutters. The bottle’s dropped and he’s at your side in a second, taking bandages and disinfectant out of your first aid kit. He pulls up your shirt, cleaning a bruise on your rib cage that broke skin before pressing a soft cloth against it. “There could be a broken rib in here,” he says under his breath. “You need to go to -”

“I’m fine,” you cut in.

He looks at you, concern in his gaze, and you have to shut your eyes.

“I can’t afford it,” you whisper. “Give it a few days. I’ll be able to tell. If it’s really bad… I’ll go.” He doesn’t reply, doesn’t say anything, but you can hear the worry in the silence. “Promise?” he says.

“Yeah.”

He grabs your hand, and you frown, and he says, “Look at me.”

You meet his eyes, lifting your hand just off the couch with your pinky extended.

He links his pinky with yours.

“Pinky swear,” you say.

***

You can tell Des is pissed from the moment you walk into the gym. You can’t even see him yet and you already know. There’s something in the air. Everybody turns to stare, eyes wide, faces shameless. They have a right, though - it’s not every day somebody comes in with fresh bruises and black eyes.

“He’s in back,” the receptionist tells you as soon as you walk up to the counter.

“Great,” you mutter. “Thanks.” You shift your bag further onto your back, heading for the back room where you train. And there he is, sitting on a bench, feet up on a yoga ball and eyes trained stubbornly on his phone.

“Hey, Mr. Styles,” you say cheerily, only a hint of sarcasm slipping into your tone.

“Don’t hey, Mr. Styles me.”

You clear your throat and shut up.

“What you did last night,” he begins, standing up and crossing his arms across his chest, “was reckless, uncalled for, and dangerous. Not to mention stupid.” You grit your teeth, letting your bag slide to the floor and leaning against the doorframe. You’re in for a long one.

“These fights aren’t only dangerous but illegal,” he goes on. “You could’ve gotten yourself jailed or worse. And you know that.” He steps forward. “The worst part is you know that. We’ve been over this so, so many times. And you still go and risk your life.”

You bite your lip and look at the floor.

“I train you because you’re good,” Des tells you. “You’re a damn good fighter, you know that? And it helps you, I can see that much. A right stupid bloody temper, that’s what you have, and if I can save some poor bloke on the street from getting his arse kicked, I will. But if you won’t go pro, won’t do it safely, and won’t stop with these bloody undergrounds I can’t do it anymore!”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Damn right you’re sorry! You promised me! You swore! Said you’d never go out again! And I had to find out from my ex wife that you’re at a fight? What the hell?” You frown at this, confused suddenly, and ask, “Anne told you?”

Des scowls and turns away. “Her coworker’s daughter’s involved. I don’t bloody know. Don’t know how, why, when - but it doesn’t matter, does it?” He rounds on you, again, and you sigh quietly, exhausted from the lecture and the guilt and the pain.

He must clock it, because he softens, taking a breath and rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “Go home,” he says. “I can’t… I can’t look at you, and you can barely lift a muscle. A right mess, you are, about to fall apart just from standing so long.”

You start to complain, “But -!”

“No. Go home. Now, or else I’ll have Harry drive you.”

Frowning at the threat, and the fact that it worked, you pick up your bag and turn to go. Before you leave, though, you look at him once more. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I really am.” Des sighs. “I know,” he says.

You walk out. Stares, round two, and then you’re outside, and you take a breath of the cool air. It’s October, cold, but it feels good. Walking down the steps, you see Harry, leaned against a tree with a book.

You roll your eyes and ignore him, hoping he won’t notice you.

But he does. He calls your name, jumps up, walks over to you.

“Save it, Harry,” you say immediately. “I don’t need another lecture.”

You see him frown from the corner of your eye. “I don’t… I wasn’t gonna.”

“Save it anyway,” you mutter.

He says your name again and stops walking. You feel his hand brush against yours, like he wants to grab your hand. Against your better judgement, you stop walking too. “What?” you ask, a bit shortly.

“I just… I’m sorry,” he says.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

Harry clears his throat. Looks at his hands. “Last night. I shouldn’t’ve said those things.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says, half smiling as he looks up again. “Oh. I just - well, you’re right, that’s all. I’m just getting in your business.” You sigh, shaking your head and starting to apologize yourself, but he cuts you off. “No, no, you don’t have to - I just wanted to say that I’m…” He breathes a laugh. “I’m available. If you want to fight. When you get antsy. Even if it’s… late.”

You can’t help but smile a little bit. “Are you offering to get my rocks off for me?”

Harry barks a laugh and then says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Fuck yes.”

He doesn’t say anything, and your eyes lock, just for a second, and then you clear your throat, looking away. “Right, well, I’ll… I’ll see you around.” He nods. “Yeah,” he says, heading back to his tree. “See ya.”

***

Antsy.

The ceiling fan spins around above you, taunting you, pushing hot air around and around. It’s October and you’re somehow hot, cramped in your apartment. It’s a few weeks later, now, around midnight. You had a session with Des this morning, and you’re still antsy. Restless. You could probably go down the street, get your brains knocked out, earn a little cash.

Or you could call Harry.

Grotesque, just the idea of it. What a surrender. You roll out of bed, shove on pants and a sweatshirt for the cold air outside, and grab your car keys. You’re sweating by the time you get to the door, then freezing cold when you step outside.

The drive isn’t too long, a few minutes. The parking lot’s empty. It’s eerie. Des keeps a key above the door under the light. You’re surprised to see a dim light on in the back, and you’re even more surprised to see Harry hunched over a book.

“You’re in a gym, Styles, and you’re reading,” you say, breaking the silence. He jumps and looks up. His eyes are tired. “You’re in a gym,” he says back, “and it’s midnight.” His voice is raspy.

“Could say the same to you.”

“I live here.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“You don’t.”

“Right.”

He holds your gaze. He likes to do that, likes to keep eye contact and make you think he’s staring into your soul. You’re the first one to look away. You always are. It’s unnerving. His eyes are so pretty, too. If you stare too long you start to admire him.

“You’re a bit early for a session,” he says as you put down your bag.

You pull on your gloves. The velcro is deafening. “I got antsy,” you reply.

“Did I miss a call?”

“No.”

“I’m a little offended.”

You crack your neck, bounce on your toes. “We’re not friends, Styles.”

“Right, I’m very offended.”

You step away from him, towards the punching bag. “Besides,” you say, “you’re too weak” - you throw a punch, the bag swings, creaks - “to spar with me.” Harry huffs, standing up and walking closer. “Christ, you’re just bullying me now.”

“I’m good at that.”

“Not really.”

Another punch, right hook, a combo, one, two, three, he’s standing against the wall, looking very cool with his arms across his chest. “Yeah?” you ask. “Should I try harder?” One, two, you’re starting to sweat. It feels good.

“Should stop trying at all.”

Three, four - one, one, four - “Go read your novel, Styles.”

He watches you for a second, and then sits down. He opens his book.

When you leave, an hour and a half later, he’s fallen asleep.

***

Another week and you’re wired again. The fan’s off, you’re sweating, but not in a good way. Soon you’re in the car, in the parking lot, in the gym. And… the light’s on again. For a second, you wonder if he ever sleeps.

“No wonder you’re so weak,” you start this time. “You never sleep.”

He doesn’t jump this time. “And neither, apparently, do you.”

“Least it doesn’t affect my fighting.”

“Affects your head, though. Explains the stupidity.”

You sigh. “You’re a prick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, five?”

You look up and he’s smiling, the bastard, like it’s funny. Which it is, actually, but he’s being annoying about it. When you meet his gaze, he smiles more, just for a second, and then looks down at his book. “Won’t bother you this time,” he murmurs.

“Gee,” you say wryly, “I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t reply, just shrugs, and reads.

You frown, because you’re surprised. Not because you’re upset. Not because you wanted to talk to him. Or maybe you did. The anger is good fuel. You take it out on the punching bag.

You don’t stay as long this time. He’s still awake when you leave.

“See ya,” he says as you walk out.

These late night sessions don’t hold you over like a good fight does. Every week you’re going over there, and every week he’s there, too. The light doesn’t surprise you anymore, and to your embarrassment, you’ve begun to come up with your witty greetings on the way.

The conversations don’t last as long. It’s a back and forth, and then silence. It’s comfortable, the silence, and you don’t bring music. You should. You should block him out, forget he’s there, but you can’t.

It’s true, about the anger. It’s good fuel.

You feel him staring one night. He’s so intense. You think about his eyes, how much you hate them, how expressive they are, how you can tell exactly what he’s feeling, what he’s thinking…

The chain swings, creaks, you breathe in, out, one, two, three -

Harry catches the punching bag.

You pull your punch to keep from breaking his nose. “Shit, Styles, what the hell?”

He’s grinning at you, dimpling, you want to punch him, he says, “Let’s fight.”

“I told you,” you sigh, turning away, “you’re too weak for me.”

“The last time we sparred, I was sixteen.”

“And I’m sure you haven’t improved since.”

Harry raises his brows. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Yes,” you say, “yes I do.”

“Wanna prove it?”

You look at him, let your eyes drift over his body. He’s worked out, that’s for sure, and he’s so damn tall, too. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches you smugly, like you’re checking him out and not assessing his skill level. You kind of are checking him out. The sharp angle of his jaw line probably doesn’t affect the power of his punch.

You break the moment of silence. And then you say, “Fuck yes.”

It takes a second, a second of getting on gloves and drinking water and shedding layers, and then another second of bouncing on your toes, circling each other, watching his smile, his eyes, in the dim glow of the moon in the windows.

And then he makes the first move.

He throws a punch.

“Too easy,” you say as you duck.

“Just getting warmed up.”

“Lucky for you,” you start, moving closer, telegraphing left, “I’m already warm.” You go right. Right hook, for the jaw - he blocks it, of course, and you go under, for his stomach. He doesn’t dodge that one.

“Thought you’d give me a little more than that,” he says, but he’s a little breathless so the effect doesn’t carry. You just smile, watching his shoulders. Broad shoulders. His hips move left, you duck right, it’s too easy. His punch goes too far. The momentum carries him, you hold those broad shoulders and knee into his ribcage.

He coughs, stumbling a little, and you feel a twinge of guilt. Oops.

And then it’s all movement.

He lunges forward and -

One, two - hook left, dodge it, he’s sweating, eyes focused - one, two, another left jab, an uppercut that lands. He’s spinning, bouncing, now you’re the one that’s coughing. No more guilt. He doesn’t draw blood, though, going weak on you. Of course he is.

Amused, you laugh, “Shit, Styles,” and square your shoulders, crack your neck, draw closer, hands up. His brows jump, and he looks just as amused as you are. Bounce, bounce, eye contact, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Here we go, you think, and now it’s your turn.

One-two-three-four, bang bang bang, every punch lands, not hard, go gentle, a knee to his stomach, also gentle, pull him down, elbow to his back, so gentle, don’t hurt him, look at those back muscles, he swears under his breath, arm behind his back, don’t pull, don’t hurt him, he’s on the floor, on his stomach, arm bent, your knee on the small of his back -

He breathes a laugh, craning to look at you over his shoulder. “Alright, then. Point proved.” You grin, releasing him and falling back onto your hands. “I’m not one to say I told you so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, turning onto his back. He puts his cheek against the mat, looking at you. He’s still smiling. You look at his dimples, his cheek, and you lean forward, off your hands. He holds your gaze, no surprise there, and you hold his.

His smile fades, and you watch his eyes flick down and back up. You’re panting, chest rising, falling - it’s so quiet. You creep forward. He swallows, you see his throat work. He’s still sweating. So are you, probably.

You lean over him, watch his eyes widen, trail your finger over his cheek. “I hope I didn’t bruise you,” you murmur. He’s breathing just as heavily as you are, and even though he looks like he’s about to faint, his voice is cocky as he asks, “Oh, is that why you’re touching me?”

Closer, closer, your necklace hangs in the space between the two of you. Even closer, and it rests on his chest. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “Are we about to fuck?” He rolls over, suddenly, doesn’t reply, pulls you with him, and he’s on top of you and he’s kissing you and it feels so good, tastes so good, you close your eyes and grin and pull him closer, closer.

Turns out the answer’s yes.

***

A rude awakening. So rude. Borderline disrespectful.

Everything hurts. You groan, rolling over.

The bell on the door chimes again, and your eyes snap open.

You bolt upright. “Fuck,” you hiss.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Harry mumbles, still half asleep.

Scrambling for clothes, you mutter, “Your dad’s here, idiot.”

“Oh,” Harry says, blinking awake. “Fuck.”

You hurry to grab clothes and get decent and run out the door without another word to Harry. It’s cold outside, and you’re only half dressed. You get your car running, pull out of the parking lot, and hope Des doesn’t see you.

When you’re home, you take a cold shower. Icy cold. Your head’s still pounding, but you manage to muddle through what happened last night. Regret seeps through you with the water, and you’re thankful for the heat in your apartment when you step out.

You have a session with Des in a few hours.

Should be fun. Awkward.

And it is, when you eventually get there. A little of both. Mostly awkward. Des doesn’t suspect anything. He must not have seen your car in the morning. You trade smirks and scowls and glares and grins with Harry throughout the morning, but not a word.

Not a single word.

***

Antsy.

Antsy, antsy, restless, wired.

And guilty.

Because you’re not antsy for a fight. You’re antsy for a chat. Or a fuck. Whatever. You’re expecting a few words to turn into a few kisses, and then a few more, and then another rude awakening. You can’t tell if you’re excited about that or already guilty.

So much guilt. Can never get away from the guilt.

You’re thinking about it the whole ride over, through empty streets and hour long red lights and mocking stop signs. It’s so quiet. You can’t get over how quiet the world is when your head is so ridiculously loud.

Through all that, you can’t come up with a single thing to start with.

You used to pull into the parking lot and come up with a nice snarky comment to start the evening out with. Just like that. You’d walk in and mull it over and decide it was perfect then tweak it just so right before saying it.

And you’d get a rush of satisfaction from his reply and his smirk and his dimples.

Not tonight. Tonight you think the whole way over and can’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing to start with, nothing to end with, nothing to tell him or yell at him or sob at him. Nothing. Zero, zilch, nada.

He’s working out when you get there. Shimmering in the moonlight with his shirt off, throwing punches at the punching bag and bouncing around and panting breaths. It comes to you, then, what to say, and you say it.

“Oh, how the turntables…”

He stops and stills the punching bag with his hand and turns to look at you. He doesn’t look particularly uncomfortable. Maybe a little unsure. Mostly smug. His eyes are the only things giving away his uncertainty.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” he says.

“No faith in me, huh?”

He smiles. “None at all.” He takes off his gloves and stretches, flexing for you, and you let your eyes rake over him shamelessly. “Didn’t bring a book with me,” you muse, setting your bag down. “Then we’d really be, uh… swapped…”

“Shame.”

Your eyes lock. There’s a beat of silence, and you let it linger for a while. His eyes are so expressive. Green, so green. Even greener up close. “So are we gonna talk about it?” you ask after a second.

“Talk about what?”

You debate punching him. Hard. You could break his nose. Get a little blood gushing. Maybe he’d talk to you then. “It’s rude to answer a question with a question, Styles.” He leans against the wall. “Is it?”

“It’s a sign of weakness, actually.”

He raises a brow. “You think I’m the one at a disadvantage here?”

“Aren’t we both?”

“Do you regret it?”

You’re playing along now. “Do you?”

“Would you do it again?”

You hold his gaze, walk closer. “Isn’t that the same question?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He grins.

And then he kisses you.

Dammit, you think through the euphoria, he somehow managed to win.

***

It’s not that you expected that it would happen again. It’s not like you were hoping for it to happen again, or even like you were dreading it would happen again. It was one of those hope for the best, prepare for the worst situations.

Three in the morning, and your watch buzzes against your wrist.

Groaning, you sit up and gather your clothes. You get dressed, slip out, and drive home. One icy cold shower later, you’re wishing you felt regret. You wish you were guilty, or upset, or embarrassed.

Instead, you picture those dimples and grin.

You ignore him when you go to the gym for your session with Des. You work out, get your heartrate up, push away all thoughts about Harry Styles, and leave. The ball is in his court, you decide, and you’re not one to steal. Or maybe you are. You’re just too stubborn at the moment.

It feels good to be rid of him, even if it’s just temporary. It takes a few days, a few days of you ignoring his more and more frequent glances, a few days of you leaving as soon as your session’s over, a few days of you parking around back so he can’t corner you out front where he reads.

Then he follows you. He does corner you, only at your car rather than at his tree. He’s leaned up against it when you walk out, and you sigh when you catch sight of him. A sigh of irritation. Because you’re annoyed. It’s not a sigh of relief, obviously, or a sigh of happiness.

“Waiting for me at my car?” you say, walking up to him. “I’m a little creeped out.”

Harry looks up at you, brows raised. “She speaks!”

You fiddle with your keys. “Yeah, she’s been known to, here and there.”

He bites his lip, looking at you thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t know where you live.”

“Wow, you managed to get even creepier.”

“I said I don’t know where you live,” he says, smiling a bit.

You open the door, lean against it. “I heard you.”

“I was gonna visit you. Bring flowers or summat.”

“Flowers!” you gasp. “A creep and a liar. How romantic.”

He smiles even more. “You didn’t show up for a while.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“I was getting worried.”

You cock a brow. “Is worried a synonym for horny now, or…?”

His smile curls into a smirk. “That too.”

You nod, mocking sympathy. “Right, right, you poor soul.” You clear your throat, sliding into the driver’s seat, and close the door as you turn the key in the ignition. “Well!” you exclaim, rolling down the window so he can hear you. “I’m gonna drive away now. Nice talking to you.”

He puts his palm on the door, leans against it, muscles flexing. “My mate’s coming into town,” he says. He’s looking at you. So intense. “Yeah?” you ask. “Are you into that?” His brows jump, teasingly, but then he’s shaking his head.

“Nah, I just… He’s a good lad, you know? And he needs a place to stay.”

“Your dad lives with you, Styles, and I don’t think he’d like to hear -”

“He’s not staying with us.”

You scoff slightly. “You think he’d wanna stay in my little -”

“No,” Harry interrupts, “he’s staying in a hotel.”

Your eyes narrow, wondering if you know where he’s going with this. You stay quiet.

“And, uh…” He breaks eye contact, which makes you suspicious, and looks out towards the gym behind your car. “I wanna make sure the place he’s staying is nice.” He looks back at you, just a hint of a smirk in his eyes.

“Styles,” you begin slowly, and then he clears his throat, cutting you off again, and leans back, off your car, standing up straight. He’s looking at the gym again. “I think you need to come with me to test out this hotel he’s staying at.”

You laugh. You laugh, throwing your head back, being dramatic about it, and say, “You did not just go through all that just to get me in a hotel room with you.” Harry meets your gaze, finally, and grins. “My back’s getting sore for all the wrong reasons.”

“Christ almighty, you absolute bastard.” You put on your seat belt, shaking your head with a huge smile on your face. “Fuck you, Styles,” you say, putting your foot on the pedal, “and call me when you figure out a date.”

***

Apparently, the date is a week later.

And a week later, it feels so nice to wake up on a bed. All the satisfaction of the night before and a perfectly comfortable bed to wake up in. You’re more content than you should be, and you have to hide your smile the next morning after round - four? Five? Whatever. The first of the morning. And last, apparently.

He’s pulling on his pants, fixing himself in the mirror, and you’re staring at him and thinking. Thinking about what to say, when to say it, how to say it, whether you’re a wimp for wanting to say it. “So we’re really not gonna talk about it, huh?” you finally say.

He hums a “Hm?” and meets your gaze in the mirror.

You glare. “Gonna make me spell it out?”

“Spell what out?”

“Again with the questions,” you mutter.

“Right, well, I wasn’t trying to be smart,” Harry starts, and you can’t help cutting in, “Are you ever?” He purses his lips at you and turns around. “Tell me.” You’re almost impressed, and then he adds, “Is that better?”

You breathe a sigh, clearing your throat and turning on the dramatics again. Sitting up, you sit on your calves and clutch the blanket to your chest. With your best puppy dog eyes, you gush, “What are we, Styles?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Mortal enemies,” he says under his breath, turning around again to put on his shirt. “Yeah?” you say. “All blood and guts?” He smirks at you in the mirror. “I think I felt your guts last night when -”

You laugh and cut him off. “Oh, alright.”

A second of silence, and he goes a little more serious. “I hope you know I don’t do relationships,” he says quietly. Your brows jump. “And I thought I was the dramatic one.” He sighs, turning around to face you. “I’m not being dramatic.”

“The hell you aren’t,” you say with a grin.

He frowns. “We’re not a thing.”

“Good,” you tell him. “I’d kill you.”

“You have to tell me if you ever get into a relationship,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We’re done if you start dating.”

You scoff a laugh. “Um? No shit?”

“And we can’t tell my dad.”

Shaking your head, you hold up a hand. “Hold on, back track. I’ll tell you if I ever start dating, and you tell me if you ever do.” He shrugs and replies, “That’s easy. I won’t date.” You frown. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re a prick,” you say, impulsively.

“Which is why I won’t date.”

“Some people are into that.”

“Are you?”

You bounce your eyebrows. “Clearly.”

“And yet you don’t wanna date me.”

“Fuck no.”

“Point proved.”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Fuck me yourself.”

You laugh, incredulously, and flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Alright. It’s off if either of us get into a relationship -” You hold up a finger when he starts to talk and push on, “And your dad can’t know.”

“I’m not paying for this hotel every time you get horny.”

You sit up and scoff, “Every time I get -”

“Every time we want to spend quality time together,” he amends, a sweet smile on his face. You grin and lay back again. “My apartment’s small,” you say. “But there’s a bed.” Harry hums, sitting on the bed, and you turn your head to watch him pull on his shoes.

“Anywhere that’s not the gym floor is fine with me.”

“Ooh, you’ll get to see where I live,” you say. “Should I be scared?”

“For your bed, maybe.”

You snicker and mutter, “You’re gross.”

“So are you.”

“A match made in heaven.”

Harry makes a noise of disagreement. “Hell.”

You smile, reaching over to fiddle with his shirt. “Purgatory.”

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re gross,” you reply with a shrug.

You can see him biting back a smile as he stands up. “Right. And - nobody can know.”

“Yeah, yeah, we won’t tell your dad.”

“No, I mean - other people, too.”

You raise a brow. “Who cares?”

He frowns, turning away to grab his coat. “They might get the wrong idea.”

You breathe a laugh and sit up, stretching a bit. “Yeah? And what’s the right idea?”

“Anything but whatever the hell’s happening here.”

“Wow, I’m offended.”

“Should be. Fuck you.”

Childishly, you stick your tongue out at him. “Fuck me yours-”

“And now we’re just going in circles,” Harry interrupts. He grabs his coat, and you realize he’s fully dressed, and you’re a bit startled. “Don’t be late for the gym,” he tells you. “My dad’ll get suspicious.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, well, heaven forbid your dad -”

“Just don’t be late.”

“Interrupt me one more time, Styles, I -”

He smirks, opens the door, and leaves.

You groan and fall back onto the bed again, then sigh happily.

This situation with Harry, you think, is absolutely terrible.

***

He is so cute.

Just the most adorable.

All smiles and big green eyes and soft curls you want to run your hands through.

“I think I love you,” you murmur drunkenly, and he laughs.

He’s got a nice laugh. Sounds like music. “Think I feel the same.”

You lean into him, pressing kisses against the column of his throat. “I really think I love you, Harry,” you whisper, and he clears his throat, going a bit stiff. “Jack,” he says. “It’s Jack.”

“Oh,” you giggle. You look up at him. “Your eyes are green,” you tell him.

He smiles again, and he doesn’t have dimples. “That they are,” he says.

You’re at some bar. Two weeks after the hotel meet up. Harry’s been to your apartment about a million times, but luckily, the bed’s still in one piece. Here, there’s music going, and you have a few drinks on the table in front of you.

A few guys bought you drinks. Jack did. He was nice about it, though. He’s such a gentleman. He offered to buy you food, brought you to a table and talked with you while you ate. He pulled the chair out for you.

He nudges at your cheek, pressing his lips to your skin. It’s all wrong. But he’s a gentleman, and boy, are his eyes green. You sway a little to the music playing. He kisses you more. It feels nice.

You turn so your back is to his chest, and he stops with the kissing. He holds your waist, not too low, so respectful. What a gentleman. With those green, green eyes. “I wanna make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“Yeah?” you say, giggling a little.

He kisses your throat, so lightly, so nicely. “I wanna take you home.”

You pout at that and turn around, wiggling your hand at him. “Oh, Jack,” you say, “I’m married!” He frowns, pulling away a little bit. “What?” You show him the ring on your finger, only half processing that it’s on your middle finger and you’re essentially flipping him off.

Your gaze focuses. “Oh,” you say, outloud, lowering your hand and inspecting the ring. It’s Harry’s, you realize. He left it in your room last week, and you wore it so you wouldn’t forget to give it to him the next time you saw him. But you forgot.

“I forgot,” you murmur.

“You forgot you’re married?” Jack scoffs incredulously.

“No!” you exclaim, looking up. “No, no, I’m not - I’m not married. Not at all.”

He relaxes, but he still looks skeptical.

“I just - it’s complicated.”

“I didn’t know,” he says, backing away. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“You wouldn’t be,” you say softly.

He laughs awkwardly. “Um… Yeah, well, it seems like I would be.”

You’re not sure what to say, and eventually settle on a weak, “I’m sorry.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Me too. Well, it was nice… it was nice meeting you.”

You look up, shaking your head. “Wait, you don’t have to…”

“I think I should,” he says. “Yeah, so - bye, I guess.”

“Bye,” you say softly. “Bye, bye…”

***

What a headache. So much pain.

You groan, rolling over onto your stomach, and look at the clock.

“Shit.”

You’re late. You’re so, so late. Des will be pissed. You haven’t been late for a session in almost two years. You scramble out of bed, downing a painkiller and stumbling around your apartment until you’re changed and about ready to go.

The medicine kicks in on the way, and you’re almost sentient by the time you get to the gym. Harry gives you a weird look on the way, and a bit of a memory flashes through your head. Vaguely, you worry about having confessed your love to him.

You have a session though, and you already have enough on your plate dealing with an angry Des, so you force it out of your head. Des is upset. He gets over it. You throw punches and get your feelings out and set a ring on your finger to the side. You’re not sure how it got there, but it looks like Harry’s. Shit, you think, maybe there really was a declaration of love.

He’s reading against his tree, and you ambush him on the way out. “What did I say last night?” you ask, a bit breathlessly. He looks surprised and replies, “What do you mean?” You sit down next to him, getting your breath back.

“Be honest,” you say.

A smile tugs the corner of his lips. “Aren’t I always?”

“Never. But I didn’t - you’re not -” You huff. “Are we okay?”

The smile drops, and so does your heart. He looks down. Oh, no, you think miserably. You really did. You said you loved him, drunkenly, and ruined your entire relationship. Friendship. Situationship. You’re getting another headache just thinking about it.

“Well, actually… I was thinking… maybe we should take a break,” Harry says quietly.

Your heart drops even further, and you blurt, “I didn’t mean it.”

His brows furrow. He looks up again. “What?”

“I don’t love you.”

Harry blinks, dramatically, and actually laughs. “What?” he repeats.

“What I said last night. I didn’t mean it. I was drunk.”

His brows go down again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see you last night.”

You hold up the ring. “Are you sure?”

He grabs it from you, smiling a bit. “Yeah. Positive. I’ve been looking for this for about three days.” You bite your lip. “Oh,” you say. He looks at you, confused yet again. “If not me,” he says slowly, “who were you with?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I don’t remember.”

“You slept with somebody?”

“No. I woke up alone. Just a - an awful headache.”

He clears his throat, looking away. “Right, right. Well, you can. Obviously. I don’t - I don’t care. At all. But I was thinking…” He looks down at the ring, at his lap, frowning. “I think we should lay off it a bit.”

“Asking for some space?” you ask, and you’re half joking, but your voice is a little weak.

He looks up. Softly, he says, “Yeah.”

“Wow,” you laugh. “You’re breaking up with me and we’re not even together.”

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he says quickly. Too quickly. His face tinges red, just a bit, and his gaze falls to the ring. “I think… I think we should have another rule. We can only see each other once a week.”

You whistle lowly. “Wow,” you say again.

“Stop with the wows,” Harry mutters. “I get it. You’re impressed.”

“It’s hard not to be.”

“Right, yeah. I’m very impressive.” He’s still looking down. There’s a beat of silence.

“Alright!” you say after a minute. “Alright, well, I’ll see you around, then. I’ll get a calendar.” You stand up, dusting nonexistent grass from your legs. “I’ll doodle your name around each week. What do you say, Fridays? Wednesdays? When’re we doing this, huh?”

“I don’t know. Whenever.”

“Geez, try not to sound so excited.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Alright!” you repeat. “Goodbye.”

You stand there for half a second, expecting something, anything, and then walk off.

***

He’s not at the gym.

Midnight, a little after, and he’s not at the gym. The lights are off. Ridiculously, you’re not really sure what to do. You give a few half hearted punches, and then leave, feeling like an absolute idiot.

He ignores you the next day during your session at the gym. He works out, parading his toned muscles around the gym and grinning at the instructor to flaunt his dimples. Then he walks out, so he’s gone by the time you’re done with Des.

A week, and he hasn’t said a word. The worst part is that you don’t even know what you did wrong. He’s just scared, you tell yourself. He’d been spending almost every night at your apartment. He’ll come crawling back. He’ll kiss you and tell you he loves you and then you’ll date and everything will be happily ever after.

It’s all lies, of course, because you don’t even know if you’d want a relationship, if you’re ready for that, if you could stand that with him, if you love him - but it’s kind of nice to fantasize about.

You go to a fight one night. You watch. You watch the money, the fighting, watch the happy, painful, bliss on the winners’ faces and hide in the crowd. People recognize you, ask when you’re going, and you say… You say you’re not.

You can’t.

Maybe tomorrow, you say.

But you don’t come the next day. You stare at your ceiling, hot, and watch the fan. Around and around it goes, and you don’t move. You think. You think, and sweat, and eventually get up and take a cold shower.

The next morning, Des isn’t in the back room. You ask the receptionist where he is, and she shrugs. Tells you she has no idea - call him. So you do. You call, and he sounds upset, and he says to come upstairs.

You’ve never been upstairs.

You know where the steps are, though, and you walk up and into the hallway and see Des leaned against a door. “What’s going on?” you ask immediately. “Are you okay?” Des nods, sighing heavily. “I’m fine, but Harry’s - he’s got into a fight.”

You almost laugh. “A fight?”

“Yeah, he…” He sighs again. “A client came in here earlier, hours ago. He was going on about some fight he’d gone to last night, talking about what happened, about… well, about you.” Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Said you wouldn’t fight,” Des goes on quietly. “Started going on about how you can’t… He said you can’t -” He shakes his head. “This is him, mind you, he said not only can you not fight, but you’re a wimp about it, too.”

You can only gape.

“I was gonna kick him out, I was, but Harry… Er - well, they started shoving each other, bloody idiots, and then there were punches and we pulled them apart but they still… Well, he’s got a bit of a shiner.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s fine. Mostly.” He eyes you up, looking curious. “Haven’t broken his heart yet, have you?” This time you do laugh. “Sorry?” you ask, and Des smiles a bit. “Boy’s been looney about you for ages, you know. Since the second you stepped in here.”

“I…” You’re not sure what to say. “Um… Why… why are you telling me this now?” you ask, and Des grins. “Wanted to see how guilty you’d be.” You frown, confused, and echo, “Guilty?” Des nods, looking almost smug. “Most people are guilty when their lie’s found out. They’re even guiltier when they realize the old man they’ve been lying to has known since the start.”

“We’re not… lying to you…” It sounds even lamer out loud than in your head.

Des hums. “Course you’re not.” He pats you on the back and clears his throat, turning away. “I’m going out, now. It’ll be for a while. Don’t hurt him anymore, thanks.” He disappears down the steps, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Guilty, yes, and embarrassed.

Whoops.

You open the door and see Harry on the bed, an ice pack on his face.

“You look like shit,” you say.

“So do you,” he replies without looking at you. “At least I have an excuse.”

“Ooh, wasn’t expecting that one,” you tell him, walking closer. “None of the ‘you should see the other guy,’ huh?” He turns to glare at you, and you grimace at the black and blue around his eye. “Ouch,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’m supposed to be the one getting beat up,” you say softly, and you’re pushing a curl out of his face before you can stop yourself. “You’re too pretty to get your face smashed in.” Harry rolls his eyes and turns away again.

You lean down, impulsively - you’re not thinking today, apparently - and start to kiss his hand, resting on his stomach. He winces, pulling away, and you see his knuckles are bruised. “That hurts,” he says.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, and go for his cheek -

He hisses your name and bites out, “That hurts too.”

“Well, Christ, Styles,” you scoff, “where doesn’t it hurt?”

He glances at you, a flicker in those green eyes, and points to his temple. “There’s not too bad,” he mumbles. You have to bite back a grin. “Alright,” you say, and you press your lips to his skin. His eyes flutter shut.

“And… and here’s not awful.” He points to his jaw almost grudgingly, and a bit of a laugh slips out of your lips as you pepper a kiss across his jaw, over his chin, and then pull away. He opens his eyes at the loss of contact, pouting a bit.

“How ‘bout here,” he whispers, and he points to his lips.

“You’re a bastard,” you whisper back, and then you kiss him.

Suddenly he’s better, because he’s smiling and reaching up behind your neck to gently pull you closer. Then he’s sitting up, onto his elbow, his hand nudging you as if he wants you to get on top of him.

“Thought everything hurt,” you murmur, complying anyway.

Harry shrugs, smiling more, and says,“The medicine just set in.”

“I hate you,” you tell him.

He sighs, sounding happy, and kisses you deeper. “The feeling,” he says, “is mutual.”

***

His name is Charlie. The bartender. It says it right on his little gold name tag, which blinds you every few seconds when the light hits it just right. He’s pretty nice. You’re getting drinks for yourself and for Harry, who’s supposed to meet you in a few minutes. He’ll probably be late.

“Come here often?” Charlie asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You raise a brow. “Yeah. Yet somehow I’m still surprised at how unoriginal you are.”

Charlie laughs, sliding your drink across the counter and getting started on Harry’s. “Oh, no, no, I just meant… I feel like I’ve seen you around.” You give a neutral hum in reply, swirling the ice in your drink around.

And then you hear your name called from behind you, and you feel yourself smile as you turn around and see Harry walking in, waving at you. He’s not late. How nice. “Hey, you’re with Harry?” Charlie asks, sounding surprised, and your smile drops to a frown as you remember he’s still there.

“Yup.”

“Wow,” Charlie says under his breath, his back to you as he mixes Harry’s drink, “he sure goes through dates fast…” Your brows jump. “Excuse me?” Charlie turns around. He looks stunned. Slowly, he hands the drink to you. “Um… Nothing. Sorry.”

“Did you see him here with someone else?” you ask, regretting it immediately.

“Yeah, just last week,” Charlie replies. He makes a face. “They were all over each other.” And from the next expression that floods his features, he, too, regrets his words immediately after they leave his lips. “But, uh - that’s not my business!” he says hurriedly. “That has nothing to do with me. Okay! Well, enjoy your drinks.”

He walks away just as Harry comes up behind you.

“Well, hello,” he says softly, lips feathering against your ear.

“Hey,” you say, handing him his drink.

Your tone is a bit sharp, and Harry pulls away a bit. “Thanks,” he says. “Er… you alright?”

“I’m fine. So is, uh, Charlie here.” You point at Charlie’s receding figure.

“Yeah?” Harry says, an amused smile curving his mouth as he takes a sip of his drink.

You clear your throat, fiddling with your glass. “We were just talking about you.”

His smirk is so handsome. And irritating. Right on the line between the choices of kiss him and smack him. “Oh?” he says. “All good things, I hope?” You shrug, letting your gaze drift around the room. “Not necessarily. He, uh… he said you came here last week with someone else.”

The smirk disappears. He looks down, coughs slightly. “Said that, did he?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, patting him on the chest. “Yeah, yeah he did say that. And now, I’m saying that, uh… that you’re drinking alone. I’ll see you around, Styles.” You walk away, just the slightest bit of anger seeping through your skin.

***

Antsy. Antsy, antsy, antsy.

The fan is spinning.

That damn fan.

You can’t look at it anymore. You roll out of bed, put on some clothes. No sweatshirt, no pants, just shorts and an athletic top. It is freezing fucking cold outside, you realize with a grimace, which isn’t new information but somehow still surprises you.

Soon you’re running, slowly, jogging, and already you feel better.

Really, you shouldn’t be upset. That’s what keeps spinning around your head. You shouldn’t be upset. You should’ve expected this. You did expect this. Obviously he was sleeping with other people. He’d been honest about it from the start.

Regret, anger, misery. Turn it into money. A little cash, a little pain, a little gain. You’re filled with regret as soon as you step inside. People notice you and look startled, and then expectant. They seem to close in on you.

You’ll fight tonight, right? Give it a good show? There’s a new kid in town, better show ‘em who’s boss - don’t lose your throne, rookie - c’mon, prove Des doesn’t train losers - does he? Does he? Are you? A loser? Gone soft, have you? Are you ready? Ready to go?

And brrrring, you’re off.

It feels so good. You’re so numb it doesn’t even hurt. It’ll probably hurt later, though, and you’ll probably regret it, but not now. Now you’re just happy, grinning through the blood, probably looking psychotic.

It’s unmatched, this adrenaline rush. Can’t get it anywhere else.

Well, maybe -

Bang. Right to the nose. Damn, that hurts, but losing hurts more - one, two, three, around the back, pull, pull, make it hurt, like they hurt you, like he hurt you, fuck it hurts so bad, and…

And we have a winner!

Outside, it is so, so cold.

***

Cleaning yourself up is therapeutic.

It doesn’t happen until the next morning, but it’s pleasant.

You miss your session with Des.

***

You spend a lot of time at the park. At the library. Anywhere but your apartment, where he can find you. You ignore his calls. You change his ringtone so you can bop along to the song while you let it ring out.

When you go to the gym at one in the morning, about a week later, you actually look a little worse than you first did. Less bloody, less fresh, less swelling but more black and blue around your eye and cheek.

Harry bolts up when he sees you. He starts to step forward, then hesitates. He hovers by the alcove where he reads, glowing like an angel from the light behind him. He looks so nervous.

“You look awful,” he says softly.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

“I was worried. We were both worried.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Harry sets his book down. The nervousness fades away, and he leans against the wall next to him, leveling your gaze as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“You fought again,” he says.

“I did.”

“Because of me?”

You look at him, sensing a shift in the air. “What am I supposed to say?”

“The truth.”

“You’ve got quite the head if you expect me to say yes.”

“And you’ve got quite the nerve if you expect me to believe no.”

“You just think the sun revolves around you, don’t you, Styles?” you ask with a scowl.

“Who’s to say it doesn’t?”

“Christ,” you mutter. You huff a sigh, breaking eye contact and turning away.

He lets the quiet loom for a moment, probably basking in it, and then says, “You’re upset about the bar, aren’t you.” He doesn’t even phrase it like a question. “I’m not upset,” you reply under your breath. “I’m not even surprised.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” you say tersely, meeting his eyes again. “You’re pleased by that?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. You know why?” Finally, a bit of venom creeps into his words. Part of you is relieved to hear some sort of feeling in what he’s saying. “Because I’m allowed to do that, to go on a date. This isn’t a relationship. I can fuck other people, you can fuck whoever the hell you want.”

“Have you?”

Harry frowns some more. “I just told you I did.”

“Before that.”

He opens his mouth - and then closes it. “Have you?”

You can’t help but smirk a little bit. “No.”

“Well, you could’ve. You can. It’s not a rule.”

“Maybe it should be.”

Your words hang in the air for a second, and you can see Harry turning them over in his head. His eyes bounce between yours, mouth set in a hard line. “We’re not dating,” he says lowly. “I hope you get that. We’re not together.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t date.”

“Except for the one last week.”

His jaw clenches, and he turns away from you. “That doesn’t count.”

“How come?”

“Because -” He huffs a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Christ. I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer, Styles.”

“I don’t know,” he repeats irritatedly.

“Er,” you say, imitating a buzzer. “Still wrong.”

“Fine,” he practically growls, turning on you. “Because I was only getting over you.”

You smile coolly, ignoring your racing heartbeat. “Ding, ding, ding.”

Harry shakes his head, turning away again. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes,” he sighs, “I do.”

You raise a brow. “And, uh, Harry,” you say, “why’s that?”

He glances at you. A million different emotions flash across his face, echoing in his eyes, in your heart. And then, suddenly, his features soften. “You know why,” he murmurs, and your brows jump.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, biting his lip as he takes a small step towards you. “You know why.”

You shake your head, backing up slightly. “I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon,” he murmurs, closing the distance. “Gonna make me say it? Gonna make me spell it out?” You watch him, hold his gaze, look into his eyes, and your breath catches in your throat as you start to understand.

“Yeah,” you tell him a bit breathlessly. “Yeah, I’m gonna make you spell it out.”

“I,” he starts, and now you’re taking a half step towards him, “l… i… k… e… y… o… u…”

You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face. “You’re a good speller.”

“A lot,” he adds.

“And now, uh… Now put it all together for me,” you say, milking it.

“I like you,” he whispers, so close now. “I like you a lot.”

“I like you, too,” you admit.

He traces his finger against your cheek, so, so gently. Your eyes close at the contact.

“You’ll break my heart,” he says, leaning in.

“Not if -” You’re having trouble speaking. “Not if you don’t let me.”

He’s speaking almost against your lips now. “As if I’ll have any say in the matter.”

You open your eyes, smiling just barely. “I’ll be nice.”

“You could never.”

His eyes are so, so green. “You’d be surprised.”

His finger slides under your chin and he gently presses up. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your eyelids flutter shut. “I’m anything but predictable,” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply, just kisses you, and you smile against his lips.

Maybe things will work out after all.

***

la fin 💜

i wrote this FAST haha like in a day or two but lemme tell you i've never felt this way about anything else i've written... like obvi i don't post things i hate slkdfj but like i LOVE this fic. not to sound narcissistic lmao but i'm so in love w this fic it's insane. that being said some feedback would literally make my entire day!!! week!!! life!!!!

anyway thank you for reading ily <3

masterlist | ask

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 57

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,388

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE 

Author’s Note: We’re interrupting the emotions and angst for a healthy dose of smut in this one. 

A Wonderfully Well-F*cked Morning

You drifted to consciousness on a wave of pleasure, the sensations happening below your waist causing you to automatically arch your back and reach down. When your fingers came in contact with thick, soft hair at the same time that a wet tongue hit your clit, your brain finally decided to come online. Eyes opening in surprise, you looked down and found the breathtaking visual of Negan’s gorgeous face buried between your thighs.

Holy shit, what a way to start the day. 

Glancing up, his mouth curled in a soul-stealing grin at the sight of you awake and watching. His “mornin’ doll” was spoken directly to your soaked cunt, the rumbled vibration of the words making you give a small moan and open your thighs wider, so he could do as he wished.

And, apparently, what he wished was to drive you absolutely mad with desire. The distant and withdrawn Negan of last night was gone, and in his place was the playful and passionate man before you. He teased with soft kisses along the crease at the top of your thigh and lazy laps of his tongue that just barely grazed where you needed them. When you tried to lift your hips in search of more friction, his large hands pinned them to the mattress. 

It wasn’t long before you had a deathgrip on his hair, thighs trembling, and even the muscles in your stomach starting to quiver. And yet still he continued, the devilish gleam in his eyes when he glanced up at you while gently sucking your clit almost enough to send you over the edge, until he backed off and went back to nipping at your inner thighs instead. 

You were just about to beg, plead, and promise whatever he wanted, including your soul, when a muffled knocking sound broke through the top layer of hazy desire shrouding you. Negan ignored the noise, continuing with his delicious torture so that you almost instantly forgot the sound had ever happened. But then it came again a few seconds later, this time loud and sharp...and right outside the bedroom door. 

Letting go of his hair and jolting up onto your elbows, you looked down at Negan with wide eyes. He had finally lifted his head from your pussy, the sight of his lips glistening with your wetness causing a soft moan to escape that you prayed whoever was at the door didn’t hear. 

“Fucking leave!” he yelled in that no-nonsense tone that both terrified and yet also made an extra trickle of wetness run down your thigh. 

The voice that responded was muffled through the door, but still unmistakably Simon. “Sorry, boss, but there’s a situation that needs your urgent attention in meeting room C.” 

Cursing harshly, Negan dropped his forehead to your lower stomach for a few seconds before lifting his head and yelling back, “I’ll fucking be there in 5!”

You stared in the direction of the office and listened for a few seconds until the unmistakable sound of Simon banging the door closed sounded (perhaps a bit louder than needed, as if he was letting you know that he was gone). You turned back to Negan, who now had a devious smirk on his face as he looked up at you.

Giving a doubtful expression, you said, “Only five minutes?” 

“Oh, doll,” he chuckled, head ducking down so the rest was muffled against your wet flesh. “That’s plenty of time.”

It was then that you realized just how much he had been toying with you before, as his demeanor instantly changed from playful to intense, and he set to work on your cunt. He knew just where to nip and lick, and when he latched onto your clit and sucked with the perfect amount of pressure, you shot off like a rocket, coming in less than a minute from when Simon had left. 

Still panting and sprawled across the mattress, you watched dazedly as he got up and went to his armoire for clothes to get dressed. He winced when tucking his erection into the boxer briefs and dark grey pants, and the bulge made your mouth water.

“What about you?” you asked with a nod in his cock’s direction. 

Pulling on his boots, he then straightened and trailed desire-bright eyes over your sated form spread out on his bed. “I thought I already made that clear, doll,” he quipped.

Unsure if it was the post-orgasm haze making you so dense or if he was purposely being vague, you asked, “What’s that?”

Walking around the side of the bed fully dressed, while you lay totally naked with thighs still spread and naked chest heaving, he ran a warm, calloused hand down over your throat and the tips of your breasts before answering. 

“That this relationship is about more than me getting my fucking rocks off.”

His hand moved lower, between your thighs, and he watched as if mesmerized at how you shuddered and arched into the feel of his touch on your still-sensitive flesh. “However, that being said-” he backed up a step and pointed at you with a stern look on his face, “-don’t fucking move from that bed until I get back.” 

He then tucked his tongue into his cheek, gave a playful wink, and was gone. Staring up at the ceiling, you figured this was one order you’d gladly follow, seeing as how your muscles wouldn’t be able to function properly enough to help you stand, anyways. It wasn’t until a couple minutes after he was gone that you sat straight up on the bed at the remembrance of his earlier words. 

He had called it a relationship!

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Forty-five minutes later and you, unsurprisingly, were in fact not able to follow his order, after all. Which shouldn’t be a surprise because, well, it was you we were talking about here, and when did you ever listen? 

You had tried though, really you had. After Negan left, and your breathing and heart rate had returned to normal, you sat up against the headboard to wait. Your eyes landed on a book that was open facedown on his bedside table, and the parallel to your own reading habits made you smile. Picking it up, you saw that it was some sort of psychological thriller. Making a note of what page it had been opened to, you huddled down into the plush mattress, the soft black headboard at your back, and started reading from the beginning. 

However, when the black and grey wall clock near the door ticked by almost an hour that he had been gone, you put the book down and sighed in annoyance. Whatever the emergency meeting had been about, it looked as though it might take a while, and you didn’t enjoy the thought of sitting here all morning and afternoon waiting, as if at his beck and call. Your brain also unhelpfully threw out the reminder of your previous plan not to have sex with Negan until a serious conversation was had about that damned padlocked box of unanswered questions. The subconscious, exasperated with the brain pulling this bullshit so early in the morning, yelled at it to please shut the hell up. 

Fuck it, you can at least freshen up a bit before he gets back, you thought while tossing off the sheet and standing from the bed. Stretching pleasantly sore muscles, you wandered over to the large armoire and tugged open one of the drawers. Smiling at how neatly the clothes inside were folded, you selected a moss green shirt and pulled it over your head. It was much baggier than his usual style, and you had never seen him wear it before, making you wonder if he ever got a chance to take off his leader armor and just sit around relaxing the day away in baggy sweats with a good book. Probably not, seeing as how he couldn’t even enjoy a perfectly delightful you-flavored breakfast without being interrupted. 

Heading into the bathroom to relieve your bladder and then wash your hands and face, you looked in the large mirror. Finger-combing hair that had seen better days, you then opened up some of the drawers under the sink that you hadn’t checked yet, mostly out of nosey curiosity. Finding one at the bottom that was stocked full of extra bars of soap, toothpaste, and still-packaged toothbrushes, you let out a tiny whoop of joy. Jackpot!

Opening a green and white toothbrush, you grabbed the already opened toothpaste that was on the countertop and squeezed a dollop onto the brush. Giving a sigh of happiness at the clean, minty taste, you weren’t even worried about Negan being upset you had stolen one of his unopened brushes. Especially since you’d have fresh breath when he crawled back in the bed with you and-

That fantasy died a quick death when the reflection of the man himself stepped into view while you were mid-brush. Locking eyes with him in the mirror, you saw a flicker of something in his expression as he took you in, standing there in his shirt and brushing your teeth with his personal supplies. 

“I thought I told you to be in the fucking bed when I got back,” he said, but his voice didn’t have the extra little growl that signified he was truly pissed. In fact, he almost sounded amused. 

Before you could even remove the toothbrush to respond, he stepped up behind you so that his front was pressed into your back. “Nevermind, doll,” he drawled while still holding your gaze in the mirror. “This’ll work too.”

You almost choked on toothpaste from gasping at the feel of his large, rough hands running up under the hem of the shirt and over your bare hips. Quickly leaning down to spit out the paste into the sink, you turned on the water and used a cupped hand to rinse out your mouth as he continued rubbing his palms along your torso and down over the outside of your thighs. When you put the toothbrush down and straightened, his mouth immediately attacked the back of your neck, sucking and nipping lightly. His hands moved further up under the shirt to cup your breasts, and his deft fingers pinched and twisted sensitive nipples at the same time that he ground his hips against your bare ass, letting you feel the ridge of his erection through the rough fabric of the pants.

You moaned softly and pressed back into him, almost overwhelmed by how quickly he had barged in and taken control of your body’s reaction. Any thoughts of self-doubt or questions of where you stood with him temporarily flew out the window in the face of the onslaught of intense and thorough possession he was directing your way. 

Unlike when you first woke up this morning, no part of him was teasing or going slow this time around. He quickly pulled the baggy shirt up over your head, and the sight of you totally bare made a groan punch from his chest. 

He whipped his own shirt and pants off in a quick flurry of movement before leaning in so that his warm chest was pressed into your back as he opened one of the drawers at your hip and pulled out a condom. 

Wasting no time, he opened it and rolled it down the swollen cock pressing into the small of your back. When he bent his knees to line up with your entrance, you assisted by hiking a knee up on the edge of the countertop, presenting yourself to him in a way that made him pause for a moment, as if in awe, before plunging inside you with a fierce thrust and strangled growl against the back of your neck. 

You looked up and were instantly transfixed by the sight in the mirror. Negan’s tattooed, leanly muscled form towered over yours, his rough edges and possessive thrusts juxtaposed against your softer curves and arching form. 

You watched his reflection as he gripped your hips and looked down between your bodies to watch himself fuck you, the sight making you moan and clench around his cock. His gaze lifted, amber eyes locking on yours in the mirror. 

One of his hands left your hip, trailing hungrily around the front of your body and up over your stomach and breasts before wrapping long fingers around the front of your throat. The grip was light, but the ruthless ownership behind both it and his pumping hips made your eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. 

He leaned in over you, breath coming in hot strikes against the side of your throat. “You like this, don’t you, pretty girl? Like being all. Fucking. Mine.”

The last words were each punctuated by a harsh thrust, making you cry out and open lust-filled eyes. His face was there beside your own, jaw clenched as he watched your reflection in the mirror with a fierce, almost pained expression. He let out a little snarl before turning his mouth to nip at the curve of your shoulder, and that combined with his grip at your throat and heavy, thick cock fucking you against the counter all combined to throw you into an orgasm without warning. He groaned as you shuddered and clenched in his hold, his gravel over sandpaper voice in your ear. 

“Yes, milk my fucking cock.”

Coming down off the wave of pleasure, you realized that his pace hadn’t slowed down, that he hadn’t finished yet. You lowered the leg propped up on the counter, needing both feet braced against the cool, tiled floor to keep your shaky body steady. 

Your gaze dropped, taking in the reflection of what was happening between your thighs. Both his cock and the inside of your thighs glistened with a coating of your release, and he felt even bigger inside of you, now that your walls were a little swollen and tender from both the friction of his cock and your recent orgasm. Right when his movements became almost too overwhelming against your oversensitized cunt, and you were about to ask for a break, he paused his thrusts and removed the hand from around your throat. 

Your thought that he was granting you a reprieve was instantly proven wrong when he gave a growled warning of, “Brace your arms on the sink,” right before his forearms hooked down under both your knees and lifted your entire lower body off the ground. Since the action pushed you forward, your body had no choice but to do as he said, forearms holding the weight of your upper body against the surface of the sink while your lower half hung suspended at the perfect height for his cock. 

He resumed his quick pace, fucking into you relentlessly. And, surprisingly, instead of becoming too much, the sensations pulled back from borderline painful and started to feel pleasurable again. Very pleasurable. 

Your whimper caused him to give a low moan in response, and his voice came through gritted teeth. “That’s it, doll. Fucking come for me again.” 

Trying to find your voice, you wanted to say that you weren’t sure if that was possible, that coming again so soon wasn’t likely. Instead, the words choked in your throat when he bent down and licked up your spine before sucking roughly on the skin of your back. He then ground his cock into you so hard that your pelvis pushed against the edge of the counter, the hard surface rubbing over your clit in exactly the right way needed to send your body spasming into a second orgasm.

You lost yourself in pleasure that had no beginning and no end, just endless heavy waves of bliss. Dimly, you heard him give a groan of completion as he gave a few sharp, hard thrusts, and then his body went still. He allowed your legs to lower to the tiled floor, and thank god for being braced on the countertop, otherwise you would’ve crumpled in a quivery heap at his feet. 

You took in the reflection of both you and Negan’s sex-dazed expressions, skin flushed and dewy with sweat despite the cool bathroom. A satisfied smile curved his lips, and you watched in the mirror as he bent down and kissed the curve where your neck met shoulder, the scratch of his beard rising goosebumps to the already sensitive flesh. He hummed happily against your skin, and you wished that the two of you could stay in this intimate bubble forever. That no outside intruders or internal thoughts could stand in the way of feeling like this with him every single day. 

As if he were thinking something similar, he ran a warm hand down over the curve of your hip and said in a sexy, husky voice, “Now that is a perfect fucking way to finish off the morning.” 

Unable to help a dreamy smile in return, you were finally able to fully stand up from the counter without fear of your legs giving out. Turning in his hold, you twined arms up around his neck and tugged him down for a proper kiss involving lips and tongues and even a hint of teeth. 

You pulled away after a few long moments, and offered, “What are your plans for today?”

Biting his lip and giving one of his signature cheeky grins, he replied, “I have to go over some new outpost security measures with Simon this afternoon. However…” his hands cupped your ass and kneaded possessively, “my evening is all fucking yours.”

Lord, but you liked the sound of that. Standing on tiptoe and placing another, softer kiss to his lips, you suggested, “How about I bring us dinner around 7:30?”

“I’ll be waiting,” he replied with one last squeeze of his hands before he stepped away to dispose of the condom and gather both your clothes off the tiles. 

The men had brought back some freshly butchered deer meat from the supply run, and Ben had been excited to try making stew with both it and vegetables from the garden. Thinking of Ben was also a reminder that you had promised to hang out with him today. You were very curious to hear details about what was going on with him and Simon, not to mention needing a friend to talk through some of your own worries regarding Negan.

Pulling the baggy green shirt back on, you preceded him into the bedroom and grabbed your jeans from where they had been discarded on the floor last night. You didn’t want to return his shirt, so tucked it into the jeans to hide the obviously ill-fitting length of it before pulling on your sneakers. Turning, you found an also fully-dressed Negan watching you. His gaze took in the outfit with an expression that was difficult to decipher, but seemed somewhere between appreciative and smug at the sight of you in his shirt. 

Struggling not to roll your eyes or make a comment about “males and their strange possessiveness”, you walked out of the bedroom with him following behind. Stopping at the closed office door, you turned and looked up at him, unable to resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers down over his bearded cheek. He bent and gave you one final kiss in return, then opened the door and watched you leave. 

You weren’t able to contain the happy grin tipping up the corners of your mouth. Not even the sudden appearance of the brain, who was dragging the padlocked box of questions, could dim your mood. The subconscious strode happily at your side, but as the brain fell more and more behind, struggling to keep up with the heavy metal box, it turned with a sigh and went back to help. 

I know. I know! We’ll have a conversation with him tonight; open up the box and air out some of those unanswered questions. But for right now, we’re going to bask in the afterglow of such a wonderfully well-fucked morning. 

The brain and subconscious didn’t argue, just huffed and puffed as they worked together to finally pick the box up off the ground. Balancing the heavy weight between them, they gave each other exasperated looks, then hurried down the hall after you.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[tetsurobunni]

Kita Shinsuke : Matchmaker

☽ suna x reader ; 2.6k words

☞ characters mentioned : kita shinsuke, aran ojiro, atsumu miya, osamu miya

☽ fluff, he takes care of you when ur sick ! even tho he’s a menace, kita being an angel

☽ a slight mention of adult themes (its a teasing joke)

☽ notes : hiii i wrote this for a friend and i figured id add it here teehee :))

hey Jesus, i know we don’t talk much but...fuck you. i feel like literal dog shit

You groaned as you shoved yet another tissue in your nose. You were sick, and God forbid it wasn’t the worst cold you’d ever had.

This morning you had pulled on your uniform in a haze; honestly it's a miracle you even made it to school. Aran had stopped you in the hallway when you arrived, putting a hand on your shoulder and placing the back of his palm against your forehead.

He immediately got out his phone and texted someone-presumably Kita, since he was the one most qualified to handle this. The captain had dealt with him and Atsumu both when they were sick so he could surely help you and get you to go the hell home.

You had pushed weakly at Kita when he ushered you towards the entrance of the building, assuring that you were a-o-kay. You ended up making friends with a nearby trashcan and emptying your guts right after the claim. Kita had held your hair back and rubbed your shoulders reassuringly. Afterwards, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to someone. Who? You didn’t know.

Kita had made sure to get you home in one piece. He tucked you into bed, placed a cold rag onto your head, and you think you heard him say something about bringing you soup later. Sleep crept up on you quickly and you were out before he even stepped out the door.

Now you were unfortunately awake, cursing whatever God could hear. This was absolutely awful. A dull throb ran through your skull insistently, mucus clotted your nose and throat, making your breaths uneven and raspy. You wanted to quench the ache in your throat but even the idea of sitting up seemed to drain too much energy, so you laid there in pain.

You assumed it was mid-afternoon. Kita had drawn the curtains above the window closed, leaving the room dark. You were especially grateful for this, for you knew any light would make your eyes hurt.

Your phone lay unchecked on the table face-down. The fear of worsening your headache is what caused it to stay there. Whoever wanted to talk would have to wait. You switched out the tissue in your nose for a fresh one, groaning again.

You wanted to take a shower so bad. You hated getting sick because you felt disgusting and knew you looked it too. Embarrassment bloomed when the events from this morning played in your mind.

Aran’s gonna joke about that for weeks.

A soft knock from the door drew you away from your thoughts. That’s probably Kita. A hoarse “come in” fell from your chapped lips and you internally cringed at how awful you sounded, even if it was just your childhood friend.

“You look like shit.”

That was not Kita.

“Suna? what the fuck?”

“Shut Up. You’re going to hurt your throat worse.”

Is this what I get for saying fuck you? I apologize so much anything but this please

“You’ve gone through two boxes of tissues already? Kita wasn’t lying, damn.”

You turned your head away from Suna’s voice, attempting to cover your sick-stricken face. Out of all people. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Suna- the two of you actually got along (if you count bickering back and forth all the time getting along). The problem was you happened to have a humongous crush on him.

The wing spiker had gotten on your nerves at first- smirks hidden behind a hand, foot sticking out to trip you in the hallway, drawing on your notes- he was almost unbearable. But as the both of you got older, you started returning his remarks, nudging him lightly into lockers, laughing at the twins together and sharing footage of their stupid fights.

Your crush had crept up on you almost unknowingly until one day he slung an arm over your shoulder and shot you one of his signature smirks and you were gone. It was infuriating, to say the least.

“Earth to y/n, hello y/n.”

“What.”

“Ah-ah, no speaking, remember?” You shot him a glare, receiving that smirk yet again. You cursed at the butterflies swarming your stomach.

Infuriating.

“You’re shivering.”

It was a simple comment. You realized after a beat that he was right and pulled the blanket farther up your body. He sat down the bag he held in his hand and made his way over to your bed. You squirmed in protest, trying to scooch away from his outstretched hand. Your actions caused Suna’s brows to furrow, a small line creasing on his forehead.

“I’m just going to check if you still have a fever,” he whispered, moving forward despite your futile attempts at moving away. You gave in, allowing him to gently place his hand on your forehead.

He wasn’t terribly close, he had been closer to you before this, but this felt different. More intimate.

“You’re burning up,” he said, leaning back with a sigh. “Sit tight, I’ll start a bath for you.”

You tried to keep your swarming thoughts at bay with no luck. Your crush, Suna Rintaro, is drawing a bath for you. A bath. He’s taking care of you.

Why is he being so nice? This has to be a set up, or Kita probably forced him. There’s no other way he would willingly be doing this...is there? You shut down the thought as quickly as it came. No sense in getting flustered over nothing. No need to fuel your growing crush.

You weren’t fit to complain anyways. The exact thing you wanted is being done right now, so you did as you were told, slightly sitting up to fetch yet another tissue. The pounding in your head still hadn’t ceased and a sudden cough racked your body. You wanted to cry- and you didn’t cry often. But you felt horrible.

“Hey, you okay?”

Apparently you hadn’t held up your facade well enough because a look of concern washed over Suna’s face the instant he stepped back into the room. You shook your head lightly in response to his question, feeling tears welling up behind your eyelids in spite of your attempts to keep them at bay.

The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of Suna. It was practically a death wish. You could imagine the jokes and poking laughter he would send your way over the next few weeks, and it made you feel even worse.

“Hey, hey now, look at me.”

The words were whispered closer to you than you anticipated. Suna had sat down on the edge of your bed while you were caught up in your thoughts, that same line present between his brows. You fought the urge to touch it, facing away from him again and reaching up to wipe your eyes.

“I’m fine.” That instigated a scoff.

“No you’re not. Now c’mon, let’s get you into the bath. You’ll feel better.”

Right. A bath. Despite the fact that Suna’s presence was wearing you thin, a bath sounded great. The only problem was, you knew you were too weak to walk to your bathroom across the hall. It took so much energy to even sit up, much less actually get on your feet.

Suna must have sensed something was wrong because in mere seconds he was lifting the heavy blanket off of your body and moving closer. Your breath hitched when he moved one strong arm under your back and another under your knees, eyes concentrated.

“Put your arm around my neck,” Suna murmured. You failed to notice the blush that had lifted to his ears because your own was blossoming on your face, making your already warm cheeks heat up even more.

This is purgatory.

You did as he said, lightly wrapping your arm up his shoulder and around his neck. He picked you up in one smooth motion, shocking you. You knew he worked out because of volleyball, but jesus christ. Your head throbbed in protest to the movement, and you winced involuntarily.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

“S’fine.”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest from the proximity. You were so close you could see the long eyelashes that framed his eyes, light traces of black eyeliner around the corners. You saved that in the back of your mind to ask about later.

Suna carried you into the bathroom and placed you gently on the counter. You pushed away the noise of protest that you wanted to let out from the loss of contact. No need to embarrass yourself even more.

“I’ll get you some clothes and leave them outside, take as long as you want.”

You murmured a small thank you as you watched him move towards the door. You hated that you missed him already.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here the whole time.”

“Like I care.”

“Yea, okay princess.”

You glared at him as he closed the door behind him with a small chuckle. Princess. You fumed at the reaction you had to the pet name.

This is horrible. I’m horrible. I’ll just blame it on him. Him and that stupidly hot smirk.

The bath became increasingly inviting as you sat, eventually leading you to strip of your dirty clothes and step into the warm water. It felt amazing. After a few minutes you felt your eyes begin to droop, the steam luring you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t know how long you had slept but judging by the temperature of the water, at least 15 minutes, maybe longer. The water hadn’t cooled completely but had lost its comfortable warmth. Begrudgingly you stepped out of the water and dried off.

You wrapped the towel around yourself and padded towards the door, opening it to retrieve the clothes Suna said he left for you. Just like he said, a small stack of clothes laid on the floor. You grabbed them and faced back towards the sink, wincing at your reflection in the mirror.

You really did look awful. Embarrassment settled into your bones again as you unfolded the clothes to put them on. A small part of your brain pointed out that they were big, too big to be your clothes, but a fit of coughs cut off your train of thought.

A knock came from the door. “Y/n? You okay?”

“Ye-“ Another cough broke off your sentence.

“Knock twice if you’re dressed.”

A small smile crept up on your face at the thought of Suna being considerate. You knocked on the door twice signaling him that it was okay for him to come in. A moment later it opened. Suna was holding what seemed to be a cup of tea in his hands and you reached for it with a sigh.

“Lavender, right?” You halted in your movements.

“Yea...how did you-“

“I pay attention.”

Your face flushed. His gaze never faltered from your face. How did he say that so casually?

“You look good in my clothes.”

So that’s why they were big. You looked in the mirror again, eyes locking in on the large “Inarizaki Volleyball” plastered on the front of the black material.

“Should wear ‘em more often.”

“Shut- shut up.”

“Mhm, okay. Feelin’ better?” You nodded.

“A little. Still feel like shit.”

“Look it, too.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

A light chuckle escaped him and he moved closer towards you. Something felt different. You noticed his eyes linger on you longer, many lapses of silence filled the spaces where playful arguing usually was.

“Cap texted me and asked to bring you soup, he had to do some more shit before he came over.”

“Hm.”

“What do you mean, hm?”

You didn’t get it. Why of all people would Kita send Suna to tend to you? What about Aran? Osamu? Hell, even Atsumu would have been higher on the list than Suna. Maybe…

“That bastard.”

“Woah now, what did Cap do to you?”

Kita was one of the only people who knew about your crush. Of course he would pull some strings to get Suna to come over. That little-

“Hey now pretty thing, don’t frown too much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

It was then you noticed a light touch on your forehead, right in between your eyebrows. Suna was rubbing the space there, just like you had wanted to do to him.

You hoped Suna couldn’t tell how fast your heart was beating or just how much you knew you were blushing.

After a moment of silence Suna still hadn’t removed the touch on your face. He met your eyes, slowly moving to cup your cheek.

“Why are you here, Rin?” His thumb stroked your cheek with a feather-like graze and you swore you saw his eyes flit downwards to your lips. “To take care of you, of course.”

“You’re going to catch my cold.”

“You’ll just have to pay me back later, yeah?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the corners of his mouth edging upwards.

what the fuck did i do to deserve this?

You pushed his hand away and looked away from his gaze. You could manage standing from afar and pining, sure, but what you couldn’t deal with was Suna messing around with you like this. You ignored the ache in your chest, choosing to cover it up by reaching for another tissue.

“Y/n.” You ignored him.

“Y/n, look at me.” You braced your arms on the bathroom sink with a sigh.

“What, Suna.”

“Rin. It’s Rin, to you.” You scoffed.

“Why am I any different than anyone else?”

“Because…”

You turned to face him again, confusion and slight annoyance bubbling under your skin. “Because what?” Suna groaned and ran a hand over his face. “You’re so oblivious.”

Okay, now you were annoyed.

“Oblivious? How am I oblivious?”

“Because you haven’t realized how different you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you fucking messing with me Suna? Look, I’m in no mood for your stupid games-“

“Would you shut up for one second and think.”

You leaned back against the sink with a cough, wincing as another throb of pain shot through your head. Any traces of anger or annoyance vanished from Suna’s face in an instant. He left the bathroom and you heard him rustling through the bag he left in your room. He returned with a bottle of pills and an ice pack.

“Here. Take these.” You took the small pills from his outstretched hand and washed them down with the now lukewarm tea. “Have you thought about it?” You rolled your eyes dramatically, placing your hand under your chin to mock a thinking position. “No, I don’t think I have.” He rolled his eyes in return. “Fine. Would I be doing this for anyone else? Hm?”

It’s a good point. One you didn’t bother thinking about. Sure, maybe he would do it for his teammates, but that was a hard maybe. He just wasn’t the caretaker type, much less with someone he wasn’t close with. You realized the implication behind his words in an instant.

“You...you like me?”

“‘Bout time you figured that out, sweetheart.”

All of the moments between you two passed through your mind in a frenzy, and you started to laugh. It was hysterical, really. All this time you just knew Suna could never like you back.

i take it back. thank you. sorry for saying fuck you

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” He scoffed, “And risk losing my appearance? Hell no,” he said, sending you that damn smirk again.

“You are a menace, Rintaro.”

“Yea, but I’m your menace. You’re stuck with me.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“Oh shush, ya love me.”

“Yea, yea. Now, get me back in my bed. I need to sleep.”

“Inviting me to bed already? Wow y/n.”

“I hate you.” He reached over and pecked your cheek.

“Hate you, too.”

[fanfics4all]

Requests are open! Here's some Prompts!

Angst Prompts

“This will be the last time you lie to me.”

“You know it’s not like that.”

“How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?”

“You’re never going to be the same after this.”

“I just think it’d be best if we never met.”

“I can’t believe you would even think to leave me like this.”

“You never loved me, did you?”

“It didn’t have to be like this, but now you’ve ruined everything.”

“I hope you’re happy.”

“If you had have kept your mouth shut, then he’d still- he’d still be here!”

“What did you want once this was all through? Tell me!”

“Now I have to deal with the consequences of your actions. Thanks, it means a lot.”

“You could’ve- could’ve stayed. You could’ve helped me fix things.”

“I knew she’d never change, she was too stubborn, too similar to me.”

“This isn’t going to be fixed. You’ve ruined this for good now.”

“I hope I’m not put in the same part of hell as you.”

“When did you think you could hurt me again? Today? Tomorrow?”

“You’re back in my life and I want to die again.”

“You only ever brought me pain and I’m sick of it.”

“I hope you got what you wanted.”

“You made me miserable and I still loved you.”

“When you die, I’ll be the first to dance on your grave.”

“Don’t underestimate me, I have more power than you can even comprehend.”

“If only you knew what you’d brought upon yourself.”

“We’re never going to have a happy ending, just remember that.”

“Everytime something goes well, I momentarily forget how much I despise you.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not happy to see me like this.”

“There is nothing worse than seeing you get what you want.”

“Your mind must be a horrible place.”

“You can cut me, bruise me and skin me alive, but you will not take her from me.”

“How is it that we always end up in this predicament?”

“I want to wipe that grin of your face with my sword, but my mother taught me to play nicely.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how pathetic you are? It’s incredible how low my standards are for you.”

“Ah, well if you want them back alive, I suggest you lay down your own life.”

“Don’t be ‘smart’. The battlefield is no place for Math Scholars.”

“You shouldn’t have come. You can’t be-”

“Stop talking or tomorrow won’t come.”

“Hand me the gun and I’ll kill him myself.”

“I shouldn’t care for your life, but I’m starting to and it’s becoming an inconvenience.”

“If you live to see her, please send my best regards and this box of her father’s ashes.”

“It would’ve been nice to get to know you better, but I’m afraid I don’t care.”

“I can’t help but think you’re a terrible person.”

“Seeing your face has unconventionally made me want to die. I wasn’t quite prepared for this feeling.”

“You could have loved me, I’m quite good at seducing, but you’re actually vile.”

“I hope I see you in a bodybag sometime.”

“Let’s pretend you didn’t cheat on me with my sister and be good people for a few minutes.”

“We should probably stop talking forever.”

“If I hated you anymore, I think I’d probably be crowned as satan’s right-hand man.”

“To say I ‘tolerate you’ is a vast overstatement.”

“You broke her heart and came back for more, you bastard.”

“This isn’t fifth grade, this is a courtroom, you whore.”

“I think you’d be the perfect match for my ex-husband. He loved to sleep with multiple people.”

“I’m not coming home, don’t look for me.”

“Time was always a measurement of this relationship and we finally ran out.”

“Please don’t look at me with such hatred.”

“I could’ve died and you couldn’t have cared less.”

“Just get out. I- I don’t want you here, just leave.”

“You’re not the same person I married, don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“I wish you wouldn’t beg for forgiveness, it has the opposite effect of what you want.”

“Don’t hate me for this. You would’ve done the same.”

“This could’ve been the end and you were ready to let me go.”

“You should’ve left me, you could never deserve the person I’ve become.”

“Hate me all you want. I know I’m right.”

“Today you broke my arm, I hope tomorrow it’s not my heart.”

“Nothing can justify this, you’ve ruined him.”

“You live with so much guilt, I hope it drives you mad one of these days.”

“My life was ruined because of one mistake. You were that mistake.”

“You are everything I hate, don’t ever come back.”

“Evil doesn’t come close.”

“Your wrongdoings are becoming your pastimes.”

“I wish you had of just done it for the thrill of it, but now you’re in deep shit.”

“Next time, I won’t be here to salvage your wreckage. This is the last time.”

“You should have ruined me when you had the chance.”

“No one will keep your name alive. Once you’re gone, everything you once stood for disappears too.”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about your life without me.��

“This is always how it ends.”

“Break my heart once more, I dare you.”

“Forget how you loved me once, I mean nothing now.”

“This isn’t Romeo and Juliet, this is real life and I can go on without you.”

“You don’t own me, I don’t belong to you.”

“I should’ve died. That would’ve made you happy.”

“Are we going to carry on like this or are you going to give him back to me.”

“She drowned and he lost his mind.”

“We shouldn’t. You’re married and I’m pregnant.”

“You’ve never been loved, I can tell.”

“Who told you I needed fixing and what made you believe them?”

“You’re almost as far-gone as I am.”

“Maybe it’s best that we don’t go home.”

“Roaming the streets was never safe for her. What makes you think it’s different for you?”

“I think you’re going to ruin me. Am I right?”

“Do you remember our last feud? I wouldn’t want someone to lose their life again, would you?”

“Kiss me quick and leave them be.”

“I hate seeing you so sad. It’s just so dramatic how humans show emotions and being sad is such a boring one.”

“Will you ever forget my number? No? Ah, because you still love me.”

“After the funeral, let’s surrender.”

“What made you think I cared for you?”

“It’ll be fun explaining this to your sister. I hope she likes horror stories.”

“Don’t act as if we’re friends. I know how much you want to slit my throat.”

“Let’s not get angry. Let’s calmly and sensibly take this outside so I can ruin your face.”

“Please ruin yourself for me and I’ll watch in adoration as I fall apart as well.”

Fluff Prompts

“I missed being with you like this,”

“I’ve been excited to see you all day.”

“You’re my perfect match,”

“No one else can compare to your loveliness,”

“The way you smile like that always turns me on,”

“Can I at least shut the door before you decide to pounce on me the moment I come home,”

“I know you said you didn’t want to be late, but you look amazing, and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now,”

“I’ll keep you warm. Hold me closer.”

“Kiss me again, like you mean it.”

“Can I have a message?”

“Truth or Dare?” “Dare”

“Move away if you don’t want this kiss.”

“If you keep kissing my face like that I’ll have to retaliate.”

“Are you my secret admirer, the one that’s been sending me all the flowers and notes?”

“Does this kiss tickle~? Haha. Why are you laughing so much?”

“You’re supposed to be washing my hair, but this feels more like a massage.”

“Hold my hand tight. I’ll protect you.”

“When do you think help will come?” “Not for a while, I guess we’re stranded here alone for the time being.”

“Can you pretend to be my partner for my friend’s wedding? I told them I’d have a plus one.”

“I’m in love with you.” “Are you finally confessing to me? Because I feel the same way.”

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

"I want you back."

"You need to stop calling me that."

"You did not just boop me."

"You lost me in a crowd once!" "It's not my fault you're so short!"

"We should get a puppy."

“Hurry up! It has eight legs and therefore will crawl faster than normal!"

"Kiss me." "Not with that morning breath."

"So, will you marry me?"

"How'd you do that?" "Magic."

"It's my happy juice."

"You did not just mimic me."

"I'm on my period and I want chocolate. Now go."

"I left you for five minutes."

"Tell me why I deal with you again?"

"Kiss it better. Please.”

Smut Prompts

“Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?”

“Spread your legs. I want to feel how turned on I made you.”

“You can add another finger. I’m ready,”

“I want to watch you take off your clothes.”

“You’re so turned on already? That was fast,”

“Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”

“You want to do this right now? Even though we could get caught?”

“You’re nipples are so sensitive today,”

“Do you want to continue this in the shower?”

“You look so beautiful tied up to my bed,”

“I want you to be rough with me, please leave marks on my skin,”

“Say my name,” “Louder,”

“You say you want me, but your body seems to like it when I tease you,”

“Call me ‘Sir’ when we’re alone like this,”

“No, I’m the one that’s supposed to be making you feel good,”

“Don’t stop, whatever you do. I like that, a lot.”

“I love hearing you moan,”

“Blindfolds heighten your senses, maybe that’s why you’re whimpering louder than usual.”

“I was wondering how long you two were going to make out like that before you realize you weren’t alone.”

“Sorry, did that hurt?” “No, I’m just a little sore from last night.”

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

“I’m not wearing any panties,”

“I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you,”

“I don’t have the patience to remove your clothes right now,”

“Your pussy tastes so sweet,”

“I can’t wait until we’re alone. There are so many things I want to do to you right now.”

“Bite me,” “Where?”

“Were you just touching yourself?”

“What do you want for breakfast?” “Why are you asking me that at 10 o’clock at night-OH.”

“The game is, either of us is only allowed to touch the other with their mouth.”

“I love how your body loses control when you cum.”

“Fuck me like a starved animal or leave.”

“Spank me,”

“Show me how you like to be touched.”

“Harder, Deeper…”

“I want to fulfill that fantasy you’ve always wanted.”

[idontblushsrry]

Itadori Yuuji Boyfriend Headcanons

A/N: Reader is from America and a black female. Idk why i decided to write this but I think that Yuuji would be a fun boyfriend lmao. I don’t entirely know what the reader’s cursed technique should be so lmk if you have any ideas. Until then enjoy Yuuji and reader being 2 idiots in love. Spoilers for all the eps of jujutsu kaisen up to about episode 11, nothing past that though as I want to finish the show first before reading the manga, so please be respectful of spoilers and label them (and tag if necessary) in the comments. Also srry if this cuts off abruptly bcus of the point the show is at. This is also like, all over the place but whatever.

(also sorry this was posted later than usual oops)

Word Count:  1943

This dork-

He is so sweet and kind and considerate 

But also a dumbass but also like he’s your dumbass

You and Yuuji are both equally stupid like bless yalls hearts

You and Yuuji met during his time at the Tokyo Academy when you transferred from America

The moment this man saw you walk up with Gojo-sensei he was smitten

Like your skin was glowing??? how???

And you had a slight accent but like he loved it too

And when you came up to greet him and shake hands you smelled so good and your skin was so soft

((He would later come to find out that the root of that was the shea cocoa butter lotion you used))

But yea mans was smitten and he is fully in love with you lmao

Will do literally anything you ask

You hungry? He’s prepared a 5 course, michelin star meal

Want new clothes? He’s been training for the day he could hold your bags for you

Ran out of hair products?? He’s already back with a special box of your products that he had imported from America

To this day you don’t know how he was able to get those products so quickly

He is loves when you tell him things about you from your day, to your times in america, to how your cursed energy works

Yall are the couple that does stupid shit together

Like one time you showed Yuuji one of those life hack videos and he was like 

“We should totally do that” 

And you were like “Bet”

Needless to say Fushiguro was very confused at the sight of bandaids on both of your fingers the next morning

“???What happened?”

“Well you see, I told Yuuji that I should use the glue gun because he didn’t even know where to put the glue stick. And he said nah, I got it and um yea so I fell and the glue gun was plugged in and then he tripped over me and so now we look like this.”

Gojo and Kugisaki thought that this was hilarious while Fushiguro decided that he’d store your guys’ glue gun in his shadows from now on

How yall manage to get through missions you go on together alive is a miracle

Speaking of missions, you eventually ask Yuuji what’s his deal because you feel a powerful aura coming from him but he never uses cursed energy, always cursed weapons

Cue Sukuna’s mouth popping up on the side of his face like “Hey mamas”

(You can’t tell me that Sukuna isn’t the type of guy to ask where his hug at)

“YUUJI WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t met Sukuna yet, huh?”

So he sits you down and explains how he ate Sukuna’s finger and you're sitting there like ‘mhm mhm mhm, sorry you what?’

For like 3 days after he told you that you couldn’t bring yourself to kiss him just because you were processing the fact that Yuuji ate someone’s nasty old ass finger and would have to eat 19 more

And the fact that he’s the vessel of like the worst curse known to man 

During those 3 days, Yuuji’s pouting because he’s like ‘I fucked up, now she doesn’t wanna kiss me let alone talk to me because of this monster inside of me :(’

Meanwhile you’re just like ‘why would anyone eat some random mummified finger?’

Eventually you get wind of Yuuji’s bad mood and immediately, you rush to smooth things over with him.

You knock on his door and hear blankets rustling before he goes, “I’m not in the mood to play fight right now Kugisaki’

“Can I come in baby?”

You immediately hear the most comical almost cartoonish amount of noise ranging from a cup falling over, sheets falling off the bed, and what sounds like Yuuji falling flat on his ass before he opens the door

When he does, you’re laughing and it’s like the sky is no longer grey and the world is filled with color

You smile at each other before your moment is interrupted with Sukuna going “Finally, full offense, his whining was getting annoying”

You step inside his room and apologize for ignoring him, explaining that you just needed time to process things, explaining that you should’ve told him that before dipping

He just grabbed you in a bear hug and lifted you of the ground and spinning you around laughing happily, after all he wasn’t even upset with you, he just missed you

And thus begins the honeymoon phase of your guys’ relationship

Fushiguro is actually really happy for you guys and is the most supportive of your relationship but if anyone asked him to admit that out loud he’d actually apparate to the nearest marooned ship

Nobura doesn’t hate you guys but she thinks all couples are disgusting, so while it’s nothing personal, she does gag when you and Yuuji do so much as make goo goo eyes at each other

Gojo is actually like the main cheerleader of your relationship. 

He is the teacher that changes the seating chart to put students he ships together

He was always pairing you and Yuuji up on missions and placing you as sparring partners like ur not slick

If Gojo is the cheerleader, Sukuna is an actual antagonist

Like the man goes out of his way to CHOOSE violence

Like on time you kissed Yuuji’s cheek on a date and when you pulled back, your lip was bleeding and Sukuna’s mouth was smirking at you

Another thing he likes to do is tell you all of Yuuji’s simp^tm thoughts

Like all of them

Now Yuuji isn’t ashamed of how much he loves you and is in fact very open with it, but he doesn’t need Sukuna telling you that the only reason he bought x mouthwash was because it made your breath smell like “sunshine” and he had to see if it would work on him

Speaking of dates, good luck

Now I stand by the fact that Yuuji would never half-ass a date and things with him are certainly never boring

But he’s also like a country boy in the city and his tourist tendencies tend to get the best of him

Like you’ll be trying to find a spot to eat and when you look back Yuuji’s gone

((Prolly to buy another I <3 Tokyo shirt so you can both match))

He always catches up with you ad you eventually learn that but like the first few times be havin you ready to put up a lost child signal on the loudspeaker

He’s very sweet and this is where his thoughtfulness shines through

You and Yuuji plan dates in the same way one plays bingo

Like because you never know where you’re going to be r when exactly you’ll both be free (especially with Gojo-sensei and his bare minimum ass information) you two tend to go ‘ok well if we’re here we’ll go here and if we’re here, we’ll go here’ and so on and so forth

But Yuuji always remembers such little one-off details about you that make your dates.

Like you mention wanting to try a sushi train and he’s already scrolled through multiple yelp reviews and watched every youtube restaurant review like 9 times

But every high has a low and Yuuji and your’s low comes suddenly and it brings you crashing to the ground with no warning and nothing to slow your descent

When your class of first years were sent to exorcise the special grade cursed womb

When Yuuji’s hand got blown off and he told you to run you froze, your mind racing faster than your legs could even start

“(Y/N) RUN!” Yuuji’s voice broke you out of your fear-based trance

“I- I...can’t...I can’t leave you!” you cried out all your rational senses screamed at you to go, run, he had Sukuna and you were barely a grade 2 sorcerer. But your intuition told you if you left him you wouldn’t see him alive again.

You were trapped in a paralysis of indecision but the choice was made for you when a sticky tongue wrapped around your midriff and you were gulped into the mouth of one of Fushiguro’s frogs

“Goddamn it Fushiguro! Let me go! I need to... save... him.” You were outside the building before you could even finish arguing.

You glared up at Fushiguro but your eyes softened some when you saw how beat up Kugisaki looked.

He gave you this look that said he did what he had to do and he didn’t care what you had to say about it 

You and him waited in the rain for Yuuji or Sukuna to exit the building

You tried to focus yourself and save your negative emotions for your cursed attack

When Sukuna inevitably appeared, one finger stronger, you were fully prepared to fight him

However, he didn’t seem interested in fighting you and more engaged in fighting with Megumi

You tried to urge Fushiguro to wait it out, eventually Sukuna would lose control, but when Sukuna took Yuuji’s heart hostage, you both knew you’d have to fight

You and Fushiguro gave it your all but when Yuuji came back he still died 

It took all your strength to not completely fall apart after his death and the support from the second years as well as Kugisaki and Fushiguro helped

You’d tried to visit him at the morgue but Shoko only told you that she didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

You still slept in his sweaters and the things that smelled like him from time to time, trying to make the idea of him last, but after a month, the smell of him had started to fade

Everything about Yuuji’s memory seemed to become leached away with time, from his smell, to the wear present on things he’d given to you

You couldn’t help but feel resentful towards yourself but also to Sukuna, he’d taken Yuuji from you with the same care that one would throw litter on the ground

The pain in your chest didn’t wane either, it only became ignorable to a degree as training for the exchange with the Kyoto students became more intense

Fushiguro is a comfort to you as well, aside from you, him and Yuuji were the closest to each other and so he gets a lot of what you’re going through and doesn’t push when you become more withdrawn

He also lets you pet his demon dog too but when you ask him why he’s letting you pet it he just says ‘because no one would believe you if you told them’ lies

The bastard really just does it because he knows you’re sad and he doesn’t want you to be sad

Speaking of the Kyoto students, Zenin Mai and Toudou Aoi are permanently on your shit list

You’re relieved that Panda, Maki, and Inumaki came to your guys’ aid but like if you had your way Mai wouldn’t even exist

Anyways Maki has Panda physically restrain you while she tries to calm you down 

“(Y/N), you can kick her ass at the exchange!”

When you calm down, Panda puts you down and even though Mai’s long gone with Todou to go get his handshake, you make a promise that carries through the wind

‘Zenin Mai, pray that the next time you run across me I’m feeling kind, because if not-’, the last word is lost as the wind picks up but Mai feels a shiver rack through her body that more than ensures your message.

[matildashoney]

𝐓𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 // 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ~ 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ~ 𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 ~ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @doubtfulwelshie, @meetmymouth, @theluketomypatterson, @morethanamelodyy, @hoodhoran, @nevertoooldtodancelikeamaniac, @rainbowparadiseharry, @glitterandharry, @summertimestyles, @millenial-teenybopper, @6616617228, @burberryharold​, @jesusidontcare1​

.・゜゜・ Harry  .・゜゜・　

Step left. Duck. Step right. Punch.

Step left. Block. Step right. Go for the gold.

The freedom of releasing bottled up anger loomed over Harry’s head, stimulating his need to showcase his overt power. Punch after punch after punch, delivered to his opponent's body and face, fueling the anguish he felt in his veins and the fury in his brain. 

“Okay! Harry, that’s enough!” a voice calls, but, naturally, Harry doesn’t listen. His ears are ringing, deafening anything outside of his own mind. Not that he can hear his own thoughts anyway as he blows hit after hit at Ryan, imagining it’s someone else he’s beating up instead.

His heart is racing as fast as his mind is swirling, his breaths shortening as his arms continue their relentless action on Dear Ryan, who can do nothing but just take it. “Harry!”

Then, there was the numbness. He felt arms tug him back forcefully, landing Harry right on his ass as he came to, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. Harry blinked once, then twice, then three times before taking a look around him. Mack, his trainer, was standing over him, a look of anger mixed with concern etched over his features as he gestured to the man laying flat on his back, spitting blood out of his mouth.

Only for a moment, remorse coursed through Harry’s body, because the last he remembered, they were both standing. It wasn’t the first time he’s lost control of his rage, and he was sorry that Ryan had to deal with the consequences of that, but at the same time, Harry didn’t give a single shit because it was Ryan’s job to play punching bag. 

“Do you wanna explain this?” Mack questions, helping Ryan up so he can go take a breather and get a look at his nose from the doctor. “Fuck, Harry, any more and you could’ve done serious damage to the poor kid.”

Harry hoisted himself up, rolling his eyes as he tugged his gloves off his hands. “Do you want me to win tonight? I sort of need to punch the shit out of people to do that.”

Mack stares at Harry with a cross look before scoffing, shaking his head as he places his hands on his hips, looking down to his feet. “Look, you need to get over her, H. All your focus is on Stella, but I need your focus on your job. That’s the most important thing.”

Technically if he’s focused on Stella, he’s better at his job, but Harry didn’t have the energy to start a fight over something ridiculous. Instead, Harry opted for a poisonous glare and bit his bottom lip to hold back any venom he easily could’ve spit out, walking past his trainer and making sure to bump shoulders along the way.

Mack has always been anti-relationships. 

Mack advised it from the start, when Harry signed up for his gym and kick started his career in boxing. “No dating. It’s not forbidden, but trust me, Harry, you don’t need them on your mind when you’re in the ring.” Harry never had to worry about that before, because dating wasn’t really his thing to begin with.

Until her. Until Stella. 

Harry decided he was done for the day, needing to rest up until his match that night. Not that he’d be resting much anyway, but he needed to get out of the gym for a bit, needed to clear his head.

Grey steel doors to the men’s locker room are no match for Harry’s unhinged anger, banging loudly against the wall behind it as they were forcefully swung open with a push from his hand. The few men in there jumped back a bit, heads immediately turning to the cause of disturbance.

Harry paid them no mind as he walked over to his locker, opening the lock and then swinging that door open too, causing it to bang into the one next to it. Despite the anger he released back in the ring, he still had enough resonating in his veins as he thought of her and as he thought of him. But immediately, as he glanced at the door of his locker, all anger dissipated for a couple fleeting moments as he stared at the filmstrip taped to the metal, the smile on her face, the smile on his face. All was better then. All was better when she was by his side. 

His Stella. Stella for star.

Sitting down on the bench behind him, Harry ran his battered hands over his face and then through his hair as he tried to stop thinking of her. But then the image of her smile taunted him, enticed him, tricked him into giving her another moment of his time. The pain in his chest and the pain in his head grew stronger as his thoughts spiraled, bringing up memories he tried so hard to push to the back of his head. 

Even when he was in the ring, thinking of his match later on, Harry couldn’t stop from thinking about her. He couldn’t stop his heart from sinking into his stomach at the thought of her face not being in the crowd cheering him on. He couldn’t bear it, knowing his Lucky Star wasn’t going to be there for him. 

That’s when all shades of red began swarming his sight, because she wouldn’t be front row, but instead with that fucking character she calls a duet partner. Then Ryan’s face morphed into his. Harry couldn’t stop himself. 

Shit, how he wished he could get his hands on that jackass. 

Harry nearly broke the wood holding him up from how tight his grip was on it, but, then one glance at her and his strength fell apart. 

And so did Harry’s mind.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at her picture on his locker door, but when he finally gained back his grip on reality, he grabbed his gym bag and closed the metal, hurrying out of the stuffy room to get home. He ignored Mack’s lingering gaze, keeping his own eyes straight ahead as he stormed out of the building. 

Just when Harry thought he could catch a breath, a break, the warm weather outside touched his skin, nearly melting him to the ground.

Harry hated the heat. He much preferred the winter time because it always leveled his hot head, and the sweltering air mixed with his boiling rage never mixed well. Now, Harry was in an even sourer mood. Though, it slightly picked up when he realized the time on his phone.

Crossing the street, Harry began his walk in the opposite direction of home, quickening his pace so as to not miss her. He absolutely dreaded not taking his car to the gym that day. He dreaded it not only for the sweat dripping down his body, but because he had to pass a certain establishment on the shortest route to the studio.

Lucky’s Bar.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Harry had a bit of a habit of stopping time whenever he walked into a room. Or at least it felt like he did because despite the loud, rowdy music blaring through the tight bar, and everyone being focused on themselves and who they were with, all heads immediately turned to him when he stepped through the entrance of Lucky’s. 

“That never gets old,” Niall nudged Harry in the side, chuckling as people began to whisper to one another, sly-but-not-so-sly fingers pointing in their direction.

It wasn’t always this way. They really only started looking at him after news spread rapidly around campus about his new ... job. Otherwise, no one ever paid enough attention to notice he was in the same room. At first it was strange knowing people were watching his every move, but after a while, he stopped caring. 

One thing he learned over the past few months, is that not caring goes a long way.

Harry sat on the bar stool next to Niall, a bored look on his face as the bartender looked a bit starstruck because of who was sitting in front of her. “Two beers please. Bottled,” Niall requested, turning his attention back to his friend. “So, when’s your next match?” he wondered, mindlessly checking his phone as he waited for his girlfriend to text him of her arrival.

Harry thought about it for a second, not even remembering what day of the week it was. “Next Friday, I think. I don’t know, I’ll text you,” Harry shrugged, graciously taking the drink the bartender sat next to him, nodding his head in appreciation before taking his first swig.

They sat idly for some time, not wanting to join the masses standing on the dance floor. They could practically feel the humidity and sweat from the bar. Many girls tried coming over and flirting their ways into getting free drinks, but neither of the boys even blinked in their direction as they laughed over mindless nonsense and awaited Niall’s girlfriend’s arrival. 

And Niall’s girlfriend’s friend’s arrival.

A friend that was apparently a very good, a great match for Harry. Usually, Harry denied any setups Niall tried to throw his way, but this time the bloke wouldn’t take no for an answer. Apparently, Niall had a big feeling this one was going to be someone incredibly special.

Then that familiar text tone sounded, alerting them the girls had arrived, but they didn’t need the text to know that. Because - at least to Harry and Niall - time had stopped once again, but not because of Harry, but because of Libby and her friend.

Not that anyone else cared, but the two girls lit up the entire place. Their energy radiated a glow that was unmatched to anyone else in the room, leaving Niall and Harry in awe. Of course, they turned the heads of jerk offs that whistled when they walked by, but their eyes were set on the boys waiting for them.

“Hi, baby,” Libby greeted, quickly kissing Niall on the lips before giving Harry a soft smile and kissing him on the cheek.

The other girl greeted Niall just as happily - minus the kiss on the lips, opting for a hug instead. Her curly hair sat behind her in a low ponytail, a few front strands hanging loosely over her face. 

Then, her eyes met Harry’s.

Ever since she walked into Lucky’s, Harry had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, and now that she was up close and personal, he took the time to really admire her features, her figure, her long legs that seemed to go on for miles.

Before she could introduce herself, Niall clapped Harry on the shoulder, waving his other hand between the two, “Harry, meet Stella.”

Much to his surprise, Stella leaned in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a warm greeting that he never usually received when meeting a girl. Usually, Harry was met with a bat of fake eyelashes and fingers tracing his biceps. 

She stepped back after a few moments, a kind smile stretched over her lips. “You must be the boxer.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Harry stands in front of the bar for a moment, thinking back to all the times he sat on the wooden stools with his girl and their friends and drank to celebrate the winning of another match. Of course, yeah, he’s been back since then, and he’s been back with his friends since then, but it’s not the same without his hand intertwined with hers and the feeling that he had when walking in with her tucked under his arm. Harry used to soak in the stares and the jealous whispers of other men and women when they walked in together, to know that he was the luckiest man alive, in those moments. His Stella, his Lucky Star, at his side, and yet he was the lucky one. 

Harry knew Stella liked the attention a little bit, too, as much as she hated to admit it. Stella liked knowing that her man was the champion, the star, the winner. Stella liked seeing Harry win. That’s why she was at every match, every single one. 

That feels like a lifetime ago, and it was barely a year ago. One year ago, when Harry royally fucked himself over with her and his world flipped upside down.

.・゜゜・ Stella  .・゜゜・

Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso. Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso. Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso. Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso.

That’s what Stella Smalls is going to do over and over until she can get it perfect. Until there’s not a hiccup or a side step or a misplaced toe or fingertip in sight, completing the perfect combination from her fingertips to her toes. That’s what Stella has to do, to be known as one of the best dancers in the world.

“God damnit,” she grumbles, wiping the sweat on her forehead on her hand and brushing her bangs away from her skin, heaving out a heavy breath and leaning over her knees, taking a minute to catch her breath. Her legs ache with how much she’s been practicing, and she’s happy to have the night off. 

“Come on, Stella,” she says to herself, psyching herself into repeating the combination a few times more. “Come on. This isn’t child’s play. This is the biggest competition you’ll ever do.”

Her words seemingly do the trick, the ache in her thighs and feet suddenly disappearing and fading into the background of her mind, her only focus going to the specific point in this song where this combination would play out to the perfect rhythm if she does it correctly. Her favorite song is playing over the speakers, the building bridge and chorus resounding through the mirror-lined studio, waiting for her to try and try again. Her song choice is making it all the more difficult to focus, especially with knowing who is across the street, and how much this song is about him, as well. 

It wasn’t their song, for the short two years they were together, that was something else, something a bit too hard to touch. Their song, “Undeniable You”, the song they danced to at two in the morning in her tiny kitchen and the song they played in the car on their way to the gym and the studio and the song they played when they were making love into the early hours of the night. That was their song and it was untouchable, their song that she truly couldn't use as her competition piece for the World Title.

Stella hadn’t originally wanted to do the song that she’s currently dancing to. That wasn’t her intention, especially not fresh after their parting ways and it was raw, so raw. However, when her instructor heard the song and was approving the World Title submission under her studio’s name, she suggested that she channel her emotions that she was feeling towards the song into choreography. Stella was competing for a world title under her studio’s name. Could she really say no? 

Nearly a year later, with the competition only three months away, River Daniels and Stella Smalls are practicing their duet for the world title to a song that she once associated with a man she was in love with, is in love with.

“Love,” Angie calls through the studio, walking into the quaint room with light bamboo flooring and three long barres hooked onto the walls amongst the mirrors, staring at the young girl with concern etched into her features, “maybe you should take a break. You’ve been here since eight, this morning.”

“What time is it, now? Have somewhere to be around three.” Stella wonders curiously, oblivious to how long she’s been at the studio and been working. Muscles ache inside her body, her feet crying out for a breather, and yet she keeps pushing, keeps forcing herself to repeat the combination until she finds it perfectly aligned with the rhythm of the song.

“It’s nearly two, Stella,” Angie says assuredly, sounding nearly disappointed in the way Stella has been pushing herself since she found out who her competition was for the title, and the stakes that are at large, waiting for her.

Should they win, Stella and River will go on a world tour with nearly a dozen other dancers, doing master classes and teaching young dancers the way to the title, and the money that would be split between the two of them would allow for her to finally open her own studio in town.

There’s this empty building that she has been eyeing for nearly five years, dreaming that one day it would be the studio of her dreams. There is space for three different rooms, three studios within one, and there are a multitude of opportunities waiting for her in this space if she just had the money. “The Lucky Star Academy”, she would name it, after the one that always told her that she would be the best studio owner in town. He wasn’t that clever for giving her the name.

Stella’s name does mean “star”, after all. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Harry’s knuckles were all bloodied and cut, the skin tearing and ripping at the base of his hand after rubbing against his gloves after he stupidly forgot to wrap his hands before the match. Typically, Stella reminds him, but today, she was in her head, worrying about the bank’s call and the meeting she had with the loan advisor and the conversation she had with her mother regarding how much she would offer as a loan until her business started and took off like everyone knew - or had a feeling - it would, and Harry was worried about comforting his girlfriend, to the point where they had to call him out of the locker room to make sure he was ready for the match. Stella was worried that he would lose the match because of how much worrying he was doing for her, but of course, Harry being Harry, won within the first ten minutes in the ring.

“Stell, the bank is going to approve you,” Harry said too surely for Stella’s liking when they were back in the locker room, cleaning his knuckles. “If not, like I said, I could give you the money. It’s not a big deal.” Stella glares at Harry for that secondary comment. “Okay, it’s a big deal, but I can loan you the money, Lovey. I’m not hoarding all this to myself. Makes sense to share it with the ones I love, does it not?”

“It does, but I don’t want to start my business by owing you money, Harry,” Stella says frustratedly, wiping the blood from his hands and kissing the skin of his knuckles sweetly. Stella was always the most gentle soul with Harry, even when he didn’t necessarily deserve it, and he cherished the way she loves him, the way she cares. “My studio can’t start that way. It’s just, I can’t.”

“Name it after what I call you, at least. Let me contribute the name, Stella Bella.” Harry grins so widely Stella can feel her heart giving out and falling into his hands, like it always does. “My Lucky Star. Maybe you’ll be somebody else’s, too. Mine first, always, though.”

“First and foremost,” she says, shaking her head at the nickname, one of many of what her boyfriend has called her over the years, and sighs deeply, laying the flannel on the sink beside her and letting his hands fall to her waist, holding her between his legs and kissing her shoulder, “you’ll always have me as your lucky star, the one and only.” Harry’s dimpled grin makes her stomach flutter with butterflies. “Secondly, ‘The Lucky Star Academy’, I like the sound of that.” Harry smiles wider, this time, leaning upwards and kissing her jaw. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Very nice ring to it,” Harry agrees, brushing her hair behind her ear and holding her chin between his fingertips, kissing her sweetly, deeply, smirking when she pushes his shoulder lightly and takes a step away. “Come on, lovey. One more kiss before you leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she says matter-of-factly, shaking her head and nodding towards where the door is swinging open with men walking in and out. “I’m leaving the room for you to get changed, you stink.”

“Come shower with me,” he whispers, standing on his feet and bringing her into his chest, the clamminess of his skin sticking to her fingertips as she lays her hands against his abdomen. “Not like any of these blokes actually shower here, anyways.”

“Girl in a locker room disappears into the showers and Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen,” Stella scoffs, shaking her head adamantly and brushing his hair away from his forehead, the floppy tendrils of his hair falling to his sweaty skin. “Very likely that everyone will know what’s happening.”

“Stella Smalls,” Harry says warningly, clicking his tongue and grabbing her face between his hands, “don’t ever call yourself just a girl, ever again. Hear me? Much more than a girl to me.”

“All right, all right,” she concedes, pecking his lips quickly and walking towards the locker, grabbing all his belongings and shoving the clothes that need to be washed in the tote bag he brings to every match. “Go shower, I’m tired and want to go home.”

“I’ll shower faster if my Lucky Star comes with me,” Harry teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and walking towards the showers in the corner of the locker room. “Come on, Stell. One time.” Stella sighs, looking between the phone, where she is impatiently waiting for a phone call, her belongings, and her sweaty boyfriend standing all too enticingly at the edge of the tile flooring. Stella begrudgingly sets their things in the locker, oblivious to the buzzing that’s vibrating from her phone, and hurries to Harry across the locker room floor, smirking as he says, “That’s my girl. My Stella.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Knocking on the studio door pulls Stella out of her trance, again, the song playing over and over again in her head with tears in her eyes as she forces a smile to the familiar man in the window. River is standing at the glass window, watching his partner perfect the leap combination for their routine without saying a word. Her knees are bruised and tainted a purplish-blue color that looks like it hurts like hell, and River silently reminds himself to schedule a day to practice even more to be on her level of dedication. River smiles at Stella softly, opening his arms and bringing her in close, hugging her tightly and humming contently as her arms tighten around his midsection and return the embrace.

“Looks great, Stella,” River smiles excitedly, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead and taking a step away, looking at her face and taking in the distracted glances she’s making towards the window to the outside. “Harry’s coming, isn’t he? Walks you home from the gym and all that.”

“Always on Saturdays,” Stella says shyly, almost slightly embarrassed by how much she looks forward to the weekly walk with her best friend, which happens to also be her ex-boyfriend, the person she’s choreographing this routine about. “It’s our only time to really talk, you know? Alone, at least. He’s so busy during the week, I’m busy teaching. It’s not going to distract me, River, I promise.”

“You say that, Stella,” he says concernedly, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, shrugging his shoulders slightly at the thought of the two getting back together when he’s started to develop feelings for her beyond their partnership and friendship. “There’s already chemistry there, though. That’s hard to deny when you see the way he looks at you, the way he looks at me when I’m with you. Like he wants me removed from the planet or something.”

Stella knows that Harry wants River removed from her life, completely. He doesn’t need to say anything for that to be abundantly clear. That doesn’t mean she’ll say that, though. “Oh, c’mon, Riv, it’s not that bad. He’s not that cruel.”

“If Harry knew that I liked you in any capacity, which is not me saying that I do,” River says with his hands held in the air in surrender, “I would be pummeled into bits. You know it as well as I do, Stella.” River says this surely, quirking his eyebrows at his friend and cocking his head to the side knowingly, shrugging his shoulders when she crosses her arms in front of her chest defensively and sighs. “Not your fault he’s protective of you, Stella. It’s not your fault he’s in love with you.”

“Harry isn’t in love with me. Not anymore, at least.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” River shrugs his shoulders, “Hell, what do I know, though?” He takes Stella’s hand and twirls her beneath his arm, smiling brightly when she laughs and falls into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Practice tomorrow?”

“Of course, yeah,” she says with a bright smile, leaning onto her toes and kissing his cheek, her eyes rolling slightly when she sees her ex-boyfriend nearly foaming at the mouth outside the studio at the sight. Harry tries to hide it, Stella knows this, and that’s why she never says anything when she sees his facial expressions change or the way his hands clenched into fists when he sees River with his hand on Stella’s back as they leave the studio. “Come to the fight, tonight. It’ll be fun to have everyone there. This is his last match before the International Rounds.” River nods silently and opens the door for Stella to walk through, Harry immediately grabs her hand and pulls her into a warm hug. “Hi, Harry.”

.・゜゜・Harry  .・゜゜・

With old memories rehashing in his mind - which brought him the most happiness he’s felt in a while - Harry for fucking sure wasn’t expecting to see that slime-ball hugging his girl, replacing those memories with the anger he thought he suppressed, for now, at least.

Harry knew his face contorted into a deep scowl, burning red as he saw the interaction happening before him, and he couldn’t help his knuckles turning white from his fists clenching insanely tight. He knew how furious he looked. Hell, he knew how crazy he looked, but that didn’t stop him from tugging her away from her partner the moment they walked outside. 

Harry wraps his arms around Stella’s shoulders, pulling her close to him, but keeping his eyes on River. “Hi, Harry,” she murmured into his chest, before she pulled herself away and looked up at him. For the first time in those fifteen seconds, he diverted his attention away from him and looked at his girl, a smirk lining his features. 

“Hello, lovey.” And, spitefully - arguably, without a single care - he leans down and places his own kiss to her opposite cheek. As soon as Harry stood back up to his full height, he could see in Stella’s eyes that she was pleading for him to not cause a scene. He decided to respect her wishes, this time, but that didn’t stop the threatening glare he sent River’s way. “C’mon, let’s get you home. Think I can take a nap there?”

Stella looked over her shoulder at her dance partner, giving him an apologetic look. She knew he wasn’t nearly as scared of Harry, as Harry would like to think, but that didn’t stop her from being worried. River waved her off unapologetically, saying, “I’ll see you, tonight.”

Harry’s head quickly snapped to look at Stella, eyes widening and mouth falling agape from his words. He, too, looked over his shoulder, then, just to see the man getting in his car and then speeding off down the road. Harry was confused. He was baffled. And of course, he was angry. 

What does that mean?

As far as Harry knows, they see each other for practice during the week, for tech rehearsals, and for the performances, but never for anything else. Stella and River were only dance partners, not friends. That’s right, isn’t it? 

That’s when his greatest fear started coming to life. The realization hit. Harry could lose Stella, for good.

Harry stopped in his tracks, no matter how badly he wanted to get out from under the blazing sun. Stella stopped, too, confused as to why he was just standing there. “What’s wrong?”

The real question was: What isn’t wrong?

“What did he mean by that?” Harry hissed, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down harshly on it, but surprisingly, not drawing any blood. Harry knows that they aren’t officially together, and no matter how much, how badly that eats him alive, he knows that she has free reign to be with whoever she wants. Stella’s his Lucky Star, though, and, truth be told, he doesn’t think he can ever be without her in some capacity, for as long as he’s still breathing, as long as he’s on this planet. And, truthfully, it pains him to think that she would want to be with anyone that isn’t him. 

Sometimes, Harry wonders if she feels the same way.

“By what?” she asked by raising her eyebrows, confused as to what he was talking about. Then, seeing Harry biting on his lip with an excruciating grip, seeing the anger bubble back inside of him, Stella put two and two together, and figured out that he was talking about what her partner had said. “Oh, seeing me tonight? Oh my God, Harry.” Stella started laughing at this, beginning her walk, again, to her apartment. 

Harry was stunned for a quick moment before he followed after her, falling into step with her. He kept his eyes locked on her, watching her shake her head and and keep her eyes trained on her squeaky clean, white shoes. “What?”

“He’s coming to the fight.”

Harry was tempted to stop walking, again, but knew she wouldn’t stop this time, and would probably leave him behind. “No, he isn’t,” Harry responded, completely dumbfounded to the idea of Stella bringing up his fight, and then going the extra mile to invite her dance partner to it. He didn’t understand why she would even think of doing that, because she knows he doesn’t like him. It’s almost as if she enjoys making Harry angry - which could be the only possible explanation for why she invited him.

Stella looked up at him, tilting her head to the side, “Excuse me?”

“He’s not coming to my fight,” Harry scoffed, pressing the button on the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to keep walking.

“Are you being serious right now?” she questioned, crossing her arms over her chest, turning to face him completely as they stood on the corner. Deep down, Stella knew Harry was being serious, but didn’t quite want to believe it. Harry’s always had this possessive hold on her, ever since they started dating. Honestly, when they were together, it was cute, it was funny, even, it stemmed from the love he had for her. Now, though, it’s infuriating, it’s toxic, and it’s painful. 

It’s also kind of sad.

After Stella, Harry closed himself off to the world again. He sticks to his same few friends. He doesn’t date. He continues to revolve his world around Stella. Constantly. Stella’s trying to grow, and move on, but he makes it impossible for her, because, truthfully, Harry has no one else. It’s sad, but it’s also insanely frustrating. “First of all, it’s a public event, so technically, River’s more than welcome to be there. Secondly, I’m not your girlfriend, H. I haven’t been your girlfriend for over a year. And Harry, you need to get that through your head, because I’m tired of telling you.”

Clicking of the cross-walk sign began, signaling it was time to start walking, again, which Stella happily did as Harry once again found himself stuck in place. This wasn’t how he imagined his day to go, and he certainly didn’t want to keep talking on the topic, but he couldn’t stop himself. It’s like a vicious cycle of trying to prove that she still wants him in some capacity, that she would choose him over someone else, even though she’s proven time and time again that she doesn’t, that she wouldn’t. Stella is over Harry, and Harry refuses to accept that.

Harry allowed a few moments of silence between them, a comfortable silence as they walked on towards her apartment, letting her think she had gotten the better end of the argument. Then, Harry continued. “Has he got a ticket?”

Stella sighed, “What?”

“For the fight. Did he buy a ticket? Or are you gonna use my name to get him in?” Harry’s association is the way she and any of his friends ever get in without paying. Tickets always sell insanely fast, near instantaneously, so Harry doubts River actually has one to get in. He knows Stella is going to get him in, and Harry’s lucky to have the upper-hand in the situation, because he can easily make it where there’s a specific guest-list - one that doesn’t have him on it. “I’ll tell the guard to blacklist him, Stell. He’s not coming.”

Stella rolled her lips into her mouth, fighting off the urge to spit venom that could put a wrench into whatever this relationship of theirs was. She didn’t want to continue moving backwards, but Harry made it really, very difficult to push forward. Stella shrugged, keeping her eyes ahead of her, “Fine, then neither am I.”

Stella only ever went to his fights because Harry asked her to, not because she had any actual desire to be there. Having to watch her once-boyfriend get punched in the face was never a sight she could fully stomach, and if his unwillingness to see her friend was this strong, then it only gave her motive not to go. 

Harry opened the door to her apartment building once she put the code in, allowing her to enter first. Quite frankly, he doesn’t care if she doesn’t want him to follow, because he does anyway. The idea of Stella not being there for his fight deepens the pit in the bottom of his stomach, and thickens his fear of losing her. 

It’s like this: when Stella is there, Harry knows he’s gonna win, when Stella’s not there, that familiar feeling isn’t in Harry’s gut, and all he feels is uncertainty. Harry can feel the victory gliding through his veins when he steps into the ring, seeing her front row, clapping and whistling and rooting for him.  Calling her his Lucky Star started off as an inside joke, simply because of the meaning of her name and where they first met. After she started coming to his fights, though, Lucky Star became quite literal, and he can’t go without her. 

“Of course you are. I need you there.”

And when they finally got to her front door, Stella inserted her key and unlocked it, but didn’t enter right away, confusing Harry. Stella stood there, facing him, his hand on the door nearly blockading her against the small wooden door, a small smile on her lips. “Okay. Then, River comes. He goes, I go.”

Harry and Stella held a staring contest for what felt like minutes, neither of them willing to back down - both, with the eye contact and the argument that hangs over them like a dark, miserable cloud. Finally, Harry sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his head so his chin hit against his chest. He was in no position to keep fighting her, especially if continuing meant jeopardizing her attendance, tonight, in particular.

His favorite smile, a full smile broke out onto Stella’s face, and she couldn’t help reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. Twisting the golden doorknob, she allowed them both into her home. “Did you still wanna take that nap?”

Harry rolled his eyes, stepping inside and shrugging off his tee shirt before the door could even fully shut. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Fifteen minutes until showtime. Fifteen minutes and Stella still wasn’t there.

Harry left her with plenty of time to get ready and to get her friend to come with her. He left her apartment nearly thirty minutes before they had to be at the gym, giving her enough time to get dressed - she was never one for makeup, if she wasn’t on stage - and make her way to the gym long before the match would start. Stella should be here, by now. She’s always early.

Harry was nervous, but not because of his fight - because there was no sign of Stella. Mack has tried to get his mind off of her, but he was basically talking to a wall as Harry kept pacing around the  locker room, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“She’ll be here, H,” Libby tried reassuring him again, but like Mack, she was ignored. After Harry left Stella’s apartment around four, that was the last time he saw or heard from her. Usually, she would send him a text that she’s on her way, but he’s received nothing. The only reason Harry could think of why this is happening, is because of that prick of a dance partner. Harry always drove Stella himself, before their separation, and afterwards, she always sent a text when she was coming. 

Now, the one time River decides to tag-along, there’s no word from her. If Harry didn’t hate him already, he certainly does now.

Niall offered Harry a beer, which he greatly accepted, gulping it down in seconds before crushing the metal of the can in his palm. Then, the locker room door swung open, and a frenzied Stella walked in with a sheepish look on her face.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, there was a crowd outside that was impossible to get through,” Stella rushed out, coming straight over to Harry and engulfing him in a hug, knowing he must’ve been worried, ignoring the concerned looks on their friends’ and her friend’s faces. Stella was cutting it close to when Harry had to get out there, and she just blamed it entirely on the traffic and drunk crowd of old men, and she knew that wasn’t going to stick with Harry.

“Great! Stella’s here, now. Can you fucking sit down?” Mack hissed, rubbing his temples as he could feel his headache fading away. Stella shyly pulled away from Harry, ignoring Mack’s hardened stare, and made her way over to her friends, greeting them in her usual manner before snagging her own beer from the cooler; and when she pulled out another, that’s when Harry realized the leech that was in the room, too.

Taking a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, Harry did all he could to ignore River’s existence. He had to remain civil for Stella’s sake. That was the condition of her being there, after all.

“Stell, you didn’t text me,” Harry spoke up, gaining back her attention. 

Stella looked at him with a furrow in her brow before patting her jean pockets and then reaching into her small purse hanging off her arm. “Shit, I forgot my phone back at my place. I’m sorry,” she apologized, only then realizing that she completely forgot her phone and, therefore, forgot to text Harry and confirm her appearance, like she usually did. Stella stepped closer to Harry, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “I told you I was gonna be here, though.”

Harry looked down at his shoes, biting his lip, biting back his words. Harry wanted to tell Stella he was nervous that she wasn’t gonna show, wanted to tell her that he was worried, wanted to tell her so much. Instead, Harry reached over to the bench where his duffle bag was, pulling out his gloves and offering them to her. “Can you put my gloves on for me?”

It was a bit of a tradition for Stella to put Harry’s gloves on his hands. As if her being there wasn’t enough luck, this action was also a tiny good luck token that Harry always needed before he went out. Stella hesitated for a brief second, not knowing if this was actually a good thing. There was essentially no harm in it, but knowing his reasoning - that it was for good luck, she is his good luck - kind of felt like a punch to her gut. Of course, though, she reached for them anyway, slipping one and then the other on his fists before tightening the straps and knocking the fists together. 

“Good luck, H,” she murmured, giving his right and left fist a little kiss, before dropping his hands all together. 

The little kiss sent a shock through Harry’s spine, because that was something she never did before. A wide smirk formed on his lips, his nerves completely vanishing as confidence swarmed his veins. He stood back up to his full height, saying, “Don’t need it now that you’re here,” just loud enough for her friend to hear on the other side of the room.

“Alright, let’s go!” Mack shouts from the locker room door, holding out Harry’s robe and guard for his mouth.

Harry’s black robe was slipped over his frame as they all walked out of the locker room and into the hall. The bass-driven music was pounding throughout the venue, eliciting a roar from the crowd, because the fun was about to begin. The announcer could be heard, hyping up the audience as he waited for the cue that opponents arrived to their positions. 

Niall, Libby, Stella, and River separated from Harry and Mack, making their way towards their reserved seats in the front row. Harry was barely paying attention to whatever Mack was telling him, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and cracking his neck as they waited.

Then his name was called. And everything became a blur.

The crowd erupted, he walked to the ring, Mack put his mouth guard in for him, and then the familiar bell of the match sounded. His opponent was no bigger than he was, which was good for him because it called for an easy win. The guy managed to get a few good moves in, delivering a hard right hook straight to Harry’s jaw. All he could see was black for a couple of seconds, but once he regained his composure, the first thing he saw was River’s arm wrapped around Stella’s shoulder.

She was motionless as she watched Harry, hands clasped together and under her chin as she hoped for him to win. It was like she didn’t even notice his arm was on her, and Harry can’t decide if that makes it worse.

The anger from earlier today at the gym, and from picking Stella up, and from Stella being late boiled back inside of him. The look on his face was a deadly one as he spat on the ring floor, raising his fists back in the air, ready to strike. His opponent looked terrified for a quick second, but he too raised his fists, nowhere near ready to give up.

Harry won.

Scary part is, he doesn’t even remember it. 

One moment he’s standing there, the next his arm is being raised in victory as the referee declares him winner. His breathing is heavy, his heart is beating rapidly, and his body is drenched in sweat. He feels hot and disgusting, so he walks over to Mack in the corner, who’s waiting with a towel for Harry to spit his mouthguard on to.

He receives compliments left and right as he makes his way backstage, but he practically ignores them all as he searches for the only one that matters. Her face pops up within seconds out of the crowd, and then she’s making her way towards Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, not caring about the sweat and the stickiness of his skin. “Knew you’d win.”

“I always do when you’re here,” he hums, pecking her cheek and shrugging his shoulders, leaving one arm slung around her, raising his eyebrows in a cocky manner, basically saying I never lose. Stella hums in response, shaking her head at the cockiness, before needing to find the nearest bathroom, stating she’ll be back in a few minutes. 

Niall and Libby didn’t stay for long after the fight, so all that was left was Harry and River. Alone. Alone, while Stella was in the bathroom. Harry tried really hard to ignore him, but being alone fueled the fire in his mind, and couldn’t help himself. “What do y’think you’re doing?”

River was surprised at this, because as far as he knew, he wasn’t doing anything. “Excuse me?”

Harry scoffed, unraveling the tape on his hands, clenching his jaw as he looked up. “Never seen you two so … close, before.”

River shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders. If he was supposed to feel intimidated by Harry, he wasn’t. Who Stella decided to be around was her own decision, and it wasn’t any of Harry’s business what their personal relationship was. Not that it was anything more than friends, Harry didn’t need to know that. “Well, someone has to be there for her. Y’know, after all the pain you caused.”

After all the pain you caused. Harry swallowed at the thought. Their breakup weighs heavy on him, and not a day goes by where he doesn’t think about the pain he caused, the pain that ensued afterwards. He knows he hurt her badly, and he’s not so sure anything could ever make up for what he did, but knowing that others know he hurt her made him feel uneasy. The worst part of it all? Knowing that he wasn’t the one she cried to, confided in, needed support from. 

River was, any of her friends were, but not Harry.

He gripped the bench he was on, mulling over the idea of Stella seeking River out to talk about her relationship problems, and praying Stella would come back quickly before he does something he regrets. Before he could say anything back, River made the decision to keep egging him on, leaning his back against the wall by the door. “Harry, you gotta let her go, mate. I think we both know this will always end badly between the both of you. ”

Harry stood up from his seat, stalking across the room, ending up right in front of River, barely a foot of space between them. Harry doesn’t like the way he says his name, venom and distaste found in every syllable, almost as though she could never see it. “You don’t know shit about Stella and I.”

“Don’t I? I know a lot more than you think, Harry Styles. If you love Stella, you’d stay away from her,” he spat back, narrowing his eyes into slits, taking his hands out of the pockets of his jeans. 

Harry wishes it was that easy. If Harry could physically stay away, he would. She doesn’t deserve the trouble he brings and he most certainly doesn’t deserve her. Love isn’t that easy, though. It can’t be that easy. Stella’s his girl. There’s no one else for him. He can’t let her go.

“You’re bad for her. Can’t you see that?”

And just like that, Harry’s fist came in contact with River’s cheek. The dancer’s body was thrown off his arrogant balance, nearly toppling over onto the floor from the brute impact. Harry gripped the back of his shirt, throwing his back against the wall he was just perched on, taking hold of his jaw so he had nowhere else to look but at him. Harry tilted his head to the side a bit, leaning in just a bit closer so his hushed words could be heard, just between them two.

“You’re gonna go. Stella is my girl, and I won’t go down without a fight - which we both know you’ll lose. So you’re gonna leave her alone, got it?” Harry hissed, tightening his hold on River’s jaw, which any tighter, he could probably break.

River wasn’t happy, that much was evident, but he knew when to give up. Harry was a force he had no time or effort to reckon with, so unwillingly, he nodded his head. His face was dropped, and Harry stepped back, clapping him on the shoulder with a condescending smile as he pointed towards the door to the locker room. Holding his tender face, River gave Harry one last middle finger before walking out.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, knocking his head back so he was facing the ceiling. The deep pit that had been nestled into his gut all day finally vanished, and he finally felt at peace. He could finally get the idea of Stella with anyone else out of his head and maybe, just maybe, get their relationship back on track to what it used to be. For that to happen, though, Harry needed Stella to fully trust him again, and he was still struggling with how to gain her forgiveness. Because anyone that knew Stella knew that she could hold a grudge.

He didn’t get much time to think about it though, because after a million years, Stella finally came back from the bathroom. “I swear, I just don’t think today’s my day. I went into one stall and it didn’t have toilet paper, and the next one didn’t either, and ... Hey, where’s River?” she suddenly wondered, stopping mid-ramble to look around the room, seeing it was just Harry in there.

“Said summat about not feeling good, left a couple minutes ago. I’ll drive you home,” Harry disclosed, tugging his clean clothes out of his bag so he could go take a shower quick before they left.

“Oh, that’s odd. He seemed fine before. I hope he’s better for rehearsals tomorrow,” she spoke worriedly, making a mental note to text him when she gets home. They only had three months until the competition, and they haven’t really performed the dance together yet. They’re already on a time crunch, so him being sick really didn’t help their case.

The whole time they were alone together after Harry’s shower, not a single word was exchanged between them. It wasn’t a necessarily awkward tension between them, but it wasn’t the most comfortable either. The journey across the parking lot to Harry’s car was silent, and then the car ride was only filled with the quiet lull of the music on the radio.

When they arrived outside her building, Harry put the car in park, but Stella didn’t jump to get out just yet. She played with the ring on her finger - that actually used to be Harry’s, gnawing at her bottom lip gently. She was pulled out of her thoughts when Harry placed his hand on her thigh and smiled slightly, and Stella knows exactly what Harry’s going to say. It’s the same every week, every match.

“Thank you for coming.” 

Stella glanced up at him, pulling a small smile across her lips, slowly nodding her head. For some reason, she could feel tears and anguish building up inside of her, causing her to look away quickly as she reached for her purse on the floor between her feet. She placed her hand on the door handle, ready to pull on it before turning back around to face him for one last time in the night. “Congratulations, H. I’ll see you soon.”

Then she was gone, and that unmistakable pit in Harry’s stomach resurfaced. 

.・゜゜・ Stella  .・゜゜・

Stella can see her anger. That’s all she can see at this moment. Bright red. Burning anger. Fueling rage. Usually, Stella knows how to channel her anger, to calm herself and bring herself back to Earth and level herself out without making a scene. However, right now, Stella absolutely cannot. All of her rage is targeted at one person, one person that she swore she’d never take the time to be this angry at ever again. 

Harry.

Stella hasn’t been this angry since she and Harry broke up over a year ago, since the moment she stepped on the stage and realized that the one person that she wanted to be there wasn’t there at all. Stella hasn’t been this angry since Harry blamed it on oversleeping and forgetting, since he lied to her face and tried to win her back with broken promises and empty words. Stella hasn’t been this angry ever in her life, and it’s beginning to make her skin hot and her face sweat with the rush of it all. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

“What do you mean you’re through?” Harry asks angrily as he begins pacing around the bedroom that he and Stella practically share at his apartment. Stella’s old place was nearly empty by the time they were dating for six months and she was about to sign the final paperwork to end her lease and move in permanently with him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Stella says harshly, shaking her head and sucking back tears that are threatening to fall. Stella can’t cry. Not right now. Harry can’t see how broken she is over this, over everything.

“Is this because I missed the performance? Is that what all this is about?”

Stella sets her clothes in the suitcase and looks at Harry with tears in her eyes, biting back a laugh and sucking in a deep breath, one singular tear falling down her cheek as she stares at him. Harry looks broken, as if someone’s dug a knife into his chest and twisted at the seams. In a way, Stella is glad he feels this way, this hurt, this pained, because maybe, just maybe, Harry would understand how she felt to win and be completely alone, without the one person that she wanted there.

Stella’s mind goes back to the memory of the competition, of how she felt. 

Stella stepped onto the stage with nothing but joy and pride in her eyes. Stella’s first national title was about to be won as long as she scores high enough, and that would mean she would be one step closer to earning the money to open her own studio. Her mother, Luna, is in the audience, Harry’s mother and sister, all of their friends are there ready to cheer her on. Harry should be there, his flight landed nearly an hour ago, and he said he was going to come right there to watch her. Harry promised that much.

Stella performed her very best, danced the best she’s ever done, earned a standing ovation from the audience and the judges and a perfect score on her sheets. Angie hugged her tightly as she came off the stage, River shortly behind, her eyes looking expectantly out in the crowd to see her family and friends and searching rather impatiently for the one person that she wanted there the most. Harry wasn’t there. Harry wasn’t there at all.

“Of course, that’s what this is about, Harry! Are you dense?” Stella shouts without meaning to, frustration lacing her voice and making it nearly impossible to keep level headed. “You missed the most important competition of my career. For what? Because you overslept? Because you didn’t want to fly?”

“Stella.”

“Wait, were you sleeping with that one girl? What’s her name? Molly? The one that’s been following you around to all your matches, lately?” Stella seemingly has made up her mind before Harry’s even opened his mouth to respond. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No, Stella. I have never and would never cheat on you,” Harry says sternly, shaking his head and taking a cautious step forward, his chin dropping to his chest when Stella takes a step away from him. “Don’t believe me, that’s fair, but I swear to you, I never cheated. I overslept. I got lazy and missed my flight. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“God, Harry, grow up! You’re such a fucking hypocrite!”

“I’m not a hypocrite,” Harry grits through his teeth, shaking his head and cracking his knuckles, clenching and unclenching his fists to try and gain control of his anger. He always had a bit of a temper. 

“How would you feel if I missed one of your matches? One of your biggest matches, because I was too tired from dance and from work and didn’t want to get on a flight.”

“I would understand, Stella,” Harry lies, trying desperately to soften his eyes and make her believe him. He wasn’t trying to manipulate her into staying, per se, but he certainly wouldn’t admit that he would be furious at her, that he wouldn’t take an apology and would likely need a few days to cool off from how angry he would be. “Maybe I wouldn’t understand, I would be angry. I wouldn’t break up with you, though.”

“No, Harry, you’d just give me the silent treatment until I begged you to come home and apologized for days,” Stella says confidently, anger lacing every word that she’s spitting out and making him all the more able to see that he won’t be winning this argument any time soon. “I know you, Harry Styles. I know you better than anyone, and I know how angry you’d be at me. Harry, you wouldn’t speak to me for days if I missed a match. And yet, you can miss my biggest competition, which I won, by the way, and try to get away with it scott free, without any repercussions. It doesn’t work like that, Harry. Life doesn’t work that way. Just because you’re good looking and a good boxer doesn’t mean you can just get away with anything!”

“I’m not trying to get away with it, Stella. I said I’m sorry!” Harry booms, his voice travelling around the bedroom and echoing in her ears, the velocity of his voice against the thin walls making sure their neighbors must’ve heard everything. Stella, frankly, doesn’t care at this moment. All Stella cares about is getting the hell away from Harry Styles. “Stella, please don’t go. I need you. You’re my lucky charm. I’ll fuck up if you’re not there.”

“That’s it? That’s why you want me to stay - because I’m good luck?” Stella asks astonishedly, shaking her head and zipping her suitcase even faster than she originally planned on it. Stella thought about making things dramatic, dragging it out slowly and surely, but of course Harry had to go and say something absolutely ridiculous to make her even more angry. Harry doesn’t know how to watch his mouth. “Fuck you, Harry.”

“Stella, I love you,” Harry says as a final plea, taking her wrist in his strong grip and turning her around, forcing her to look into his eyes. Stella’s expression is lifeless and cold, her honey eyes darkened and worn with anger. Harry doesn’t recognize this Stella, he doesn’t recognize her at all. This isn’t his Lucky Charm, his Stella Bella, his Stella. This isn’t his girl. This woman hates him. Hates him a lot. “Stella, I’m so fucking sorry. I love you. I want you because I love you. I don’t care about the stupid, bloody fights.” Stella looks at Harry knowingly. “Okay, I care a little bit. It’s how I pay for my life. It’s my job, Stella. I was tired, and I thought it wouldn’t matter if I missed one competition. I wasn’t thinking. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Harry, you need to grow up. I would do anything for you, quite literally anything, and you couldn’t even get on a plane to see me perform on the biggest stage I’ve ever performed on, for a national title, for me. I lied to your family for you. I lied to my family for you. I lied to our friends. I told everyone your flight got delayed and you were watching the livestream. I won’t do that again. I won’t lie to the people I care about for you, ever again. I’m not going to put myself in that situation,” Stella says sternly, shaking her head and yanking her wrist away from Harry’s grasp. “Maybe one day we’ll make it work, but you need to grow up. Harry, you’re jealous and immature and you think the world revolves around you. News flash, it fucking doesn’t.”

“My world doesn’t revolve around me, Stella,” Harry shouts as Stella begins walking out the door. “It revolves around you! Everything I do is for you, Stella.”

Stella looks at Harry longingly, as if she wishes that the words were enough to make her stay. “If your world revolved around me, Harry, then you would’ve been there, and I wouldn’t be walking out the door, right now.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Knocking on Stella’s door came early, a bright seven in the morning with the sun freshly risen, a few hours before she was meant to meet River at the studio. They were meant to rehearse for a few hours at the studio, before Stella would go to the gym and meet Harry for his training for the match that was in a few week’s time. That Stella knew. That was all in Stella’s mind as she wrapped a robe around her figure and hurried to the front door where the knocking was incessant and repetitive.

This, though. This, Stella had no idea about. 

Stella opened the door, dazed and confused by River’s appearance, hurrying him inside and making a cup of coffee for them both. River had a bruise the size of a fist on his cheek, and a scrape along his forehead that makes it seem like he was smacked into the ground.

Immediately, Stella knew. Stella Smalls instantly knew who the culprit was and why it was happening. It made her furious. Harry always had a bit of a temper, a bit of a jealousy issue when they were together, but it was never anything that she couldn’t handle by herself. This, though, was too much.

“Look Stella, I love you. I love you as my friend,” River says softly, taking a sip of the coffee she’s set in front of him apologetically and running his finger around the rim. “I love you as a dancer, I love you as a partner, I do. I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”

“River,” Stella says hesitantly, knowing exactly where he’s going with his sentence, going exactly where she doesn’t want him to go. This could ruin her life, her chances at winning the title, of opening her own studio this year. This could ruin everything. All because of Harry.

“I can’t be your partner anymore, Stella.” There, River said it. Stella knew that was going to be it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting like a bitch. “Can’t be your partner, Stella, not if you’re going to be friends with Harry and he’s going to be around all the time. Harry is, quite frankly, Harry is a mess to deal with and a temper and a lot. Know that it’s not fair to make you choose, and I don’t plan on making you choose.” River is too good for Stella. Way too good. “I think you need to do this piece as a solo act for the world title. Stella, it’s so good. It really is. You’re going to perform it wonderfully on stage.”

“Except you can’t do it with me,” she says, toying with the rings on her fingers and clenching her knuckles together into fists, fighting the urge to smack her hand against the marble counter.

“Right,” he says regretfully, dipping his head to his chest and letting the air puff out between his lips. “I’m so sorry, Stella.”

“I, um, I think I need to be alone,” Stella sighs, saying every word with regret and shame and anger, sadness lacing every syllable. “I don’t understand, not really, but I’ll try to. Honestly, though, I just want to be alone, right now.”

River simply nods quietly and stands from the barstool at her kitchen counter, walking towards the entryway of her apartment and opening the front door. “I’ll see you at the studio?”

“Mhm,” she hums without saying a word, discontentedly drawing a circle around the rim of her mug and not daring to look away from the ceramic cup in her hands. 

“Bye, Stella,” River says as he walks out the front door, regret and sadness lacing his voice. Stella wants to punch him in the other eye for feeling pity for her. He should’ve been stronger, acted tougher, not let Harry get to him. Maybe Harry should’ve left him alone. “I’m sorry.”

Her head slowly nods and her eyes stay cast on the marble counter that she’s leaning on. Stella doesn’t want River to see her cry. Angry cry, that is. 

All of Stella’s anger is channeled towards Harry. All of it. Every ounce. There is not one bone in her body that isn’t infuriated with Harry Styles, that wants to punch him in the face and yell until her cheeks turn blue. Harry ruined her chance at the World Title by doing this. He’s ruined her chance at opening her own studio. He’s ruined it. 

Harry is at the gym, that’s easy to know. He always is. This calms Stella, knowing exactly where to go and what to do. Maybe not what to say, but that will come with her anger as she ruminates in the frustration. Stella wipes her tears from her cheeks, readies herself for the day - which includes wearing one of his training shirts and jeans and trainers - and hurries along to the gym down the street, rushing inside and bursting through the doors to see the man of the hour, pummeling away at a free-standing punching bag, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

“Harry Styles,” Stella shouts, walking in and commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Harry Edward Styles!”

“H,” Mack says, ripping an earphone from Harry’s ear and nodding towards where his ex-girlfriend is angrily walking towards them, hands balled into fists. “Got a visitor. An angry one.”

“Stell, what are you doing here so early?” Harry wonders confusedly, brushing his hair away from his forehead and sucking in a deep breath, slowly taking the gloves off his fists and tucking them under his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Stella scoffs, throwing her head back in a thick and pained laugh and lifting her hands in the air with a smack to her thighs. “Am I okay? River quit today. Quit the whole fucking routine. All because someone made one too many threats about being with me.”

“Have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry shrugs, walking away and pushing the door into the Men’s Locker Room open, waiting for the yelling to diminish, especially considering how many people were staring in the center of the gym. He reaches his locker, ignoring the calling of his name behind him and opens his locker, shoving his gloves and mouth guard into the metal container and taking a towel and wiping the sweat clinging to his forehead. His hand slams against the locker next to him, causing a banging sound to resound through the quaint space. 

“Don’t walk away from me, Harry,” Stella shouts from outside the locker room door, waiting rather impatiently for him to exit, and when he doesn’t in a near thirty seconds, she’s storming inside after him, ignoring the calls and squeamish shouts from the grown men changing in the midst of the room. “Fuck, Harry, you’re such an asshole, you know that! Making my partner quit on me, three months before my competition!”

“Awfully cozy with someone that’s just your partner, Stella,” Harry says sarcastically, drawing out every syllable and taking a step away from the locker, and standing with his hands on his hips as he stares at her, taking in the beauty that she gives off so effortlessly. “Not to mention, I didn’t make him quit. I simply said that he needed to take a step back. Coming to my fights with you. Kissing you. Making a show with you. That’s not what a partner does.”

“Harry, I’m not your girl anymore! I’m not someone you get to be jealous over and fight over! Get that through your thick head!” she screams angrily, huffing a breath and ignoring the stares that she’s receiving as the remainder of the men in the locker room leave the two to argue quietly.

Harry cracks open his locker and reaches for his water, his eyes falling to the photographs that are still stuck on the inside of the metal door. “Of course, that’s what you think, Stella, but, you’ll always be my girl.”

Harry can’t shut the locker door before Stella sees the photostrip, the three photographs of the two of them from their anniversary two years ago. “Is that?” Her eyes well with tears at the thought, the photographs that she searched high and low for after their breakup to try and hide away with all of the other things that she saved in a wooden box beneath her bed, all the photographs and memories that she wanted to keep for the day they, maybe, got back together like she had thought about, at first. “Have you kept them all this time?”

“Not like you were going to want them anymore,” Harry says spitefully, slamming his locker shut and walking towards where she is, setting his hands on either side of the locker that she’s standing against and holding her between his arms. “Not like you wanted me anymore.”

“Harry, don’t,” she says sadly, slinking beneath his arms and walking towards the locker, turning his birthday in the pin and opening the combination, her hands reaching for the photostrip and running her fingers along the tattered photographs, reminiscing sweetly on the memory. “Did you know I looked everywhere for these? I wanted them.”

“Wanted them for what, Stella? To what? Throw out?” Harry is angry, clenching his hands into fists and getting ready to take the photograph out of her hands before she can take them and run away with them. That’s the last thing that he has of Stella that isn’t broken and shoved in a bin beneath his mattress. That’s the last thing he has left of when his Lucky Star was his.

“No,” Stella sniffles, wiping her eyes and sticking the photograph back on the metal wall of the locker door. “I wanted to keep it for when we got back together, you prick. I thought, I thought we’d get back together. I didn’t think we’d stay apart.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Stella,” Harry warns, stepping around the bench separating them and leaning one hand on the locker next to Stella’s head, her thumbs tracing over the photographs where she’s hiding in his neck laughing and he’s holding her tightly, the one where they’re kissing and smiling and they look happy, because they were. Harry and Stella were so happy together. Harry softens looking at the tears on her cheeks, and cautiously leans forward to wipe a stray tear from her skin. “Stella Grace, look at me.” 

Cautiously, Stella lifts her head and meets Harry’s stare, his intense green eyes staring back at her longingly and - dare she say - lovingly, his thumb going under her chin and holding her face to his. “What, Harry? I’m not sure what else you could possibly want from me. Especially now, when I have no duet partner and the World Title is only three months away. You’ve royally fucked me over, Harry.”

“I am so sorry, Stella. I didn’t think River would quit.” Stella looks at Harry knowingly, threateningly, as if to say, I will leave if you don’t tell me the truth, and that whips Harry into shape. Harry can’t let her leave. This is selfish of him, of course it is. Harry loves Stella. Love can be selfish sometimes. Can’t it? “Okay, well, I hoped he would. I wasn’t thinking about you, though. That was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I love you, Stella. I act selfish and stupid when I think about you with someone else. It makes me do crazy things. Stupid things. Tell me what I have to do to make it right, Stella.”

Stella thinks for a minute, really contemplating all that Harry has said and how she feels and the emotions that are rushing through her in that moment, everything feeling a bit too much and like she needs to break away and find herself in the studio dancing over and over until she can make sense of everything. That’s what Stella does - Stella dances to make sense of everything. That’s when it hits her.

“Dance with me.”

“Huh?” Harry chokes out, shaking his head immediately and wondering how in the hell Stella came up with that as what he needed to do to win her over. “Stella.”

“Harry, you need to dance with me, or you need to leave me alone. That’s it.”

[adhd-disaster-willie]

you're the one that brings the sun; chapter 1/6

Summary: Alex is prepared for every single variable except, apparently, the one in which his roommate is drop dead gorgeous and Alex is an absolute clusterfuck of a human being who falls for the first pretty boy on he sees on campus.

Willex roommate au! 

Warnings: Swearing

Notes: The title is from the song “I Dare You” by the Regrettes. I’ve actually planned this fic out so here’s to hoping I don’t get burned out halfway through. It might end up having 6 or 7 chapters, 5 is kind of just an estimate.

---

When Alex was 11, his mother proudly plastered his report card to the fridge and exclaimed that one day, her little boy would go to Harvard. His father gripped his shoulder with pride and Alex beamed up at his parents like they’d just told him he had superpowers. 3 years later, he was 14 and teetering on the edge of failure in the majority of his classes. He wasn’t stupid by any means, just preoccupied. He’d started a band with his best friends and that felt like the most important thing in the whole world, and high school was new and scary, so it was easier to not pour all his focus into school. His parents’ smiles faltered but they kept up hope, Alex could tell. 2 years later, he stood shaking and crying outside of the Molina’s garage and suddenly, the concept of going to college begun to feel distant and fake. But he’s 18 now, and somehow, miraculously, gazing at the piles of boxes in the back of Ray’s car and swallowing down a lump in his throat.

It sure isn’t Harvard, but a part of Alex feels giddy at the fact that he’s attending a public college that was relatively easy to get into; oh his parents would be rolling in their proverbial graves. What didn’t make him quite so happy though, was the looming fact that he’d be living with some random person, because for some godforsaken reason, the college wouldn’t allow freshmen to choose their roomates. Some bullshit about meeting new people and socializing.

“Hey, ‘Lex. Dude, you’ll be fine.” Luke shakes his shoulders, before swinging one arm around him and the other around Reggie.

“Says the one who isn’t even going to college,” Alex grumbles, slipping from Luke’s grip and into the front seat of the car.

“Yea cause I don’t need it. Not my fault you’re both nerds,” Luke retorts.

“I’m not a nerd, I just like to have insurance-”

“Yea, back-up plan, safety net, heard it a million times. Reggie’s a nerd though.”

“Old news, dude,” Alex says.

“I am not a nerd!” Reggie protests indignantly.

“Tell that to your 2 years of college credit in math.”

Luke nods in agreement. “Nerd.”

“Math is fun!”

“You’re horrible.” Alex makes a mock gagging noise.

Julie comes bounding out of the house, her arms decked with various baked goods. She tosses herself in the backseat beside Reggie and Luke, looking quite pleased with herself at being able to force Luke to sit in the middle. “Tía was apparently up all night baking,” she explains, passing the sweets up to Alex. “Don’t be surprised if she shows up at your dorm with food every day.”

Alex snorts. “I would not object to that.”

Julie sighs, leaning back in her seat. “You guys are so lucky, I’m tired of high school. Damn September birthday,” Julie grumbles. Her birthday is just after the cut off date, so she would be 18 for the majority of senior year, but is just barely too young to be in the same grade as the boys.

Reggie leans over and pats her arm sympathetically, earning an offended squeak from Luke, who’s only pushed further into the back of the seat.

“Don’t worry!” Alex chirps sarcastically. “You get to spend more time with Luke, since he’ll be squatting in your garage!”

“Oh, joy,” Julie deadpans.

“I am not a squatter!” Luke protests, kicking the back of Alex’s seat.

“No kicking! I’m holding food!”

“Y’know Alex, you’ve been staying in the studio for 2 years, you’re not one to talk!” Luke argues.

“I have a job.”

“A stupid job.”

“A stupid job that gets you free coffee.”

Reggie nodds to that, chewing on a cookie. “Can’t risk losing your coffee privileges.”

Julie groans loudly and stuck her head out the window. “DAAAAD! Let’s goooo!” She cries.

“Wow, I didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me so badly,” Alex says, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oh shut up Lexi, I just wanna meet your’s and Reggie’s new best friends!” Julie says, laughing.

“I’m not gonna be best friends with my roommate.”

“Yea, Alex forgot how to do that!”

“Luke I will smother you in your sleep!”

At this, Ray approaches the car with a raised eyebrow. “No one’s planning a murder, I hope?” He asks, chuckling as he slides into the drivers seat.

“No sir!” Reggie replies, grinning.

“Not yet,” Alex mumbles under his breath.

“Alright boys, who’s ready for college!” Ray says, starting the car.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

---

“And that’s the last of it!” Ray claps a hand over Alex’s shoulder and smiles encouragingly.

Alex nods tensely, gripping the strap of his fannypack tighter.

The dorm’s probably as good as he’s gonna get. One reasonably sized bedroom complete with two horribly uncomfortable beds, a kitchen with a fridge that was in no way large enough to fit even a weeks worth of meals, a tiny living room that would probably fit a couch and a TV at the most, and a bathroom that smelled suspiciously of mustard. Really it isn’t terrible, but Alex has a habit of noticing every little detail, especially the ones that could be a problem at some point. His roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so he’s standing amongst his various boxes, anxiety pulsing in his chest.

Julie grips his hand tightly and smiles, tears pricking the edges of her eyes. “Hey, Alex, you’re gonna be okay.” She squeezes his hand briefly.

Alex nods, exhaling shakily. “Yea, yea I know. It’s just…”

“A change, I know. But this is a good change. And-” she hauls Reggie and Luke over to them. “-we’re all here if you need to call someone and talk. And dad, and Tía, and I bet your roommate will be super cool.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“Just pray he’s not a football player,” Reggie stage-whispers, shuddering.

“God, don’t even suggest that!” Alex whines.

Encouragements and teary hugs are passed along, as well as a promise to meet at the Olive Garden nearby for dinner in a few hours, and then Alex’s posse is off to get Reggie settled, and Alex is left alone in the dorm. Alright.

Alex takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before beginning to wander the dorm. He’s anxious to start unpacking without his roommate and risk doing something that they wouldn’t like. Even choosing a bed feels wrong, he really doesn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with this person. But leaving the dorm meant people everywhere so that was a definite no. He sighs, lowering himself to the wooden floor and pulling out his phone.

“Yea… uh huh. Yes Caleb, I got here fine. No the Uber driver did not try and kidnap me. The boxes- the boxes are not too heavy. Okay. Okay. Yea, bye. Mhm.”

Alex looks up hesitantly upon hearing the voice nearing his dorm. The person standing in the doorway is well… less of a person and more of a large stack of boxes threatening to fall over any second. “Hello?” Alex stands up and makes his way to the boy stood in the entrance.

Said boy pokes his head out from behind his boxes and grins crookedly. “Hi, uh, I’m Willie!” And well, Alex is a goner. He swallows thickly, breath catching in the back of his throat. Willie attempts to adjust the boxes but ultimately fails, sending them tumbling to the ground amongst several muttered curses. “Well… nothing fragile in there,” he falters slightly. “I think.”

“Um…”

“Right! Sorry, uh.” Willie holds his hand out and Alex shakes it tentatively.

“Alex.”

“Alex, cool.” Willie smiles again, his dark eyes twinkling as he does so, smile lines popping out. He brushes his hair -which looks so soft and pretty- behind his ear to reveal a small golden hoop on his right lobe. Alex is dead, actually 100% dead. Because he’d been prepared for every single variable except, apparently, the one in which his roommate is drop dead gorgeous and Alex is an absolute clusterfuck of a human being who falls for the first pretty boy on he sees on campus.

Alex forces out a smile, all too aware that he’s still standing stiff and awkward in front of Willie, his grip on his fannypack tight enough to make his knuckles glow white. Then Willie coughs as some sort of attempt to fill the silence. “Sorry!” Alex squeaks. “Do you need help with the… the uh, boxes?”

“Oh yea, that’d be great!” Willie replies, beaming. “I don’t think there’s anything fragile in there, but y’know, my memory is absolute shit so if I broke some fancy china dishes I didn’t even know I owned, don’t be too shocked.”

Alex laughs anxiously. “Yea uh… I didn’t start unpacking cause I um… I didn’t want to claim a bed and stuff with-without your input?” His voice cracks at the end and he winces because Jesus fucking christ Alex.

Willie chuckles and Alex notes that he has the kind of laugh that echoes through your whole body and settles right in your heart. “ ‘S cool, man, I don’t mind.”

“Right, cool. Do you uh… are you okay if I take the bed farthest from the window? I’m not- not much of a morning person, and the window is… it’s east facing” Alex mutters, his gaze focused on his feet which are rocking back and forth at a rapid pace.

“Yea, of course,” Willie replies. “I don’t think I’ve woken up later than 8 in 5 years.”

“That’s horrific!” Alex cries, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. He steps back and blushes an even deeper red upon realizing how stupid he’s being. “I mean- I just… sorry, I just meant that-”

“You’re good, dude. I don’t bite.”

Alex cracks a tentative smile. “So uh… I’ll just start unpacking then.”

Willie shoots him a thumbs up and smiles once again, which is a thing he apparently does a lot.

An hour later, Alex’s belongings are unpacked and organized and the room feels a bit more his. He feels slightly lighter, exhaling and closing his eyes briefly. This isn’t so bad. Fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he shuffles out into the living room where Willie is presumably unpacking. Except that he’s not.

Willie is laying upside down on a couch that somehow appeared while Alex was gone and he’s flipping through a tattered magazine while his belongings remain mostly unpacked.

“This quiz says that I should try roller skating,” Willie sniffs. “Some personality test this is- oh hey Alex!” He scrambles up so that he can look Alex in the eyes properly, and points to the magazine in his hand. “Found this in a box, not sure how it got there since I’ve never even subscribed to one of these, but there’s a chocolate chip cookie recipe in here.” He stops for a moment, pondering. “Personally I prefer peanut butter cookies, ooh especially fresh out of the oven. There’s this bakery near my house that-”

“Did you get… any unpacking done?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow.

Willie looks around at his boxes and laughs sheepishly. “Well I unpacked one and opened 3 so… some, yes.”

“Where’d the couch come from?” Alex pokes the cushion warily, as if afraid that it’s full of bugs.

“Room across the hall,” Willie says, pointing. “They both brought couches and didn’t have room for two we got the one with more stains.”

“Right.” Alex’s reply is forced and tense, and he winces upon realizing. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected his roommate to become so comfortable so fast and he felt like he was several steps behind. Damn extroverts. Drumming his hands against his thighs, Alex slowly sits down on the other side of the couch, pointedly looking ahead instead of at Willie.

“So.” Willie scoots closer, sitting cross legged with his elbows on his thighs and chin resting in his palms. “What’s your major?”

Small talk, god Alex hates small talk. “Um, music,” he answers.

“Ah, that’s cool dude.” Willie nods.

“Uh, what about you?” Alex asks.

“Art,” Willie replies, grinning. “Be prepared for paint stains, like, everywhere.” He chuckles and nudges Alex’s shoulder playfully. Alex is going to implode, he’s sure of it.

Alex laughs awkwardly. “So uh… what’s wrong with rollerskating?”

Willie shoves his shoulder again. “Everything, dude! Well-” he cuts himself off, thinking. “-I just kinda suck at it, definitely better at my skateboard.” He jerks his head in the direction of a skateboard leaned against the wall and Alex wonders how he didn’t notice that.

“Oh, that’s- that’s cool. I rollerblade but I uh, I can’t skateboard to save my life.”

Somehow, they slip into a comfortable rhythm, and Alex notes that his anxiety no longer has him in a chokehold. Willie seems to have that affect; he’s just so… open. Alex doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s subconsciously created a folder in the back of his mind labelled “Willie,” and he doesn’t think he’s capable of forgetting anything Willie will ever say to him.

“- that’s why airplane food is just, horrible. Cause you basically lose like 30% of your tastebuds because of the elevation.” Willie smiles at Alex, gaging his response.

Alex would rather die than admit that he’s still trying to figure out how the topic of airplane food came up, so he just nods enthusiastically, actively stopping his eyes from dancing across Willie’s face, which is practically glowing in the evening sun. Evening. Shit. Alex pulls out his phone frantically. “Shit.” He says it out loud this time.

Willie’s brow furrows in confusion. “You good, dude?”

“Uh yea I’m just, I’m supposed to be meeting my fam- uh my friends for dinner and I have to be there in like 5 minutes.” He ignores the way Willie’s expression falls, convinced he’s just seeing things.

“Yea um, of course. I won’t keep you.” Willie stands up, his posture the stiffest that Alex has seen it in the whole 3 hours they’ve been acquainted for. “I’ll just… order a pizza.”

Alex hesitates in the doorway, weighing his options, which has never been his strong suit. “Do you want to join me?” He blurts impulsively. Willie looks at him in surprise. “I mean only- only if you want of course, we’ve only really uh, known each other for a few hours and you- you probably don’t want to, it was stupid. I’ll just- I’ll just go-”

“No! I’d… I’d like to, eating pizza alone in the dark sounds a little pathetic,” Willie responds.

Alex smiles genuinely. “Ok, ok that’s uh. Cool. That’s cool.”

---

Alex is already regretting this. The restaurant isn’t too crowded, he notices with a relieved breath. But it’s loud. It’s loud and yet only one group of people is talking. Alex doesn’t even need to guess who.

“Ok but- no- no- the whole song would be better!”

“Say banjo one more time, I dare you!”

“Banjo.”

“Julie, what the hell?! This is betrayal!”

“You stole my breadstick, it’s only fair.”

Alex coughs, quieting the table to a dull roar.

“Alex!” Julie pulls him down to sit next to her. “Oh? Who’s this?” Reggie is grinning wickedly and Luke waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes Alex want to shave them off.

“This is uh, my roommate Willie,” Alex responds, his voice raising an octave. “He didn’t have plans so I uh… I invited him, I hope that’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok!” Julie pats the space on the other side of Alex and Willie sits down, appearing… oddly nervous.

“Congrats! Your Alex’s first new friend since,” Luke taps his chin, pretending to think. “7th grade.”

Alex’s face promptly falls into his hands. He’s seriously considering the whole, shaving Luke’s eyebrows in his sleep thing.

Reggie leans forward conspiratorially. “What’s your opinion on banjos?” He asks, making a point to ignore Luke’s dramatic complaining.

Willie raises his eyebrows, clearly confused. “Um. No comment?”

“I’m… sorry about them,” Alex says apolegetically. “Uh, this is Luke, Reggie, and Julie-” he gestures to each of them; Reggie waves, beaming happily. “-and Julie’s dad should be…” He trails off, looking around.

“He had to take a phone call, something about Carlos refusing to eat dinner until he proves the house is haunted,” Julie explains, clearly biting back a laugh.

“I… okay.” Alex shakes his head. “Are we waiting for more food or did Reggie eat it all?”

“Ha ha,” Reggie punctuates his statement by sticking out his tongue. “We’re waiting for the actual meals-”

“Yea Luke already ate the entire bread basket.” Julie shoots a glare in Luke’s direction.

“Well… you suggested we get hotdogs,” Luke grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Payback.”

“Okay,” Julie laughs.

Willie leans over to whisper loudly to Alex, “What’s the story with the hotdogs?”

“Don’t tell him!” Luke cries, leaning across the table and slamming his palms down.

“We don’t talk of the hot-dogs,” Reggie mutters miserably.

“Food poisoning.” Alex shudders slightly. “Very bad food poisoning.”

“We almost died,” Reggie says, eyes widening. “Like, for real death. I’m pretty sure I was a ghost for a few seconds.”

“Reg, you were not a ghost,” Alex says, speaking like Reggie’s a 10 year old talking about monsters under his bed.

“I was!”

“You were not!”

“So,” Luke smiles mischievously, taking Reggie and Alex’s bickering as an opportunity to apparently torture the latter. Despite Alex’s warning glares, he turns to Willie with an innocent expression. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Luke,” Alex hisses, all too familiar with Luke’s antics.

“Hmmm.” Willie is painfully oblivious to Alex’s panicked expression as he mulls over his answer. “A lot of stuff really.” He shrugs. “Rock, pop, I like those lo-fi playlists when I’m trying to study.”

Luke nods, clearly pleased with the answer, but he isn’t done and Alex wants to hide under the table. He knows what’s coming next. “Thoughts on… drummers?”

“Luke.” Alex is seconds from lunging across the table.

“Drummers?” Willie asks, tilting his head confusedly.

“Yup,” Luke says, popping the p and still smiling like he’s some sort of innocent puppy-dog and not an absolute bastard.

“Hot,” Willie jokes. Alex can’t even hide the way he manages to choke on his own spit, and Luke and Reggie have never been great at subtlety, turning to Alex with matching shit-eating grins. Willie either doesn’t notice or is kind enough not to comment on it. “Yea, pretty sure young Roger Taylor was my gay awakening.”

Reggie is full on giggling now, and Alex’s entire face is gleaming a bright red. Willie glances around the table, puzzled.

“Mhm.” Luke nods before swiftly turning to Alex. “Hey Alex, by the way, you left your drumsticks in the car, do you need them back?” His voice is sickeningly sweet, coated in some sort of poisoned honey. It’s Willie’s turn to choke on nothing, failing to disguise it as a spontaneous coughing fit.

“Fine,” Alex squeaks as he sinks further down in his seat. If he pulls out his phone and messages Luke a flurry of threats, that’s no one’s business. He dares a glance at Willie, who has become quite fascinated with his hands, which are tapping out a mindless rhythm on the table, his cheeks and the tips of his ears dusted red.

Needless to say, Alex makes sure Luke doesn’t even get to look at the next bread basket.

---

I hope you liked it! Tell me if you want to be added to the taglist :)

I’m hoping to update at least once a week, but who knows. Ok thats all.

chapter 2

Chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

[maybedefinitely404]

For You Became My Lighthouse (Part 2)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: argument, crying, a decent dose of awkward but it gets resolved!

Word count: 4.1k

Comment: This is the fourth time I’ve tried to post this--- Part 1 HERE!

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

Roman ran a hand through his hair at the message, checking the time at the top of the screen. It was late, far too late, so it was safe to assume that Logan had heard about the spat from Virgil. He should have been home by now. It was just… impossible to convince himself to actually leave the rehearsal studio. He had a younger acting class tomorrow and was perfecting his lesson plan- even though he already knew it was perfect, and his director had already approved it. Just, anything to keep him from going home.

He’d been a dick. Such was obvious; from the second his finger had hit send, he regretted approximately everything in his life that had led to this moment. That day had been particularly bad, overrun with rehearsals he was either taking part in or directing, and gearing up for tech week of a large production. Who knew trying to block a scene with a flurry of pre-teens could take so much out of you? Rinse and repeat the cycle with two more classes to teach back to back and an achingly long dance rehearsal, add in a desperate and fruitless search for a replacement lead in his upcoming directorial debut, and you’d have what Roman would categorize as a “shit show of a day”. 

All he wanted to do at the end of it was spend some time with his boyfriend, without having to talk about his day, so he’d suggested the most basic date his fried brain could conjur. Then his work desk was unceremoniously reacquainted with his forehead as he smacked it into the wood, letting out a groan that bordered on a yell. Luckily, minutes ago everyone had abandoned the theatre, and he’d been trusted with the keys to lock up from a stagehand. He just had a couple more things to do, and then he could drive home. 

Getting a reply of denial from Virgil was nothing new. In fact, he’d been warned in the transition from reluctant acquaintanceship to inevitable friendship, that he tended to veto ideas if they were sudden, or too daunting, or if he was just feeling shitty. It was something that Roman never considered a deal breaker, and he’d slowly come to much rather enjoy a night of cuddling and watching television than going out anyways. Call it ‘getting old’, call it ‘Virgil’s homebody ways creeping into his psyche’. So usually, getting his plans rejected was no big deal. 

Except for today, when he was well and past his limit of frustration, and things not going to plan. He’d typed out and sent the snarky reply far before he’d thought it out whatsoever, and ranted out complaints that hadn’t ever crossed his mind before, which he immediately regretted. In a moment of shame so great it caused physical nausea, he tossed his phone into one of his desk drawers and slammed it shut. 

It buzzed once, twice, and then went silent. 

Until, of course, it began to go berserk an indecipherable amount of time later, and Roman couldn’t ignore it. Seeing Logan’s text, along with about a million missed calls from him and Patton, broke the fragile sense of calm he’d tried to achieve while working. 

He didn’t want to go home and face his consequences. Childish, yes. Well deserved, also yes, but he was afraid of Virgil’s inevitable anger. If this led to a breakup, a fight that wasn’t recoverable, he’d never forgive himself. 

And now…

Roman, is everything alright?

-Logan

I can see you’ve read my text message.

-Logan

I’m at work. 

You’re inconceivably moronic. Get home. Now.

-Logan

Roman sighed heavily through his nose, clenching his jaw. He began typing out another snarky response- because apparently he never learned- when another text came through.

Virgil was in significant distress last I spoke to him and he has stopped answering me and Patton. Go. Home.

-Logan

Please. If not for my sake, then for Virgil’s.

-Logan

Fuck.

Roman barely had the sense to lock the doors of the building in his rush, throwing the spare key back in through the mail slot and booking it to his car. He sent some sort of confirmation that he was going and tossed the phone to his back seat. Virgil hated when he used it while driving.

It was only on the drive back, on unusually empty roads, did he realize it was well past nine. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing by.

Most of the lights in the apartment complex were still on when he pulled into the car park, but their window visible on this side showed only darkness. He wasn’t used to entering a dark apartment.

Their flat was silent, the living room only illuminated by the oven clock and the dim city lights from the balcony. He toed off his shoes as silently as he could, wincing when he kicked their shoe rack, and decided he’d risk turning on the light. When he finally found the switch and flicked it on, he couldn’t help his gasp. 

The room had once been a pristine display, he could tell. A white table cloth adorned their usually bare dining room table and a half burned candle stood as its centrepiece. He approached it in a daze, cautiously resting a hand on the plate of ravioli nearest to him. Cold. Long cold; the pasta was starting to get crusty. 

He picked up the two plates, intent on throwing out the food. It definitely wasn’t safe to eat anymore, and he didn’t feel like warding off an attack of ants in the morning. One of the towels hanging off the oven handle was drenched in what looked like marinara sauce, and it looked like there was some more spilled in the crack between the stove and the counter. That would be fun to clean. 

Both hands full, he opened the cupboard containing the garbage bin with a socked foot, and promptly froze. 

Part of him cringed at the clang the dropped plates made on the counter, but the louder part of him was just repeating a mantra of ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ and it was considerably out-screaming the other. Hands now shaking, Roman picked up the small box from the sink edge, ignoring the dried, crunchy texture of more tomato sauce on the outside, and opened it. 

It took every ounce of strength for Roman not to collapse to his knees, guilt instantly crushing the air from his lungs, a thousand times heavier than it had been before. An elaborate dinner, a ring… there had been a plan. That’s why Virgil had rejected his offer to go out. 

And he’d been such a dick to him. 

Speaking of which, where was he?

Roman closed the box and set it back where it had been. Their bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the most obvious place Virgil would be, so he padded over and creaked it open just a bit more. The light from the hallway cast a beam onto the bed, illuminating first a mess of hastily thrown clothes; his button up shirt he only used for fancy occasions on top of the pile. 

Virgil’s huddled form was easy to make out, curled away from the door, his only movement being the steady rise and fall of the blanket as he breathed. Figaro lifted his head from where he was settled in the crook of Virgil’s knees and gave Roman an indifferent mrow. 

He couldn’t get into bed with him. There was no scenario where that was the right move. It wasn’t the right time to talk about what had happened, not so late and when they were both riding high on emotions and tiredness, so accidentally waking Virgil was not the way to go. And even if he was sneaky enough to not wake him… a part of him just felt it was wrong. Not when he didn’t know Virgil’s stance on him at the moment.

Or his stance on the relationship.

Well, couch it was. He acknowledged the crumpled weighted blanket and sound blocking headphones- clear aftermath of a bad panic attack- with a quiet curse. Somehow that pit in his stomach got even bigger, making him nauseous as his shame took a physical form. 

He could only pray that they would come back from this. 

Roman’s sleep was fitful, to say the least. At best, he drifted into a state of half-consciousness, where his thoughts could be somewhat quieted down, but the discomfort of the couch and the heavy weight in his heart were still palpable. Inevitably, one of their neighbors would make a noise or the building would make a settling creak or a distant dog would bark, and the state would be broken, leaving Roman wide awake and wracked with guilt once more. He’d never noticed how loud the world was until he wanted nothing more than for the noise to stop. 

The sun was just peaking into the window when their bedroom door widened and Roman flew up, using the back of the couch to steady his sudden sitting position. When their eyes met from across the room, Virgil in his pajamas and face hidden in shadow, a tenseness settled over the room that neither had experienced in their relationship thus far. Virgil froze in the doorway, wavering slightly. It didn’t appear he wanted to be the one to break the silence. 

Roman stood slowly, as though not to spook him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Virgil whispered with a sniff, and even in that one word Roman could hear the scratchiness of his voice. “I just...uhm,” He cleared his throat, “I just wanted to get some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was already awake. No… no worries.” 

Virgil looked down to his feet. “When did you come back?”

“I think just before ten.”

“‘Kay.”

For an all too long moment, both of them seemed to find interest in every part of the room that wasn’t the other’s eyes. It wasn’t until Roman looked towards the kitchen in his awkwardness did he process what Virgil had come out for. 

“I’ll, um…” He pointed weakly to the kitchen and finally convinced his feet to move, filling up a glass from the sink while making a conscious effort to not look at the dishes or wasted food from the evening before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the way his gaze drifted towards the box sitting next to the tap, and judging by Virgil’s sharp inhale, the look hadn’t been subtle. 

He took the glass back to the other, watching him take it with an uncomfortable, “Thanks.”

Virgil downed the glass in one go, his shaking hands almost causing him to spill. He barely had time to take a breath before Roman had zipped the empty glass back onto the counter.

“Do you want more?” He asked, already refilling the glass.

“No, I’m… it’s okay.” 

Roman placed the full glass on the counter quietly and the two were swallowed by heavy silence once again. The clock ticked impossibly loud as they stood, fidgeting, wanting this moment to be over but not wanting to be the one to start it. 

Virgil took a shuddering breath and wrung his hands together.

Roman stared resolutely at a single water drop making its way down the glass.

This was his fault. He’d started it. It seemed only right that he break the tension that almost suffocated him, so even as his mind screamed for him to shut up and every muscle in his body turned to liquid, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Virgil, I-”

“I’m sorry.”

That effectively stopped Roman in his tracks. All night, he’d crafted a collection of apologies, from eloquent monologues to stumbling pleas for forgiveness, but in not one of his countless scenarios had Virgil apologized. 

“I know… I know I can be a lot to handle, I know, I swear. And I was more outgoing when we first met, because I thought I had something to prove and it always exhausted me and I hated it but then we became… I don’t know, official? And closer and… and more comfortable and I didn’t think I had to do that anymore, I didn’t have to keep pushing myself so far!”

“V, stop-”

“The panic attacks and the anxiety and all that shit are a lot for other people and I know that but I didn’t know it was too much for you, I didn’t know you were tired of that and I can be better, I swear, I swear I can go back to how I was in the beginning, just please don’t leave.”

Virgil let out a choked sob and Roman couldn’t stop himself from rushing forward, intent on holding his stupid, stupid boyfriend until he realized this was in no way his fault, only for Virgil to back up before he could do so.

“I’m- I’m not trying to guilt you, I’m sorry, I just, I love you, and I can be better, I can, just give me a chance, please-”

“Virgil, baby, come here.”

This time when he reached forward, Virgil allowed himself to be pulled into his boyfriend’s chest, basically collapsing against him as soon as Roman’s arms tightened around him. The dam broke moments later and Virgil finally let go of his own hands to grab the back of Roman’s shirt with a sense of urgency.

“Please don’t leave, I’m so sorry,” he begged raspily into Roman’s shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

Roman hung onto him almost as tightly in return, rocking them back and forth, finally allowing himself to cry. He shoved his face into Virgil’s hair, peppering small kisses and apologies to the crown of his head in between sobs. 

Virgil whined when Roman finally pulled away, but he didn’t go far, cradling his boyfriend’s face in his hands and wiping his tacky cheeks with his thumbs.

“Virgil, I cannot apologize enough for yesterday.”

“What are-” he hiccuped, “What are you talking about? It was my fault.”

“No, no, no no no no no,” Roman whispered, fighting that damn lump in his throat once more. “I had a spectacularly shitty day, and I took it out on you. I was leagues out of line. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m so, so unbelievably sorry.” 

As if the strings were cut on a marionette, all the tenseness dissolved from Virgil’s shoulders and he slumped forward, bumping his head weakly into Roman’s chest. “Can we sit down?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman clumsily led him to the couch and sat on the adjacent cushion, assuming that if Virgil wanted to talk, he’d want his own space. His assumption was incorrect, however, judging by how Virgil crossed the space almost instantly and buried himself in Roman’s side like a koala. He shifted them both until he was laying on his back, Virgil splayed across him .

“I thought you’d be more upset with me,” He muttered, freeing his hand to run it through Virgil’s hair. His fingers raked through his own tears trapped in the locks and he grimaced.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now,” responded Virgil, accompanied by a shuddering breath, “I just need to know that you’re really here. And I need you.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the sun begin to peek through their window, until Virgil spoke again sardonically.

“If this is a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Roman snorted despite himself and felt Virgil’s responding half-laugh from where he was tucked against him.  

“I agree. I thought I’d fucked up for good this time.”

A disgruntled meow made Roman crane his neck over the couch, watching Figaro stretch languidly in their bedroom doorway. The cat sidled over to his food bowl and sat pointedly next to it. Feed me. 

“Later, Figaro,” Roman groaned, all too comfortable with Virgil as his blanket. A small part of him was worried that if he moved them at all, the spell would be broken, and they’d lose whatever peace they’d settled into. 

Well, that wouldn’t do at all, not by Figaro’s standards. The cat gave an upset mewl and trotted over to the couch, leaping up with grace and batting Virgil’s legs. It was that pettish action that made Roman realize that Virgil had turned stone still on his lap. Figaro changed his approach to headbutting at his arm in a clear attempt to get pets, but Virgil’s hand stayed still by their sides. 

“What’s going through your head?” Roman murmured. 

“That stuff you said, about me… not contributing to the relationship…” Virgil croaked, and Roman stilled,  “What can I do to-… to fix that? Because I wanna fix it.”

“Baby, no,” Roman whispered, that shame-nausea returning, “I-” He groaned, dropping his head onto the arm of the couch behind him, “I was being an asshole. I didn’t mean that.”

Virgil didn’t budge, still deliberately ignoring Figaro’s futile begging for attention. “Then where did it come from?”

He took a breath deep enough that Virgil rose and fell with his chest, and Roman was struck with the profound urge to pull him closer and never let him go. But that would likely make him feel trapped, and that wasn’t productive. “You remember when I dragged you to that improv show my students put on last year?”

“You introduced me as your boyfriend and we found out the class had placed bets on whether you were gay or not. I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious.”

Roman gasped in mock offense. “Maybe they just were trying not to stereotype!”

“Your phone case is a rainbow-”

“Anyways!” He interrupted, resuming his gentle threading through Virgil’s hair, who snorted but otherwise gave in to the affection. “Remember what happened after?”

“Mmhm.”

It had been a fantastic show, and Roman had been exceedingly proud of his little students, especially since it was his first time ever teaching a class. After the night, when the betting chaos had settled and everyone quickly adopted Virgil as theirs now, they’d pleaded to play a few more improv games before the theatre closed. Seeing as it was their last class, hence the performance in the first place, Roman had acquiesced. But neither of the men had expected for the gang of pre-teens to latch onto Virgil and beg him to play too, despite him having zero theatre experience. 

“Remember what they said?”

“They tried to pack all your lectures into five minutes of information.”

“I don’t lecture, I dazzle.” 

“They thought you were straight.” 

“Only some, and that’s not the point!”

Virgil finally lifted his head, pulling his hands up so he could lay his chin on top of them. He smiled weakly. “Then what is the point?”

“The most important rule of improv is to keep the scene going. No matter what nonsense you have to pull out, just never leave a scene flat.”

There was a quiet moment while the other processed that before, once again, that layer of hurt reappeared on his face. He pushed himself off Roman’s chest in preparation to get up. “So… you’re saying you saw that argument as another scene you had to keep up.”

“No, shit, that came out wrong,” Roman insisted, and Virgil paused suspiciously, “I’m saying, that in a moment of panic, I fell back on bullshitting my way through it! That’s literally what I do for a living!” 

The distrust gave way to resignment and Virgil chewed on his cheek, turning his attention to the window. He sat all the way up on Roman’s legs, leaning back on his shins. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me right now?” He said. 

“Because,” Roman followed him up, careful not to move his legs and dislodge his boyfriend, “You know I like when the bed is made, and even though you hate making it, you always do when I’m out of the house before you.”

Virgil looked down at his thumb.

“Because you let me choose the music in the car.”

“... you don’t like loud music,” He muttered, picking at the skin around his cuticle.

“You adjust your work schedule to come to every single one of my shows.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, but you hate working mornings. You let me rant about all my theatre stuff, even if you don’t get any of it.”

“I’m learning.” A faint smile was breaking through.

“You tell me when there’s spinach in my teeth, or my hair is messy, or if I’m acting like an asshole.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.”

Roman reciprocated the smile at that, taking Virgil’s hands in his own to stop the attack at his nail. “I’ve been watching you better yourself for years, even if it’s been really, really hard.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Virgil asked with a small blush, switching his fidgeting tactic to fiddling with Roman’s fingers. 

“Every time you do something that betters yourself, you help us, Virgil.” He leaned forward slowly, giving Virgil the time to move away if he wanted to, and rested their foreheads together. “Yesterday, I fucked up. Badly. You said you were anxious and I still acted like a dick. I kinda thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Virgil whispered, seemingly before he had a chance to process it, because his blush multiplied tenfold. Roman grinned. 

“Aw, is someone feeling sappy?”

“Shut up, jackass,” He retorted, bonking their heads together ever so gently. 

“I’m so sorry, Virgil,” Roman said after their giggles and blushes had faded, “It won’t happen again, I swear.” 

In lieu of answering, Virgil closed the already scant distance between their lips, and despite Roman using all of his self control to not sigh into it, he found himself doing so anyways. All the tension bled out of his shoulders at once as Virgil pulled away, pressing one more peck to the tip of his nose, and then leaning back with a small smile. 

“So… that means we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Thank god,” Roman groaned, flopping back and dropping his arm over his eyes dramatically. He heard Virgil’s quiet snicker before he resumed his job as a blanket. Except this time, instead of nuzzling his head into Roman’s neck, he could feel the distinct edge of a chin digging into his sternum.

The hand lifted from his eyes to see Virgil staring at him, that goofy little smirk on his face. 

“What?”

“I love you, idiot.”

Well, now they were wearing matching goofy little smirks. 

“I love you too.” 

That seemed to satiate him, because he gave a little nod and laid his head more comfortably on the other’s chest. He could have left the conversation there, content to just let them lay there in peace until the world fell away- or Figaro grew more insistent on being fed- but Roman just couldn’t banish the one persistent thought in the back of his mind. 

“Were you actually going to propose?” He blurted.

Virgil tensed for a moment, and then gave a resigned sigh. “...Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Roman furrowed his eyebrows, desperately hoping he sounded casual, though his heart was pounding far too loudly to not be heard, “I would have said yes. If you did.”

“Oh?” Virgil lifted his head. “You’re blushing, Princey.” He could hear the smug grin.

“Nooo…” Roman whined. His arm draped once more over his eyes in a weak attempt to hide the redness, but he drew it away only moments later when Virgil didn’t retort. 

The man was staring at him with an odd mix of disappointment and amusement, huffing out a breath as he watched Roman’s eyes.

“This wasn’t how I was planning to propose,” He sighed, “It was supposed to be all perfect, and romantic, and stuff. And the surprise is ruined now.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Roman, continuing before Virgil could cut him off, “If it’s any consolation, I think a proposal in our pajamas, on the couch, would be very us.”

“You’re not in pajamas.”

“I slept in these clothes, they count as pajamas.”

Virgil snickered. Roman counted five breaths as the other’s face melted from a smile to anxiously knit brows, worrying his lip between his teeth as he looked down at him. It took another three for him to speak.

 “So…uh... will you…?”

Roman’s face split into a grin, “Yes, Virgil. Obviously.” 

Virgil’s expression morphed to match his and he swooped down to kiss him again, though they barely could with how much they were smiling. They both devolved into giggles, happy to just stay wrapped in each other’s arms, until Virgil broke away with a gasp.

“Let me grab the ring!”

“Ring can wait,” Roman argued, tightening his grip around his waist to keep him in place, “I want cuddles.”

And so they did.

Taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

@marshymoop

@larkiaquail

@noemiescuriosity

@mycatshuman

@cirishere

@vpow

@ray-does-stuff

@sirprplsnail

[marvelobsessedteenager]

All The Hurt - Chapter 1

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, Peter was an ass, reader is a hurt and petty bitch, fluff to make up for the angst, curse words, lots of “coincidences”, description of an explosion and blood.

Summary: Peter Parker. What a dick. It wasn’t always like this, but once he just got up and gladly left you for an unknown reason, you decided to bring hell down on him by publicly ridiculing him whenever you got the chance. However, when you accidentally find out what he's been hiding, conflicted feelings begin emerging, causing you to wonder if you could ever forgive him — especially when he saves your life.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/n: this came to me in a fucking dream so you bet I had to wake up and write this. It’s already completed hehe. I’m going to be posting the parts every day so stay tuned :D

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Never in your entire life would you have thought that there’d be a time when you’d willingly side with Flash. When you’d join him in bullying Peter, your best friend that you’d known since the both of you were shitting yourselves in diapers. Not a night goes by in which you don’t ask yourself why.

Why did he decide to break you?

The day he told you he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore was a day worse than finding out your father had cheated on your mother, prompting her to abruptly exit both your and your father’s lives when you were eleven. In all honesty, it felt like Peter took notes about suddenly leaving when you cried to him about your mother disappearing and used them to his advantage the summer before freshman year.

It was a pain like no other, a wound so hurtful your tear tank was constantly emptied every time you were alone in your room. There were too many nights where you’d lie awake with an ache in your chest - like someone dropped an avalanche on your heart and left it there to crush it.

Friendship breakups hurt like hell.

The days seemed to move slow and the nights even slower. You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d blankly stare at your collection of photos of the two of you with tear stricken cheeks.

You constantly wondered if he regretted it.

And if he did, you told yourself you’d forgive him. You’d go back to him, because you were sure he didn’t mean it. Excuses began piling up in your mind, each one not having enough evidence to be proven true; maybe he was going through something he didn’t want to talk about. Maybe someone in his life died, like when Uncle Ben suddenly passed away. He didn’t speak to you for a week and didn’t show up to school, and when you went over to check on him, he broke down in your arms as he apologized for ignoring you, but you understood.

You always did.

So, you waited, and waited, and waited. Waited for a call, a text, something. But nothing ever came. No phone calls — he ignored yours — no apologies, no explanation, nothing but radio silence. It was almost like you never existed in the first place.

Day by day your hope slowly faded, and by the 56th day, all of it was gone. You didn’t know how to feel. You were furious at him for abandoning you. You were heartbroken. You told yourself you were being overdramatic — it wasn’t like you were in a relationship together, no matter how much you wanted to be.

All he ever saw you as was a friend. But that was before it all happened. Now he probably didn’t see you as anything but a stranger.

A stranger with memories and secrets revolving him.

Hot anger was quick to take control of your mind, and soon you stopped your crying and tore down years worth of captured memories and pinned birthday cards he made you - all reminders of how much you loved him - and threw them into a box. You shoved it to the back of your closet, along with your dignity and love for him.

Four months after your ‘breakup', you came back different. Newfound confidence shone out of you with every step you made down Midtown’s hallways. Your smile radiated happiness as you felt everyone’s eyes lay upon you. You were able to fool yourself and others around you that nothing happened. Your heart knew better, but soon it’d turn to stone.

And you convinced yourself that you preferred it that way.

You moved on, found friendship in others, and although they never lived up to him, they were enough to fill part of the gaping hole in your heart.

Flash making amends with you was probably the most surprising and unexpected thing to have ever happened in the school. You two got along well, almost too well, and about halfway into the school year, you became good friends. You two weren’t as close as you and Peter once were, but you bonded over your absent parents in ways you didn’t know were possible.

You felt understood, and he the same.

Still, that didn’t stop you from seeing Peter in the hallways. You made it a point to walk past him like you didn’t know him — because apparently, you didn’t.

You kept watching him from a distance.

You watched him make goo-goo eyes at Liz while rolling your own.

You watched him dart out of school at exactly two forty-five every day. You saw the anxiousness in the way he bounced his leg during class, the tapping of his pencil on the desk, the constant glances he threw at the clock with every minute that passed. You wanted to ask, but you didn’t.

On a particular day, the same day you overheard him and Ned making plans to meet up at his house to build Legos, you decided to go to Delmar’s to grab a bite. You hadn’t been there since the breakup, as you were always too nervous in case Peter ended up going there at the same time, and now that there was a clearing, you took it. Even if he was there, you didn't care.

You don’t.

When you stepped into the store, you were immediately welcomed by the one and only Mr. Delmar. He looked good — happy and content, and that’s why you absolutely adored him. It wasn’t fair that you cut off ties with him because of Peter, but he didn’t seem to take it personally. He went on and on about how much taller you’ve gotten and reminisced about how little you were when you and Peter got your first flattened number five sandwiches with pickles.

He must’ve seen your smile falter at the mention of Peter, because his eyebrows furrowed in concern not a moment later, “Did something happen to you kids? I never see him come with you anymore.”

So he’s been coming without you.

Ouch. That’s another stab to the heart.

Your palms began to feel slick as you rubbed them on your jeans with a strained smile and a shaky voice, feeling as if the walls were closing in on you, “Uh-we-“

But you never got to finish. Mr. Delmar’s eyes widened at something behind you, and in a split second, he yelled, “Get down!” followed by a string of Spanish curse words.

A scream left your mouth as a purple wave of something ripped through the bodega, nearly missing you by a strand of hair as you ducked. Shattered glass scattered everywhere, digging into the skin of your arms in a multitude of places. You hissed at the burn you felt below your eye, feeling a heavy liquid (which you assumed was blood) trail down your cheek and neck. You felt intense heat near your legs and your vision became blurred, ears ringing as all other noises besides your breathing became muffled. You coughed and coughed, feeling like your lungs were closing in on themselves from the fire that surrounded you.

The light above you flickered as you attempted to shout Mr. Delmar’s name, praying that he was all right.

But your voice never left your throat.

Your legs were trapped below two giant shelves that collapsed on them, and you weren’t strong enough to move them no matter how many times you tried to. The fire slithered like a snake as it began climbing to where your legs were being held below the rubble.

“Help.” You weakly whispered in between your coughs. The air around you felt heavy and limited, and it was starting to feel like you were choking on the fumes. You didn’t know how much longer your lungs could take.

It was hot. So fucking hot.

Your eyes shut and your head fell back on the ground, chest heaving in fast paces as you felt your body give up already, a burning sensation spreading all over you, like your insides were set on fire.

Your face trickled with sweat that dripped down to your cheeks, mixing with your tears.

Just when all hope was gone, just when you thought you were done for, you felt the weight lift off of your legs in one sudden movement, and an arm slide beneath your knees and on your back, holding you tightly.

You looked up at your savior, and who else could it have been other than Spider-Man, New York’s knight in shining armor, and apparently yours, too. You heard part of what he seemed to be saying as he looked down at you: “…got…I…you” and you could’ve sworn you heard your name.

But then again, you were on the brink of death, so you were no doubt hearing things.

You laid your tired head on his chest, wheezing into his smooth suit as he ran and jumped away from the fire until he reached the outside. He gingerly placed you on the ground and made you lean back against a parked car, and you breathed in the cool night air as he crouched down to rub your back while you practically choked.

In front of Spider-Man.

How embarrassing.

You felt your head heavily fall back as you clutched your arm in pain, the distant sound of police sirens audible now. Your eyes landed upon his covered face that turned away when you looked at him - like he was staring at you until you caught him. You could see that he wanted to go somewhere in the way that his spidey-eyes were expanding and shrinking at the destroyed bank across the street. You moved to touch your legs, and by some miracle, they were just a little sore. You could manage on your own.

“Go,” you breathily said, making Spider-Man look down at you, “I’m okay.”

He hesitated for a moment and pivoted his head to your legs. You breathed out half a laugh, coughing again, “Dude,” you placed a hand on his shoulder and jutted towards your legs as you began moving them, “they’re fine. I’m fine. I know you wanna go somewhere. Just go after it.”

He stayed. For a long minute, just watching you breathe and tilt your head at him. You wondered what was going on in that brain of his, wondered how old he was, wondered where he went to school - if he even went to school. You were trying to formulate a way to thank him for saving you, but you didn’t get the chance to. He nodded and quickly he sprung away, making way for the paramedics and cops to inspect the scene.

You didn’t go to school for a whole week after the incident, as you were too busy reflecting on what had happened. You went over multiple scenarios and “what if’s” and tried not to dwell on the fact that you had to have your driver pick you up from the hospital, not your father. He was probably out of the country, like he always was.

When you finally returned to school, you had stitched up three areas, including one below your eye, and were bombarded with questions and a large group hug from your friends. Your phone was no doubt a goner, so they had no way of contacting you. Even when they tried to come over, your housekeeper, Jane, always the responsible adult, told them the doctor needed you to rest alone.

She knew you couldn’t handle people, and needed to recharge on your own. She was like the mother you never had. Even when Peter left, she stayed by your side and tried to cheer you up. She knew how strong your feelings were for Peter, but she didn’t question you, instead allowing you to grieve the way you wanted to - alone.

Your friends asked you about what happened, and their eyes sparkled when you told them the Spider-Man came to your rescue, their excitement cutting short once the bell rang. They all left to go to their classes after wishing you a quick recovery. All but one.

Flash stood in front of you, nibbling on his lower lip with a wobbling chin and glassy eyes.

“Are you..crying?” you squinted at him, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, wiping the stray tears before attacking you with a tight hug. You sighed deeply, feeling a nostalgic warmth spread through your chest as you placed your chin on his shoulder, arms circulating him and squeezing in a way that said "I’m here."

In class, you felt hardcore stares — stares that came from one person and one person only. You saw them from the corner of your eye, tracing the scar on your face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were laced with worry. But perhaps you hit your head too hard.

During gym class, the last class of the day, you were excused from exercises due to your near-death experience, so you watched and cheered Flash as he climbed the ropes, attempting to break his own record.

“48 seconds.” You stated, pausing the timer as he jumped to the ground and planted his hands on his knees, breathing hard.

He looked up at you with a deep frown, “Seriously? How did I get slower?”

You shrugged, “Maybe you should change your nickname, Eugene.” You smirked, taunting him with the name you knew he hated.

He breathed out a laugh as he shook his head. He was about to say something when Ned’s voice overpowered everyone else’s with one sentence: “Peter knows Spider-Man!”

Everybody went so silent you’d think the queen of England had just walked in.

The sound of balls being dropped and shoes squeaking echoed through the gym as all heads turned to Peter Parker, who nervously looked around and quickly stood up, “Uh, no! No, I don’t. I-I mean..”

He clumsily made his way over to Liz (go figure), whose face remained expressionless.

“They’re friends,” Ned said as a matter of factly.

“Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends,” Flash said, making a couple of people laugh, including you.

“I’ve met him, yeah, a-a couple of times. But it’s um, through the...Stark...Internship. I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” He gritted through his teeth as he threw daggers at Ned with wide eyes.

“Well, that’s awesome!” You piped in, your loud sarcasm breaking the silence that settled over the gym, "He’s a pretty cool guy, I’m sure Liz would love to meet him. Hey, maybe you should invite him to her party.”

“Yeah, I’m having people over tonight, you’re more than welcome to come.” Liz sweetly admitted, almost like she wanted him to come.

Ew.

“You’re having a party?” Peter said breathlessly, as if that wasn’t what you just said.

Flash gave Peter a snarling smile, “Yeah, it’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spider-Man.” He suggested, derision oozing out of his words.

“Um-“ Peter stammered, helpless eyes searching for assistance in your own. But you wouldn’t give him any sympathy. Not anymore. You stared back, cold as ice, and you knew he saw that. You merely gave him a raised eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

“It’s okay,” Liz said, breaking you and Peter’s eye contact, “I know Peter’s way too busy for parties anyways so..”

“Oh, come on, he’ll be there. Parker wouldn’t ditch.” You said, voice dripping with venom as you maintained eye contact with him and walked past Flash until you reached him. You stopped at his side, just enough to give him a deadly stare, “Right?”

You watched his Adam’s apple bob and eyes dart across the ground as his fingers tangled with one another to conceal his shaking left hand. You studied his face, ignoring something that looked like a fading bruise on his jaw. The school bell rang, and with that, Flash walked to you, raising his hand for a fist pump. You bumped yours with his with a smirk and walked out the gym doors, ready to call Peter out on his bullshit once more tonight.

Next Chapter All The Hurt Masterlist Main Masterlist

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady (5)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and bad behavior.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

In Which Remus has an Argument with A Cat and Rowan makes some Charms

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

The day had been fairly calm, a lovely warm day in spring; so naturally, that couldn’t last. 

“You!” Remus said, and pounced. There was a general clattering, and Rowan turned around to see that Remus had grabbed a hold of a large gray cat, who to his credit, was trying to twist and get a hold of  Remus’s wrist, in spite of being mostly scruffed. 

“Hey!” Rowan yelped. “Leave Mouse alone.”

“I will leave this little bugger alone as soon as he calms the fuck down and listens to me.” Remus retorted, shifting his hands as they got scratched. He yelped as Mouse sunk his teeth into a finger. 

“Mouse!” Rowan said in a scolding voice, and the large cat subsided into a deep grating growl. 

“Okay, Little Tree, bear with me a second okay?” he shifted his hands again, so he was supporting the cat under his forelegs. The cat mostly put up with it. “This little asshole-” Mouse gave another growl. “Is a cait sidhe. I don’t know how you missed it.’

“... no.” Rowan said, staring at the bright green eyes of her favorite cat. It was true she’d found him in the woods when he was a kitten. And it was true that he was half-feral, wandering off for weeks and sometimes months when it suited him. And that he was much bigger than the other cats, but she figured Mouse had some forest cat in him or something. 

Something was apparently it. 

“Mouse…” she said, exasperated, and she’d never seen a cat avoid her gaze quite like that. 

“He’s been giving me shit since I started visiting.” Remus continued. “I can mostly understand him; better than normal animals, even. But… Danger Noodle.” 

“Ah.” Rowan reached out and grabbed the back of Mouse’s neck, taking him from Remus and cradling him in her arms. He shifted about and put both paws on her shoulder as if he was about to jump. She tightened her hand around his neck. “Hold up, Mouse.” she murmured. “I’m not mad, honest.” Her thumb made little strokes against his dense short fur.  He looked at her soulfully, giving an earnest ‘pathetic mew’.  “Has that ever worked on me?” she demanded, and was surprised when he nodded. “Shit, you would remember wouldn’t you?” 

Remus laughed, and Mouse’s tail lashed as she rolled him onto his back in her arms.  

“Since you’ve been bothering the compost heap since we became friends, you know I trust him right?” 

The cat hissed. 

“Don’t take that tone with me, mister.” She said disapprovingly. “I need you to keep a secret.” The cat’s tail lashed back and forth a bit.  Rowan kissed his nose, and he headbutted her affectionately, a purr starting. Remus watched this exchange in wonderment.  

“I’m sure you can tell I’ve got another fae visitor right now. I bet you like his smell just as much as you like my green brother’s.” Mouse rubbed pointedly against her head, and grabbed a hold of the end of her braid. “But he’s kind of a refugee, so I need you to not tell anyone he’s here, okay? You’ve charmed enough butter and cream out of me to know I’ll reward you for it.” 

Mouse thoughtfully groomed the end of her braid.  Remus just stared at them both. Finally the cat shifted and head butted her again. This time Rowan let him hop down and he gave a big stretch to show how unimpressed he was, flicking his eyes up at Remus, who met them. Mouse strolled over- and peed on Remus’s boot before dashing off into the woods.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” Remus yelled after him, and Rowan burst into laughter.

-@-

       The world was an explosion of green, somewhere out underneath the rain that promised to continue right over May Day. Remus was off in the woods somewhere, and Rowan was working in her sunroom, Danger Noodle having hooked a small hammock from the ceiling and was glaring down at her with the air of a cranky king.  She suspected it had more to do with the broad spectrum heat lamps than her presence. 

“At least this is keeping the daisies down. This town is such an unnecessary hassle. They could have just accepted their inhuman overlords.” 

“Yeah, humans aren’t good at that.” the witch said agreeably.  “But we only grow daisies in the front yard. I don’t like the way they smell, and Mother’s always been sad you can’t really grow ‘crazy daisies’. They’re an ok ward, though I’ve been doing some experiments with resin jewelry with them.” she had a batch waiting to be strung actually, waiting for the spring markets. She wasn’t sure how well they’d work at warding fae, but they were pretty. She had another batch of flowers  pressing. She’d gotten a few perfect blooms before the rain started, and any that broke could go in tea. 

“So the entire back of your house is exposed to the forest?” 

“Well if you ignore the wrought iron trellis and the rowan tree.” She countered. “Which you don’t.” 

D.N. made a face at her. The copper kettle on the hotplate whistled, and she put aside her work to make tea. Rather than try to hand Danger Noodle a cup she ‘abandoned’ one near his perch with several lumps of sugar in it.  Ignoring it, she hooked the heels of her boots into the rung on the stool and checked the pattern she was following once more, shifting threads back and forth, the soft clicking of bobbins almost as rhythmic as the rain. From time to time she’d mumble under her breath. 

Finally she picked up small gold-plated scissors, and snipped it loose from the braiding tower, braiding the trailing ends together in a much simpler pattern. 

“I haven’t made one of these since high-school.” She mumbled sucking on the ends to thread them through beads taken from small wooden boxes laid out on her worktable, before knotting them again, and offering it over to Danger Noodle. “Tie this around your wrist, looping three times. People looking to do you harm will look past you.” Rowan frowned. “Well, that’s what the charm is for. If you wear them too much, people will start looking past you no matter what.” 

“Why would I need that?” he held it like it smelled bad. 

“Because it’s witch magic, not fae magic. So people looking for fae magic won’t automatically notice it.” She shrugged. “Might make it safer for you to go with Remus.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“That’ll happen in it’s own time, I’m sure.” 

The door to the outside opened, and Remus tromped in, soaking wet and covered in mud. 

“Hello darlings!” he crowed. 

“No don’t-” Rowan started, and D.N. just rolled into his canvas cocoon as Remus shook violently, watering the plants that grew along the sides of the sunroom. 

And Rowan.

[puckbuddies]

4 times Mat was caught simping by his friends and 1 time you caught him.

Mat Barzal x reader 

4375 words 

Thank you to @smiley-svechnikov for helping me with it :)

September 30th

When Anthony walked into Mat’s apartment, he expected to find his teammate on the sofa. What he didn’t expect however, was to find Mat laying on the sofa reading a book. He’d never in their however many years of knowing each other seen Mat read a book for fun. Tito had come over to see if Mat wanted to grab some lunch together on their day off but now his interests had changed.

Mat still hadn’t noticed the presence of his friend, being too concentrated on what he was reading to pay attention to his surroundings. Hearing a cough broke him out of his trance and made him let out a startled noise. Shooting up from his position on his couch, he came eye to eye with the blue eyes of his favorite teammate. If he hadn’t been so caught if guard, he would have noticed the impressed look in them.

“You scared the shit out of me.” was the only thing Mat could think of to say at that moment.

Tito let out a laugh at his reaction.

“How about you scaring me? I come over here to find you reading. Like an actual book, are you okay Barzy?”

Mat knew that Tito was just teasing him but he still rolled his eyes in over dramatic Barzal fashion. He’d read books in the past. Granted they were about hockey, but they were books nonetheless.

“Y/n just finished this one and she’s been talking about it all week. I figured I could just read it so I actually knew what she’s talking about next time. It’s longer than I expected it to be so it’s taking more time that I planned.”

Tito’s eyes widened slightly. Mat said it so casually, as if that was a normal thing to do for someone who was supposedly ‘just a friend’.

Obviously he didn’t believe it when Mat told him that. There was no way you and Mat were just friends. But Anthony wasn’t someone who meddles in others people’s business. Besides, he didn’t want to put any pressure on yours and Mat’s friendship in case the two of you hadn’t figured it out yet. However at this moment he couldn’t help himself.

His scoff confused Mat who didn’t feel like he’d said something strange.  His look of confusing forced Anthony to explain.

“Oh come on, you’re reading a book for her. Don’t act like everything is normal. I can ignore you paying for all her drinks and you giving her your sweatshirts when she’s cold but I can’t ignore this. You have to see it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And he really didn’t. Mat was clueless as to what Tito was hinting at.

“You don’t have to tell me anything but just think about it. You are reading a book she likes and she hasn’t even asked you to read it, surely that means something. I came here to ask you if you wanted to get lunch but from the Taco Bell on the table I see you’ve already eaten so I’ll just leave you to it.”

All Mat did was let out a noise of agreement before his teammate was out the door. He stared at his book with a vacant look for a while trying to process what Tito meant with what he said. Suddenly he didn’t feel like reading anymore. Leaving the book on the table next to his empty wrappings from before, he took off to take a shower.

Mat Barzal was simping before he even realized he was.

December 12th

Mat didn’t really think about Tito’s words much longer. They were out of his head as soon as he was out of the shower. That was a couple of weeks ago and nothing had changed in the way he thought about you. He still called you after every game to let out his happiness about winning or to discuss the things he could’ve done better.

Tomorrow however he wouldn’t have to do that anymore seeing as you were flying out to stay in New York for a week. And Mat was fucking excited about it. He hadn’t seen you in person since September when his training camp started and you had college to attend, and that was almost three months ago.

September was always the hardest month to go through. After spending practically the entire off season in Vancouver together, being in different countries was a big change.

Mat could barely contain his excitement driving to the airport. Messages were just not enough anymore when he got to talk to the real you in approximately 20 minutes. Seeing you standing at the airport with your bags waiting for him to pick you up, all he could think about was how it was all worth it.

~

His feelings of excitement continued all throughout the next day as well. He’d never had as much trouble taking his pregame nap as that day.

But getting ready to leave for the arena, he felt good. On the one hand he was nervous because he wanted to play well, but on the other hand having you there calmed him down like nothing else could. He was feeling confident in himself and the team and was sure they were going to pull out a win.

You on the other hand, were shitting it. It had been a while since you had seen Mat play in real life and you really wanted him to win. More than that you wanted him to enjoy himself and winning was a lot more fun than losing. On top of that Mat had insisted you sit with the Wags who you didn’t really know all that well. He’d assured you they were all great and while you believed that, you still felt like you’d be an outsider. It might look like you were his girlfriend -you were wearing his jersey after all- but you certainly weren’t and you weren’t sure if you could handle any questions about your relationship.

You decided you should tell him how you felt in an attempt to calm yourself down. So when you got into the car to drive to the arena the first words out of your mouth were: “Mat I’m nervous.”. You knew you were overreacting and felt a bit silly for being this nervous when Mat was the one who actually had to get on the ice and do something.

Mat however never made you feel stupid about anything, not even something as small as this.

“Why? You just have to go meet some new people and absolutely amaze them with your personality, which by the way comes naturally and takes you no effort because you are amazing, and then I’ll spend the rest of the season answering questions about when I’ll bring you around again.”

His words were teasing but you knew he meant them and it still helped you feel more at ease about the situation you were about to find yourself in.

“How about this, I’ll walk you up to the box so you don’t have to go in there alone.” He continued still sensing your anxiety.

Your heart swelled up at the suggestion. Mat just kept amazing you with what he was willing to do for you.

“Would you not be late if you do that?”

“Nah it’ll be fine, I’ll just have to get dressed a bit faster.” He hesitated after that and turned to you with a smirk on his face. “Or I could just drive a little faster.”

This caused you to panic and slap his arm closest to you. “No you can’t do that! We won’t even make it to the arena.”

Mat let you his typical laugh at that and the last of your worries flooded to the back of your mind.

When you arrived, Mat kept his promise and went with you to meet the Wags for the first time. You might have not noticed the smile on his face after he hugged you and once again whispered in your ear that it would all be fine, but they sure did.

 December 13th

When you woke up the next day, you felt a little bit of a headache coming up. The Isles did manage to pull out a win the night before and Tito practically forced you and Mat to go out and celebrate with the rest of the team. While you really liked the other Wags, you were still a bit uncomfortable holding a conversation with them so you had decided to drink just enough to take the edge off.

You thanked your past self for being responsible and for not trying to keep up with Mat, who drank a lot more than you did. You still didn’t understand how that boy could drink so much and still be able to walk. Thinking back to last night, you felt it was a good idea to go check up on him and see how he was doing. Making the short trip to the other side of the hallway didn’t take much time even if you did stop at the bathroom to check your reflection. When you reached your destination, you were surprised to not see Mats face staring back at you from his bed.

Checking up on the kitchen and living room, you still couldn’t find Mat and you were starting to get a little worried. He hadn’t left the apartment after you went to sleep had he? Pulling your phone out to send a quick message to Tito asking if he’d seen Mat, an unread message from the boy in question caught your attention.

“Getting breakfast, be back in 20.”

received 18 minutes ago

Okay, so you were worried for no reason. At least you knew where he was now.

You settled down at the kitchen island and entertained yourself with your phone until Mat came back about ten minutes later.

“You’re about six minutes late Barzal. Any excuses?” was what you opened with once you saw him come into the kitchen.

“You know, funny story because you said that to mock me but I do actually have an excuse.”

You looked at him expectantly and he looked back with a playful expression on his face. When he doesn’t say anything else for a few moments you notice he has his hands behind his back. Looking back up at him, you raise an eyebrow to signal for him to continue.

Your whole face lit up when he pulls breakfast from behind his back along with a small bouquet of flowers.

“Oh my god you got me flowers? Why would you do that?”

“Apparently there’s a new flower shop next to the place I always get my breakfast and these were in the windowsill. I know they’re your favorite so I couldn’t not buy them.”

The last of his words were muffled as you jumped up to give him the biggest hug possible, thank yous coming out of your mouth for the next minute. As you finally settled down to eat together after a while, you couldn’t stop smiling. You still couldn’t believe Mat got you flowers.

After cleaning up the dishes you took to Instagram to post the beautiful bouquet on your story. And when Mat got a phone call from one of your mutual friends that night to taunt him about the flowers, he began to understand why people always called him out on his actions.

 June 2nd

You knew going out the day before was a bad idea. Mat had invited you to the lake with him and a couple of his friends and because you couldn’t say no to him, you went. And you got sunburned. It wasn’t your fault really, you had applied sunscreen at least three times but it happened to be exceptionally hot that day. Besides that, being out on the water for four hours didn’t make the situation any better.

It was mostly your back that was hurting and it prevented you from finding a comfortable position in your bed. After another painful turn you decided that you needed to go find a bottle of after-sun asap. Turning on the bathroom light you came into contact with your reflection for the first time that day. Your face and arms were slightly red but your back somehow looked even worse than it felt. Silently cursing Mat for convincing you to go out and yourself for not putting up more of a fight you opened the cabinet door in search of the bottle that would relieve you of your pain.

Except you couldn’t find it, neither in that cabinet or the next. It occurred to you that you might’ve left it at your friend’s house when you last went swimming. Concluding that you weren’t going to find it in your room, you went to your parents bathroom. Alas, the universe had apparently decided that today wasn’t your day as you couldn’t find anything. Your luck got even better as you remembered your parents were out with friends and had taken the car so that you couldn’t even go to the store to buy a new bottle.

Going back to your room to find your phone, you saw that it was only half past eight. Part of you felt guilty having to call Mat at such an early time to help you out somehow. The other part of you felt like it was at least a little justified as it was him you asked you to stay out in the sun. You sent him a text anyway asking if he was awake yet. It took a while for Mat to reply but when he did you took no time to call him figuring it would be easier to beg him that way.

“Hello?”

His voice wasn’t as deep as it usually was in the mornings. It even sounded like he was a little out of breath. Deciding to not waste any more time you got straight to the point.

“What are you doing right now?”

The reason why Mat was out of breath was because he was training with Tyson that morning. Looking back it hadn’t been his smartest decision to agree to an early morning workout after not having slept a lot the night before.

“I’m training with Tys today. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Oh no I’m fine, I’m just dying a slow and painful death at this moment.”

Mat’s first instinct was to panic at your words until he realized that you had to be fine if you had the option to be that over dramatic. Before he could respond though, Tyson called for his attention.

“Are we running or what?”

Waving him off with his hand Mat turned to speak to you again.

“I’m kind of busy right now but I’ll call you back after if you want me to?”

“No please I actually need your help.” Your response came very quickly and it peaked his interest.  “I am really fucking sunburned and I’ve searched my entire house but I can’t find any after-sun. On top of that my parent apparently enjoy to see me suffer because they’ve taken the car so I can’t go to the store. I guess my question is if you would maybe perhaps please go to the store and pick up a bottle for me?”

Your voice had gotten higher as you came to the end of your little speech clearly indicating that you needed something from him. Even though Mat couldn’t see your face, he knew that you were putting on your best puppy eyes.

“ I’ll go to the store after I’m done here.”

“But that’s still so long.” You whined dragging out your last word. “I’m actually in a lot of pain and you are my only hope right now. Please Mat.”

He could argue all he wanted, but deep down Mat knew that he’d made his decision already. He couldn’t say no to you even if he tried. He sighed and at that moment you knew you’d won.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you sang happily through the phone.

“Yeah yeah only this one time though.”

His words had no truth behind them. And now he had to explain to Tyson why he had to quit their workout after only forty minutes.

When Mat turned around, he found Tyson already looking at him with a smirk that Mat had become quite familiar with in the last year or so and it was reserved specifically for these types of situations.

“So I actually have to go right now, y/n needs my help.”

This caused Tyson to burst out laughing.

“Barzy you are so incredibly whipped.”

Mat only rolled his eyes in response knowing it was useless to try and change Tyson’s mind. He packed up his things and made an effort to avoid eye contact as he left the field.

 + 1.  Driving past the city lights made all the tension in your shoulders disappear. This has been just what you needed, only now realizing the stress of trying to find a job was really getting to you. The two-month break after finishing university was a well needed rest after four years of hard work but you were well aware that it couldn’t last forever. You had to start living your life now. Getting an apartment in Vancouver was far from cheap and finding a job was proving to be harder that you’d thought.

Sighing contently and resting your head on the window you turn to Mat. He looks ridiculously good driving his car under streetlights. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were so deep in the friendzone you could stare at him forever. But Mat being Mat had to ruin the peaceful atmosphere by belting out the lyrics to whatever song had just come on the radio.  

“Jesus Christ Mat, if I wanted to listen to off key singing I would just record myself.”

“Oh don’t do me like that y/n, you know I have the voice of an angel.”

“One that’s getting his wings ripped out maybe.”

Mat gave you an offended look.

‘Okay rude. Don’t forget who’s driving an hour to bring you to go stargazing in the fricking middle of the night. Don’t be ungrateful”

It was your turn to be offended now.

“Which was your idea must I remind you. But you are right, I appreciate it very much.”

He looked happy with your response as he went back to quietly singing along to the radio. It wouldn’t take too long for you to arrive at your destination. You recognized the signs by the side of the road.

Excitement filled your stomach. You hadn’t been at the lookout in a couple of months and while you knew Mat was joking about you needing to thank him, you were really grateful for him taking you. This specific lookout had been your happy place ever since you first discovered it when you were fifteen. And now being twenty-two, it still had an effect on you. Mats voice broke you out of your thoughts once again.

“So, you can tell me how much you love me when we get out of the car and under the sky. Unless your plan is to just sit in the car and look out the window.”

“Yeah no that is actually what I wanted to do, I’m so glad we’re on the same wavelength.”

Your statement was followed by a challenging smile that you regretted as soon as he sent you one of his own in return. You knew Mat was stubborn, annoyingly so. And now your stupid comment meant that he would not be getting out of his car until you took it back. In a different situation you would have sat like this for hours but on this specific night you really needed to see the stars to calm the doubts that seemed to follow you around.

“Just get out of the car.” You sighed while opening up the door on your side.

Walking to the picnic bench in the middle of the grass you could hear his laughter even before he got out of the car.

“How do you always know exactly how to get on my nerves Barzal?”

You didn’t have to wait long on his response.

“Because I know you. I have known you. For about ten years now. You might think you’re mysterious but you’re far from it.”

You chuckle at that, choosing to close your eyes and lay your head down on the bench. A moment of silence comes over both of you. Turning to face Mat you see he’s already looking at you.

“Tell me.”

Your reaction draws a small smile from him and you feel the sudden urge to run your fingers over his cheeks to try and capture it in your hands.

“I know that you did not want to come say hello when you moved into the house next to mine. I know that your dad forced you to and that you thanked him for it a year later because you met me.”

You almost pushed him off the bench for that but the smile on your face told Mat that you weren’t really annoyed at him. He stopped talking for a while after he heard it. Crazy how you could make him lose his train of thought by doing something so easy. He realized after a while that he should probably continue talking, more for his sake than yours.

“I know that your least favorite color is purple but that you don’t like saying that because it makes you feel bad. I know that you don’t like to put your hair in a ponytail because it gives you a headache. I know that your favorite book is the song of Achilles and that you get sunburned by being in the sun for like thirty minutes and that despite that you’re always out of after-sun.”  

His face turned serious after that.

“I know that coming here and watching the stars is your favorite way to calm down but that you’ve not asked me to bring you because you don’t want to bother me. I know that you’ve been extremely stressed thinking now that you’ve finished school you have a deadline to do all the adult things you feel like you’ve missed out on until now. I know that thinking about the future freaks you out and that all you want to do right now is just lay here and not go back home.”

You don’t speak after Mat finished his little monologue, trying to process what he had just said.

“But I know that you’ll be fine.”

This causes you to scoff. The fact that he was trying to reassure you was sweet really, but you knew that he couldn’t possibly be sure of that. Mat was great at pretty much everything he did, but no one could predict the future.

“Y/n I know that you don’t believe me but everything will turn out alright.”

“And how do you know that Mat? I appreciate you being here for me but the things I’m dealing with are slightly out of your field of expertise. I’m terrified that I’ve spend my entire life studying for something that I’m completely unprepared for. I have no idea what direction I want to go in with my professional career and I don’t have time to think about it because I need to find an apartment in like three months unless I want to live with my parents for the rest of my young adulthood. I can’t afford to wait much longer.”

“Move in with me then.”

Everything paused for a second. You almost asked him to repeat himself but the look in his eyes told you that you’d heard him right the first time. You took the time that it took you to slowly sit up from your position on the bench to collect your thoughts. Still you couldn’t come up with much more than “You don’t mean that.”

“I get that you’re stressed about everything right now, but you don’t have to be. I can help you figure it out.”

“Mat you’re not serious” you interrupted him. “I can’t ask you to babysit me, you have your own things to deal with.”

“You’re not asking me to. And I’m not babysitting you, I want you in New York with me as much you need an apartment.”

Your head was spinning even more than at the start of the evening. Moving in with Mat. It would be everything you’ve ever wanted. But it wasn’t like that. He wanted you there to take care of you as a friend. As much as it hurt you to say no to him, you knew that you couldn’t do it like that.

“Mat I can’t ask you to put your life on pause for me. I-”

“Y/n I love you. I have no idea how you haven’t figured it out by now because my friends have reassured me that I’ve been very obvious, but I. Love. You. I’ve wanted to ask you to move with me for an entire year now. I want you with me not to take care of you but to hold you and kiss you and reassure you. I want to give you the future you want. And I can give it to you.”

At this point Mat was furiously running his fingers through his hair and you were staring at him open-mouthed.

“I’ve probably fucked everything up by saying this but I can’t let you believe that you don’t deserve everything good the world had to offer.”

You couldn’t think. It was like your body was moving on auto-pilot. So it surprised you just as much as it did Mat when you jumped up to press your lips against his. You pulled back quickly though to start your own rant.

“Mat I want that. I want you, in Vancouver and in New York and everywhere you’ll take me.”

You didn’t need a reply. The way he kissed you told you that he was on board with anything you said. And you were so exited about it.

[kisskeiji]

1. On your own.

Lost & Found.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of cheating and violence (bokuto still wants to get physical lol), mentions of alcohol (?)

Needless to say, as soon as you arrived at your sister's apartment she bombarded you with questions you didn’t know nor wanted to answer, she understood and let you cry your heart out, even after all that your heart was still heavy inside your chest. When you woke up the following morning you could only describe yourself as a mess; you slept with the same clothes from the night before, your shoes were still on and you didn’t bother to take your makeup off resulting in a trail of mascara stains all over your cheeks. The sheets on your sister's bed were cold and not waking up with Hajime by your side made the knot in your throat come back along with the uneasiness of not being home or feeling safe at all.

You hated it. You hated how vulnerable you were. You hated the weight that was crushing your chest. You hated not being able to express what you felt. You hated how tired you were. You hated yourself for being so weak and for not knowing how to be without him.

And most of all, you hated yourself for not hating him.

You loathed what he did to you and your relationship, but as much as you tried to convince yourself you hated him, you couldn’t. Sure, he broke your heart, but he also owned it. You loved him so much it hurt, but there was no way you two could get past this and act as if any of this never happened, this wasn’t something a long talk and a hug could solve. The thought of it not being a one time thing took over your mind.

What if he cheated when he was studying overseas? How many other girls he slept with the last four years.

‘I’m an idiot’

“Morning.” Your sister entering the room took you out of your train of thoughts “I made breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat.” She said brushing your hair with her hand “Take a shower first.” She got up and walked to her closet to get you some clothes.

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t care, we are getting your stuff and then we are going home to have lunch with mom. I am not asking, she wants to see you.”

“You called her?” You asked in disbelief. ‘Snitch.’

“I knew you weren’t planning to because you don’t want to worry her, but she can give you better advice than your twenty-six year old sister who has no relationship experience.” She said before throwing a pair of jeans in your direction. You could only groan before getting up and walking to her bathroom. You knew better than arguing with her and deep inside you were thankful, you missed your mom, but going back to your apartment frightened you.

Once you were in the car you dialed Akaashi´s number, ignoring all of Iwaizumi’s texts and calls, he was the last person you wanted to talk to and you wanted to make sure he wasn’t home. Before you could go back to spiraling in your thoughts, Akaashi picked up the phone.

“Y/N?” You heard Akaashi say on the other side of the line.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi.”

“How are you feeling?” It was a dumb question, they both knew and he loudly smacked himself for asking. You chuckled.

“Like shit.” You answered.

“I figured.” You both laughed. “Hey, is that Y/N?” You heard Bokuto “Let me put you on speaker.”

“Hi, Bokuto.”

“Good morning, pretty lady, are you feeling better?” He asked and you heard a loud thud. “Akaashi, what was that for? Y/N-chan, Akaashi just hit me with one of his books!” Bokuto whined and you laughed at him and the way he pronounced Akaashi´s name.

“I’m fine, Bokuto-san, thanks for asking. Can I ask you both a favor?”

“You want me to beat Iwaizumi’s ass? Say less.”

“Bokuto-san.” The younger of the two called in a stern tone.

Once again you laughed at their antics. “Not quite, Bokuto-san. But can you make sure he is not home? I don’t know if he went to work today.”

“You are coming for your stuff?” Akaashi asked.

“Yeah, but I really don’t want to see him right now, and my sister wants to kill him.” You said and looked at your sister who mouthed a ‘damn right’ without looking away from the road.

“That’s the spirit!” The gray haired man said followed by another thud and a whine.

“Count on it, Y/N.”

“Thank you, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I’ll wait outside for you!” You heard Bokuto before exchanging goodbyes and hanging up.

You reached the apartment complex and spotted Bokuto outside like he promised.

“I called Tanaka and he said he is at the gym, so we are clear.” He said once he reached the car and opened the door for you.

“Good, let’s make it quick and put everything in my trunk.” Your sister said and opened the car trunk to grab some boxes to pack your belongings. The three of you walked inside the complex and took the elevator to meet Akaashi who was waiting at your door.

With a long sigh, you unlocked the door and walked in unsure of what to expect. The air was heavier and again, you felt uneasy to be there and reminisce about what happened the night before.

“I’ll get my clothes and some stuff I have in my room. Can you guys pack my books? Everything on the first three shelfs is mine, and my plants, please be careful with them.” You said and they both got to work while you and your sister headed to your room. Trying to make things even faster, you walked to your closet and grabbed your suitcase from the back of the closet and started throwing all your clothes onto the bed.

“This is not yours.” Your sister announced throwing one of Hajime’s shirts you usually wore to sleep on the floor. You stared at it for a second and started to take out all of the shirts that were mixed in with your clothes. You never noticed how many of his shirts were in your drawers, you always wore his shirts to sleep.

‘No more unlimited pajamas.’ You thought and laughed to yourself.

*

“Hey, can you get my stuff from the bathroom? I’m almost done here.” You said placing a few blouses in a laundry basket since your suitcases were already full.

“Sure thing, I’m dipping his toothbrush in the toilet too.” She said and zipped close the duffle bag she packed your shoes in.

“Please don’t.”

“Can’t hear you.” You heard a splash. “Look what we have here, this cologne looks expensive.”

“Stop touching his stuff.”

“No sympathy for him, stop trying to protect him.” She said peeking from the bathroom door.

“I’m not protecting him, I’m just being mature.” You walked to the bathroom, taking the bottle of cologne away from her and placing it back down. “And I paid for this.”

“Hey girls, we are all set over here.” You heard Bokuto from outside of the room.

“You have anything else you need us to get in the car?” Akaashi asked. You looked around searching for something you could be possibly leaving behind. The pictures on the wall captured your attention for a second.

“Don’t think so, everything else he can keep.” You sighed “Besides, the car is already full.”

“Let’s get out of here then, mom is waiting for us and we have a four hour ride ahead of us.” Your sister said and took the duffel bag and one of your indoor plants and made her way out.

“Well, that’s it.” Bokuto said and closed the trunk of your sister’s car.

“Please, tell us if you need anything, we are one call away.” Akaashi reassured placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Thanks ‘Kaashi, I will.” You hugged both of your friends and hopped in the car “I’ll text you once I get home.”

They waved goodbye and waited for the car to be completely out of sight to walk back inside the building.

*

That afternoon after lunch and a long talk with your mom, you decided to stay at your parents house for the meantime and as long as you needed to find another place near your university. You decided not to tell your father, he was just as hot headed as your sister and you were sure he would kill him if he found out.

In the end your sister was right, your mother always knew what to say and this time was no exception, of course she was going to give Iwaizumi’s mom a call (but you don’t know that) but right now she was worried about how awfully calm you were, of course you were always emotionally intelligent, but was it really healthy for you to keep it all inside?

“Listen dear, I know how you must be feeling right now, there’s no need to conceal it, I also know you want to be the bigger person, but you can´t keep it to yourself forever, it’s not good for you.” She’d said as she poured some freshly brewed tea in your cup.

“I know mom, thank you.” You said and she cupped your cheek with her hand.

“It wasn’t your fault, dear.” She Reassured. “It’s getting late, get ready to sleep, I’ll get your room ready.”

It wasn’t your fault. She was right, but why does it feel the other way around?

You stared at the mirror once again and still couldn’t recognize your reflection. ‘What did you do to me, Hajime?’ You thought as you dried your face.

‘Fuck, I had a shift tonight.’ You totally forgot, after all you haven’t checked your phone since earlier that morning. Ignoring all of your friends and Hajime’s texts asking if you were alright and where you were; you texted your boss, he asked if you were fine too since Iwaizumi went to the bar and was apparently really worried, you could only sigh and tell him you would explain everything tomorrow.

You were exhausted. Your eyelids were heavy with sleep and what seemed to be the beginning of a bad migraine. ‘I’ll just sleep it off.’ You thought to yourself, staring at the ceiling thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. You were still going to see Iwaizumi at college at some point, how are you going to tell your friends? You still had to call your landlord to get the money of the months of rent you paid in advance back.

“I wish this was all a dream.” You muttered burying your face on your pillow. Your phone ringing stopped your train of thoughts, the caller ID displayed Iwaizumi’s name for the hundredth time that day. You still had no energy or will to talk to him. ‘What does he want anyway?’ You let the call go straight to voicemail.

“Y/N” He sighs “I’ve been trying to reach you all day, I know it’s late, I know you hate me”

‘I don’t.’

“But please, I need to know you are okay and that you are safe, I know you must be with your sister but I can’t reach her either. Please, you don’t have to tell me, you can tell Matsukawa or Makki, one of your friends, I don’t care, we are all worried about you. I know you came earlier for your stuff, and that you are not coming back, but please, you have to listen to me.” you could tell how anxious he was “I’m not asking for forgiveness, because I know I don’t deserve it. But I… you deserve an explanation and an apology. I love you, please, call me.”

Without even noticing, tears streamed down your face. ‘Maybe I should talk to him’

You weren’t one to be remorseful, and closure was necessary. Maybe. But not today or tomorrow, you still needed time. You texted your friends and told everyone you were okay and that you were spending a few days at your parents place in Miyagi. After turning your phone off you finally managed to sleep.

*

The days after your arrival to Miyagi were no different, you ran some errands with your mom, went out with your dad and sister and enjoyed your time there, you almost forgot you had to get your life back together. You went back to Tokyo after a week, the first thing you did was talk with your boss and apologize for your absence and explained everything. He was kind enough to switch you to the day shift and promised not to tell Iwaizumi about it if he showed again.

The day shift was alright, the bar was less crowded but still busy. Some people had lunch or shared a drink with their co-workers. Breathing was easier and you felt more at ease working earlier.

“Good evening, what can I get you?” You greeted with a smile as you cleaned the counter.

“Hi, Y/N, right?” She asked.

“That’s me. Do we know each other?” You asked, she seemed familiar but you couldn’t recall where or when you’ve seen her before.

“Something like that, I’m Ito Asui, I’m one of Iwaizumi’s classmates.” She explained.

“Oh.” It’s all you managed to say “You want anything to drink.?” You asked, trying to ease the tension between the two of you.

“Not really, I just needed to talk to you about… the other night.” Asui couldn’t bring herself to look at you in the eye.

“It was you?”

She sighed “Yeah. And I feel awful. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

“How long?” you asked, trying to hold your tears busying yourself with the register.

“A month, maybe, listen he never mentioned he had a girlfriend or anything. We teamed up for our final project with some friends and we flirted for a while and we started going out when we weren’t working on the project.” She started crying, it was obvious that the guilt was eating her alive, you felt bad for her “If I only knew he was taken, this could’ve never happened, it is my fault and I want to apologize.”

“No.” You lowered your head.

“What?”

“It’s not your fault Asui, stop blaming yourself. You didn’t know. I’m sorry you got involved in this mess and for how you must be feeling right now.” you irradiated anger with every word. All the sympathy you felt for Iwaizumi was now gone and the thought of even facing him too.

“Thank you for this, really.” you raised your chin and looked at her in the eye, hers were glossy with tears and guilt, but she managed to show you a weak smile.

“What are you going to do now?” She asked as you poured a glass of water for her.

“I don’t know. Not going back to him, that’s for sure.” You tried to laugh. “I’m probably going to leave.”

“Leave? You are transferring?”

“Yeah.” You sighed unsure of your answer.

“Where to? I heard your parents live in the countryside.” She sipped her water.

“Not sure yet, I have some offers to go abroad.” You cleaned the counter once again as some customers walked in, you greeted them and got ready to fix their drinks.

“That 's amazing! I think it would be best for you to take some time away from here. If you stay you are going to stumble upon him at school.” she said as she played with the rim of her cup and you poured ice inside the shaker.

“Yeah, you are right. I’m talking to my professors and seeing my options, probably choosing somewhere in Europe, I’ve always wanted to travel.” You smiled.

Eventually Asui left, there was nothing else to talk about but you agreed to keep in touch, after all she was the first person outside your family that knew about your plans. It was sad, actually, you weren’t excited to leave since you were doing it to run away from him. It was your senior year, you wanted to spend it with your friends and stay in Tokyo, you were happy here, but you also needed to get away, you couldn’t bare with seeing Iwaizumi everyday, not only at school, you had a lot of friends in common and you didn’t wanted to make everything awkward for them.

‘I’m going to build myself back on my own.’ And if you had to leave to do so, then you were more than ready.

*

Days went by and summer break was over, it was time to go. Akaashi and Bokuto dropped you off at the airport and waited for you to board the plane.

“Passport?” Akaashi asked making sure you were all set.

“Here.” You lifted your right hand and showed your passport.

“Phone?”

“In my bag.” You smiled at him.

“Well, you are good to go.” He smiled back.

“Wait, you forgot something.” Bokuto took a step closer and looked at you.

“What? Oh my god did I left my glasses at home?” You asked confused as you patted across your body looking for them. 

“No, silly, my hug!” He laughed at your confused expression and embraced you. 

After that bone crushing hug Bokuto made you promise to text him everyday even if it was late, and Akaashi nearly cried but he won’t admit it. You waved goodbye one last time before boarding.

Hopefully you could find yourself again in London. ‘This is your new beginning’ you repeated to yourself as you took your seat on the plane.

“Good bye.” You whispered.

*

Later that night, Iwaizumi found himself in front of your sister´s apartment, ringing the bell he stepped back and waited for her to open — or a fist on the nose — after a few seconds the door opened revealing your sister still on her work clothes, leaning on the door frame.

“What do you want?” she asked harshly.

“Is she here? She never really called me and it’s been almost two months, I just want to talk to her but she blocked my number.” He looked at the floor and your sister sighed.

“She is not here.”

“Do you know where she is? she moved to the dorms?” he tripped over his words trying to get an answer.

“She is gone, Iwaizumi.”

“What do you mean? Look I know she hates me but this is not funny.” He was growing anxious.

“Shut up, she doesn’t hate you, you know that’s just not her, and I’m not joking. She left.” Your sister explained one more time.

“Where?” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Not telling. Good night, Iwaizumi.” With that she closed the door leaving Hajime dumbfounded.

‘She left?’ He thought, realization hitting him even harder, he lost you forever, and he is probably never going to see you again.

He was on his own now.

(a/n: hi everyone! first of all THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! <3 i honestly thought i was going to flop with this fic, but all of your comments and feedback encourage me to keep writing, you are all so sweet :( thank you again ilysm. i also want to thank my beta readers once again fore dealing with my illiterate and annoying self. next chapter is going to be a bit longer if everything goes as planned, sorry for making you all hate iwa :( 

also, if anyone is interested to be added to a taglist please tell me! you can comment or send me a message if my ask box is not showing :( i’m still figuring things out here since i was a wattpad type of girl but i’ll try my best <3)

masterlist

taglist: @aonenthusiast

[actual-fucking-clown]

Take your time then.

Aizawa x gender neutral reader

Story under the cut :)

Unedited but like edited but still not properly edited :)

Hope you enjoy!!!

a/n: it’s been a hot min since I’ve written a fic. I think the last time i was 14 and it was shit and on wattpad. Ha. I hate myself. N e way, I was recently writing some shit for an au me and my friend thought up and in the back of my mind I was like, “you should start writing fics again bc this is kinda fun”, soo lo and behold I made a post asking if anyone would be interested, shared a little too much personal shit in it but whatever, and have now decided to write this mother fucker. (3/25/21)

a/n: not sure if anyone will care about this series of a/n’s but I’m just chronicling thoughts ig. rewriting rn bc my first draft was short and ass. Also I’m thinking about opening requests after this is posted, will go into detail in a diff post maybe. (3/28/21)

a/n: deleted everything, rewriting. I just want to make something that might be decent and if I can give that feeling, y’know those chills you get when you read something utterly gorgeous, but I’m bad at writing. sadge (3/28/21, like several hours later)

a/n: ugh (4/1/21)

a/n: ugh pt 2 electric boogaloo. I can’t seem to move forward with the writing. I realized something like this might happen bc to solve a problem feelings need to be discussed and I fucking hate doing that so you can see where I’m fucking up lmaooooo (4/2/21)

a/n: I read angst to fuel my writing brain. So, read some angst, finally writing agian. This first section is probs as long as the story itself LMFAO(4/5/21)

Started: (3/25/21) Finished: (4/5/21)

Warnings: uh angst, curse words, like a lot, (i saw someone else put this as a warning, do I actually need it?), avoiding problems instead of actually facing them, mentions of shit so-so parenting, mentions of not being able to live up to high expectations, y’know, the works

Synopsis: Aizawa takes in Eri without running it by you first and expects you to be okay with it. That’s funny. He was wrong.

Can I preface this with a thought? I’m going to anyway,

all the fics I read paint him as the sweetest partner and I’m sure he is but I think they miss out on how blunt he is and his whole “Mr. Rationality” thing. So as much as I adore him I think there are situations that he’d be a bit more colder towards, a bit more straightforward about. Maybe even like a bit insensitive about but maybe bc he doesn’t have the full picture or something. so I guess this is another warning but aizawa is a little insensitive in the beginning (but like not really but kinda. it’s complicated)

~

Rain pattered softly against the window. The smell of some old random Bath and Bodyworks candle you’d dug out from a box you’d never bothered to unpack smothered the room. Some Netflix show idly played on a low volume on your computer, you’d lost interest in watching tv awhile ago. You needed a break. After the eventful month you’d been having you really needed this. 

Now of course your whole year so far had been eventful. What with all the villain attacks on you and Shouta’s class and the kidnapping of one of your students, to just dealing with the more mundane problems with your students. No. You had no problem with that. The villains, although not easy, were something you were trained to handle. The smaller problems with your students weren’t arduous either, after all you weren’t too much older than them. 

When reflecting on your situation, from and outside perspective it could be seen as the straw the broke the camels back, which sure, makes sense. After all, you’re bound to be stressed out by everything else, so why would this seemingly insignificant thing weigh heavier than a villain attack? Well if that is the situation why does this single straw feel like it weighs a ton? This is not that. This is not culmination of the events of this year draining the life from you. This is something entirely different. A panic inducing life change that completely took you by surprise mixed with your inability to actually face your problems. 

You don’t blame them. You can’t. They’ve done nothing wrong. A child. A small, probably mentally scarred child is your problem. Well not her personally but the fear taking care of her instills in you. Despite working in the field that you do, you cannot for the life of you handle actual children. Sure you’re a little awkward with your class but at least they’re young adults and (vaguely) mature and independent to a certain extent. The fact that your long term boyfriend just came back one day, small child in tow and said “Hey I’ve gotta look after this one now” not verbatim obviously, for a lack of better words, fucked you up. He basically solo adopted a kid and, let’s be honest, he probably expected you to help out. But how could you? How could this man look at you and think “I want this person to help me raise an already fucked up child?” Ok sure, he doesn’t at first give off the “I’m totally father figure material” vibe but in the end he is extremely competent. You on the other hand, not so much.

You’d never been good with children. Tried your best to steer clear of them. Didn’t matter the place, didn’t matter who’s kid, you couldn’t handle them. You would just stand there, awkwardly, not entirely sure of what to do and petrified that there was the possibility of making some mistake which would upset the child and then oh wow look, your head got chopped right of your shoulders. That’s hyperbole of course but it does sum up the insurmountable fear that overcomes you whenever you have to deal with a child. So considering the fact that your long term boyfriend had suddenly decided to adopt and not at least warn you, didn’t sit right with you.

So, the best and most obvious choice, was to avoid your problem. Avoid Shouta, avoid Eri. Avoid the mention of them and you, avoid it all. And honestly you’d done pretty well so far. You were able to have as little contact with them as possible considering the close proximity of your living quarters in the teacher’s dorms. After all they were legally supposed to give you two separate rooms but you never actually used yours, well until now. You were living it up honestly. Did you feel awful? Of course. He is your boyfriend after all and you were sure Eri doesn’t deserve your cold shoulder but this is probably for the best. What could you offer her? You weren’t sure that you were a good role model for her or anyone for that matter. What did you know about raising kids? it’s not like you had parents to set a proper example for you. Of course they might have shown you what not to do but where do you go from there? Is shit like that really avoidable? You don’t want to be like them. You strive to be better but what if you can’t be. There’s also the added bonus of the fact that raising a kid seems taxing on a relationship. Now matter how strong you were sure that the stress of a kid could break a relationship down that then festers into something toxic and unrecognizable. You didn’t want that. God you couldn’t let that happen. No. This was definitely for the better.

Of course Aizawa didn’t feel the same. He was confused on why his partner had been so blatantly avoiding him. Did he do something wrong? He doesn’t remember doing anything that might’ve upset you. So why now? Why pull away now? He had to get down to the bottom of this but catching you was the hard part. You had been taking on more work, offering more assistance to the other teachers, picking up extra patrols, doing everything and anything to stay away from Shouta. It took him a month but he finally caught up to you. You were tired, worn out he knew that. Instead of loading yourself with work you’d decided to hole yourself up in your room. It was now or never.

You were pulled out of your peace at the sound of a few gentle knocks to your door. You really didn’t want to get it. You honestly couldn’t be bothered. 

“(N/n)? Are you in there?” He hadn’t gotten it wrong right? He hadn’t been too distracted earlier and missed you leaving right?

“What’s up?” You hummed from your place by the window, not bothering to actually open the door.

“Can I come in?” Shouta asked, voice soft. You could barely hear him above the patter of the rain and the low humming of your laptop.

“Uh, no, kinda busy. Got loads of work to do. Need to focus, sorry. Maybe later?” You hesitantly spoke. Not sure if you were convincing enough. 

Apparently you weren’t.

He sighed. “It’s been “later” for an entire month. Please (Y/n) just let me in. Whatever this is we can talk it out.” You had predicted that eventually Shouta would start to try to crack down on whatever the issue was but you didn’t expect it so soon. 

“Uh...no?” You tried, hoping that maybe he’d just give up but that wasn’t Shouta.

“No, you don’t get that option, now please, open the door.” Although it was still soft his voice had taken a more stern tone.

“Oh no I’m dead. I guess I can’t open the door. What a shame. I guess the only way to talk with me now is in the pits of hell.” You quipped, trying to lessen the tension that already ran thick.

“(Y/n).” Aizawa sighed.

“Jeez fine. Talk about pushy.” You quipped once more to no avail.

Opening the door you were met with, well exactly what you expected. He stood there, arms crossed, a stern yet gentle look in his eyes, his lips pulled into a slight frown. 

“Come in.” You mumbled as you stepped further into your room.

“So tell me. What’s wrong?” The sentence stirred so much. Of course you wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill your guts to the man you loved in hopes of comfort but you just can’t. You know you’ll just scare him off. You know you’ll make things worse.

So you stay silent.

He says nothing as he grabs your hands gently and leads you over to your bed. He sits the two of you down on the edge, muting the movie on the laptop sitting behind him.

“You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you right?” Shouta sent you a warm smile. 

You weren’t very comfortable with discussing your feelings sometimes, it mostly stemmed from the fact that you never really could discuss them with anyone growing up which made it harder to confide in anyone now, as at this point bottling things up was a habit. But this was also just something that you were sure that you couldn’t talk about.

Silence answered him once again.

Now he took sometime to think about his approach, think about what could’ve happened that made you pull away. What did he do that was different from his norm? He was genuinely stumped and the fact that you weren’t helping him confused him even more.

You decided to take this time to lament the situation too. What was he going to do? Should you actually tell him or play it off? If you play it off will he still insist that something is wrong? If you tell him will he leave you? If you don’t tell him will he leave you? You risked a glance at him, he was still deep in thought.

Why did you have to adopt this fucking kid without at least warning me?

“What?” Your head shot up at the sound of his shocked voice.

“What?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“Eri’s the problem...?” He spoke slowly, not entirely sure if he’d heard you right.

“Did I say that out loud?” You squeaked.

“I’m pretty sure you mumbled something along the lines of “why’d you have to adopt that fucking kid”.” Shouta said, unsure if he’d heard wrong. Wanting to have heard wrong.

“No no no no no no! It’s not like that! I mean it is like that but not like that!” You frantically waved your hands in hopes of defusing the situation.

The way he looked at you made you want to cry. You felt horrible. You felt like the biggest asshole in the world and, at this point you probably were. He looked at you with such a look of heartbreak and disappointment and confusion it made you sick to your stomach. You felt light-headed and started shaking. You were right. You were right. You were always right. God why did you have to be right! Why did you have to be like this? Scared of raising a fucking child! It was asinine and irrational and you could probably move past it  but thanks to your stupid fucking brain you just sealed your fate.

You scooted away from him still waving your hands frantically as no’s tumbled endlessly from your lips. You tried sputtering an apology, anything so that he wouldn’t look at you like that but nothing stuck. Nothing was comprehensible. Nothing worked. Nothing would work. Nothing will work. You were hopeless. It was hopeless. 

“If it isn’t like how it seems then tell it to me straight.” Shouta finally spoke up.

You took a second to come down from your panic. You steeled your nerves as much as possible before you spoke. 

“Um well, I have nothing against her it’s just that a little heads up would’ve been nice? I’m not all that great with kids so this is just kind of weird is all.” You were purposefully being vague in hopes that he’d understand what you meant and also maybe drop it.

“Not great with kids? You’re literally a teacher.” He pointed out.

“Yeah you know but she’s like a kid kid and let’s be honest I’m not too great with the students either.” You awkward laughed. So he wasn’t getting it.

“Wha-you’re fine with the students and I’m sure you’ll be fine with Eri, there was no reason to avoid me over this.” Shouta sighed. As good as he was with dealing with people, he was equally as shit. Or maybe it was just the fact that you gave him very little to work with. It was probably a bit of both. Still his dismissiveness was not helping you right now.

“No, no, no, no. I think I’ll stay here. Uh, good luck with your parenthood escapades and sorry to leave you high and dry like this but that’s going to have to be a no from me.” You rambled. He seemed to be getting a little tired of this.

“(Y/n) stop being irrational. She’s not even our kid I’m just looking after her for now. Why are you being difficult? I told you you were fine with the students and you’ll be fine with Eri, what else do you want to hear?” Shouta grumbled.

“Well uh I don’t know, uh...” You trailed off, this seemed to be going in a direction you really didn’t want it to go. A slight hostility settling in the air.

At your lack of a proper answer he clicked his tongue. He took a moment to reassess the situation. There had to be something he was missing. After all you were getting really worked up but if you weren’t going to talk to him there was nothing he could do. He shook his head before running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“(Y/n), please, please, just be honest with me. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you can tell me. But I won’t be able to understand if you don’t.” Aizawa sighed, deciding that getting worked up about this was not the way to go, especially when you seemed to be especially distraught.

“Uh, god the thing is I don’t know entirely what to say to put the shitshow in my head into perspective.” You mumbled, trying desperately to figure out what to say that could clear the air but nothing seemed to be coherent enough.

“Take your time.” He decided that this was the best approach to things, making sure neither party got too worked up lest this turn into a fight.

The rain continued to patter softly against the window and your candle continued to burn an slightly off floral-ish scent.  A deafening silence hung in the air because even though he was being as patient as possible some of his frustration leaked through, it was bound to though so you couldn’t exactly blame him. After all, you were probably equally as frustrated with yourself too. 

“I’m just not good in a position like this. I’m not good with kids, especially someone like Eri who’s already so broken. You have that nurturing nature, it comes natural to you but I’m not on that level. I  don’t know the first thing about caring for a child let alone one as already traumatized as her. I’d fuck it up and only make things worse. I don’t want you to reassure me that I’ll be okay with her, I want you to understand that I’m not comfortable with this and that it might take me awhile to come around. I’m sure I sound like the biggest asshole ever but please understand that this just isn’t something I’m ready for.” You had rambled a bit, you were aware of that, but it was the only way that you could properly express your feelings without making things too complicated.

Aizawa said nothing. Trying to figure out how to go about things.

Was he upset? Yeah, you two, even after several long years of being together, hadn’t discussed moving forward in your relationship in depth. And if he’d tried you seemed content with the point you two were at so he left it be, no reason to try and move forward when what you had was already fine the way it was. But recently he’d been craving more. Some mornings, when he’d be the first to wake, he’d study your features in the soft light of the sunrise and wonder what it’d be like to properly settle down with you. Get married, start a family, all that jazz. He’d taken in Eri only because it was the most rational decision. His quirk would be good for quelling hers had it ever gotten out of hand. But it also seemed to quell his musings of something more with you. He had imagined you being a good parental figure for the little girl and it made his heart flutter and his stomach explode with butterflies. But now seeing that that wasn’t what you wanted and how you weren’t ready for it, it stung. But in the end, he loved you. He’d easily give his life for you. So, if that meant waiting he’d wait. He’d wait a million years if he had to. He could do it.

Once again he spoke,

“Take your time then. I can wait.”

Tagslist?: @captainchrisstan (I think you said you wanted to be tagged but I’m also just small brained lol If u didn’t want to and I misinterpreted things just let me know :) )