#but also the sports community has always been so wonderful towards me despite all the toxicness others talk about

[letstrywritingmaybe]

I’m trying to write the next part of the sibling verse and I’m a little undecided over how things should go… so I’m thinking maybe I should just try and start the lying verse instead. I’ll edit the first part of the POV series later, I’m planning for a lunar new year update since it’ll be my day off. But we’ll see. I should also edit my Valentine’s Day ficlets too… I’ve not been on it at all writing wise with being busy amongst other issues… also trying to talk myself out of a big purchase but I’m kinda the worst at that cause I’m all about experiences and it’s literally on my bucket list! There’s a reason why I keep saying I’m self indulgent as hell, in all aspects of my life I’m like this *sigh the problem with being an impulsive fangirl with no chill. I’m supposed to be a responsible adult and I do not act like it

Just an addition, yo this lie verse is so typical lots of love vibes, like this is all my fics. Literally, I say this as if I don’t write fics that are like my vibe, but still. I’m just reading through my overall outline and I’m like this is what I was thinking??? Definitely very reminiscent of when I started this writing thing. Which means I hope I can keep it short, but also I’m impatient which is why I fail. I never wrote it cause too many other ideas but also cause I’m so bad at executing my visions cause I’m too impatient! Basically what I’m trying to say is, authors who can write slow burn well and keep things not super sappy I applaud you cause I could never. My brand really is just a fangirl with a bunch of ideas she speeds through cause she cannot keep focus and do it justice completely. And this is why I could never do this professionally, it’s an art and I’ve definitely not mastered it. Not even close

Unrelated thought that I’m just gonna let sit for a moment cause I don’t wanna get into it, but I’m generally curious over what the rest of the shippers think about the level of attraction between them and how extreme it can be. Cause I have my extreme of toxic as hell and girl you need run via the adoption divergent of the marriage verse. But generally I prefer softness and it’s what I typically write. But some fics I read make me want to explore the more extreme side… okay for real gonna go to bed now. Nighty night 😘🩵🌙

Update: I’ve sorta edited the valentines event ficlets and I’ve finally settled on a summary of sorts for the lie verse. And I wrote one whole sentence! Tomorrow I’ll have to edit the pov verse. I’m still unsure over the sibling verse, so it’s on the back burner. It’s a good thing I never make promises to update regularly cause I’m the worst at that

Update 2: I’ve started the lie verse and I’m undecided how long each chapter should be? Cause I also don’t know how many chapters there will be either??? Decisions, decisions… I’m 1.5k into chapter one and I’m at a good stopping point… but idk.

[fightaers]

izuku knows he's not helpless by any means.

there was a point in time, sure, where he thought being quirkless would've defied everything in his life : he would remain helpless and unspecial. he would remain mediocre and uninteresting. he would go through the routine of life, but it ... would not have amounted to anything, because he wasn't like the others. he was a deku. useless and empty and unworthy.

until all might found him again. until he somehow stumbled himself into the boxing gym he'd now frequented for years. until being quirkless was simply another platform for others to look down upon, so izuku could use that assumption against them; so izuku could deliver a punch himself, or get ahead in a strategy, and he'd come out as the victor. despite, despite, despite.

still. he knows intimately that years of fighting in the ring and building the muscles of his body was always intended more towards the scrappy, low-level sort of brawl. of course, there was still a sense of professionalism when the fightings were arranged among its community and there is a clear fan-base following the sport until a few recognisable champions could be easily identified among its die-hard audience. izuku was apart of the community, still is, and he adores every facet to it that he's invited to. that doesn't mean he does not recognise that sparring in the same martial arts isn't limiting and repetitive.

( it's one of the reason he's asked all might to help him improve; why he'd met pro hero shōto at all and have been arranging a sparring session every few months. )

it's also the reason why izuku could recognise how easily it is that katsuki could take him down like this. despite all the years of training, nothing, after all, compares to the hard-worn battle experience a pro hero must endure and could quickly retaliate. izuku feels the usual string of adoration curling up his spine as much as the shock from the sudden turn of event rattles his body. the back of his head meets the floor, a thud, and kacchan's hand threatens his arteries.

even still, apart of him couldn't help but bloom under attention. he thinks, though deliriously, kacchan looks good like this.

finally, the blonde lets him go, and izuku heaves. blood from his nose, and mouth gagging for air. he wonders what his mother would've said if he could see izuku right now. to run away, probably. to know better than to fall further into this when kacchan had shown him nothing but malice and violence. but izuku's always been weirdly stubborn, isn't he ? midoriya inko had wanted her son to be an office worker, to stray as further away as she could from the image of gore and brutality.

look at him, though. he will ever be afraid of this, he thinks. all of these spite and hatred ... isn't it still for him, just him ? ❛⠀i don't think me being under you is the image of loss you're hoping you'd aspire, kacchan. ❜ he laughs, a series choked sound, and if katsuki is still above him, izuku's roughened up boldly reaches forward: it slides the length of kacchan's clothed thighs, predicting that the blonde will wretch away from his touch soon. ❛⠀you should be careful. you don't know yet how much of my love i could still express. you're all i want, after all, kacchan. ❜

another strategy. let's see what bakugou katsuki has to say to that.

katsuki - by all accounts, and perhaps to his credit - had been only teetering on the edge of his full wrath.

considering that he'd punched deku and planned to keep him pinned to the wall with his arm threatening to press against adam's apple, he'd been trying, at least a little, to remember what his doctors told him. it was important to recognise his triggers and automatic thoughts. it was therefore vital to work around them. the anger he feels - though extreme - is a reflection of himself and his beliefs, and thus he needed to learn how to modify them, all the while improving his communication.

a doctor once described it as an overreactive and automatic fight response. if he kept on top of routine, modifying thoughts, and avoided anything that attributes to poor impulse control, he'd cope better when the anger flares.

they always made it sound so easy. for years, maybe it was. but this was different ; they would not approve of him lashing out at deku, even when the other throws words and challenges back at his face, but maybe they could at least understand why. after all, it seems deku knows every button he has. he knows which ones to press. he knows how to trigger the ticking time bomb that he was, and katsuki, he was not someone who would take such talk lying down.

deku wouldn't know any of his therapy, though, since katsuki made no active effort to listen to his doctors until he finally made it into u.a. high. to him, he was the same kacchan he knew from aldera, wasn't he ? the same one that he wanted to chase into a world he couldn't be a part of.

the same one that he kissed. the same one that he loved.

the reminder makes him seethe, makes his lips tingle with the reminder, the bruised feeling sinking in as he glares. he can't control himself. he can tell that deku is not scrawny like he used to be, but what hope does he have against a pro-hero like dynamight ? - which is why he lunges forward to grab at him and use his momentum to force the green-haired man to the ground. his hand seeks to wrap around his throat.

this would spell danger, especially with how he looms over and glares at the man on the ground - but his hand isn't pressing against windpipe. it is more concerned with the pressure against arteries. [ it is hard to determine if this was his original intention, or if he had enough control to prevent the alternative. ]

❛ i told you, all i wanted was to know what you did so i could tell you how you're still the same fucking deku you always were. and yet - ❜ the pressure increases at that, voice low and sharp, ❛ - you keep underestimating me. ❜ it was a point of pride for him, able to take on every challenge that would present itself. he wants to prove that he can. the times that he doesn't, he walks away, but deku knows his words, knows how to challenge him. ❛ don't think i can handle one quirkless nobody's stupid love ? don't think i'm capable ? you think you're better than me just 'cause you can face my hate now ? ❜

he shoves deku away unceremoniously. disgusting. pitiful. pathetic, to think that he had any upper hand in this. ❛ you're full of yourself if you think you're too much. i'll make you lose. ❜

[iwritewthwine]

Hey, you!

author's note: hey...I know this seems weird, knowing that I still have Run to you in progress and don't worry I am still writing it. This is just a random drabble I got an idea from Hoshi's Instagram story with the baby sparrow. This has no plot. Or well maybe little plot? Idk? It's just random. If you can tell I wrote this on a whim and you guessed it, wine, usually I check my work before I post it but if there miss-errors that's just because I missed it from the wine impairment. Enjoy, and now back to writing Run to you

Title: Hey, you!

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x fem reader

Genre: fluff, crack, angst(?)

Tropes: university students, student athlete, strangers to lover, damsel hoshi, strong female lead, modern fairy-tale, crush on wonwoo

Synopsis: he is a damsel in distress or what it may have seemed like and you were just passing by, happened to rescue him from his distress. Turns out, you're saving him more often you thought.

Warnings: nothing too drastic, a couple of swear words, peer pressure, bullying, Wonwoo is kind of an ass (I'm sorry don't hate me. I feel bad but it's for content), gender mistreatment

Word count: 6 k

Growing up, you always knew you weren't the princess type. Despite wondering and dreaming about being a princess, with butterflies and birds fawning at you and a charming prince coming to sweep you off of your feet. Well, yeah none of that ever happens, because even though you weren't quite the tomboy you did play a lot of excruciating sports. Football (soccer), football (aka American football), tennis, and a black belt in taekwondo. And with all those sports, you were also very spoken on ideals and opinions, standing up to bullies and helping people who needed it. This is where we are right now in your third year of University with a major in communications, at a sports game. Who is playing? The University women's football (soccer) team and you were in the middle of the action as a defender— currently playing as a left wing-back, dribbling the ball as you look for a teammate that seems appropriately open. Lobbing the ball across the pitch to an available teammate, rushing forward, and defending the other team's player from getting the ball. Eyes glued at the ball as it comes flying back toward your side of the pitch again, the ball soaring through and you knew this is a chance. Rushing near the goal and jumping in the air as you headed the ball into the back of the net for a goal. The score was a mere one to nil. For the full 90 minutes of the game, your team was in full-on defense mode, defending and keeping the ball in possession from the other team, keeping it one to nil.

“Y/n, that was great, so great. I could have been a little tighter toward the 70th minute and there were a couple of times you could have scored another goal but it was good. That header goal was amazing. The people around me were startled but I didn’t care.” He smiled widely, handing you your towel to wipe off the sweat slowly dripping down from your hairline and a bottle of water. “Tonight. At Seokmin’s place. There is a party. And since the team just won, let’s celebrate.” Seungkwan’s hands fisted into a ball, thrown in the air with a whoosh. Shoving the bottled water in his hand from acting too dramatic as he appears to do that a lot. Draping the towel around your neck and walking off with your duffel bag, Seungkwan trails behind you. “Ya, Y/n come on. You don’t have to drink. Just hang out a bit, have fun a bit, and make some new friends. Seokmin also mentioned that Wonwoo is going to be there.” Seungkwan’s eyebrows rose suggestively as your cheeks flushed at Wonwoo’s name. You have had a crush on Wonwoo for the longest time, you passed him in the University library quite a bit, only exchanging bows and stares and the occasional “hello”. He was so handsome and built, and also played for the men's soccer team and you always get butterflies when you see him from afar. However you never really made a move on Wonwoo, afraid that he might not like you in return and afraid that he might not like a type of girl who isn’t feminine. Seungkwan noticed your blushing cheeks, his grin widening as he shoves his shoulder against you. “So? Let’s go to that party and blow Jeon Wonwoo’s mind.” Linking his arm into yours as you both stride out of the soccer field and to your shared apartment. 

At the apartment, after showering, you stared at the reflection, not knowing what to wear to a party. You didn’t really own anything per se “pretty” and whatever you called pretty wasn’t pretty in other people’s eyes aka Seungkwan. As on cue, Seungkwan walks into your room, his head tilted as he stares at you, still in your bathrobe even though you finished showering like 30 minutes ago. 

“Well? What are you going to wear?” He asks. Stepping over to your closet and staring at the hanging clothes, scanning for anything, anything that will get you to stand out. “Hmm.” He hums, arms crossed over his chest. A quick glimpse at you and then back to your closet. “Oh, oh, oh,” he exclaimed. Shuffling your clothes around as he pulls out a couple of hangers with clothes hung on them. “I got it and you will look amazing and people will be like “oh mah gawd, is that Y/n? She looks so damn amazing and sexy and wow those curves” and then Wonwoo will fall head over heels for you and then the both of you will become the it couple on campus.” Seungkwan claps his hands together, shoving the hangers in front of you with haste. “Go and change. We don’t have all night!” 

Trying on the outfits that Seungkwan gave you, there were a few you don’t even remember buying, and some you wore at least once or twice and just hung them back inside of your closet and forgot about it. Stepping out of the bathroom and walking back into your room, Seungkwan’s jaw dropped at the sight of you. “Don’t even!” You protest. Feeling how tight the dress was around the curve of your waist and the hem of the skirt rolling up against your thighs. “I haven’t worn this in, I don’t know, months, also I think I gained weight, it’s tight around my waist.” You struggle to fix the dress around your waist and keep the dress from rolling up past your thighs.

“Shut up, you didn’t gain weight. Maybe muscles from soccer but you look fine. Also sexy too. Wonwoo is definitely going to have a mouth drop moment. He will definitely be seeing you.” Seungkwan walks over to your closet and grabs a light cardigan, handing it over to you in case you did feel insecure about the dress. He wouldn’t let you feel insecure about your body or the outfit, he was your best friend and he most of the time took good care of you.

Seokmin’s party was in full swing, there were a lot of people, and a few had brief encounters at the University library or just somewhere on campus. There was also the men’s soccer team that was present, despite Wonwoo being in the team. It always irks you that the men's team gets more attention and privilege from the University and people, while women’s teams are always in the shadows. It isn’t fair and quite sexist. Which is why your major is communication, the dream to reach out and inform the World that women are powerful and leaders. Seungkwan had already abandoned you, to which he said he wouldn’t and to help you get Jeon Wonwoo to converse with you. With a soda in your hand, you stare around the place, scanning for anyone that you know. Seungkwan was talking to the host of the party, Seokmin. You knew him from one of your classes and he has a sweet personality. Still scanning around, as you begin to feel a bit claustrophobic, soda in hand you step outside to the backyard. Taking a deep breath in and out, clutching tight to your soda with your eyes shut. Parties with a lot of people still give you anxiety, it was weird though, because with soccer games you were just fine— probably because soccer makes you feel good, it distracts you and with parties, it was just, well parties, having fun with people and interacting and introducing yourself to them. All of that made you anxious and a little panicky. Taking a soft sip of your soda, tilting your head upwards to look at the stars in the darkened sky. It was twinkling and bright, softly sighing and taking another sip of your soda when something pricked your ears at the sound of a groan. Curious at whatever that was, you made your way in an attempt to to know where that groan is coming from. Eyes widened at the sight, a small stature man, surrounded by a mob of people, either they are his friends or they are a bunch of bullies. Unsure of what it is, you make your way over with your shoulders and head held up high, placing your soda can on a nearby table. “Hey, you! Assholes! Want to pick on someone your own size, come and get me you fuckers, let’s see you get beat by a woman! I ain’t afraid of you asshats!” You shouted at the mob of people, hands in a fist and raised in the air as you stepped closer to the group and eyes glaring with flame as they scurry away, leaving the small stature man all by himself. He was swaying side to side, obviously drunk. Walking up to him, you steady him with your hands clasped around his biceps and they were pretty firm. “Hey, are you alright?” Tilting your head to the side to make eye contact with him, he had some beautiful eyes and the cutest button nose, and his cheeks were definitely flushed from whatever alcohol he was drinking. “I’m Y/n. Are you okay?” Softly smiling at him, his body sways side to side, eyes blinking to adjust his vision as he stares at you with widened eyes and mouth agape.

“Uh…Soonyoung. I am Soonyoung. I’m fine. Those guys are my teammates on the soccer team. I don’t really play. I’m more of the water boy but yeah.” He shrugs his shoulders softly, and your heart tugs at what he said. It was rude of them to pick on the water boy, as a water boy is still partially part of the team. 

“Nice to meet you Soonyoung and that is awfully rude. If they continue to be rude to you, you should just become the girls’ water person. We aren’t rude and will welcome you with open arms.” Chuckling at the thought of the women’s soccer team being more considerate and nice. “Let me get you some water.” Linking your arm with his’ as you escort Soonyoung inside, finding your way to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from a cooler to help him get sober. “Here you go.” Soonyoung took the bottle of water from you, taking a long sip as water dripped down the corner of his lips. He let out a soft exhale, hands gripping the water bottle. Finding him quite, well adorable. It was weird because it was Wonwoo that made you get butterflies, but with soonyoung, who you barely knew just literally 5 minutes ago is making you feel some sort of things you cannot comprehend. “Uhm, well, it’s nice meeting you Soonyoung.” The inevitable awkward silence flew in between the two of you, trying to think of something to say. A thought appeared in your head, or it was more of an idea. “Whenever I'm tipsy, I always go for tacos to sober me up and I am craving for some tacos right now. Do you want to go with me?” Soonyoung blinks his eyelids softly, his eyelashes brushing against his skin and his lips jutted out. He was cute in this form, his head slightly hung low and bobbing, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, softly grinning at the possibility of meeting someone so cute. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” mumbling the words out, Soonyoung tilted his head up, shaking his head with his hands waving in front of him. 

“I want to. I like tacos. I like you.” Soonyoung blinks again, trying to adjust his vision so he could clearly see you and not in a form of a blurred blob. Cheeks blushing at what he said, and a little confused if he meant it or it was the alcohol talking. Whatever it could have been, you shrug it off for now.

A dozen tacos settled on two trays, along with two large cups filled with Sprite, sitting side by side with Soonyoung in the seat booth. You try your best to not make eye contact with him as your meeting with him is still fairly new and unconventional. Taking a taco into your hand and stuffing yourself to avoid conversation, glancing to the side to see that Soonyoung has done the same. His cheeks all puffed out like a cute little chipmunk. Stifling back a giggle, you continue to eat the taco in your hands. Some awkward silence of eating tacos later, sipping on your Sprite as you contemplate on what to say to him. “How long have you been the waterboy for the men's soccer team?” Feeling stupid for asking such a question but it was the only known topic that made you feel confident. Soonyoung chewed on his tacos, his head turning to meet you, and gosh he really does have pretty eyes.

“Since freshman year actually. A lot of my friends are on the team and I'm not really great at sports so I volunteered to be the water boy and now I'm still in that position.” He shrugged his shoulders, taking another taco into his hands. “And, the guys before, they are also on the soccer team. They do pick on me but it's fine. They are kind of harmless and I am accustomed to it now.” Taking a bite of his taco, a soft up turn of his mouth into a smile. Your heart sinks at the mention of the team still picking on him, so what if he’s the team’s waterboy? A waterboy is still a team player and sufficient to the team. Huffing aloud, you slam your palms on top of the table, getting Soonyoung’s attention as he turns to face you with confusion in his expression and mouth chewing on the taco. 

“Excuse my language and manner but that is fucking messed up. So what if you’re the waterboy, it gives it no damn excuse to pick on you. Like what? Just because they’re stronger and play for the team they can just pick on someone who stands on the sideline, handing out water so they can stay hydrated, taking care of them. Preposterous! Ridiculous! Fucking asses!” Groaning loudly, brows scrunched up and nostrils flaring at the thoughts of people being stupidly rude, unknowingly as your hands tighten into a fist. Turning your body around as you face Soonyoung head on, minding his own business while munching on his taco, he glances sideways to meet you. Almost choking on his taco, he took his cup of Sprite to help with not choking. “If those players are picking on you again or remotely being asshats, send me a message straight away and I will run over to kick their asses.” Taking your phone out from your jacket pocket, unlocking it and finding your number in the contacts. “This is my number. May I?” Soonyoung stared at the half eaten taco in his hand, softly setting it down and wiping his hands and fingers clean with the napkin. Taking out his own phone and handing it over to you as you dialed in your own number into his phone, handing it back to him afterwards. “There. That’s my number.” Smiling at him with a slight tilt in your head, Soonyoung gulps softly, his eyes widening at you watching him. He never had a girl give him a number before or asked for his number. Wasn’t that what guys usually do though? Asking for a girl’s number and not the other way around? Whatever it is, he likes it and his heart pounding at how cute your eyes form into a crescent shape when you smile, and little dimples visible on your cheeks. 

The next day after soccer practice, you were walking out of the women’s training field by yourself since Seungkwan had a study date in the University library with Seokmin. The women’s training field and your dorm wasn’t that far, and you always enjoyed the walk with the slight wind breeze that accompanied. While passing the men’s training field, you slowed your pace, turning your head lightly to peek over the fence. At first your eyes trained on him, Wonwoo, he was really built and tall despite wearing sweats that covered him up. Running around the field, dribbling the ball and passing it along to his teammates, it seemed like any ordinary training session be whatever kind of gender. Well, the equipment was obviously different, a little more newer than the women’s training equipment. Still watching them practice from the fence line, when you noticed a couple of people walking over to the side and your eyes immediately trained on him, Soonyoung, he was there for their practice and in his hands looked like bottled waters and a box container, probably some snacks of some kind. Can’t tell what is going on as you're further away, and can’t make out the movements on the mouth, however one person was laughing from their head being thrown backwards. Wonwoo made his way over to the group, surrounding Soonyoung and even from afar you could see the wide smile that he usually has on his face. The guys were leaning forward towards him, their lips in a tantalize smirk. If only you could hear what they were saying. One of the guys took the box container from Soonyoung’s hand, opened it up and inside were tea sandwiches or onigiri (it was far you couldn’t see much). Taking one into their hand and a light nibble as they chuckled, placing the tea sandwich or onigiri back inside of the box container. Another person of the group turned towards Wonwoo, nodding their head in a kind of signal. Wonwoo steps up to Soonyoung, his arms crossed over chest and his facial expression deadpan as he looks at him. Something felt off, the way Wonwoo was acting towards Soonyoung and the way his lips pouted in a frown. Fingers clenching the fence tightly, and huffing profoundly at the sight, to think that Jeon Wonwoo is the person you liked. If he’s going to be an ass then you have no choice but to be an ass to him. Letting go of the fence as you power walk to the entrance of the field. Dropping your duffel bag at the side, storming forward with rage burning in your eyes. “Hey, you jerks!” You shouted, hands clenched in fists, cracking your knuckles softly as you walked over to them. “Even if he’s just the waterboy doesn’t give you any rights to bully him. I could tell that he has a better mindset than you jerks.” Voice ringing loud, the group of guys turned to meet you, confused and annoyed by your presence. 

“Why don’t you just leave here. This is for grown men, not for women on their cycle crying out just because of their hormones.” One of the guys said, sneering to himself and then looking at the others as they stifled a chuckle. 

Highly offended, and highly sexist, the audacity of these kinds of people representing the University’s soccer team. Rolling back your eyes and a tilt of the head, you stuck out your tongue lightly, tapping your foot against the turf grass. Taking a minute to exhale and inhale before you do anything too drastic, like punch them in the throat or their ball sack. “Oh, thanks for the friendly reminder for me to check my cycle. Maybe  you should check if you’re on your cycle too? Don’t men have their daily cycles too? Moods constantly shifting?” You sarcastically say, shrugging your shoulders as you bite back your tongue from saying anything more sinister. Eyes scanning over the group and your gaze reaches Wonwoo, who had stepped a little further back, his head slightly hung. Was he really participating with these clowns or is there something deeper that makes him swivel to their idiotic ploy? Then your gaze met Soonyoung, his head not hanging low as like Wonwoo, he was staring back at you with a soft smile and that made your heart fluctuate intensely. “Back up or you’re going to have to tell the local medical assistants that a woman beat you up. And I will and I can.” Readying your stance in a taekwondo position, hands tightly balled up with your thumbs tucked on the inside. Tentatively taking a step closer and swinging a high jab in their direction. The guys took a step back, glowering at you with hatred. “Fuck you” they said and walked away. As for Wonwoo, he stood in his spot for a second longer, gazing up at you with an unknown expression then walked away with nothing to say. Lowering your arms down to your side, taking in a deep breath, you watch Wonwoo’s retreating form and wonder what is going on his head. The man that you had a crush on during your first year of University, you even attended all of his games, fell in love with the way he was laser focused and that made you try out for the women’s soccer team. Knowing that you and him have the same activity and that maybe one day, he will notice you, offer to play soccer with him and the two of you end up as a power dynamic soccer couple. Only now it’s different. Turning yourself around, your heart still racing at Soonyoung’s presence, walking up to him sheepishly, because well, you offered to beat up some bullies for him and weren’t sure if what you did made Soonyoung scared of you. “Uhm…you,” taking another deep breath to calm yourself. “Are you okay? Sorry for what you saw and heard there. I was walking back from practice and noticed the men’s team practicing and, yeah.” Softly biting down on your bottom lip, gazing down at your shoes and the turf.

“I’m fine. I told you, it’s part of my job as the waterboy. The players hassle me here and there, I’m not really affected by it.” Soonyoung shrugged, lowering his body as he tilted his head to the side, trying to get a look at you. “Are you okay?” He asks. Taking a step closer to you with his head still at an angle and trying to meet your gaze.

“I am fine!” Eyes still fixed on your shoes when you see Soonyoung’s face below you, his mouth in a smile and his eyes sparkling and bright. Blinking at his sudden appearance, giving you a fright as your heart leaped out of your chest. Jumping slightly from seeing him, Soonyoung laughed at your action, stepping back and straightening himself. Slowly glancing up at him and seeing that he was still laughing, you glower at him with lips pouted. Seeing your lips, he walked over, cupping his hands on your cheeks and imitating your pouted lips on himself. Gulping softly at how close he was and his hands against your cheeks, and thank god they were covering your cheeks because they were definitely blushing and hoping that he can’t feel how warm it has gotten. “Hey.” Startling Soonyoung at your sudden choice of word, he let go of your cheeks, and picked up the box container that he had bought for his teammates. 

“Sandwich?” He offers you, glancing in the box and finally seeing the cute little tea sandwiches in them, varying in different types. Nodding your head at his question and taking a sandwich into your hand to munch on, as you were getting hungry from practice. “I guess I should have known I got picked on with these sandwiches but they are delicious and I just wanted to share them with my friends.”

Eyes widened at what he said, friends? He still thinks of those people as friends? They are basically bullies and he calls them friends? Even Wonwoo— you weren’t sure if Wonwoo did bully Soonyoung, he didn’t really do much, but he still in a way took part. Softly chewing on your sandwich, placing a hand on top of Soonyoung’s arm. “Those guys aren’t your friends if they treat you like that every single chance they get. Real friends only do that occasionally and know when to stop when things get out of hand. That did not seem like the case. If I didn’t interfere they could have done something worse. Does…” About to say something about Wonwoo to Soonyoung, you stop yourself and finish off the sandwich in your hand, to keep your mouth busy with something and not saying anything unnecessary.

Soonyoung placed the box container in your hands, taking one out for himself. “You can have the rest. I’m glad you like the sandwiches as much as I do. And thanks for everything. You probably think it’s weird but I like it. A girl rescuing a boy. And not to mention that the girl is beautiful. It gives the classic fairytale a good spin.” Coughing softly on your sandwich, Soonyoung looks at you startled, taking one of the bottle water he also brought and unscrewing the cap as he hands it to you. Quickly taking the water bottle and drinking down the water, getting a little splash down from the corner of your lips. Soonyoung clears his throat, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from you as you also made him feel light and his heart also leaping out of his chest. “You good?” He asks. Watching you put up an OK symbol with your fingers. Closing the cap on the bottle water, his eyes scanning your lips as he closes the distance between the both of you, his thumb softly pressing against the corner of your lips as he wipes the water about to drip from there. Taking a step backwards to give you space after. 

Gently you pat your mouth after, making sure nothing else is there for him to do that again and even though you liked it, it was awkward. “Thanks. I should probably get to my apartment.” Closing up the box container, you shuffle away from him, heading towards your duffle bag that you dropped by the entrance. Picking it up and hurrying yourself out of the field and out of Soonyoung’s presence. “What is wrong with you?” You muttered lowly, shutting your eyes tight and hands gripping the handle of your duffle bag.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you but it’s kind of cute. Are you perhaps shy? And to think I was shy in front of you because you rescued me but after processing what happened, I kind of want you to rescue me again.” Lifting your head up, staring in shock at Soonyoung beside you, mouth agape and wanting to say something but nothing but air comes out. “Can I walk you to your apartment? It might be close to my place and the sun is setting. It’s cliche but you are alone and I don’t want anything happening to you too.” Mouth still agape, you were for sure your cheeks were bright red by now and your heart beating rapidly, ready to run out of you and run far far away. 

“Mm, yeah. I don’t mind. And you know, I already said it earlier but I do have a black belt in taekwondo. I think I can take care of myself if something were to happen. It’s you that should be careful.” Regaining your composure, glimpsing at Soonyoung beside you as he keeps up with your pace. Still in shock that he heard what you said and what he said after. Cute? Telling someone that they are cute after helping them from a rough situation? When you were younger and situations like what happened to Soonyoung happened, the other person would call you weird and that they didn’t need your help and for you to go back and play with dolls and dress-up. It’s why you end up playing sports, when you help others and are ridiculed for it. Sports were a distraction in a way, to keep your patiences at bay and you didn’t care if people called you beautiful or cute or gorgeous. However now, hearing it from Soonyoung, it felt different, like you don’t want to hide anymore. The walk to your apartment did take quite some time, and Soonyoung even noticed how far it was from the practice field. “Well, this is my apartment. Thank you for walking with me.”

“It’s no problem. It actually is close to my apartment anyways, I didn’t realize it until we passed that donut shop on 23rd street and fyi, I usually buy the cronuts not the donuts from there.” Soonyoung walked you up to your door, wanting to make sure that you got inside safe. Climbing up the stairs to get to your floor, the setting sun illuminates directly in your path giving your hair and body a type of golden glow. Soonyoung stares unblinking at you, watching you get the key out of your bag to unlock the door. He turns around to face the parking lot and the street, calming himself down slightly, he turns back around, leaning his back against the railing as he watches you opening the door to your apartment. “Well, I made it to my place safe and sound…” Standing with the door to your apartment open, frozen at seeing the sunlight glowing against Soonyoung’s back and the slight wind breeze rushing through his hair. He looked so ethereal and handsome just standing in front of the sun’s lights. A chirp catches your attention as two tiny sparrows fly by, one landing on the railing next to him and the other gently landing on top of his shoulder. Having noticed the tiny toes on his shoulder, Soonyoung turned his head softly to look at the sparrow. Quietly chirping and fluffing its feathers, the other sparrow on the railing flies up and lands on top of Soonyoung’s head. Unfazed, he stood perfectly still for the two sparrows, and upon how beautiful and bizarre this whole situation was, you took out your phone slowly from your pocket. Snapping a few photos of and a couple of videos, all while holding your breath to frighten the sparrows. Soonyoung saw your phone pointing at him, softly whistling a random tune for the sparrows with a light smile. 

“Mr and Mrs Sparrow, how was your day? Going back to your nest you say? I do hope your nest is warm and comfortable and somewhere safe. Do you have eggs in your nest? Oh, I see, still incubating them. They will become strong sparrows too.” Soonyoung spoke to the sparrows, as you recorded his shenanigans, holding in your laughter and trying not to burst out loud. As you carefully step closer, to film the sparrows and Soonyoung closer. Noticing you walking closer to him, Soonyoung turned his head towards the sparrow on his shoulder. “There’s this girl. She is very beautiful and strong and I don’t think she likes being strong and beautiful because it’s intimidating to others and I think she’s afraid she will get rejected by them. But I like it. I like her a lot. Mr Sparrow is Mrs Sparrow beautiful and strong to you?” He asks the sparrow on top of his shoulder as the sparrow chirps at him like it was talking back to him. “Oh really? Mrs Sparrow is strong and beautiful just like this girl? And what should she do to feel accepted? Uh huh, yeah, oh, I see, go on a date with me you say? I do agree with you but she might not want to…uh huh, I guess I will just to see then should I?” Soonyoung turned to look at you, your phone still aiming at him and still filming him talking to the sparrows. Stopping the record button, you set the phone back in your pocket. “Time to get to your nest you guys. Go.” A quick soft whistle, the sparrows fly off of his head and shoulder. He walks over to you, wanting to just run inside of your apartment but you don’t and just wait for him to be in front of you. 

“That is very impressive. Sparrows don’t usually land on people because they are skittish and know that humans are scary. They must have really liked you.” Staring at him as you make your breathing light and soft, not wanting to make yourself seem nervous. “I can send you the photos if you like. They actually look really good with the sun’s lighting and everything.” Laughing softly to defuse the nervousness inside of your body and mind. Looking unfazed and completely different to how he usually looks, he was in a way looking very smolder and hot, it was different from when you rescued him. He was all cute and bubbly, even when he was talking to the sparrows he looked so beautiful, something looked different and you weren’t sure on how to act. “Good night then Soonyoung.” Stepping back and towards the opening of your door, Soonyoung reaches out and takes your wrist into his hand, pulling you back towards him. 

“You don’t want to know what the sparrows told me?” He looked at you with an intensity in his gaze, it was incredibly sexy and a part of you wished to see the adorable side of him again because that side didn’t make you feel all sorts of things. “The sparrows said I should follow my heart. And my heart really wants to know where we go from here. I want to know more about you, I want you to rescue me again and I want to rescue you too.” The playful smile on Soonyoung’s face returns, his hand still gripping your wrist as he loosen it, sliding his palm down to meet your own. Intertwining his fingers with yours. “May I? Y/n.” His fingers were soft on your own, glancing down at them and how it molded nicely with your own fingers. 

Of all the things that you want to happen in your life, this wasn’t even close to one of them and currently it is the one thing you really want right now. The crush you had on Wonwoo, dissipating before you and the newfound interest in Soonyoung blooming within you. You might have met him in the most unconventional matter, rescuing him from mean bullies and that feeling of rescuing him started out as just standing up to people who uses torture for pleasure, especially one is intoxicated. After the rescue today, and having chatted the night before while binge eating on tacos, the rescue made your heart swell for Soonyoung and wanting to keep him as close to you as possible even if you were the one initiating the fight. “You aren’t scared of me?” Feeling stupid for asking such a question but it was the one thing that you needed to know, that someone isn’t going to be afraid of you just because you are strong and can fight. Soonyoung shook his head with a soft chuckle. Pulling you closer to him, his knees softly bumping into your thighs. 

“Why would I be scared of you when you literally rescued me twice.” He shook his head again, displeased with you that you would even ask such a question. “You being strong and can fight is what makes you attractive.”

sucking in a deep breath, your eyes getting misty from his choice of words, with your fingers still clasp in with his’ as you think of what to say to him. “You aren’t joking are you?” Again another stupid question that makes you question yourself on why you even think about what to say when it’s just going to come out stupid. Soonyoung huffed out, clearly tired of your questions and self doubt. “Let me show you then” he whispers as he closes in on you, his lips pressing against your own. His lips were soft and for some odd reason it smelt like strawberries, for one it wasn’t you because your chapstick scent were the unscented ones. Lightly shuffling your feet closer, and moving your linked hand with Soonyoung’s hand to the side as you keep your lips against his’, continuing to kiss him with fervor. A light moan escaping your lips, Soonyoung pulls away, a soft smile on his mouth as he pushes you inside of your apartment and closes the door after him. Pulling you back into his embrace, letting his forehead rest against your own. “I guess you aren’t joking.” Chuckling softly, he brushes the tip of his nose against yours. 

“Nope. When I want to joke I will and this, with you, I’m not joking. I really like you Y/n.” 

Your heart fastening as he speaks, mouth slightly agape with his forehead still resting on your own. You were spiraling, but a good kind of spiraling. “I like you too, Soonyoung. Beyond what I could ever imagine. And I will rescue you again if I have to.” Adding that last part for laughs, and getting a soft peck to your lips from Soonyoung as he smiles at you. “I cannot wait,” he says, taking your lips back into his. Moving your hands up his chest as you softly push him towards the couch in the living room, getting him to fall back on the cushion. Grinning mischievously at him, sitting down upon his lap with your legs capturing his hips and arms flailing around his neck. Softly pressing down against his crotch, you find your lips against his neck, kissing and sucking at the skin between his neck and his clavicle. Soonyoung’s hands moving over to your hips, grasping you tightly in his hands. “I like this.” You muttered against his skin. “Me too” Soonyoung says after, one hand of his sliding up your back.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much 

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

-

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?” 

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.  

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

-

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?”  Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

-

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

-

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

-

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

-

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

-

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.  

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of  how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,”  you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

-

[jackrrabbit]

🤍 Haikyuu WIP excerpts

preview post for hq because recently i showed sara a list of my works in progress and she laughed at me and then made a dn joke like this is 2015 or something. we got:

🤍 communal property /// ushijima x f!reader x tendou 🤍 sunshower /// atsumu x f!reader x osamu 🤍 corporate ethics /// kuroo x f!reader

anyway these are all terrible first drafts and i'm not sorry. however i am very very into these pieces and if you're interested in seeing them finished, you should tell me fr fr

🤍 communal property /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too?

Tags/warnings: poly relationship in progress (only you and Tendou are dating at this point), mild suggestiveness ??, s*ze k*nk

Status: 10k words written (holy fuck lol) out of ~11k total? this bitch better get finished is2g

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima outside the locker room in the stadium. You’re pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face! I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never shows signs of caring) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. The ball when you hit it was super loud—honestly, how are your hands okay? If I hit it that hard I’d probably break something.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made Ushijima smile. You did that.

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah!” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

🤍 sunshower /// Atsumu x f!Reader x Osamu

Summary: [Kitsune AU] You find an old Ō-Inari shrine in the woods that may not be as abandoned as it looks.

Tags/warnings: Shinto religion, this preview is biased toward tsumu oops, yearning/soft vibes

Status: 3.9k words written out of 5–6k? total

Atsumu was the one who found you.

That’s how he likes to talk about it, that he found you, like you’d still be wandering around lost in the woods if it weren’t for him. Osamu thinks you would have found your way back home eventually but Atsumu likes it better this way, this framing that makes it seem like they saved you.

It’s hard for him to tell time linearly the way humans do but you mention once that you’ve known them for a year and that seems to fit. It’s spring now, almost barely tipping into summer, and it was spring when Atsumu found you. He remembers because of the way it was raining: light and tender, a summer rain early in the season, each little drop tapping off a leaf and then rolling into the forest bed to be eaten up by the grass and the soil.

Atsumu likes the rain, likes the sweet earthy smell it makes and the way the plants look so lush and green and alive, like they’d bleed if he sunk his teeth into them. He was out in the woods because of the rain ('Samu was in the shrine, as usual, attempting to set buckets under the millions of holes in the roof so the rainwater wouldn’t pool and rot through the wood underneath). But Atsumu was half asleep in a tree when he heard you crashing through the undergrowth, tripping over ferns and snapping every twig in your path (thought ya might be a bear, he tells you later, that’s how loud ya were) but he wouldn’t really have woken up if he hadn’t heard you singing.

(The odd thing is, you weren’t actually singing. You remember that day as vividly as they do: the warm, humid air making your skin feel sticky under your yellow raincoat; the tiny raindrops filtering through the canopy and kissing your cheeks; the ink feathering out on the damp xerox of the old map you found in your great-aunt’s attic so you could barely make out the “X” that was supposed to mark the location of the lost Inari shrine… You were cursing how stupid you’d been to go on a wild goose chase into the mountains with no cell service and no marked trail to look for a shrine that no one had seen in decades. You definitely weren’t singing.)

But Atsumu remembers it differently. No matter how many times you explain that you were just talking to yourself, when he replays the sound of your voice back then (reaching and lilting and falling, the way the birds talk to each other in the early morning, except the music of it was poured into syllables and words), it sounds like you’re singing. He wasn’t sure at first, hadn’t heard a voice that wasn’t Osamu’s in so many years that he gets tired counting them, but then he saw you push into view from between two bushes and he thought, a human!

A girl, too—it was hard to say at first because you were wearing that weird, slick jacket of yours, so bright yellow it was like an oversized flower blooming out of the grass, but then you tilted your head up to feel the rain on your face and the hood fell down and he knew. Not just a human, a girl! Atsumu wanted to yell for Osamu, make him come and confirm that there was a person wandering around not a mile from the shrine. A real person! Singing and smiling and wiping the rain off her cheeks (does that mean you like the rain, just like he does? did you come out to feel it too?) But he also wanted to surprise Osamu so he hid his tails and his ears and came down from the tree and asked if you had lost your way in the forest, since you were so far from any path…

When you think back on this yourself you’re amazed that you just went with him: a strange boy (man?) wearing a fox mask and traditional Shinto priest robes, which were somehow pristine white and red despite him having appeared from nowhere in the middle of a dense forest, who told you he had no idea what direction the village was but he could take you to the Inari shrine you’d been searching for…well. Maybe you were too surprised to be wary, or maybe you were just exhausted and lost. But you like to think you had a sense of it even then, the irrational belief that the boy in the woods was not just a boy in the woods.

Atsumu thinks you knew. Humans always understand, even when they try not to… He remembers, he took your hand that day in the forest and you saw that the claws on his fingers were too long to be human, and you said nothing because on some level you already felt it. Your skin was cool then, smooth and damp from the rain; he wanted to stop, run his hands up your arms, touch the places on your face where your mouth had been turned up at the corners and press his fingers into your cheeks.

🤍 corporate ethics /// Kuroo x f!Reader

Summary: [Office AU] The new junior marketing associate just happens to be Kuroo’s favorite camgirl, and he’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Tags/Warnings: boss/employee, businessman!Kuroo as a reformed player, camgirl reader, this excerpt has a lil bit of 18+ content 👀

Status: 1.2k words written out of 4k? words total

Kuroo doesn’t watch porn.

It’s not, like, a moral principle or something. He has nothing against pornography. As far as he knows, it’s perfectly normal for single men. He just doesn’t like it…unless it’s you.

When he was in school it was easy. Being a teenager meant being so flooded with hormones that a warm breeze could get him up, and the adrenaline rush of winning a game was better than any big-titted porn actress faking moans into a shit-quality boom mic. Sure, he watched porn back then (what teenage boy didn’t?), but it was more out of curiosity than necessity. It was all kind of a mystery at that point, the way it can only be when you’re a clueless virgin and you and all your friends are too busy practicing for the next game to get girls.

Somehow Bokuto was the first one in their friend group to lose his virginity, and the memory of the dumbass self-consciously describing the experience has been lodged in Kuroo’s brain for the 10+ years since. “It was…I don’t know. She smelled good. You know how girls always smell good?” Bokuto’s hands twitched and his face was pink. “It’s just really…soft.”

Soft was right, Kuroo would reflect when he got laid for the first time a few months later. Soft, warm, wet. Sex was awkward at first, but before he knew it it was more natural than breathing.

It didn’t change much after high school, either. He didn’t get into volleyball for the groupies, but they didn’t hurt. There were girls when he played for his college team, more girls when he joined a business frat, so many girls he couldn’t keep track…they blurred together after a while. It didn’t take effort. You don’t need game when you’re 6’2 and you’re in the gym 40 hours a week, and you definitely don’t need porn.

So he never got into it. Now that he’s promoting volleyball instead of playing, things are more complicated. Kuroo’s never been the type who expects things to fall in his lap, but there are so many rules when it comes to dating in the real world. Good morning texts, anniversaries, flowers, parents. It’s exhausting. One time—seriously, just one time—Kuroo misses his girlfriend’s birthday to go watch a Jackals game, and the next time he sees her she throws her drink on him in public and keys his car. After that, Kuroo decides that until he’s ready to settle down there will be no more girlfriends. Which means no more reliable sex. Which means resorting to porn.

Which means you.

You, batting your eyelashes at the camera and biting the side of your lip. You, purring and mewing like a kitten. You, lying back on your pretty pink bedsheets in your pretty pink lingerie, sliding your hands between your legs. It takes Kuroo a full month to decide to pay for access to your website (Kenma’s unsolicited recommendation) but it takes less than five minutes for him to upgrade access to premium. You look like a wet dream—no, you look like the centerfold of every dirty magazine Kuroo managed to get his hands on when he was younger. Pristine and alluring and so deliciously out of reach.

And you make it so simple. No delicate emotional games with rules Kuroo never bothered to learn. No pretending to care how your day was. You untie the little bows on the side of your panties and lick your fingers and Kuroo just has to take his dick out and watch you. Getting off hasn’t been this easy for him since college. You’re a camgirl, you exist on his computer screen, and that’s how he likes it.

Which makes it a lot more awkward when Kuroo finds out that the only woman he’s gotten off to in the past…year, maybe?…somehow just got hired in JVA’s sports promotion department as his junior associate.

Your prim work blouse is buttoned up to the collar and your makeup is different, but he knows it’s you. You have to tell him your name twice because he’s too stunned to respond the first time, and even then he can’t summon up more of a response than a curt nod because his mouth tastes like dirt.

You smile a little awkwardly at his cool reception, and the hand you’d extended out to shake swings back down to your side. “Um, the guy at HR said he sent up my info yesterday…I’ll be working directly underneath you?”

Directly underneath me. Kuroo is taking a sip of his coffee when you say this. He doesn’t spit it out, but it’s close.

[toutallyahoe]

Everybody Talks ~ Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyuu) pt 1

requested by: --

a/n: i forgot to post this here, lmao whoops

but anyways, had to split this because tumblr cant support 7000+ words asdfghjkll

this is my longest one shot so far, please enjoy it. em begging thee

part one | part two | part three

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"Hey baby won't you look my way?

I can be your new addiction,"

There it goes again, the annoying song that he was already very familiarized with as it was the very same song that his soulmate had been listening non-stop for the past few days. Iwaizumi Hajime doesn't know if his soulmate had a different time zone than his (thirteen hours difference to be exact) or just a psychopath listening to the loud song for the whole night that the dark haired male could barely sleep. And it had been almost a week already!

"Hey baby what you gotta say?

All you're giving me is fiction,"

Hajime doesn't even understood the song that much despite it's catchy tune. It was in, on what he assumed, was english. Yes, it was very catchy song at first as the beat was very enjoyable and the singer had a nice voice— but listening to the song for almost one week straight? It can drive anyone insane. And Iwaizumi Hajime had to deal with listening to the song over and over again in non-stop repeat because of his (probably) psychopath soulmate listen to it in full volume.

"I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time,"

The dark haired male was rather a bit thankful that the volume of the song he was hearing was a bit bearable as whatever song anyone's soulmate was listening too, it was projected to the other about only eighty percent the noise. Still, the song was loud and Hajime wonders if his soulmate would go deaf with how loud the song was playing on their end. Well, if they weren't going deaf already.

"I found out that everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

It started with a whisper!"

Sighing, Hajime stared at the ceiling of his room, a small frown on his lips. God, his soulmate was lowkey an asshole for making him listen to the same song over and over again for the past few days. If he ever finds his soulmate, the dark haired male was sure to beat them up— or at least, be angry at them for making him listen to a song that he could barely sleep.

"And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

Looking at the alarm clock on top of his nightstand beside his bed, the dark haired male let out another annoyed grunt as he saw the time. It was already midnight and he still had school to attend to tomorrow. Not to mention volleyball practice early in the morning aswell.

God, for a moment, Hajime hated the soulmate bond so, so much.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

But Iwaizumi Hajime also remembered that his soulmate rather had a nice taste in music that even made him listen to his soulmates favorite bands— or at least he assumes they were their favorite bands.

Hajime was stuck with the soulmate bond that let's him hear the song what his soulmate was listening too, and it reminded the dark haired male that his soulmate was somehow sharing a part of themselves to him.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Sighing again, Hajime wished he would just smack his soulmate right now.

  

"Hey honey you could be my drug?

You could be my new prescription,"

Hajime let out an annoyed grunt as he just finished serving and stood outside the court. It was unfortunately out of bounds as he put too much pressure on hitting the ball, but Hajime could barely care about it right now.

"Too much could be an overdose!

All this trash talk make me itchin'!"

Jesus fucking Christ, it was practically by the end of the day, but his soulmate was still listening to the song? The dark haired male now fully believed his soulmate was a psychopath. Period.

"Oh my, my,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, too much..."

"Woah, losing your edge there ace!" Hajime turned his head to whoever had said those words and saw it was a fellow third year and (unfortunately) friend of his, Hanamaki Takahiro. The light brown (pink-ish?) haired male had an eyebrow raised towards him but an amused smirk on his lips with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You okay there? Or are you getting old already?" Takahiro snickered as Hajime rolled his eyes at the wing spiker. The light brown (salmon???) haired player was always a bit of a tease along with another third year, Matsukawa Issei. Speaking of the middle blocker, it seemed like the black haired middle blocker also decided to come and join on annoying the dark haired ace.

"You've been also more annoyed than usual," Issei pointed out as he stood next to his light brown (pastel pink???) haired friend with his arms crossed on his chest aswell. "Love the eye bags, by the way," Issei continued as he grinned while Takahiro snickered more at his comment.

"Oh, shut up," Hajime had grunted as he rubbed the temple on his head. The dark haired ace was already tired from the lack of sleep and practicing volleyball even if he do love the sport. He can't deal with his teams bullshit right now.

"Iwa-chan can't sleep because of his soulmate!" Yelled the volleyball captain of the males volleyball club of Aoba Johsai, Oikawa Tōru, who was unfortunately the dark haired male's best friend since childhood from across the court. How did he know what the three were talking about? No one would ever know other than knowing the captain enjoyed gossip and doesn't care if he even gets caught listening to conversations that doesn't include him. Oikawa Tōru had no shame.

Sighing again, Hajime was so fucking done. Of course the chocolate brown haired male would know about his soulmate problem even if he doesn't say anything about it. For some odd reason, Tōru had a sixth sense with him and his soulmate. How annoying.

"Because of your soulmate...?" Takahiro asked, confused. The confusion on his face was immediately then replaced with an amused look as a shit eating grin was replaced the smirk on his lips. Hajime already felt the headache coming.

"That's pretty kinky, not gonna lie," Takahiro said with no shame whatsoever. Obviously his imaginations running wild from the chocolate brown haired male's shout about Hajime and his soulmate. Issei could only chuckle at his friend's words as they both look at the dark haired ace who was slowly losing his sanity and patience.

"But seriously, Iwaizumi. What's the deal with your soulmate?" Issei asked. Finally something Hajime could actually answer and not be teased by the assholes that he calls his teammates and friends. Unfortunately.

"The dumbass hasn't stopped listening to this one song for almost a week now," Hajime grunted as he could still hear the said song in his mind.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

"Really?" Takahiro said, a bit surprised that a measly song would annoy the dark haired ace. Sure, Iwaizumi Hajime was a bit of a hot headed person but he was a hot headed person who can control his temper— unless it's with Oikawa Tōru, then Hajime would not hesitate to beat the shit outta the chocolate haired captain.

"What's so bad with the song?" And it seemed like the black haired middle blocker agreed aswell as Issei asked that question. The taller male didn't know if he should congratulate their ace's soulmate for making the dark haired male so annoyed and irritated for the past few days or feel bad for Hajime.

"The song isn't the problem," Hajime huffed as he saw both Takahiro and Issei look at him with raised brows. Clearly wanting him to elaborate more since they were confused. Sighing, the dark haired male decided to just come out with it. "They just have been playing the song non-stop and it's driving me insane."

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

"What's the song?" The light brown (peach?!?) haired male had asked. Curious on what Hajime's soulmate was listening to. Can you blame him though? Their ace seemed to be a bit secretive with his soulmate, even if they had been teammates and friends for years. Iwaizumi Hajime didn't seemed to like talking about his soulmate, either it be him not liking them or just likes his privacy. It was probably the latter but who knows?

Sighing again, Hajime gestured the two to follow him to the changing room. The practice was almost over anyways and both Takahiro and Issei had finished their serves earlier ago aswell. The dark haired ace was going to let the two third years hear the song he had been listening to for the past few days with his phone. Hajime, after all, downloaded the song his soulmate had been listening to non-stop.

  

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Arriving at the changing room with the two males tagging along, Hajime wasted no time going to his assigned locker and opened it up. Taking out his phone and unlocking it, Hajime immediately then went to his music app and searched the song his soulmate had forced him to listen to for almost a week.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day,

When everybody's words got in the way!"

Finding the song, the dark haired ace turned to both his friend and gave them a blank expression as he hit play on the song.

The familiar intro of the song played loud on the device's speaker and it didn't take long for the singer started singing the song that Hajime was song he could sing along perfectly from how much he had heard the song already. The dark haired male had practically memorized the lyrics of the song already and he wasn't even kidding.

"Woah," Issei whistled as he look at the song that was playing in Hajime's phone more closely. "Damn ace, you're soulmate has taste!" The black haired male said. Rather surprised and impressed to the song Hajime's soulmate taste in music.

"It's in english too," Takahiro pointed out. He then turned to look at Issei who looked at him aswell. The two seemed to be communicating without even saying anything, but seeing the furrowed eyebrows and small frown on their lips, Hajime knew what they were thinking.

"Your soulmate is probably in a foreign country..." Takahiro said as he looked back at the dark haired ace. A bit worried but the wing spiker seemed to force a grin on his lips. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah, you're pretty lucky to get a foreign soulmate ace," Issei said. "Imagine getting help with english!" The black haired male chuckled. The two friends continued on listing the positives of having a soulmate who can talk in english and joking about it.

The dark haired ace didn't seemed to listen to the two though.

Hajime knew that there was a huge possibility that his soulmate was in another country than where he was. Soulmates were rarely even in the same cities most of the time, so Hajime fully knows about him maybe not meeting his soulmate. Still, it still hurts to think that his soulmate was far away from him and probably would not meet.

Iwaizumi Hajime didn't considered himself as a hopeless romantic, but it had always been his dream to meet the other person who he had sharing music to since he was seven years old.

There were two reasons why Hajime hated sharing about his soulmates music taste. First was that it hurts to be reminded that Hajime would only hear the song his soulmate was listening to and most of the time those songs were in english and were too loud for his liking. Sure, his soulmate listened to some mellow song aswell like lo-fi and even taking note on songs he listened too aswell, but his soulmate seemed to enjoy the upbeat and loud ones a lot.

Second was that Hajime felt like the music he listened from his soulmate were sacred. It was a silly thing to think but for the dark haired ace, the music and songs his soulmate was listening too, it was only for him to listen to and only him alone.

God, perhaps Iwaizumi Hajime was a hopeless romantic. Or at least, a little bit of a hopeless romantic with how he thinks about some dumb songs his soulmate was listening too.

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next >

[inosukki]

stress relief, kenma kozume.

synopsis: after a rough day at work, kenma wants to try something new that might benefit the both of you.

warnings: titty sucking, handjob, cum eating <3

[a/n]: this is my first and last time writing nsfw content LOL. also did not proofread my bad bros😔

Things were eerily quiet without Kenma around.

Well, to be quite honest, things would still be quiet even if Kenma were in your shared apartment. But at least you’d here the clicking of his controller or the soft grunts of discontent that came with him playing his games. It was odd how he barely made a sound when playing, only opening his mouth to give a command or plan an attack with his team. Most guys you knew yelled at the top of their lungs, followed by insults and curses that left you wondering how someone could ever talk to another human being with such venom.

Maybe that’s what drew you to him back in highschool. His shy demeanor. Always cool, calm, and collected. Nothing like Kuroo, the brash and loud hyena-laughing third year who’d introduced the two of you to eachother.

Kuroo and you, despite being a grade level apart, had been placed into the same chemistry class. The two of you bonded over the fact that none of your friends had shared your wits, so you decided to be lab partners for the rest of the year. There was something about your persona that drew you to him, you were so welcoming and inviting and comfortable. Just the perfect person to get Kenma out of his shell, he thought.

So, one day, he invited you to his house (which at first caused you to raise a brow, you were just school friends, right?) to study for an upcoming exam. He was easily the smartest person in the class, but you took this as an opportunity to catch up to your senpai. Unknown to you, he had also invited Kenma to play COD, which lead you to come face to face with a cute boy with cat-like eyes that you would end up falling for.

That lead you here, sprawled out on your couch clad in boxer shorts and a hoodie, lazily scanning your eyes across a copy of The Awakening. Today was your off day from work which you’d hoped to spend with Kenma, but as you two were cuddling, he received an urgent phone call that left you cold and alone in bed. All you could do now was patiently wait for your boyfriend to come home.

As if on cue, you could hear the light tinkling of keys and the click of your front door. The creaking sound it emitted caused you to cringe (but you left a mental note to get that fixed soon) and place down your book.

“Hey honey, how was work?” You called, fitting your chin in between your knees. You wrapped your arms around your legs, squeezing them closer to your chest.

Kenma swiftly closed the door, shrugged off his coat, and slung it onto the floor all in one breath. He was visibly tense and irritation flooded his eyes. Sighing, you picked your book back up and payed him no mind.

Though your relationship with Kenma was amazing, it was far from perfect. He was sweet and attentive (to an extent) but he had trouble communicating himself. You could barely read him as he often showed no emotion. And when he did, he barely liked to talk about it. It was probably the only thing about him that bothered you.

You heard the creaking of the floorboards as he walked past you and into your shared bedroom, along with a deep sigh and the shuffling of feet. The only thing you could do right now was wait it out and hope he’d come to you.

The stress of being a CEO, Youtuber, pro-gamer, and stock trader was larger than you could imagine. Kenma was always up late nights, often on the phone or on his PC, discussing with other board members or filming a video. But he never once complained, which both worried you and caused your heart to swell. He was always independent like that, but it also wasn’t healthy to keep things inside all the time. You wanted to be the shoulder he could lean on, just like he was for you.

As your focus shifted from your thoughts to the book in your hands, you felt the a weight drop down beside you. You stopped yourself from jumping when you realized that it was just Kenma. Fuck, you thought. He really is like a cat. I barely even noticed him. Instead of the suit he was wearing when he walked in, he was sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and a plan white tee. Once again, you placed down your book (would you ever finish it?) and faced towards him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You whispered, taking one of his hands and rubbing soothing circled with your thumb.

He shook his head, no. “Rough day at work,” he mumbled, his raspy voice causing a smile to form on your lips. “Make it better?”

Now it was your turn to sigh as you enveloped him in your arms. Kenma places himself in your lap, almost like a child, legs squeezing around your waist and arms encircling your neck. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, adjusting his body as to not hurt you. Gently, you placed your hand on his head, raking your fingers through his bleach-blonde hair.

What Kenma lacked in words, he made up for in touch.

Whether it was a hand on your thigh, a leg on your lap, an arm around your waist, or his head on your shoulder, Kenma was always touching you as to remind you that he was present. Instead of a simple ‘hey’ he’d press his lips against your cheek or wrap you up in his arms. It was cute, and the first time he’d greeted you with a hug and a kiss you almost melted on the spot.

The innocent embrace between you two was cut short by the sound of sucking and slurping ringing through your ears. You let out a sharp gasp, your breathing halting for a second. Kenma, without warning, had begun to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses in the crook of your neck. The hand that had been gently placed in his hair was now gripping onto the strands in shock.

The sounds ceased completely as Kenma pulled away to look into your eyes, a string of spit following in tow. It was only then you noticed the pool of saliva on your neck, reaching your hands to touch the dampened skin.

“Sorry, was that ok?” He whispered, suddenly shy.

That was more than ok.

“Uh, yeah that was o-it was nice...I liked it.” You affirmed, scratching the back of your neck.

What had come over him? Usually it was you that had initiated anything sexual between the two of you. Kenma was rather low-maifnence in that aspect of your relationship, and never asked you to do anything or even hinted at it. Sometimes it felt like the only reason the two of you had sex was because you wanted it. He seemed indifferent to the whole ordeal. But now he was suddenly attacking your neck unprompted. You were kind of thankful for it, honestly.

“I-Is it ok if I tried something?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a hopeful glint in them. He had placed his hands between his thighs, gently rocking back and forth as if he were nervous. You held back a laugh as to not embarrass him. He was adorable.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Go ahead.”

The rocking subsided as he let both sides of his lips turn upwards in a shy smile. He removed his hands from his legs, letting himself reach up to the hem of your sweatshirt. Slowly yet with anticipation he lifted your sweatshirt over your head, tossing them to the side with ease. The removal had left your hair parting in several directions, which caused you to chuckle and smooth it down.

A sharp intake of breath caught your attention as Kenma’s eyes bored into your bare chest. It was as if he was shocked that you weren’t wearing a bra. You watched in anticipation as he brought his right hand to caress your left breast, thumb lightly ghosting your nipple. It was your turn to inhale as the touch caused you to jolt upwards and lean into him. He smiled, that was the reaction he was looking for.

“Your tits are so pretty, baby. Soft...” The compliment sent waves of heat through your body.

Kenma let his thumb press circles into your soft nipple which was beginning to harden due to his intimate touch. Before you could urge him to do something, anything, he opened his mouth and let his mouth go to work on your breast. His tongue licked around the hardened bud, letting out a content sigh. He seemed to be enjoying this just as much as you were.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you pressed his face even closer to your tits. He sucked harshly, as if trying to milk you. Immediately, you bit your lip to stop yourself from making any more noise, almost embarrassed at how easily Kenma affected you.

He continued to suckle on your breast, even lightly nibbling it, as if begging you to make some sort of noise. The lewdness of him sloppily sucking on your skin shot arousal straight to your core.

He let his hand trail to your other breast, groping it with a rather strong grip before lazily giving you a squeeze here and there. A substantial amount of drool dribbled down the sides of his chin as his tongue swirled around your nipple. “I...I’m getting...hard...”

You hadn’t realized that your eyes were rolling into the back of your head until they began to unblur. Kenma has detached himself from your chest with a small ‘pop’ and was wiping his lips with his forearms. Your eyes trailed to his crotch, biting your lip at the darkened spot of his sweatpants. The faint bulge caused heat to pool in your lower stomach.

“Um, could you maybe... give me a–uh–handjob while I’m... doing this?”

You giggled, nodding feverently. He smiled nervously at you, avoiding all eye contact. Growing impatient, you gestured for him to get up, to which he obeyed. You snaked his sweatpants down, letting them fall to his feet, and did the same with his boxers. You bit your lip once again when his cock sprang free from the confines of his undergarments, slapping against his stomach.

“C’mere,” you whispered, guiding him back into your lap. Before he could continue his assault on your tits, you wet your hands with a generous amount of your saliva, licking it from the beginning of your wrist to the ends of your fingers. Then, you masterfully wrapped your fingers around his cock, ensuring that its entirety was covered in the sticky substance.

“Ah–” Kenma whined at the touch, arching his body into your hand. In order to keep himself preoccupied, he gripped your left breast and paid special attention to the one he left untouched.

As he licked and sucked on your breast, you went to work. His cock had stiffened in your grip, his thick veins almost protruding. You reached for his balls, light massaging them with your fingers, earning a groan into your chest. Smiling to yourself, you lightly grazed the area between his testicles, knowing how sensitive it was. His breath hitched in his throat, and once you were satisfied with the noises Kenma was making, you moved onto his length.

The tips of your fingers lightly scratched along his hardened cock, teasing his sensitive state. You continued the teasing with soft, slow strokes along his shaft, making sure you didn’t apply to much pressure and have him finish early (which happened quite a bit, to his embarrasment).

Your hand momentarily froze when you heard Kenma’s soft moans. How is it possible for a man to have such a pretty moan? The noises that Kenma made were heavenly. Whether it be a mewl or a groan, it always left you wanting more.

“Mm, keep going p-please.”

The request brought you out of your trance like state as you returned your attention to the task at hand. The tip of his cock was a flaring red, pre-cum beginning to spout out. You fisted the middle of his cock, spreading the fluid around.

Your focus on his length had almost blinded you to the fact that he was sucking on your tits. You jolted in surprise when he bit on your supple flesh. You could feel him smiling against you, reveling in the fact that he had elicited such a reaction from you. Two could play at that game.

With your nimble fingers, you slowly pumped his sensitive length, making sure to not apply too much pressure. The movement caused him to whimper and suck even harsher on your bare breast. You grasped his cock, making up and down movements starting from the base and moved up to the shaft , simultaneously rubbing your thumb over his slit.

“Mmf,” Kenma whimpered, his voice muffled by your skin. “Feels so good. You’re too good to me, baby.”

Pride filled in your chest at his words of encouragement. You decided to pick up the pace. Your grip around him strengthened, as did your rythym. As you built up a faster pace, so did he. The puckering sound that filled your apartment only got louder as Kenma violently sucked on your soft skin.

The lewd sound of slurping, sucking, and slapping of skin surrounded the two of you as you violently jerked his cock in fluid motions.

“Keep going, I-I’m almost there.” Kenma griped, no, whined, into you.

“You’re doing so well, Kenma, aren’t you? Your words caused him to bob his head up and down. “Don’t hold back.”

The pressure on his cock didn’t cease as you continued your pace, losing yourself in the bliss of it all. You could feel the heat practically radiating off of him as ceased his sucking and fell into your body in exhaustion.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna–” His warning fell on deaf ears as you continued pumping him. His whines grew louder and urgent. You loved how vocal he was during times like this.

Suddenly, thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, staining your soft, silky hands. Kenma was a tired mess, sweat sticking to his white shirt as he heaved and groaned.

The same eery silence from before attempted to creep back, but was warded off by the exhausted groans of your boyfriend.

“Feeling better?” You teased, poking at his side with your clean hand.

He scoffed in disbelief before letting out a small chuckle. “Yeah, much.”

“Good,” you playfully retorted. “Or else I’d have cum on my hand for no fucking reason at all.”

At the mention of his cum, Kenma’s face flushed. He didn’t notice the substance on your hand and immediately got up and began putting on his pants.

“I’ll get you a towe-”

Before he could finish the sentence, you were already lapping up the milky, almost translucent substance with your tongue. You licked up your forearm, catching the stray that had dribbled down. Then, you slurped the majority of it which had gathered in your palm. And finally, you sucked on your fingers, giving a few kitten licks here and there to ensure that you’d gotten it all.

“No need! Got it all. See?” You grinned brightly at him, showing him your clean hand before wiping it on your shorts. “Aww Kenma, your face is all red! Did I embarrass you? C’mere so I can pinch your cheeks!”

“Shut up!” He groaned, attempting to run away but failing to do so due to his pants being at his feet. “Get away from me!”

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[carynsilver]

Favorite Fics: Malex Edition

It’s a new year (quite definitively at this point), and a new set of fic recs. Just my small way of saying thank you to the writers who have made the past year, with all its challenges, a little better for me personally. Without the escape of reading, I don’t think I would’ve gotten through the past eleven months, so thank all of y’all for creating (now and in the past) and for sharing your work. You do it for free, and it’s amazing stuff.

If you’re interested, I previously shared my top 10 Stucky, Drarry, Stony, and Darcy Lewis (Wintershock, Shieldshock, and Tasertricks, mostly) fic lists. Today, I’ve finally decided on my top 10 Maxlex fics. So, in no particular order...

my love is a life taker by @jocarthage

If I were making a top 10 fics of all time list, this story would be on it. The breadth and scope of it is truly amazing, as is the writing. There’s world-fixing time travel and an interesting take on our favorite aliens and what could’ve been. Alex as a time agent is both so tragic and also so strong as he begins his journey of self discovery. He’s such an unreliable narrator, and yet also can clearly see so many things. Watching Michael’s growth through the years is just as fascinating as watching Alex travel through time. And it’s juxtaposed with the present so well. This Alex and Michael learn to communicate as they learn about themselves. And the story also taught me a ton about the Middle East and various historical events. I really love this story, and you should definitely read it right now if you haven’t yet.

To Trust Love by @laughsalot3412

This fic is amazing. It takes hurt/comfort to the nth degree. Michael, Isobel, and Max are the only remaining prisoners/subjects in Project Shepherd, and Alex (with the help of Liz, Kyle, and Maria) goes under cover as a guard to get them out. But to do so, first he has to gain their trust--an almost impossible test. The tweaks to the alien abilities and the handprint are interesting. Jesse Manes, as always, is absolutely horrible. But good wins in the end, and the boys are able to figure things out despite the mistakes they make along the way. I mean, trigger warnings for so much in a prison fic with Jesse Manes in it, but it is an awesome story. This author only wrote one RNM fic, but it’s a great one.

From Iraq, with Love by @adiwriting

Alex leaves for basic no way to contact Michael, so he reaches out to him via a YouTube channel. Alex writes years and years’ worth of love songs, hoping maybe Michael will see them and get in touch. The scene when Michael finally sees them is a gut punch in the best way, and the end is so satisfying. A truly excellent story, and I love how music from the heart eases their way into real communication--because, man, that is what these poor boys need.

unexpected tidings by @bestillmyslashyheart

The Vegas fic! Actually, that is not what this fic is about. There is only one scene set in Vegas, and yet that was the one I remembered when I was trying to find the fic again, lol. In this AU, Michael was never reunited with his siblings in Roswell, but he and Alex meet after Alex enlists. They meet three different times in three different states, and eventually fall in love. Then Alex has to come home to Roswell and take care of this little alien problem so his boyfriend can be safe from the horror that is Jesse Manes. One of the best things about this story is the past/present narrative structure. Only a really good writer can tell a successful story out of chronological order, and @bestillmyslashyheart really succeeds. Check out her other work, as well, such as A Simple Life (but with aliens).

Shadow Work by @myrmidryad

This fic has stellar world building. Alex and Michael are shades--people who work banishing hauntings, curses, etc. The scientific way the supernatural elements are approached is so interesting, as well as the different ways humans and aliens perceive them. Alex is a total unreliable narrator just because of how the haunt is affecting him, but he still gets the job done. This is a world you can just sink into. Totally immersive, and yet it works so well with the alien mythology we already have. And the conclusion to the haunt mystery is so satisfying. Such a great story!

Lovin’ you is a gift tonight (Lovin’ you for all of my life) by @bellakitse

Michael turned his cheek when Alex tried to kiss him, and then Alex and Rosa ran off to NYC before anything else could happen. Michael thinks of Alex as the one who got away, and then he runs into him when he’s stuck at the airport in Denver, trying to get home to Roswell for Christmas. Their reunion in the airport is fluffy and amazing, just a pleasure to read. And then they end up back in Roswell and all the other stuff comes into play in a really satisfying, let’s-deal-with-it-as-adults-instead-of-children kind of way. Ah, so good!

scream in there by thepredatorywasp

I’ll be honest, this one starts a little rough emotionally, but man, Alex and Michael really earn their happily ever after here. It is worth it. And then we get River! I enjoy a good kid!fic, and River the little alien found in a pod who gloms onto Alex and never lets go is amazing! River is my favorite kiddo that I’ve ever read in a Malex story.

truth (to the people we love) by @lambourngb

This is probably the shortest fic on my rec list. I am biased toward the long ones, I know. But man this one packs a punch. Alex recorded a goodbye message when he was overseas, and he has to tell it not to auto send every week. Then he is kidnapped for ten days... I don’t want to spoil too much, but just read it. It also plays with the narrative structure. And if you like this one, definitely check out @lambourngb‘s other stories. collect the bad habits and Vows are also great reads!

I Know Nothing Stays the Same by @aewriting

This is one of those stories that sticks in your head. It is awful (emotion-wise, not writing-wise) and wonderful all wrapped up together in the best way. Alex and Michael run away after the shed incident and go into hiding for five years. This is the past storyline. There’s also a present and a future. The ending of this story was so gorgeous, I don’t want to spoil it, but I remember it all the time when I think of Malex. Lovely and poignant. This is another version of this couple that <i>earn</i> their happiness together. And if you want even more in this ‘verse, the very talented @andrea-lyn (who also has a ton of great Malex stories) wrote a coda called There’s More Room in a Broken Heart.

Send Me Home by @litwitlady

I waffled back and forth about which story would fill the final slot. It’s always so hard to choose when there are so many excellent ones out there, but I had to have one of @litwitlady‘s stories on the list. She has quite a few excellent ones, but Send Me Home is my favorite. Michael the baseball player is both compelling and also heartwarming in his softer life. This is another fic where Alex is a musician, this one an actual country music star. So, it’s a sports fic and a celebrity romance, in addition to being a Malex RNM story. it is a WiP, which I sometimes hesitate to rec, but there’s only one more chapter to go, so I feel pretty safe about it. And she has lots of other stories you should check out. I’m fond of the Reunion series, as well.

So, that’s it for this post. Thanks again to all the amazing fanfic authors and their awesome work. I’ve read so many great Malex fics lately. On this list or not, I appreciate you guys!

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 124

Second half of the exhibition!  Mac’s performance here is based on an actual incident that occurred with one of the many actual cats that Mac is based on.

Trigger warnings for blood here.

Thanks go to @baelpenrose for his beta-reading and Arthur, @zommbiebro for Jokul, @books-and-cartoons for GK, @werewolf2578 for Michael and all the other characters you have added to this story, and @charlylimph-blog for her characters. <3 you both!

“Who is competing in the canine rounds?” Coffey asked, steering the topic smoothly. 

“Myself,” Grandma Kim gestured. “Michael and Sparkles, Derek and Machiavelli, for the service round. I believe there are a few more for the security round, but I don’t recall whom.”  From GK, that was basically saying they were so far beneath her notice that she refused to learn their names.

A chime sounded, indicating that the intermission had ended. Arthur, Coffey, and I made our way back into the stands, waving to Simon as he worked his way onto the sidelines. Ivan had initially come down ahead of me and Maverick, but was also packing the floor with the competitors for the upcoming events. As soon as we took our seats, Evania announced the next event - sure enough, it was the service and security animal exhibitions.

Rather than the participants stepping forward, Antoine took the floor after Evan. “Previously, these events were separated and considered the ‘canine’ events.  However, it has been brought to my attention, most ardently, that service and security animals are not limited to canines, even with the limited amount of animals we currently have on the Ark. As such, we are combining the service and security events, and this year there is a non-canine participant.  Due to the nature of the exhibition, I will be personally monitoring from the sidelines in case there is any need for interventions.  Also, as with in the past, please be assured that all participants in these events are volunteers and a med bay is on standby.”

Medbay is on standby? I wondered. I didn’t recall that before, but I also hadn’t paid more attention than was necessary to know how many jerky treats to give Lyric and Sparkles.

First up was our veteran, Lyric the First. The elder stateswoman of Ark companions may have hobbled onto the field, but she went through her paces as a service animal with tidy precision. On top of that, the second the ‘security’ portion started and someone brandished a weapon at GK, all concept of ‘elder’ went out the window and Lyric became 120lbs of teeth and fury, daring the faux-attacker to come within six feet of her charge.

I could feel Coffey shudder beside me, at the same time that I could see Arthur nod with approval.  I couldn’t lie - there was a part of me that remembered this same dog standing over me when Maverick first dropped by unexpectedly, and I was warmed to know that I had been so safe in that moment.

After the applause due such a respected member of the community, Lyric the First was taken off the field, and it was Lyric II’s turn to show how she lived up to the name.  Sure enough, she displayed the same precision in the service animal rounds, but it was clear that she knew this was for show in the security segment.  Rather than the degree of savagery her mother had shown, Lyric II was clearly a little confused by the fake-attack.  She still received her applause and treats, however, while GK was obviously considering how much more training was needed.

Michael and Sparkle were next, and their performance was on-par with Lyric the First. Rather than having Sparkle function as a service animal for Michael, Sam had volunteered. The moment loud noises started to upset Sam, Sparkle nudged him into a prone position and brought his ribbon over.  If someone tried to step to close, she calmly pushed them back. Due to her youth, Michael did step in for the security portion - Sparkle wasn’t trained to decide between security and support yet - and that was where she shined.  Without hesitation, she took a defensive stance at any aggression toward Michael, and really did Lyric the First proud.

And then, the fourth round happened. That was what set the crowd’s eyebrows on end, the round with non-stop chatter throughout.

On the contrary to the rounds with both Lyrics and Sparkle, there was no leash, there were no steps to walk through. Instead, the crowd saw Derek Okafor walk out, carrying a lavender blanket and pillow, with a solid mass of feline ink trailing behind him.  Rather than lead Mac through any actions, Derek set the pillow down, curled up on the floor, and covered himself with the blanket.  In an action I had witnessed on more occasions than I could count, Mac curled his impressive mass on the blanket, just outside of Derek’s elbow.  Directed audio amplified Mac’s purring so everyone could hear it, even in the furthest seats.

Suddenly, the audio in the gym played discordant noises.  Not even waiting for Derek to flinch, Mac darted under the blanket and a lump erupted where Derek’s ear had been.  After a moment, the sound cut off, and instead a bowl of food - one so strong-smelling that I could catch it from my seat - was brought out. Mac poked his nose out and started sneezing convulsively, hissing at the bowl as he moved towards it.

The coup de grace was what came next. Without warning, as soon as the bowl was taken away, someone darted towards Derek from the other side. I could actually feel my soul chuckle for this poor slob as I anticipated what would happen.

Sure enough, Mac became a blur of void and vaulted over Derek, clawing the interloper from elbow to wrist, then from thigh to knee. He hissed and spat, clawing at anything and anyone that came within reach.  Nothing could stop the ball of feline fury until Derek darted out an arm to scoop Mac back under the blanket while the poor volunteer - who looked like they had a bad date with a Cuisinart - was led to the aforementioned med bay.

“I’m not sure they knew they were signing up for this,” I murmured to Maverick and Coffey.

Coffey made a firmly negative gesture. “I assure you that they were aware. That particular volunteer? She has been Machiavelli’s training target for three months now.”

“Why?” I sputtered.

“Some people are afraid of dogs,” Coffey shrugged. Given his clear discomfort watching both Lyrics perform, it made more sense suddenly.  I knew he wasn’t afraid of dogs - he kept treats in his pocket for Lyric and Lyric II, at all times - but we weren’t far enough removed from Earth to make everyone comfortable with the kinds of dogs that worked best as service animals.

A cat, though? I knew from a lifetime of experience that nothing was as persistent or vicious as a cat, when properly motivated.

The audience was respectfully silent until Mac and Derek left the gym, before cheering wildly.  Even from where I was sitting, I could hear people talking about the potential of having a cat once the colony was established.  As a firmly devoted cat owner, I couldn’t even make up an excuse to argue.

Arthur leaned over so I could hear him clearly. “You never told me you have an attack cat.”

“I’ve always had them,” I admitted. “I just didn’t know it wasn’t a normal thing.”

“Mac is a good kitty.”

“The best kitty,” Coffey corrected with a grin. At some point, he had adopted Derek as a younger brother/nephew figure, and by extension doted on Mac to the point of chemical warfare.

“The only kitty,” I pointed out. I would have loved for the Ark to have ship cats, but we had learned - the hard way - that genetic enhancements were necessary for them to thrive in the gravity we were operating under.  It was part of the reason Mac was so large - four years ago, he had actually undergone a heart transplant so his vasculatory system would function in the increased gravity. Where Lyric II and Sparkles had benefited from what Miys learned from the original Lyric, Mac was the original.

The next event was thrown projectiles, so I took the opportunity to go grab some popcorn and sausage-rolls for the last two events. No one in my family was participating in the javelin/spear exhibition, but I knew that Xiomara and Evan would be eyeing these candidates closely for colonial security, so I made a point to pay attention. However, despite my original reason for keeping an eye on the event, I found myself fascinated. Each spear had a different range for accuracy, a different technique for throwing… I found myself filing the information away for later, anticipating a very rousing conversation with our Councillor of Security and her protege. Ivan Thorsson, to nobody’s surprise, excelled.

However, the last event of the exhibition was finally at hand - archery.  Charly had made several attempts to have this event be its own exhibition - the projectiles were not thrown, nor were they combustion - but a sheer lack of participants inevitably led to the sport being included with the ‘non combustion’ weapons exhibition, in the same way the animal companion events were.  On the plus side, participation this Von-year made a strong case for archery being its own event.

Participants were allowed ten arrows, ten targets, and fifteen minutes to fire all arrows. Bows could be any size, but had to be pulled by hand - no crossbows, no hooks to draw. Targets were only 25cm in diameter, and any shots that missed the desired target were counted off, with a double ‘friendly fire’ deduction if the arrow hit an entirely different target.

Even with all the restrictions, there were no less than twelve participants in this event, more than any other.

Maverick was first. While he was exceptionally precise, his Shinto-style did not lend itself well to speed. Next came Tyche, who landed killing hits on every shot, though with far less aplomb than her knife-throwing had shown. Arthur had a similar result - fast and deadly, but less accurate than Maverick - before MIchael Smith took the stage again, to my surprise.

My jaw hit the floor as he pulled just as fast as Tyche and Arthur, with the same accuracy of Maverick. Very few people took part in multiple exhibitions, and to see him do so well in three was a shock.  Nonetheless, he swapped out with the next participant with zero acknowledgement of his performance.

After that, the event continued: several people I did not recognize, before all that was left were Conor and Charly.  Similar to his style of throwing knives, Conor drew ambidextrously and over the shoulder. The connection was crystal clear as you watched his motion - a smooth draw, looped into a pull and release.  The only difference was that, where he would throw a knife, he would draw the arrow.

Next, I expected Charly, but what I saw made my head spin: Simon Rodriguez stepped out of a back room, with a longbow and a quiver full of arrows.  Even more incredibly, he did not stand in front of any specific target, but stood in the center of all ten.  With one deep breath, he started drawing from his waist, firing and drawing, arrow after arrow, in a smooth, mechanical motion.

Every arrow struck the center of the target.

The blood drained from my face as I realised why Tyche had threatened Conor with allowing Simon to use him for target practice…. I had no idea, at the time, that Simon was such an incredible shot. Immediately, I felt guilty.

Before I could apologize to him, Charly and her bow walked out. Speaking now felt like an obscenity, since this was the reason so many people were still here. Sure enough, as soon as the targets were replaced, she displayed a foreign calm as she fired shot after shot.

Ten shots. Ten exact centers. Ten arrowheads protruding from the back of targets by a minimum of two inches.

Twelve seconds total.

The transition between Simon and Charly took place so quickly that I had no idea who the applause was for - the Twelve Second Sorceress, or her clear protege. Either way, the end of the exhibition was explosive, to say the least.

I turned to Conor, ready to apologise for not taking the previous threat as serious at it was, when he said something that made me slap my face and groan.

“Bless it, do you think Simon will show me how to do that?”

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[pocket-luv101]

Heartstrings || Chapter 3

Fandom: Servamp Ship: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side), Tetsono (side) Characters: Kuro, Mahiru, Hyde, Licht, Tetsu, Misono

Summary: Kuro goes to take a nap in the staircase behind the school and sees Mahiru holding a broken guitar. After he helps him repair the guitar string, Mahiru asks him to teach him how to play. (Given AU/Band AU)

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || (Ch.3) ||

“Are you okay, Kuro? You seem distracted.” Hyde asked his brother. Due to Kuro’s personality, others wouldn’t question why he was silent throughout most of their rehearsal. He could sense that there was something on his brother’s mind though. Kuro didn’t immediately answer him so Hyde thought he could teasingly joke with him. “Did you get rejected by someone?”

“Something like that.” He didn’t take his eyes off his guitar as he absentmindedly answered Hyde. Kuro played a few random notes and tried to match them to the song he would often hear Mahiru hum. After he listened to him sing in the staircase, he asked him if he wanted to join his band. They needed a vocalist and his alluring voice would fit their sound well.

He hadn’t expected him to say no. He thought of how persistent and passionate Mahiru was whenever he asked him how to play the guitar. Kuro assumed that he was interested in music. He was more surprised by the rejection he felt by his answer. He only joined the band as a favour for his brother but he didn’t care about success. Something about Mahiru’s song struck him though.

He wondered if he would see him in the staircase on Monday. What would he say if he was there? The first day he met Mahiru in the staircase, Kuro was disappointed that he couldn’t sleep in his hiding place. He found himself looking forward to their short meetings now. He wanted to know more about Mahiru and to hear the song he constantly hummed.

“Nii-san!” Hyde’s voice overpowered his guitar and pulled Kuro out of his thoughts. He stood behind Kuro and shook his shoulders. “I’ve been calling your name for the last five minutes but you wouldn’t answer me! I thought Tetsu was the one with his head constantly in the clouds. Oh, never mind that. You said you were rejected! By who? I didn’t know you were interested in someone. Tell me who.”

“Shut up, Shit Rat. I can’t hear my piano when you’re yelling like that. This is supposed to be a rehearsal so gossip after we’re done.” Licht kicked Hyde to stop him from bombarding him with more questions. Admittedly, he was also a little curious about who Kuro had confessed to. He had joined the band only a month before but he saw how he acted uninterested towards most things.

When Hyde first asked if they could join the band, Licht was against it. The brothers were clearly talented but they played half-heartedly. He started the band because Misono told him about his childhood friend and he wanted to help him reconnect to music. Such half-hearted feelings wouldn’t reach his friend. In the end, Misono invited them to join the band and Licht could only accept his decision.

“I didn’t ask anyone on a date. I only asked Mahiru to become our vocalist.” He insisted. He was being truthful but a part of Kuro felt as if there was something he was hiding from his brother. Pushing aside the confusing feeling, he added: “Mahiru sang a little bit for me and his voice was beautiful. He’s always asking me about music so I thought I would be interested in joining. He said no.”

“Is this the Mahiru that Tetsu told me about? He watched your rehearsal last week.” Misono hadn’t spoken with his friend since he moved to a new school. Despite how often Mahiru helped him when they were children, he wasn’t able to do the same for him. He held the guilt for years but he told himself that he would face him again after he created a band.

When Tetsu told him that Mahiru watched their band and how he wanted to learn how to play the guitar. He thought that he might’ve moved on. Yet, it was clearly more complicated. Music was important to Mahiru and Misono didn’t want to see him give it up.

“Big Brother Neko, this article might help you. I searched up what you should do.” Tetsu held out his phone to Kuro so he could read the screen. He read the title and his face became bright red.

“This is an article about how to ask out a girl after she rejects you. I said that isn’t what happened at all. Can’t deal.” Kuro pushed the phone back into Tetsu’s hand. He doubted the tall student had intended to tease him with the article but he couldn’t stop himself from bushing. He didn’t understand why he would feel so flustered over the misunderstanding.

“Maybe you should actually take the article’s advice and ask Mahiru on another date to see our band. I want to hear him sing.” His brother was an introvert and he didn’t have a lot of friends. Hyde was curious about Mahiru and what made his brother interested in him. He appeared to be a simple student when they met at the rehearsal last week.

“You give terrible dating advice, Shit Rat. Mahiru will think Kuro’s annoying if he keeps asking him out even though he already said no. I don’t know how you’re able to find a new girlfriend each week.” Licht rolled his eyes at the brothers. “You’re half-hearted with romance, music and school. Is there anything that you’re actually interested in?”

A devilish smile spread across Hyde’s face and he winked at him. He didn’t say a single word and that irritated Licht more than any answer he could give. He jumped to his feet and his hand slammed on his electric keyboard harder than he intended. A cluster of angry notes echoed around the room. The sound reminded Licht that he shouldn’t fight Hyde with so many delicate instruments around them.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Licht said and walked out of the studio room. The others could see that he was angry and they thought it would be pointless to talk to him before he calmed down. The only one who chased after him was Hyde.

Kuro watched them leave and shook his head. While the two would often argue with each other and have their disagreements, they didn’t appear to hate each other. “Those two need to be better at communicating with each other.”

“Speaking of communicating,” Misono said to Kuro. “Did you ask Mahiru why he doesn’t want to be our vocalist? Maybe you should talk to him about it without pushing.”

The lunch bell rang and Mahiru put away his books into his backpack. His eyes drifted to Kuro who sat a few desks in front of him. He was sleeping at his desk with his hood over his head. They texted each other over the weekend but their conversations had been short. He wanted to talk with him more but he was afraid he would become awkward if their conversation drifted to the topic of music.

Mahiru had planned to wait to see whether Kuro would go to talk with him again but it appeared that he would spend his lunch sleeping at his desk. Kuro had complimented his voice and asked him to be the singer of his band. His words made Mahiru’s heart flutter and tighten at the same time. He was happy that Kuro liked his singing yet he always felt sad when someone asked him to sing. He couldn’t have known the effect his request would have and Mahiru didn’t want to lose their new friendship over the question.

Mahiru took a deep breath before he crossed the room to Kuro’s desk. He lightly tapped on his shoulder to wake him and he groaned in response. The yawn he made sounded like a grumpy cat and laughter escaped Mahiru. His voice woke Kuro and he turned his head from where it was hidden in his arm. He was surprised to find Mahiru kneeling next to his desk.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping in class, Kuro. The teacher has given up on waking you up every few minutes but that’s not a good thing.” Mahiru lectured him and leaned against his desk. “During lunch, my friends on the soccer team will be running around the track to improve their endurance during lunch. He invited me to join him and hang out. I was hoping you’ll come with me. You slept for a good hour so you must have a lot of energy.”

Kuro hadn’t expected him to invite him to spend time with him outside of the staircase. He would only ask him to teach him how to play the guitar. Even though he didn’t like sports or exercise, Kuro nodded and stood from his desk. His silent answer made Mahiru’s face beam with a smile. The moment he put on his guitar case and stood next to him, he took Kuro’s hand and pulled him out of the classroom.

“I’m glad that you agreed so quickly, Kuro. I thought I would have to bribe you into exercising with food or something. Since I always pack too much food for myself, I’ll still share some with you. I like to cook but I rarely have a chance to share it with someone.” Mahiru led him down the hall. “Do you want to race to see who’s faster?”

“We both know that you’ll win. Please, don’t make this poor kitty run, Mahiru. I would rather just walk around the track with you anyways.” He said casually but Mahiru’s eyes widened slightly. Then, his expression softened and he nodded with a laugh. “After I spend the lunch period running, I’ll sleep through the rest of school. I hope you’re ready to take responsibility for that.”

“I don’t mind if it’s you.” He knew that Kuro was only joking with him so he flirted back. Mahiru doubted he had expected him to do so from the blush that rose onto Kuro’s neck. He chuckled lightly and then walked to the doors leading outside.

They walked outside and Mahiru enjoyed the cool breeze. He liked spending time with him in the staircase but going outside was a fun change of pace. He spotted his friend on the track field and he waved to him. Kuro saw the amount of people on the field and he hesitated slightly. Even though he was accustomed to crowds when his bands played at venues, he wasn’t the best with people.

Mahiru noticed how Kuro’s steps slowed slightly and looked up at him. He took his large hand into his and squeezed it lightly. He could feel the calluses on his fingers. “Mafuyu and the others are really nice and I’m sure you’ll get along with them. Don’t worry about feeling awkward. You don’t have any trouble talking with me so focus on that.”

“I wasn’t afraid of talking with people but the running. The track field is bigger than I thought it would be.” He said and shrugged. Mahiru’s reassurance made him feel more comfortable. He had a lot of fun simple talking with him and his presence could make running the track bearable. Kuro wondered how his siblings would react if they saw him with the soccer team.

They crossed the school yard together and Mahiru introduced him to his friends. Kuro put down his bag on the ground and leaned his guitar case against it so people wouldn’t step on it accidentally. He expected Mahiru to place his own guitar in the pile of bags. Instead, he walked onto the track and motioned for him to run with him. The guitar wasn’t heavy but it would be tiring to carry it everywhere.

He could guess that Mahiru had his reasons to keep the guitar so close to him. He didn’t want to push him by asking him why. Kuro joined him on the track field and they began to run side by side. The guitar on his back would make the jog difficult so he matched his pace with Mahiru’s. The soccer team quickly passed them and a gap formed between them.

“I’m really happy that you came with me today.” Mahiru told Kuro and smiled up at him. “For a minute, I was worried that you wouldn’t. Your band needs a singer but I said no to your invitation. You even offered to teach me how to play the guitar in exchange. I don’t think I’ll be the right person for your band though Can we still be friends? We can hang out on the track field like this.”

“I’m not upset that you said no.” He said and Mahiru let out a breath of relief. “But I don’t know if I can survive running around the track every day. Maybe we can do something more relaxing instead. I’ll teach you how to play your guitar after school. That’s less troublesome than running.”

Mahiru stopped and frowned at him. “I said I didn’t want to be a singer.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll still teach you. Playing the guitar is important to you and that’s something a friend should support.” Kuro faced him and said, “You can pay me for the lesson with food. You’re always talking about how you’re a good cook and I’m a little curious.”

He was almost knocked off his feet when Mahiru threw his arms around his neck. Kuro wrapped his arms around his waist and he managed to keep them from falling to the ground. He looked down at Mahiru and their eyes met. His brown eyes were overflowing with happiness and he never thought a sight could make his heart race. They were so close and he worried he would be able to hear his heartbeat. Mahiru cupped his face and smiled. “Thank you, Kuro.”

Kuro and Mahiru would meet in the staircase to play their guitars. He had told him that he wanted to play a particular song so he taught him how to read music sheets. The song he wanted to play didn’t have music sheets for him to reference but it helped structure the song in his head. Over the past few days, he learned so much from Kuro.

Mahiru sat on a park bench and waited for Kuro to arrive. Since it was Friday and he needed to practise with his band after school, they agreed to meet in the nearby park around eight. There were a few minutes before he should arrive so he decided to practise the chords he showed him the previous day. He took out the notes Kuro had made for him.

Kuro gave him a notebook filled with drawings of the finger position to play each note. The notebook also held other advice to help him practise while he was home. Mahiru could tell that the notebook was new and the pages warmed his heart. He acted reluctant to teach him but it was clear he cared from the effort he put into the notebook.

“Sorry, I’m late.” He heard Kuro’s voice across the park and he looked up to see him. He was out of breath when he collapsed onto the bench next to him. “I agreed to teach you how to play the guitar so I could avoid exercising but I ended up running a mile anyways. Can’t deal. Our rehearsal ended up longer than usual because Tetsu broke his guitar stick. That kid is too strong.”

“I can picture something like that.” Mahiru laughed at the image. He considered waiting at the music shop but he didn’t want to distract the band while they practised. He handed a water bottle to Kuro and said, “You didn’t need to run. I wasn’t waiting here for long. Do you think we should go to the music shop to practise? It looks like the sun will be setting sooner than usual.”

Kuro tilted his head back to the side where the sun was slowly descending from the sky. “We should have an hour before it gets too dark to play. I showed you a few chords yesterday. When I started teaching myself how to play the guitar, I just memorized the chords and went from there. I don’t know if you’ll be the same as me though. Are there any that you’re having trouble with any of them?”

“The drawings you gave me have been helpful but I’m having trouble with his one chord. My hands feel uncomfortable when I play it and it doesn’t sound right.” Mahiru adjusted his position on the park bench so he was facing Kuro. He placed his fingers on the strings where he had marked in the notebook and strummed the guitar. “It sounds flat, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t place your finger directly on the fret but behind it a little. You’ll probably be more comfortable if you use your ring finger and middle finger here instead. Hold still.” He slowly moved his fingers into the correct position. Kuro noticed how small and soft his hands were. Without thinking, he stroked his thumb over Mahiru’s fingers. “You haven’t built up any callouses yet so playing will hurt for a while. It’ll eventually get better though. If you start bleeding, I have bandages.”

His fingers were a little swollen from the metal strings but Mahiru didn’t feel the dull pain. His focus was on Kuro’s tender touch running over his fingers. Mahiru noticed that Kuro’s hands were slightly larger than his and he wondered what would happen if he held it. He knew that Kuro was only sitting close to him to help him with his technique but there was a small flutter in his stomach.

“Try playing the chord now and see if it feels better.” His voice pulled Mahiru out of his thoughts and he nodded to hide that he was distracted. He strummed the strings and watched for Kuro’s reaction in the corner of his gaze. He had a subtle smile as he ruffled his brown hair. “That sounds better. Once you feel comfortable with all of the chords, we can work on putting them together to play a song.”

“Will you stop playing with my hair, Kuro?” Mahiru pouted and smoothed his hair back into place.

They returned to playing the guitar and Kuro would give him advice occasionally. He had given him a few lessons over the week and he was surprised by how quickly he had progressed. Kuro sat back and watched Mahiru repeat the same chord. He wasn’t bored because he enjoyed watching the joy in Mahiru’s face as he played.

A string of claps broke through the moment and Kuro turned towards the person. He didn’t recognize the brunette man but there was something familiar about him. The man seemed to know Mahiru though. “I was going to surprise you by coming home early but you’re the one who surprised me. I never thought I would see that guitar again.”

Mahiru nodded and then he hastily placed the guitar back into its case as if he was hiding a secret. “I thought you were out of town with work, Uncle. You should’ve texted me if you were going to come back early. I made plans to eat at a restaurant with Kuro. I would’ve cooked something if I knew we could have a family dinner.”

“It’s okay, Mahiru. I already had dinner with my co-workers so you don’t need to worry about your old man.” He said. Kuro watched the two interact and he reasoned that the man was Mahiru’s uncle. He had told him of how he was adopted. “I know boys probably don’t want to hear something like this but you look just like your mother. You both have the same smile when you play the guitar. I’m glad that I could see it again. Why didn’t you tell me you were learning how to play?”

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I can’t talk about it right now.” Mahiru whispered. Before anyone could react, Mahiru jumped to his feet and dashed away from them. Kuro was confused by the way he suddenly ran away but he immediately ran after him.

Mahiru ran blindly through the sparse street without a destination in mind. He couldn’t face his uncle after he saw him with the guitar that didn’t belong to him. He was in a desperate haze and he didn’t hear Kuro call his name behind him. The only thing that forced him to stop was his legs giving way under him. He didn’t know how long or far he ran but the weight of emotions made him exhausted.

He thought he would fall forward but then strong arms wrapped around him from behind. Kuro’s embrace kept him from falling. Mahiru turned his face slightly to Kuro but he couldn’t see his expression because his forehead was leaned against his shoulder. He could feel his heavy breathing against his neck. He was afraid that Kuro would judge him for his reaction to his uncle’s innocent question. Others would call him emotional or dramatic for running away.

“Are you okay?” Kuro whispered against his skin and it sent a warm shiver throughout Mahiru. He leaned back against his chest and absentmindedly plucked at his guitar string. He moved out of his arms and turned around. Mahiru’s gaze didn’t leave the ground and Kuro leaned down to see his face better. His lips were pressed into a stiff line and his brown eyes were filled with sorrow. “Mahiru?”

The moment their eyes met, Mahiru faked a smile and said: “I’m sorry I made you run after you said these lessons are to avoid exercising.”

“I complain about running but I don’t really mind a little exercise.” Kuro wanted to lighten the mood with the joke but Mahiru’s expression didn’t change. The smile he wore now didn’t hold the sunlight he came to know. His heart felt uneasy and he wondered when Mahiru’s smile became so important to him. “Did you want to keep our guitar lessons a secret from your uncle?”

Mahiru bit his lip and debated if he should tell Kuro about the reason that he wanted to learn the guitar. They only met recently and his problems could be too burdensome for him. He felt Kuro’s fingers brush through his bangs and he finally looked up at him. Kuro asked, “Is it something you can’t tell me about?”

Mahiru shook his head and told him: “I don’t know how to tell people what I’m feeling. I always worry that my feelings would burden people. No one wants a boy who won’t stop crying. Other people have their own problems and it’ll be easier for everyone if I show people the reaction that they want me to see. Instead of crying, people will be more at ease if I put on a brave smile.”

Even as Mahiru smiled reassuringly to Kuro, his fingers were trembling over his guitar. “It was really sweet of you to invite me to your band but I won’t fit in, Kuro. I should’ve explained my reason the first time you asked me. For a band to succeed, you need to communicate your song’s meaning to the audience. Any song I sing will sound shallow because I’m terrible at expressing my honest feelings.”

Kuro could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to hold Mahiru in his arms and comfort him but he gripped his jacket at his side to stop himself. At the same time, he thought of their past interactions. The determination he had each time he asked him how to play the guitar. The wonder in his eyes as he listened to his band. The pain Mahiru couldn’t hide whenever he avoided Kuro’s questions about his guitar. Those were Mahiru’s honest feelings yet he belittled himself.

“You can’t express your feelings? How can you say something so stupid while smiling?” Kuro yelled without thinking and surprised them both. He couldn’t stop his thoughts from pouring out. “I could hear your feelings when you sang and it moved me. That’s the reason I invited you to the band!”

More emotions clouded Mahiru’s face: confusion, shock and uncertainty. Lastly, hope softened his eyes and overpowered the past emotions. He parted his lips slightly but the words he wanted to say didn’t leave his mouth. He felt as if there was something gripping his lungs. Kuro touched his neck and Mahiru wondered if he was still able to understand him.

“You don’t have to join the band if singing makes you feel vulnerable.” He patted his head. “We should head back to your park or else your uncle will worry. Do you want to buy a soda on the way? I’ll pay.”

“Kuro,” Mahiru whispered his name. He stepped closer to him until their toes touched and the only thing between them was his guitar. They were so close that he could count Kuro’s long eyelashes. He hadn’t noticed how beautiful his eyes were. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his broad chest. In a soft voice, Mahiru began to sing. His song didn’t have any words but Kuro understood it’s meaning.

I’m a little uncertain but I feel safe with you. I want to try singing with your band, Kuro.

[calacuspr]

PR lessons from the European Super League announcement

Fans were allowed back to watch football in person for the first time this year at the weekend when the FA Cup semi-finals took place at Wembley Stadium.

In normal times, that would be something to celebrate and a key story dominating the sports headlines.

But when news broke on social media of the breakaway European Super League (ESL), fans and media alike could talk of nothing else.

Clearly some senior sports news journalists had been briefed, based on the accuracy of the financial information that they shared.

Many of the revelations, which were subsequently confirmed, suggested a tone deafness on the part of those clubs involved, some of whom have instigated redundancies, player pay cuts and even applied for staff furlough grants from the UK government, while millions have struggled during the pandemic.

The story also showed serious communications errors by the organisers and lessons that all sports organisations can learn from when it comes to issues and crises.

TIMING

The news of the proposed European Super League broke on Sunday afternoon but it was not for some hours until the official statement was released to the public.

This gave plenty of time for the news to be digested by media, fans and players alike, who almost universally expressed outrage and fury at the perceived greed and senselessness of the proposals.

Governing bodies, fan groups and politicians were united in their anger and opposition.

A plan should have been in place to ensure that a comprehensive statement was made available at a pre-agreed time to put the ESL’s views across at the point when the story was expected to break.

As it was, the official release was published late at night, ignoring one of the basic tenets of PR that you don’t leave others to fill the void with negativity when controversial developments take place.

NARRATIVE

Whether fans like to admit it or not, they love to see the top stars of world football playing for or against their team.

In the past week, seeing Neymar and Kylian Mbappe going toe-to toe with the might of Bayern Munich’s array of stars, for instance, provided a mouth-watering and engrossing tie that had everyone salivating at its spectacle.

But the Covid-19 pandemic has seen clubs lose tens if not hundreds of millions in lost revenue from ticketing, merchandise and food and beverage which have presented all sorts of financial challenges for clubs, particularly at the top of the game where salaries are sky high.

While some of this could be recovered once fans are allowed back into stadia, UEFA’s own new Champions League proposals appeared not to have convinced the 12 ESL clubs enough to gain their support when it came to it.

The initial ESL statement included: “The formation of the Super League comes at a time when the global pandemic has accelerated the instability in the existing European football economic model.

“The pandemic has shown that a strategic vision and a sustainable commercial approach are required to enhance value and support for the benefit of the entire European football pyramid.”

Given the parlous financial situation most clubs find themselves in, particularly the giants in Spain and Italy, claims that this is motivated by anything other than money lack credibility.

Florentino Pérez admitted as much when he finally spoke to a Spanish news organisation more than 24 hours after the story first broke, citing the need to recover lost earnings caused by the pandemic.

The ESL did not focus on the challenges facing the clubs and the reasons why the UEFA proposals did not make sense.

In doing so, they handed the moral high ground to their critics and rivals who themselves have not always taken into account the views of fans, players or clubs when making their decisions.

LEADERSHIP

The ESL statement quoted just three ESL executives, Real Madrid’s Florentino Pérez, Manchester United’s Joel Glazer and Andrea Agnelli, Chairman of Juventus.

When the press release was published on each club’s website, there were no individual quotes from executives of those clubs (even if they were not included in the original statement) with the curiosity of United’s Glazer even quoted on the website of arch-rivals Liverpool and Manchester City, something that would previously have been considered unthinkable.

With such considerable financial backing, why were the executives of each club not guided on the key messaging so that they could engage with fans and media who are interested in their specific perspectives the day after the announcement?

If their executives really believe in the proposals they are seeking to implement, why not have the confidence to put the ESL case forward in person?

With no Video News Release or interview opportunities – remember that Zoom has been used in these socially-distanced times to great effect – the organisation gave the impression of arrogance and hiding behind its corporate backers at a time when the clubs’ fans are confused, angry and in need of direct engagement.

ENGAGEMENT

Talking of engagement, the late, great Sir Matt Busby, who led Manchester United to the title and European Cup as it then was, once said “Football is nothing without fans.”

What the Covid-19 pandemic has confirmed is that football’s global appeal has not waned in empty stadia, despite the clear lack of atmosphere without fans cheering on their heroes.

The scheduling of matches over the past few years has made the loyal, died-in-the-wool match-going fans feel disengaged and ignored, with long journeys at inconvenient times required to accommodate television schedules in lucrative overseas markets.

Is it any wonder that in his statement, Perez said: “Football is the only global sport in the world, with more than four billion fans.” Hardly a ringing endorsement of those in Madrid who live and breathe their club and undermining his later comments that audiences were falling.

While football tourists make up an increasing number of those who attend matches in person, clubs used to rely on a loyal, mainly local fanbase, whose traditions and rituals are the fabric of the atmosphere and intensity which makes top level football such a spectacle.

Granted, fans have never been an integral part of the decision-making process for clubs and football administrators, but so many of the leaders of the ESL clubs rarely, if ever, give media interviews or talk directly to the stakeholders who should matter most.

No wonder the scenes at Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge were so dramatic, with former goalkeeper and now Technical Director Petr Cech having to plead with fans who were peacefully protesting and blocking the route for team coaches to enter the stadium car park.

The fact that fans from each of the six English clubs came together in a combined effort to thwart the ESL plans and even hold a Zoom call with UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson showed the depth of feeling and the importance fans have in the game.

Coaches of the English ESL clubs claimed not to have known anything about the plans until they were revealed at the weekend. Liverpool coach Jurgen Klopp, forced to speak ahead of the Leeds United game when his club’s owners had not yet faced the media, said: “People are not happy with it, I can understand it. I can't say a lot more because we were not involved in the process - not the players, not me - we didn't know about it. We will have to wait how it develops.”

What of the players? Threatened with the prospect of being excluded from international competitions, how would they feel about these developments that they have had no opportunity to discuss before they were seemingly confirmed?

Liverpool captain Jordan Henderson reportedly led a captains’ call before a co-ordinated campaign by him and his team-mates to express their displeasure on social media.

Liverpool sponsor Tribus pulled out of their deal before the ESL project collapsed. Time will tell how other club sponsors feel given the negative feedback towards their partners.

VISION

Football is all about entertainment, rivalry, and the jeopardy that can see a club win a trophy and be relegated in quick succession.

There is an argument that top clubs playing against top clubs in a closed format without relegation may lose its novelty, but even without engagement, the initial communications did nothing to excite and inspire the fans who loyally follow their teams home and away.

At a time when the football family should be working together to support all levels of the game from grassroots to elite level, these developments showed how little club owners care about their traditional fanbase.

The prospect of shorter games and other rule changes to suit a younger audience whose attention spans are supposedly limited added to the uproar and underlined the lack of understanding of the fundamentals that make football great.

As Adam Crafton, from The Athletic, put it: “It’s amazing. I just spent 48 hours thinking ‘surely there’s more to this? Surely they have a plan to articulate the vision?’ And then you realise, there really isn’t.”

It has been said that football clubs have been brands for some time, and if you subscribe to that train of thought, how much damage has been done to those brands and how will they recover?

***

When clubs started pulling out of the ESL on Tuesday evening, it did not take long for more to follow and forced the ESL to make a second, late statement which was so rushed, it did not even go out on headed notepaper.

Tellingly, almost 24 hours later, the ESL had not been updated to include the latest developments.

The ESL debacle raises further questions about the importance of club owners as custodians of these great institutions rather than simply using them as income-generating playthings with no consideration for culture and tradition.

While there has been widespread criticism and this has continued to be handled poorly from a communications perspective, too many organisations have been sleep walking to the point where this has now happened.

And as a result of that apathy, football’s reputation has been tarnished and it will take a long time to repair it.

[artificialqueens]

Fool for You (Crygi) - Frankenvenus

After realising she has fallen for her straight best friend, Crystal’s therapist recommends she write her crush love letters. So instead of communicating her feelings, she scribbles then down and slips them into Gigi Goode’s locker.

A/N~ I hope you like this cause it took forever. I finished it super late at night and I did read through it twice but I apologise for any errors.

Crystal stormed her way into her therapist’s office, throwing herself onto the pink sofa that she sat and rambled on for an hour and a half every week. Her therapist looked at her bemused as the blue-haired girl uttered the words, “I’m in love with my best friend.”

Her therapist, Widow, huffed out a sigh, placing her clipboard down on the coffee table in front and pushing her glasses slightly down her nose, “Well. That’s a common issue for young queer folks like yourself.”

Crystal groaned and rolled over, displaying her puffy eyes and messed up bangs, “But I thought I was immune to it.”

Widow chuckled slightly and leaned towards where Crystal lay, brushing her hair from where it stuck itself in her lip gloss, “Do you need to rant to me about it? You know that’s why I’m here, sweetie; to listen.”

The young girl groaned again before sitting up, straightening her back and recounting the events of her day.

It had started off a normal Thursday. On Thursdays, she would usually peddle to her best friend Gigi’s house before school began so they could scribble down fake absence notes for phys ed, then Gigi would hop on the back of Crystal’s bike and they’d cycle the last half mile to their high school. It was routine for them. Never weird, never crossing any lines. It had always been the two of them, best friends, since middle school. So when things shifted, it took Crystal by surprise.

“I wanna do something different today instead of just sitting in the library until Phys Ed ends. I’m sick of the librarian shutting us up. We literally aren’t even loud,” - Gigi had said, fixing her dirty blonde ponytail in the school bathroom mirror after the bike ride messed it up.

Crystal had agreed with her, before asking her if she wanted to try something new. Although Gigi was her best friend, she hung out with the stoners whilst Gigi hung out with the high-fashion Instagram girls. The dirty blonde had never tried weed, and Crystal never offered - but today she did, and Gigi was eager.

The two of them snuck to the abandoned bike shed at the back of the school, covered in ivy with smashed windows. It was a spot that only Crystal and her friends Daya, Daegen, Lux and Tiff knew, so Gigi was curious to see it.

“This is so cool,” Gigi had gaped, finding a spot in the corner while her friend rolled her a joint. Crystal had to assure her multiple times that they wouldn’t get caught, but Gigi didn’t shut up until the sizzling rice paper was placed in her mouth. The older girl talked her through how to inhale it properly, and soon enough Gigi was coughing the smoke into the air.

“Can you feel it in your chest?” Crystal had asked, and when Gigi nodded, she said, “Good. That’s how you know it worked.”

They sat there, minds foggy, trying to hold conversation despite their thought process and immediate short term memory being cut off every few seconds. At some point, their pinkies intertwined, followed by the rest of their fingers. And then, Gigi was nestling her forehead into the crook of Crystal’s neck. That’s when it all tumbled down on the latter.

The contrasting feeling of the coldness from Gigi’s skin against her own warm, buzzing skin sent jolts of emotion through her, and the gentle brush of Gigi’s wavy locks against her jaw caused her heart to squeeze itself in a way that was unfamiliar to her. It didn’t seem too serious to Crystal whilst she was still in her high, but when the effects of the weed began to fade by fifth period, the sudden feeling of need for her best friend’s touch remained in place.

Her mind kept travelling elsewhere during fifth and sixth period, which happened to be double Spanish. Jaida had to pinch her multiple times, bringing her back down to Earth. Jaida didn’t question Crystal’s behaviour too much though, because the latter wasn’t usually focused in Spanish class anyway, and that’s why she was failing.

Gigi had debate team practice after school on Thursdays, so instead of going home together the same way they would travel to school, Crystal biked alone. She had her earplugs in, blasting Clairo like usual and wondering what the hell it was that she felt today. It wasn’t until ‘Sofia’ by Clairo came on did everything click in her mind. Something about the lyrics ‘Standing here alone now, think that we can drive around, I just wanna say how I love you with your hair down’ made her realise that oh, she wanted to be able to call Gigi her own, and not just platonically. Then she almost crashed her bike.

She swerved into a fire hydrant, gratified that her bike sported thick mountain bike wheels to soften the hit. Luckily, she didn’t fall off - she just got a fright. She decided to walk her bike the rest of the way home, which thankfully wasn’t far.

When she reached home, she spread herself across her bed and allowed herself to make connections that she should’ve made before. Why else could she never take her eyes off Gigi’s plump lips? Why else did people at school assume they were a couple because they were so touchy all the time? Why else did she feel such tremendous jealousy whenever Gigi showed even the tiniest bit of romantic fondness towards someone that wasn’t her.

Her mom knocked on her door, reminding her that she had her therapy appointment in an hour, and that led back to the present.

“That seems like quite the epiphany,” Widow smiled warmly, passing Crystal a tissue box when tears began to spill over, “Normally falling for a long-term best friend is something that you realise over time, but not for you apparently.”

“I think maybe I’m just an oblivious fuck,” Crystal sniffled. “But even if I realised it today, years ago, or tens of years from now, she still wouldn’t like me back.”

“Well, I’m not your friend’s therapist, but we can’t be so quick to assume.”

“Once you see the girl, you’ll know. She’s a hardcore ten. I’m a five, at best.”

“Crystal, remember what we went over…” Widow began, and the blue-haired girl finished the sentence.

“…Instead of self-deprecation, tell yourself you’re the best person ever, no matter whether you believe it or not - yeah, I get it,” Crystal rolled her eyes, “It’s just hard when you know it’s not true.”

“Well, I have a little tip I give my clients when they’re in a similar situation to you. The whole unrequited love thing,” the older woman got up from her seat and walked towards a cabinet, pulling out a packet of fresh, plain envelopes, “I usually tell them to write their crush love notes. It’s up to them whether they send them or not, or whether it’s anonymous or not, but they can be very therapeutic when needing to express bottled up emotion. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

Crystal raised a brow and tilted her head to the side slightly, the hint of a smile on her lips. She actually didn’t mind the idea.

“That’s actually super cute,” she giggled, taking the stack of envelopes from her therapist, “Thank you.”

.

As soon as Crystal got home, she sprinted to her room and grabbed an old notebook from the back of her stationery drawer. It was a plain A5 paper notebook, but spread across each page was a ginormous red opaque One Direction logo. Crystal had got it for Christmas about a decade ago, but it had only been used a handful of times for random sketches and one draft of a Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles fanfiction.

She grabbed an ink fine-liner from her art pot which she would normally use for her pointillism artwork and began the first letter.

You don’t know who I am. Well, you do but like, not who is writing this. I hope you aren’t scared or anything - cause that’s the last thing I wanna do. I promise I’m not a freak. Well, I sorta look like one but, I know you aren’t one to be bothered by that kind of thing. It’s beautiful, you know. The way people look at you and assume you’ll hate them for who they are cause you’re so pretty and popular, but then you’re just as wonderful on the outside as you are within. That look on your face when you meet a new person drives me nuts. The way you look like you’ve swallowed the sun. Radiant. Always.

Sometimes I wish I could just tell you how I feel about you to your face, but I think you might faint out of disgust. You do that a lot. I sound like a stalker, but I promise I’m not. I think I’m just smitten.

She finished the letter, reading it over to make sure her handwriting looked unrecognisable. Although Gigi wasn’t the most observant person, she and Crystal were so familiar with each other that she was bound to notice her unique handwriting. She also made sure to spray it with an old perfume that she never wore, so Gigi wouldn’t connect their scents. Gigi always made comments about how she loved Crystal’s perfume, so the blue-haired girl had to take precautions. Her strong scent of cocoa and vanilla was bound to rub off on the paper, so she sprayed it with a men’s cologne that she had likely shoplifted years prior, spraying it onto the paper from a distance.

Although Widow had given her the option not to post the letters, Crystal felt like the weight of her crush wouldn’t be eased unless she actually posted it. So, she placed it into the envelope and slipped it into Gigi’s locker the next day at school when the blonde wasn’t around, her heart pounding in her ears with anticipation and verve.

She sat through her first class of the day, social studies with Daya, desperately trying to take her mind off the painful wait. Daya ranted to her about dinosaurs and how everyone’s perception of how they looked was wrong, but Crystal hardly paid attention. She would nod every so often, just so Daya wasn’t insulted, but she wasn’t really in the conversation.

After social studies, she shared a free period with Gigi. She made her way to their meeting spot in the library after the bell dismissed them from their first period, and sooner than she would’ve liked, Gigi was marching across the library towards her with the smuggest grin on her face.

“Oh my God Crystal Elizabeth you will never guess what I just found in my locker,” she squealed as quietly as possible, sliding into the seat opposite Crystal’s.

“What?” Crystal raised a brow, her mouth full of skittles. Now here was the hardest part - pretending to be shocked.

Gigi reached into her blazer pocket and pushed the familiar envelope towards the older girl, who plastered a confused look on her face. The dirty blonde gestured for her to open it, so she complied. She pulled out the letter that was already likely covered in her own fingerprints and unfolded it with a faux-expression of excitement.

“What the fuck is this?” she chuckled, trying to suppress the shake in her fingers as she held the letter.

“A letter. From a secret admirer,” Gigi beamed, placing her beautiful shaped chin into her palm and flashing her angelic white teeth. Wow, Crystal was more whipped than she thought.

“This is so dumb,” she lied blatantly, and to her surprise, Gigi frowned.

“You think so? I think it’s so sweet. And shit… whoever wrote it has a way with words,” she exhaled, tugging her plump, peachy lower lip between her teeth.

Crystal’s breathing hitched and she felt her skin redden. She assumed Gigi would find it painfully corny, but it seemed like she felt the opposite. The blonde promptly took the letter back from Crystal’s grasp, taking a look at it once more. The older girl wished she was imagining the blush that began to cover Gigi’s face, but it was definitely there.

“I hope they write again. I wanna play Nancy Drew,” Gigi smiled sheepishly, taking Crystal’s hand suddenly, “Will you help me, you know, try and crack the code?”

“Sure!”

Fuck. Crystal felt like Hannah Montana.

.

They spent Saturday together, drinking on Crystal’s roof and gossiping about their own respective friend groups, however, the conversation kept moving back towards the letter. Gigi was conflicted on whether or not she knew the person, but her repetitive use of he and him pronouns when she referred to the secret admirer caused Crystal’s blood to simmer.

When Gigi left the next morning after spending the night on Crystal’s couch, the blue-haired girl was quick to begin her second letter.

I hope these letters haven’t made you uncomfortable in any way. The look on your face when you read it tells me they haven’t though. What I want to tell you though, is that I’m not what you think. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not a boy. I’m a girl. I don’t know if you like girls. If not; I’m sorry, but if you do; so do I. I like you a lot. All I want is to make you smile.

She spent Sunday at the skatepark, smoking with Daya, Daegen, Lux and Tiff, before slipping the note into Gigi’s locker first thing on Monday morning. The two of them, as well as Gigi’s friends Nicky and Jaida, all shared music class first period of Mondays. Whilst Crystal was pulling her viola out of its case, Gigi suddenly began dangling the envelope in front of her nose.

“Another one!” Gigi grinned, her voice cracking with adorable excitement. She took a seat beside Crystal and opened it. “I haven’t read it yet.”

Crystal watched her friend’s face with anticipation whilst she read the letter aloud, quiet enough that surrounding people wouldn’t hear. Gigi’s eyes widened as she read it over, and her grin faltered into an unreadable expression.

“What does it say?” Crystal questioned nervously.

“The person who wrote it isn’t a guy,” Gigi sighed, scratching the top of her head, “It’s a girl.”

The tanned girl pursed her lips, not knowing what to say next.

“Wow, uh. So… what do you think about that then?” she queried stupidly.

“About what?”

“You know… a girl liking you…”

The blonde crossed her legs and looked away from Crystal, “A pair of tits isn’t gonna stop me from loving this girls way of words. The anonymity is sexy. I should’ve known a man wouldn’t have the mental capacity to do something so romantic.”

This could not be real. Crystal felt like she was lucid dreaming.

“So you like… girls?” she pressed.

Gigi turned to her with a glint in her eye, “No gender or sex will stop me from wanting to kiss someone pretty.”

Oh.

“What? Are you homophobic or something?” Gigi added, and Crystal simply laughed.

”As if! Have you seen me? I think I should get ‘flaming lesbo’ tattooed on my cheek. I just didn’t know about you…” Crystal rushed out before she could even think about it. Never did she think she would come out in that way. In her mind, for most of her life, she had anticipated coming out in a very deep, emotional way - likely crying on Gigi’s bed. This was nothing of the sort.

“You’re a lesbian? Wow. I should’ve known,” the blonde simpered, and Crystal shoved her shoulder playfully.

.

When my therapist recommended I write these, I thought it would help me get over you, but fuck I think I’m falling harder for you. That floral outfit you wore yesterday was so cute. When you walked into class, it lit the whole room up. You truly are God’s favourite, huh? Just kidding I don’t believe in God, but whoever sculpted you took their time.

“Crystal look at this one! This is the most poetic piece of artwork I have ever read,” Gigi gaped, rushing towards Crystal after the latter had waited outside her human biology class for her.

The older girl took the letter and read through it, biting hard on her lower lip whilst Gigi watched with a smile, “It’s cute,” she said.

“It isn’t just cute! It’s… beguiling!”

“Do you even know what that means?”

The blonde groaned as they began to walk through the hallways together.

“I think you’re jealous because no one is writing you captivatingly beautiful love letters.”

Crystal shrugged and continued walking, eventually bumping into Daegen and going for a much-needed smoke. The blue-haired girl didn’t want to come off as cold to her best friend, but she feared that if she said too much, Gigi would make the connection. She smoked in silence, allowing Daegen to rant about her weekly argument with Daya that would likely be resolved by Friday. Occasionally she would nod, but she kept quiet.

It was surprising to Crystal that Gigi appreciated the letters so much. She thought the blonde would find them creepy and stalker-like, and perhaps fear for her own safety, but the opposite reaction was apparent. So now Crystal didn’t know what to do. Gigi was falling for her words, but she didn’t know it was her.

Apparently Daegen had been saying something because suddenly the girl was snapping her pink acrylic covered fingers in front of her eyes.

“Are you listening to me, Crys? I asked what you were planning on doing for Halloween this Friday?”

Oh. Crystal had almost forgotten that she had been working on her Corpse-bride inspired Halloween costume since July, putting her entire soul into the concept and causing her fingers to bleed with the many late nights of sewing layers of tulle. Everything with Gigi must have been really getting in her head - so much so that she forgot about the object of her whole summer.

She was too old for trick or treating now, unfortunately, but she had been planning to have a small get-together (edging on a party) with her remote friend group as well as others. Gigi had promised to attend, after spending the last two Halloweens with the popular kids getting shitfaced at college parties.

“Don’t you remember? I’m throwing a party. My dad is out of town for work and my mom is spending time with our grandma. The house will be empty,” Crystal grinned, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Crystal Lucia Elizabeth throwing a party? Who would’ve thought,” Daegen smirked, “Is Geege coming?”

“Yup,” Crystal said, her smile faltering slightly as she popped the ‘p.’ Daegen didn’t press on, so soon they were both putting their cigarettes out and heading to their next class.

Word of Crystal’s Halloween party spread like a virus, and the prominent conversation around the school was what everyone was wearing. Thankfully for Crystal, most of her friends were art kids, so instead of wearing a slutty (insert random occupation) costume, they’d all be wearing actual thought-out looks.

At lunchtime, Crystal and Gigi sat under the bleachers together, sipping Yakults and talking about their days. The blue-haired girl asked Gigi what she’d be wearing to her Halloween party, but the blonde wouldn’t tell her.

“It’s a surprise.” her eyes were glinting smugly. Gigi was a seamstress, and everyone knew it. She would create intricately designed, beautiful outfits and sell them to big names on Instagram. Crystal often wondered why she hadn’t just dropped out of school, considering it seemed like she had a strong career set in stone.

But oh boy, Crystal knew whatever it was that Gigi was planning to wear would sweep her off her feet. Figuratively and literally - she was quite clumsy.

.

I can’t wait to see you at the Halloween party tomorrow. I know you’re going to look ethereal. You always do. It’s so hard to look at you without kissing you. I don’t know why I would ever think you would kiss me considering I’m not even half as pretty as you, but I will continue to manifest it as long as you’re in my life. I think I love you.

“She said she loved me in yesterday’s letter,” Gigi shouted through the wind, holding onto Crystal’s waist tight as the latter peddled through the neighbourhood.

“Do you love her?” Crystal replied, thankful that her friend was unable to see her expression at that moment. She couldn’t think straight with Gigi holding her in that way.

“I mean. I guess I have to talk to her face to face. For all I know she can’t speak for shit in real life. She said she’s going to your party tonight. Maybe all will be revealed…”

Crystal breathily laughed out a response as she turned into the school gate. She knew she wasn’t ready to come clean yet. Gigi would simply have to wait another day.

The day passed in a blur. The girls skipped Phys Ed as per usual, but instead returned to the library again for extra revision instead of going back to the bike sheds to get high like last time.

Friday night took a painfully long time to come, but when it did, Crystal could hardly breathe the entire day. She managed to flirt her way out of sixth-period history so she was able to speedily bike her way home to make a start on her eccentric Halloween makeup. People were set to begin arriving at 9 pm, and there wasn’t much preparation to be done aside from throwing a couple of fake cobwebs around the place and placing stacks of red solo cups on the kitchen counter. Her makeup would take at least an hour and a half, so as soon as she got home she took a five-minute shower before beginning the look.

She painted her entire body a silvery grey before carving out strong cheekbones with black paint, giving her an undead appearance. She shaped her brows in a way that would make her look constantly mournful. She slipped her dress on, threw on four different silver necklaces, pulled her voluminous black wig over her head, and clipped the vail to it carefully. After admiring her masterpiece through her phone camera for a few minutes, the doorbell rang. It was Lux and Tiff, who had texted to say they were arriving early.

“Oh my God,” Crystal squealed as she opened the door, revealing the two girls. Both of them were dressed in beige prison outfits, and it quickly clicked to her that they were supposed to be Alex and Piper from Orange Is the New Black. “Lesbians, I assume,” she grinned, but the two girls in front of her were too busy gaping at her own outfit.

“Wow. You are Tim Burton’s wet dream,” Tiff said, pushing past Crystal and entering her home.

“No, I’m not. I’m not white, remember,” Crystal joked.

Lux had brought her large overpriced speaker to blast music. She heaved it into the living room and plugged it in, immediately starting to blast Stupid Love cause she was that girl.

Luckily for Crystal, her neighbourhood adored her. Her street was predominantly old women, but instead of constantly yelling at Crystal for dressing slutty, partying and smoking weed on her roof, they would simply envy her recklessness.

After an hour of pre-shots, people began to arrive. Most people brought their own alcohol, but it was clear that many of them were already drunk before they even arrived. Crystal remained in the foyer, leaning against the wall, singing along to Lux’s music and answering the doorbell whenever it rang. Every time the ringing echoed across the house, she’d subconsciously pray Gigi was on the other side, but for the first two hours, it never was.

Nicky, Jaida and Gigi all arrived at once, and Crystal felt herself get cotton mouth for a second when she looked over them all. Nicky was dressed in a basic white gown with her blonde hair down, however, she was absolutely drenched in fake blood and she wore a small prom queen tiara and sash. It was obviously a Carrie cosplay, and Crystal adored it. Jaida had her entire body painted green and wore a black catsuit over it, cosplaying as Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy.

Crystal complimented their costumes first, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Gigi. Her Halloween costume wasn’t as bold as they had been in the previous years, but there was something about it that took Crystal’s breath away. The blonde had her hair down and curled in smooth waves and she was wearing a loose white dress with a victorian-Esque corset pulling her waist in impossibly tight. She had dripped wax below her eyes, giving a crying illusion, and her makeup was a shimmery purple, making her look angelic. Yes - that was her costume - an angel. Strapped across her back was the largest pair of faux feather angel wings Crystal had ever seen. They were reminiscent of the ones a Victoria’s Secret models would wear, and they shimmered under the moonlight.

“Holy fuck…” Crystal blurted, before squeaking slightly.

“I know right? They’re so fucking heavy,” Gigi giggled before hopping in and air-kissing Crystal on each cheek, “You look so good, girl.”

“Thanks,” Crystal smiled, deciding that she would no longer be taking doorbell duty. She wanted to enjoy herself, so she walked through to the kitchen where Daya was doing body shots with some guy she had never seen before and promptly decided to join her.

Every so often, she would catch Gigi dancing and knocking things over with her wings. She didn’t mind if Gigi ended up shattering a vase. She would glue up every fragment of china for her.

After her second shot, Crystal made her way to the living room with Daegen to observe people’s dancing, and that’s when she saw them.

There was this guy from Gigi’s geography class that she never shut up about. His name was Toby, and he was one of those ‘hipster boys.’ He was a self-proclaimed feminist but probably cried about rejections from women on the internet. Every time Crystal saw his lanky frame enter a room, she felt sick and fantasized about decking him. There was something about him that was just so irritating to her, and every time he stuck his tongue out at her friend or wiggled his eyebrows like a fucking loser, Crystal wanted to cave in on herself.

And there he was, in her home, dancing with her best friend to ‘If You’re Too Shy’ by The 1975, grinding against her cause her angel wings were too large for the roles to be reversed. Gigi was biting her lip and grinning wide - evidently drunk - and she flipped her hair and bounced to the upbeat synth. Nicky was cheering her on from the couch, and Crystal wished she could just shut the party down. So much for Gigi falling in love with her words? Now she was grinding over some flimsy incel that looked like he would have to be pegged by a woman in bed.

It only got worse from there. The blonde caught Crystal’s eye and she walked up to her slowly, her hand still intertwined with Toby’s. Her words were so slurred that the older girl almost didn’t catch them, but she heard Gigi say: “Hey Toby was wondering if your bedroom was free? All the other ones are occupied but I’m desperateeee.”

Crystal had to hold back the mouthful of vomit threatening to spill from her lips. Gigi was so incredibly drunk, and it seemed like Toby was sober, so the entire endeavour didn’t sit right with her at all. She mentally cursed herself for being so generous, because before she could even register what she was doing, she was pulling a small key out of her bra and Gigi and Toby were rushing their way upstairs.

“Fuck, Crys. Have some respect for yourself,” she mumbled when she was out of earshot from her friend. Decidedly, she made her way to the garden where she knew Daegen was smoking with Tiff. She had to ease her mind.

.

“Fuck, Goode, you’re so hot,” Toby grunted, carelessly pulling Gigi’s wings off her arms. Gigi’s mind was hazy and she couldn’t think or speak properly, so she wasn’t able to tell the boy that the wings were handmade and extremely fragile.

“Thanks,” she slurred as he began to undress her, “Wait.”

“What?”

“Let me try and find a condom.”

She hopped off Crystal’s bed and somehow managed to find her way to her friend’s chest of drawers. She found panties and tampons among many other things, but she couldn’t find a condom. She reached the final drawer and frantically poked around for one. Then she grabbed something, and suddenly she sobered up.

It was a red A5 notepad with a black swirly binder. On the red cover, Gigi spotted five faces; Zayn, Niall, Liam, Harry and Louis. She chuckled slightly, before opening the notebook. Her heart dropped. If the familiar 1D watermark print paper wasn’t enough to make the connection, the titular scribble saying ‘Love letter for Geege draft’ at the top sealed it.

“Are you okay, Gigi?” she heard Toby ask from the bed.

The blonde paused and furrowed her brow, not sure what to do next. “Um. I can’t do this. Sorry.”

“But it was gonna be so good… You look so fine…” “Not tonight, Toby. Sorry.”

Her tone was serious, and Toby knew not to cross her. The boy watched as she pulled her dress and wings back on, and squinted his eyes when she saw a small red notebook in her hands.

“What’s that?” he pressed.

“Get out. Crystal wouldn’t want you in her room.”

After muttering a few disgusting insults under his breath, he left the room, leaving Gigi alone on her best friend’s bed with an overwhelming amount of thoughts.

Downstairs, Crystal had a growing concern as to where Gigi was, because she swore she saw Toby leave with another girl on his arm. Instead of being petty, she decided to be a good friend and creep up the stairs. To her surprise, her bedroom door was wide open. Upon entering, she realised it was empty. And then she saw the small A5 One Direction notebook wide open on her bed, and knew it was time to shut the party down.

It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get everyone out, but she was still met with groans of annoyance due to it only being little after midnight. Daya stayed back to help Crystal clean up, but the blonde knew something was wrong.

“Crys? What happened?” she asked, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her other hand was occupied with a large bin bag filled with chip packets, put-out cigarettes and paper cups.

The small motion of comfort caused Crystal to break down, tears tumbling down her cheeks and creating streaks in her white face paint. Patches of caramel skin showed through as she cried more and more.

“No one… touched you… did they?” Daya questioned, dropping the trash bag and wrapping her arms around her friend’s waist.

“No,” Crystal sobbed, “I don’t really wanna talk about it. I’m fine. I just have to figure out a couple of things.”

“Do you need me to stay over?”

“No. It’s fine. I need some alone time.” The house was back to its usual state after twenty minutes, then D aya’s Lyft arrived and she left. Crystal found herself in front of her vanity, scrubbing at her face with cotton pads in an attempt to remove her many layers of makeup. She turned on her ‘Sad Girl Hours’ Spotify playlist whilst she cleaned herself up and continued playing it when she slid into the bath.

Gigi knew.

She couldn’t even think about why Gigi was snooping about in her drawers, she just knew that Gigi knew. Gigi finally made the connection. Crystal’s mask of hiding behind her romantic words was gone. There was no coming back from this. Part of her wanted to slide her body down the white acrylic bathtub surface, submerging herself in the water and remaining there until her lungs couldn’t function without another breath.

Instead, she simply sat there, neck and below beneath the steaming water, eyes shut. Her mind swarmed with escape plans. Would transferring to another school be worth it? Her current school was the best in the district. Should she give it up merely to run away from her problems? Should she face the issue head-on and talk about it with Gigi? Yes. Will she? Absolutely not.

She clambered out when the steam from the water began to make her dizzy. She straightened her blue hair every morning, but it had returned to its curly, frizzy state when it became dampened by the water. She rang it out into the sink using a hand towel, droplets of water falling from her naked frame. Everything was calm. The only thing that could be heard was the occasional sniffle - for Crystal was still crying sightly.

But, like all things, the peace came to an end when Crystal heard a clattering noise come from her bedroom. She yanked a towel from behind the bathroom door before hesitantly making her way back to her room, gasping when she saw someone climbing through her window. Instinctively, she grabbed a tennis racket that was hanging in the corner of her room.

“Jesus Christ - put that down!” the intruder gasped, and Crystal realised that it wasn’t an escaped prisoner coming to steal her and hold her captive in their trunk - it was Gigi.

Part of Crystal wanted to hit Gigi across the head with the racket painstakingly hard so the blonde’s memory would be wiped, forgetting the humiliating events of the day, but instead, Crystal just placed the racket down and covered herself tensely. She was still in her towel, and her hair was still dripping down her shoulders. She likely looked a mess, but it was too dark to notice.

“It’s almost 3 am…” Crystal whispered. Although she didn’t ask anything, it was clear her statement meant ‘why are you here?’

Gigi’s eyes trailed over to the blue-haired girl’s bed where the notebook still sat. Crystal had been afraid to touch it.

“Listen, if you’re going to ridicule me, do it on Monday, cause I’m too tired for this-” the older girl began, but Gigi stepped closer towards her.

The blonde had removed her costume and had her face now bare of any makeup. She was just stood there in black sports leggings and a pink sweater that was three sizes too large, swallowing up her slender frame. Her hair was damp and now in plaits, and her eyes were as puffy and tear-stained as Crystal’s, yet somehow still so beautiful.

“I’m not going to ridicule you, Crys,” she whispered, “I just wanna know… Was it you all along?”

Crystal didn’t wanna say it. Her body had never burned so bad, despite being bare and dripping with water. It was impossible to look Gigi in the eye, so instead, she looked at the gathering dust on the floor, gulping instead of responding.

“Answer me, Crys.” - she was getting closer.

“I don’t know if I can- if I can say it-” Crystal stumbled, her voice cracking under pressure.

Gigi stepped into Crystal’s bubble suddenly, reaching for the latter’s shaky hand. She took it in her own and pressed a soft kiss to it. “Don’t be scared to talk to me. We are best friends, remember. We vowed to always be transparent with one another - so I need you to tell me.”

After too long, Crystal finally met Gigi’s sparkling blue gaze. She swallowed back yet another lump in her throat before nodding. “It was me. I wrote them. All of them.”

The older girl swore she heard Gigi’s breathing hitch, but if the blonde was shocked in any way, she didn’t show any sign of it.

“I wanted to believe it was you, but when you seemed so disinterested in the letters, I began to question it. I never knew that you could write in such a way, Crys,” Gigi smiled sadly, reaching over to catch a tear spilling from Crystal’s eye with her thumb. The touch seemed to burn, sending electrifying sensations through both of them. “Did you truly mean everything you wrote in those letters or was it all a big joke to make me feel special?”

Crystal gasped slightly and furrowed her brow.

“Gigi Goode… You are special. When we got high during Phys Ed and you were all touchy I- I realised that I liked you. Even though it hasn’t been long since I realised it, I know my attraction to you has been there from the start. It started to become impossible to be around you without telling you how I felt, so I wrote it down in letters and hoped I could send the feeling away.”

Crystal was crying now - hard. She was a crier, and everyone knew it, but there was something about the quiet whimpers escaping her lips at that moment that took Gigi off guard.

“I wish you would’ve told me but, I can’t blame you. It’s terrifying,” Gigi sighed, stepping even closer. “I can’t even begin to explain how those letters made me feel, Crys. They made me feel like I hold some significance in somebody’s life. That someone might want me. That I am good enough for someone. You made me feel all that.”

In a bold move, Crystal was reaching towards her friend and tucking an escaped wisp of blonde hair behind her ear, “I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t good enough, Geege.”

“Your letters made me feel so loved,” Gigi sniffled. “Do you love me, Crystal?”

Crystal parted her lips, her hand still lingering by the side of Gigi’s face. It was a make or break moment.

“Yes,” she breathed, and then Gigi was leaning in.

The blonde paused before their lips could meet, looking for a sign of approval in her friend’s eyes. Crystal nodded, and that gave Gigi what she needed to finally press her lips against the former’s frown. They instantly became so content like that, lips moving together so perfectly like they just fit.

It was so gentle, to begin with, Crystal’s hand barely touching the side of Gigi’s face - but then the blonde’s fingers grabbed the top of Crystal’s arm, pulling her closer and prying her mouth open with her tongue. Their lips shifted clumsily against each other, but it still felt so right. Crystal tasted like teardrops and pineapple juice, and Gigi tasted like mint.

As the kiss became more and more heated, Crystal figured out what to do with her free hand. She took Gigi’s hand and led her towards the knot that held her towel together, staring at the blonde with dark, lustful eyes.

“I want you,” Crystal said, like it was a promise, “I need you.”

“I’m yours,” Gigi replied, pulling the knot loose and watching as the towel dropped by Crystal’s feet, showing off tanned curves glistening in water drops, begging to be marked.

They pulled one another in once again in a knee-weakening kiss, their noses colliding with each other as the passion fogged their minds. Soon, they were falling onto Crystal’s bed, and Crystal was watching whilst Gigi undressed herself in front of her.

“Promise me we’ll do this, and then we will talk everything out?” Crystal asked whilst Gigi was pulling her leggings off.

The blonde pressed a gentle kiss against Crystal’s cheek before whispering, “Of course. I love you.”

While Crystal watched Gigi hook a naked leg over her own, all she could think was: Widow VonDu needs a pay rise.

[lavendersuh]

“how much do you hate me?”

pairing: fuckboy!mark tuan/reader

genre: college!au, childhood neighbors, enemies to lovers, fluff, mild angst

word count: 2.3k

a/n: you should know how much i love enemies to lovers ok i really really love it,,,, this is based off the drabble prompt “how much do you hate me?” “not enough to say no immediately what do you want” enjoy! xx

“How much do you hate me?” 

The question came from behind you, as you sat reading a textbook and munching on an apple between classes. You spin around to see Mark Tuan, resident fuckboy on campus, smirking down at you. 

He wasn’t just the resident fuckboy, but he was also your childhood neighbor, the boy that you watched grow up beside you. It still baffled you that somehow you both had managed to choose the same college. You, for the creative arts program, and he, for the fraternities. The lives you led were different, yet somehow had always paralleled each other.

You were never really friends with Mark, despite your mothers putting you in the sandbox together at a young age. Pulling your pigtails at the age of six didn’t necessarily leave you with the best first impression of him, and that animosity followed you as you both grew up. Arguments ensued throughout the occasional dinners your families would hold together. It always left you frustrated, wishing you had a grumpy old man as a neighbor rather than the increasingly attractive boy you were stuck with.

Awkward teen years and the constant bickering warranted a bit of anger when you realized he chose the same college as you. Would you ever escape this man?

You close your book slowly, as he sits down next to you. It’s early on a Saturday morning, so the library is mostly empty. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “Not enough to say ‘no’ immediately,” you say, “What do you need?”

He beams at you and you notice how much he’s changed. You have only seen him in passing glance in one of the dining halls since arriving on campus, and his hair is more blonde since the last time you saw him in the beginning of summer. He wears a hoodie with his frat logo on it, with sweatpants and a hat.

“You know me so well, Y/N.” he says, “I need you to kiss me.”

You immediately recoil, “What the hell?”

He laughs, “Not right now, but tonight at a party my frat is hosting. I’m trying to hook up with this girl and I want to make her jealous.” 

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” you exclaim, before pausing, “What’s in it for me?”

“The satisfaction of knowing you helped one of your lifelong, childhood friends get laid by a senior?” he throws you a convincing smile, “The fact that you’ll have kissed your high school crush?”

You go to stand up, packing up your books into your bag, “I am not helping you seduce a girl, I don’t care if she’s a senior.” You look back at him, “And I didn’t have a crush on you! Where did you get that dumb idea?”

“Your mom told my mom,” he mentions, “You know how they love to gossip.” 

It was true, your mothers both were quite the little gossips. But the fact that you did, indeed, have a crush on Mark was something you never told your mother. It was a secret you would keep to the grave. He would never had let you live it down.

He goes to follow you as you descend the stairs, leading out to the Quad. You continue to bicker with him as you make your way back to your dorm hall, and it feels all too familiar. Arguing with Mark is a sport, and you were a pro.

“I do not support using manipulation to get someone into bed with you. Just tell her you want to fuck! What is with guys and zero communication these days, Jesus.” you huff. 

“If I do that she might think I want more than just a one time thing!”

“Then communicate that you just want to hookup!”

You reach your dorm hall and just as you are about to slide your ID and open the door, he slides between the door and you. 

“Ok, listen, what if I sweeten the deal?” he reasons, “How’s $10 and some free booze?”

You sigh. He has always been stubborn. 

“How about $30?” You’ve always been stubborn too. 

He rolls his eyes, but holds out his hand, “Fine, deal, be there at nine, okay?”

You grasp his hand in a firm handshake, “Can’t wait,” the sarcasm drips off the words. 

It would certainly be an interesting night.

By the time you got to the frat house at ten, the party was in full swing. People littered the front yard, and as soon as you walked into the house, you were met with heat and smoke. You’d never been to this house before, but the kitchen was easy to find. Grabbing a beer from the coolers lining the wall, you cracked it open, wondering where Mark was.

You wandered around a bit before seeing a head of blonde hair coming toward you.

“Hey, you made it! I honestly didn’t think you would show up,” he chuckles, a beer in his own hand.

“I came from the booze and the grocery money,” you grin at him. You never were a lightweight, but the taste of alcohol already begins to loosen you up a bit. “So, where’s this girl you’re trying to make jealous?” 

“Not sure yet!” 

You whip your head around to look him in the eye, “What? You don’t have someone specific in mind? Why am I even here?”

He laughs, guiding you through some of the crowds of dancers, “I’m trying out a new technique. You know how chicks get jealous.”

Your face morphs into disgust. Of course he thinks like that. 

“Have you always been this shallow? This inept?” you ask.

“Hey, look who’s following along with my plan, eh?” 

You huff, and take a few more swigs of the beer in your hand. Mark stays next to you, nursing his own drink, watching you curiously. It’s been so long since you’ve really talked to Mark, yet the bickering dynamic feels like you talk everyday. 

It takes a few moments, of drinking and taking in the sights of the party around you, before you come to a decision. Taking the last gulp of your last drink, you muster up your courage and look at Mark. 

“Alright, I’m starting to get tipsy, I'm kind of curious to see if this will work. Find your target, let’s go.” you tell him.

He grins, “Give me ten minutes, I’ll meet up back here.”

With that, he’s off, and you go to grab another drink. At least there’s booze, you think. You find your spot back along the wall and try to find Mark in the crowd. Eventually you spot him, talking up a pretty brunette, who isn’t as into it as he would probably like. 

Watching him flirt relentlessly with the girl brought back memories of high school. Of hugging the wall at parties, watching him flirt and go for the girls in other classes. It was odd watching the shy neighbor boy transform in such little time.

Whenever you crossed paths with Mark nowadays, it always made life interesting. While he constantly drove you insane, you also felt nostalgic for the simple high school days of dumb arguments.

While you are caught in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Mark approaching you. He swoops his arm around your waist, taking you on a trip through the crowd. He nuzzles his nose next to ear, sending a chill down your spine. 

He whispers in your ear, “Let’s find a place to start the show, eh? She’s hanging with her friends in the living area.” 

He leads you through the house, finding a bookcase in the back of the living room. As he spins you around to lean against the bookcase you catch a glimpse of the brunette he had been talking to. You can’t help but stare at her, as she takes quick looks over at the two of you.

Mark moves in close, his arms coming to rest on either side of you, “Hey,” he catches your attention, drawing your eyes from the girl, “if you get uncomfortable or something, let me know.”

Was Mark being caring? Since when? Wasn’t this the fuckboy that would tease you for paying attention to your studies rather than finding friends? Wasn’t this the very man using you to get in another girl’s pants?

You nod, catching the dark look overtaking his eyes. He glances down at your lips, before leaning in, capturing your lips with his own. 

A warm feeling spreads through you, as he grips your hips and you bring your hands up to encircle his neck. His mouth is warm against your own, and you find yourself not hating this as much as you thought you would. 

You’re still curious, wondering whether the girl is looking over at you, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and check. Might as well just live in the moment, right? 

You don’t know how long it is before Mark is removing his lips from yours, but as you open your eyes, he rests his forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. 

“Not bad, neighbor,” he comments, sending you a smirk that could probably leave you swooning if not for your pride.

“Ditto,” you reply, through it comes out as a sigh, as you still try to catch your breath. 

He pecks you on the lips once more before fully retreating from you, “Time to see if the plan worked,” he mentions, stepping away. 

You clear your throat, suddenly sobering up, from both the alcohol and Mark. “Right, go get your girl.” 

He throws you another smile before sauntering casually in the direction of the brunette. You look away, suddenly feeling sick at the thought of watching him hook up with someone. 

You weave your way back into the kitchen and manage to score a glass of water. You aren’t really sure how much longer you want to stay. You vaguely recall Mark owing you $30, but you don’t care all that much. 

Deciding you want to leave, you abandon the glass, walking towards the door. Why, surrounded by so many people, do you suddenly feel so alone? 

You stumble out of the frat house and into the cool night. It’s quieter out here, despite the background sounds of the bass and the occasional holler from someone on the lawn. 

The walk home is sobering, to say the least, as you make your way back to your dorm. It’s never been fun walking home from parties, especially when you are all alone and not very drunk anymore. 

You pass other parties, and crowds of people laughing, but you just want sleep, you just want warmth. Coming out tonight was not your finest idea, but you’ve found when it comes to Mark, things always shift from what you planned.

You aren’t sure why you suddenly feel so sad. Is it because Mark is so easily able to find someone to spend the night with? So easily able to talk to others and make connections?

Deep down, in your traitorous heart, you fear it isn’t Mark’s people skills you want, but Mark himself.

You sputter, shaking your head to yourself. That’s crazy, you think. It’s Mark.

By the time you make it back to your dorm hall, you finally accept that it probably is just Mark. You shove that down though, suppress it. That would never happen.

You laugh to yourself, walking up the steps to the front entrance. Blaming all these ridiculous thoughts on your tipsy mind, you don’t hear someone calling out to you until they get closer.

You spin around, only to find Mark staring at you from the sidewalk. He looks out of breath, like he just ran here. He climbs the steps, two at a time and before you know it, he’s standing in front of you, winded and with a wild look in his eyes. 

“Mark?” you ask, confusion evident in your tone, “What are you doing here?”

He’s still breathing heavy, and looking at you like he doesn’t even know the answer. “The girl- she- I don’t know, I can’t stop thinking about- and then-” he pauses, taking a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. 

He tries again, “She wasn’t what I was looking for.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Oh, so you want me to help again? I’m kinda tired-”

“No! No, I-” he cuts himself off again, “Jesus, I’m so bad at this. I finally got her all alone and it didn’t even matter. I didn’t feel like kissing her, or doing anything.”

“Why?” you ask quietly.

“She wasn’t you.”

You are startled at his words. Shell-shocked. You wonder if you already made it up to your dorm, and were fast asleep, dreaming up this whole situation. 

He steps in front of you, taking your hands gently in his.

“I know we have fought for as long as I can remember.” he tells you, “But kissing you felt right. Tell me you didn’t feel the same. Tell me to stop and I’ll go; I’ll never speak to you again.”

“I-” you can’t find words as you watch him lean closer and closer. 

Because the truth was, something about it did feel right.

“How much do you hate me?” He asks, tilting his head as you feel his breath dance across your lips.

“Not as much as I want to,” you whisper back, pressing your lips to his, letting the emotions of hate and anger flow away has he kisses you back. 

You think back to the days of your adolescence, when your mother would tease you about your bickering with Mark, saying you acted like an old married couple, joking about how eventually the two of you would start dating. You used to think your mom was crazy. But now, with Mark leaning into you, and fireworks exploding in your chest, you wondered if she’s been right all along. 

[collecting-stories]

Begin Again - Sonny Carisi

A/N: It took me forever to put this into words and I’m still not sure about the ending but I literally couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

///

But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again.  - Begin Again, Taylor Swift

Divorces were messy business, as your father had told you over the phone multiple times while also suggesting that you avoid said ‘messy business’ and just stay married. Stay married to a man who emotionally and mentally abused you every chance he was given since somewhere around the first two months of dating. Stay married to a man who cheated on you repeatedly. Stay married because that was the only thing you had ever done right in your whole sorry existence.  

Your therapist, when you first moved to New York and after the trouble of finding a new doctor and getting new referrals and trying a few less than reputable places first, told you that you married your mother.  

“Probably.” You’d agreed.  

For even longer than you could remember subjecting yourself to marriage you had been forced to endure the onslaught of your mother’s never ending negative opinions about everything in your life. You cut your hair too short, you smoked cigarettes, you spent weekends at friends houses to avoid her wrath, and you fell right into every word your now ex-husband said because you wanted someone to tell you they loved you.  

It was through frustration, after filing the first PFA and having it denied by the judge in the county of the small town where you lived, that you ultimately signed up for classes at the community college. And it was those classes that got you to NYC, a place you’d really only ever dreamed of, always intimated by the city.  

“It’s just...I don’t know how to describe it.” You explained, waving the hand that wasn’t holding a cup of coffee as you walked through the park.  

It was hard to believe, even for you, but the city had offered more than independence, freedom, and opportunity. In the final semester of your last year before the bar exam the city had given you another gift, in the form of one Dominick Carisi Jr. Detective, hopeful future lawyer, devout catholic, family man, and arguably the nicest person you had ever encountered. Three dates in and you were hooked.  

“It’s a little intimidatin’.” And that accent, an onslaught of 30-some years living in Staten Island had gifted your ears with the pleasure of Carisi’s accent. It was something you never thought you’d appreciate but after spending days listening to him, either answering a question in one of your classes or talking about his nieces during a date, you were sure that voice was heaven-sent. A rather embarrassing borderline kink that you had so far withheld though you suspected he knew, given the smirk every time you zoned out when he was talking.  

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better.” You replied, nudging him and smiling. Smiling was unavoidable when you were with Sonny. The first time he’d asked you out had been after a particularly grueling day and a test you had been cramming for.  

You had been towards the back, packing your bag to go home, when Sonny had stopped at your desk, lingering until you gave him your attention. He was nice looking, you had always thought so. The first week of class you’d walked in to find him in a seat toward the front, suit pants and vest on with a white button-down shirt and tie. You thought he looked a little too nice to be taking night classes but maybe he had some sort of important job during the day. You always came straight from work at the legal firm three blocks away, sporting an endless wardrobe of pencil skirts and blouses. And you thought, possibly, that it was the suits that were so alluring about him. But then he’d shown up on a test day with jeans and a hoodie and his hair not so perfectly gelled and you’d still swooned so you knew it wasn’t just the suit.  

The day he asked you on that first date he was in his suit again, complete with a jacket and you were sure you’d never been more attracted to a man’s legs before. The gray pants were really something though.  

“Did you need something?” You asked, then frowned at the harshness of you own tone. Lack of sleep and stress over your divorce were really getting to you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”  

“No sweat.” He smiled like it really was no big deal that you’d come off sounding annoyed by his presence. You weren’t. Surprised he was talking to you sure, but annoyed? Definitely not. “I was just wondering if you’d want to grab coffee sometime?”  

And really you should say no because there is a whole house of skeletons that this poor guy has no idea exist but he looks so sweet and whether he is or not you could use a nice guy. So you nod your head, deciding to go against your better judgement or your worst case scenario judgement. “Yeah, yeah, of course. When did you have in mind?”  

The first date was at a Starbucks and you explained your love of pumpkin spice lattes, no matter how ‘basic’ they made you. “It’s stupid I know, but I swear it’s not all hype. It really is a good drink.”

“I’m not arguing doll, my sister Bella gets ‘em all the time.” He mentioned as the line moved up. He ordered two venti pumpkin spice lattes and two pumpkin scones, encouraging your deep love of autumn flavors and, despite your protest, he paid. “Got the app.” He shrugged like the high-priced goods were no big deal as he held his phone out for the girl behind the counter to scan.  

“Well thanks.” You replied, moving down the counter with him. There were things you wanted to say. You thought about telling him how your ex-husband never would’ve paid for coffee, just rolled his eyes that you wanted to buy some when there was ‘perfectly good coffee at home’. He would’ve made fun of your right there in the Starbucks with everyone around for wanting a pumpkin spice latte. But instead you listened to Sonny telling you how he brought his nieces here sometimes after mass as a treat.

Sonny liked to talk and you liked to listen. It kept you from saying stupid things that didn’t matter about your ex-husband and your life prior to New York. You weren’t keeping things from him, just enjoying the newness of the relationship. The only good advice your mother had ever given you was telling you that the way a person acts in the beginning of the relationship is their best behavior. So whatever’s bad will only get worse. As far as your ex-boyfriend was concerned that was completely true. With Sonny you couldn’t imagine it getting worse.  

Five weeks into dating each other Sonny breached the idea of introducing you to his family. “My ma was wondering if ya wanted to come to mass with us on Sunday?” He asked. Dinners had shifted from rarely being at one another’s apartments to always being at one another’s apartments. Sonny’s Italian food was to die for and you had some pretty amazing cooking skills yourself.  

“Alright.” You thought you’d be more nervous. That meeting Mr. and Mrs. Carisi would be the most intimidating thing in the world but the more time you spent with Sonny the more you wanted to know everything about him. You were actually eager to meet his family.  

“Yeah?” Sonny asked, almost disbelieving.  

“Yeah, I’d love to meet your family.”  

You weren’t the only one who was excited about meeting his family. Sonny hadn’t brought someone home to meet his mom and dad since he was in high school. He just couldn’t seem to mesh with anyone. There were plenty of first dates but they never went further than that. Either his job was too demanding or he was too overbearing or he thought too far into the future. However, it was Sonny had spent a significant portion of his dating years being told that he was too much by the people he went out with. And he always felt like that, a nag in the back of his brain that said he was either too much or he wasn’t enough.  

But you didn’t make him feel that way. He’d worried himself over asking you out for weeks until Rollins finally told him she would find him a new partner if he didn’t ask you. So, he did, shaking and second guessing himself and thinking that the beautiful girl who sat in the back of his class was never going to want to go out with him but it was worth a shot. And you’d smiled so bright when you realized he was inviting you on a date. You accepted and somehow he was talking about mass on Sunday with his family.  

“Are we going anywhere after mass?” You asked, cleaning the dishes from dinner. The record player you had by the couch playing softly in the background. “Like should I bring something.”

“Nah, ma’s gonna do a big dinner.” Sonny replied, grabbing your hand as you walked back to the small kitchen table to grab the rest of the plates. He pulled you down on his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist.  

“I still feel like I should bring something. It’s your parents,” you explain, “I mean, it’s your parents, I wanna make a good impression.”

“They’ll love ya, trust me.” He needed no convincing words or reassurances he knew his parents would love you because he loved you and because he’d told them about you enough times that they felt like they already knew you.          

“What about that apple cake I made for Amanda’s birthday?” You suggested.

You’d met the squad by accident on a date with Sonny but now it felt like you’d always known them. The life you had in New York had changed who you were as a person. It had made you more confident, more outgoing, happier. The shell you had built around yourself to protect your sanity from your family and your ex-husband had been chipped away at by Sonny and by your own independence.  

“I’ll ask ma,” He replied, “I do like that apple cake.”

The song on the record player ended and the quiet scrape of the needle against the vinyl had you getting up to flip it to the other side. You heard the sound of Sonny’s chair move back as he no doubt started cleaning the rest of the dinner plates. It was nice.             

-

This is the thing, I don’t know how it is.          

[vmfx]

YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST TIME.

We arrive at William Floyd High in the nighttime as the entire Brentwood wrestling team stepped off the bus. We enter through those front doors walking past the usual itinerary of granite floors, glass windows, metal lockers, trophy displays, plaques, and various achievements and group photos of people our age that we didn’t know. That was always the case when traveling with the team to any foreign-to-us high-school because we were only used to seeing our own halls and friends every day but most of us never cared to think about what kind of lives the kids from other schools lead.

Line up, enter the locker room. Drop your duffel bags onto the wooden bench, get undressed to the zeros. Throw your apparel in the locker. Don’t smile. Line up again, walk to the scale, step right up, tack up your weight, step off. Proceed to unlock your apparel to get dressed. Put your singlet on, your team jacket, your team pants, your wrestling shoes, hold onto your headgear, and then eat since your weight has been certified to the last pound right before you would qualify up to the heavier weight classes. Don’t smile. Now huddle as a team so the coach gives you a run-down of what to expect. Warm up, jump around, pace it. Keep moving, shoot and snap a little. Break a sweat, get pumped up, put your game-face or ego on, and wait in the hall until the team proceeds to the opponent’s gymnasium.

Five minutes before we head to the gym, I find out that our teammate Grillo was given an opportunity to wrestle a female, an extreme anomaly in the world of high-school wrestling since it’s a boy’s sport. Grillo ultimately turned down the chance to wrestle her. Why? Was it because he would feel guilty in roughing up a woman? No. Was it because he preferred the challenge of a male opponent since his perception of a wrestler of the opposite sex would be weak? No.

Grillo didn’t want to take the chance in losing against her. He didn’t want to put his supposed manhood on the line to deal with the ridicule from now until the end of high-school. He didn’t seem right about it. He had every right to turn her down. It wasn’t the only time this season one of our guys couldn’t wrestle an available female opponent. Another teammate, Pud, was upset because his pulled out at the last minute: she was having her period.

But one man’s failure is another man’s opportunity. As Grillo passed up an opportunity to experience something notable to tell his future children or his closest drinking buddies, lo and behold, our coach instead gives me the opportunity to wrestle her.

Of course, I said yes.

**********

The junior varsity string lined up at the entrance of the William Floyd Colonials’ gym as we said “Our Father”. We were given the signal to storm right on through the gym, onto the mat running in circles and closing in to the center, exploding in a battle cry of “BRENTWOOD!”. We now take our seats waiting for our junior varsity (read “exhibition”) matches to begin. A none-too-shabby well-lit gymnasium of pale-colored walls, championship banners, one huge wrestling mat squared center, and wooden benches somewhat occupied by friends, parents, family, students, and tiny clusters of girls huddling close to each other checking out their latest wrestler crushes like they’d be no big deal next month.

Four matches into the night, my teammates tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. They point to my opponent from across the gym on the Colonials’ side warming up to get ready. Short straight black neck-length hair, darker skin, full-figured build, thick but not fat nor muscular, and buxom. It was her all right. At that moment I knew, and the team knew, that we were in for something quite the un-ordinary.

91, 98, 106, 111, 118, 126, 132, 137. They all came and went. One after another, shake hands with the enemy and at the sound of the referee’s whistle they clashed. Wrestlers coming towards each other as Aries rams locking horns together, roughing each other up in hopes of putting the other man on his back. They were cheered on, whistled to, and yelled at by the coaches if they couldn’t put the hurt on their opponents like they were supposed to. But our second string team did pretty good so far. Some went for the pin, some won by points. For six minutes or less we played hard. At the end, both wrestlers came to the center, shook hands, and the ref- raises the winner’s arm in victory. Clock out and come back on the bench. You’re done for the night.

145. My number’s up. It’s the moment I have been waiting for. After skipping and shooting in place, I step to the mat and get ready. My team stands behind me to wish me good luck, patting me on the back. I walk up to the center of the mat and here she is waiting for me in a mild green and yellow singlet with a white t-shirt under it to prevent any distraction. We meet and hastily shake hands in good sportsmanship. We stance. We lock eyes. The referee’s whistle blows. Go!

First period. I shoot for her legs and tackle her. I get right to work in trying to pin her but she flips over on her stomach as I am on top of her trying to turn her back over. The referee whistles on us for stalling and we’re back up again in stance. Whistle blows. We lock up. She takes me down and is on top of me as I turn flat on my stomach. I successfully get out of position and we’re up again. After two minutes of rough and tussle, octopus arms, twists and knots the period ends.

For those first two minutes I didn’t grapple with the usual muscle, bones, sweat, vitamins, minerals, whole milk, egg yolks, and hard-knock rough-housing of wrestling a male opponent. This time I was feeling something more soft, tender and meaty; something more chewy and warm. It was the first (non-sexual) full-body contact I ever had with the opposite sex, despite the fact that it took place on a wrestling mat in a high-school gymnasium surrounded by two teams, sports personnel, and various other community bit players. No matter. Something still had to be accomplished. Contrary to what my teammates thought, I wasn’t here to get her phone number or ask her out. I was here to win.

Second period. Whistle blows. Our heads rest upon each other as we lock eyes. Both of us try to make a go for it, tapping and pushing each other for the fake out. I shoot and I go for the fireman’s carry where I grab her arm with one hand and my other free arm goes under her triangle and grabs her leg. I surge forward. I nailed it. I tackle her down on the mat. She is on her back as I am on top of her, perpendicular and stomach-to-stomach. My left arm is secured under her head and my right arm hoists her right leg in the air. For the next few seconds she is struggling to break free but the referee on his knees blows the whistle and pounds his hand on the mat, I get the pin.

We get up to brush ourselves off. We walked to the center of the mat to happily respectfully shake hands in good sportsman- / sportswoman-like conduct. The referee raises my arm in victory. My teammates and coaches smile and pat me on the back to congratulate me. Even better, this was my very first career win. History was made.

**********

“Did you touch her crotch?” “Did you cop a feel?” “Did you get on top of her?” “Did you go hard?” Those were the post-interview questions asked to me by the jack-ass male dominate jocks on my team; joking and laughing with me as they wondered how it felt in having to enjoy full body contact with a female opponent. Those same questions would also be asked by my classmates, co-workers, and future would-be people in my life should any conversation I have ever get to this point.

“Why didn’t you go all three periods with her?” one of my teammates asked me. Good point, because maybe I should have gone the whole three rounds with her and get my money’s worth for you. Perhaps I should have enjoyed myself more since this was the only time in my life I would have this opportunity but I was too busy going for the win. Maybe next time.

Later that night, the first-string varsity team easily chopped down the Colonials to shame. Another win for the Indians. Call it a night, we’re going home.

**********

The team gathered their belongings to leave William Floyd High and hopped on the bus. As an added bonus, since we won our bout, we were allowed to be in a good mood hurling insults and mama jokes at each other like all good civilized model student athletes that we were. That night, the back of the bus on the way home was rowdier than a Texas bar in the lawless 1880’s full of booze, poker, gun violence, and burlesque women. They made me the hero of the day I didn’t ask for.

What my teammate Grillo could have had was instead given to me for keeps no matter what and I could show this to any of my friends for the rest of my life. However, when straight, narrow, easily-fascinated minds are still trained on the notion that wrestling is an all-male sport, I can mention that in high-school that I wrestled a female. They won’t light up to the idea that females can wrestle in an all-male sport because they want to accomplish something and break gender barriers. Rather, they will light up only because in their minds they hear that I felt a girl.