#first year all my exams were at 6pm

[hyunteru]

my most important final is tomorrow, getting on my hands and knees to beg for a good mark

[rambleonwaywardson]

First Christmas

A Clegan Astronaut AU One Shot

Summary: Takes place ~15 years before To the Moon and Back, at the very start of Gale and John's life together. It's the end of their first semester of college, and they're leaving for winter break. John takes Gale home with him for Christmas.

Author's Note: I have no concept of if I'll ever write a prequel or if anything pre-TTMAB will be confined to little one shots like this. But here's a small something. Happy holidays ❤

---

“Fuckin’ finally!” Bucky sighs dramatically as he tosses a suitcase onto the bed. Gale’s bed, actually, since his is the lower bunk in their too-small-for-two-grown-men dorm room. With little to no rhyme or reason, Bucky starts pulling clothes out of his small dresser and even smaller closet – jeans and sweatshirts and sweaters and mismatched socks. He tosses them into or around the suitcase in a haphazard way that would never lead a single person to believe that he was in ROTC. 

It’s the end of their very first finals week, and John and Gale both have just stumbled back into their dorm room after a hell of a physics exam. No final, they have decided, under any circumstances, should be scheduled for 4-6pm. Especially not one as hard hitting as fucking physics. First year engineering students are exhausted enough as it is – it’s cruel and unusual punishment to expect them to perform well under these circumstances.

They don’t call it a weed-out class for nothing.

“My brain is mush,” Bucky complains. “I don’t think I was even readin’ right by the end of that exam. None of the numbers made sense anymore. Hell, I could barely remember the kinematics equations. I’m sure you were just fine. Me? Let’s just… hope and pray I even make a passing grade.”

Bucky pauses long enough to glance over at Gale, who’s sitting casually in his desk chair, twisted around with his elbow propped on the back and his chin in his hand as he watches the spectacle that is his roommate. He kind of smiles tiredly at Bucky and shrugs, and that’s all Bucky needs to go on. He knows he’s right. No doubt Gale barely batted an eye at the questions that had Bucky drumming his fingers on the too-small lecture hall desk in a panic. 

“What’s done is done,” Bucky says, shoving clothes into the suitcase with zero organization. It almost makes Gale physically wince. Like most teenage boys, he’s not always the most organized guy in the world himself, but there’s something to be said for keeping some semblance of tidiness. That, and his father raised him like a military man. Clean room, neat corners, smooth fabrics… He has half a mind to shove Bucky over and pack for him, save his nicer shirts from the criss-crossed creases that are sure to form the way they are now. He also wonders if he should bother telling Bucky that he actually found the exam hard, too. Would that comfort him or would he think Gale was just trying to make him feel better?

Bucky doesn’t notice Gale’s general air of consternation. He’s too busy trying to move on, move forward with his life, get away from here. Gale tries not to take it personally. Just because he has nowhere to go doesn’t mean Bucky can’t be eager to leave for break, like every other student on campus. 

“God, I can’t wait to get outta here,” Bucky says, like he’s read Gale’s mind. He really should’ve packed last night like Gale urged him to, instead of waiting until the very last minute and just hoping he remembers everything he needs, but he was too hyper-focused on trying not to fail the exam today. “Gonna see my dog, my family. Eat a real home-cooked meal.” He stops his frantic packing and looks up at the ceiling, inhaling as if he can smell Christmas dinner or a batch of snickerdoodle cookies. “Five weeks of not having to think about any of this. Can’t fuckin’ wait, Buck.”

Bucky steps back over to his dresser and grabs some underwear, which he dumps into the suitcase, and then his hands freeze. He looks over at Gale, squinting. His roommate is still sitting at his desk, which is adorned with books and notes, a model plane, a small model of the solar system. He’s a little more slumped now, eyes trained on the floor. Bucky stares at him for a while without him noticing. 

Bucky realizes that, even though he urged Bucky to pack, Gale hasn’t made any move to pull out a suitcase of his own. Hasn’t set out any neatly folded clothes to stow away for a trip home. He hasn’t expressed any relief to be leaving this college town, to be heading back to his family, or to anyone at all. 

He thinks about the very little Gale has ever talked about his family. Small anecdotes here and there. His mother is gone, Bucky knows. No siblings, just his best friend Marge. He doesn’t talk much about his dad. He wonders if Gale even has a dog. 

“Hey.”

Gale looks up, blinking away some deep thought that he masks behind an arched eyebrow and tired but curious eyes. He motions to Bucky’s suitcase. “Your clothes are gonna get all wrinkled like that.”

Bucky glances at his scrambled luggage, scrunches his brow, decides it doesn’t matter, and he looks back at Gale. He doesn’t really know how to ask this delicately. Delicacy has never been part of the John Egan repertoire of charm. Neither has subtlety. He frowns and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You, uh… you’re not goin’ home are ya Buck?”

Gale shakes his head quietly. “Don’t got much of a home to go to.” His voice shakes a little, like he doesn’t want to be saying this, like he’s embarrassed to admit it. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile as he looks at the floor again, and Bucky catches the incorrect grammar, the little slip into a western drawl that he’s learning only comes out when Gale is stressed or upset or really fuckin’ tired.

“Why didn’t ya say?”

Gale shrugs and kicks his shoes off, leaving him in socked feet, a final, decisive move that confirms it: he’s not going anywhere. 

Bucky leans against the post of their bunk bed, crossing his arms. “So, what? You’re stayin’ here? Alone?” Bucky can’t stand the idea of staying on this campus when it’s a ghost town, none of their friends around and limited access to the dining halls. He can’t stand the idea of staying here for any longer than he has to.

But he has somewhere to go.

Gale nods. “Yep. Got the approval and all.”

“No,” Bucky finds himself saying. He doesn’t even take a second to think about it.

Gale almost scoffs. “Don’t got much choice, John.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t stay here alone, Gale. I won’t let you do that.”

“S’not a big deal.” Gale turns away, towards his desk. Too deliberately, he starts peeling sticky notes of definitions and physics diagrams off the wall. The result of hours and hours of studying. 

“What do you mean it’s not a big deal?” Bucky pushes. He marches across the room – two whole steps across their tiny dorm – so he’s standing beside Gale’s desk, close enough to be in his line of sight again. He reaches out and puts a hand on Gale’s, stopping him from unnecessarily shuffling his notebooks around his desk.

Gale freezes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, his eyes locked on their hands. He doesn’t really mind the idea of being alone on campus. It’ll be quiet, peaceful. He can catch a bus to the grocery store or the movie theater or head downtown. He can read and study and keep up with his exercise regimen. Go for walks around campus. Really, it’s fine… He’d rather be here, after all, than spend five weeks in the same house as his father. He’ll miss Marge, sure. But she’ll forgive him. She wouldn’t want him to go home either. 

“Gale.”

“It’s fine, John.”

They sit in a tense silence, Bucky hardly aware he’s still holding Gale’s hand and Gale hyper-aware of it. Bucky’s fingers are warm compared to his. They’re softer than he’d expect. He likes the contact. It sends something fluttery through him. 

“Come with me.”

Gale’s eyes shoot up to Bucky’s. “What?”

Bucky nods, squeezing Gale’s hand tighter. “Come with me! You can- you can just come home with me. Mom will take good care of you, and we can just relax and have fun for a few weeks. Buck…” Bucky sighs. He smiles, and Gale doesn’t quite like the look of sad pity hidden behind it, but it’s sweet enough to make his heart beat too fast anyway. “You can’t be alone for Christmas. Please.”

“I-I couldn’t.”

“No one will mind. They’ll love you more than me, even. Adopt you like another son.”

Gale looks again at Bucky’s suitcase. His chest swells with the idea of spending Christmas with a family. With John. With people who don’t smack him around if he burns the pancakes or asks the wrong questions or sleeps in too long. 

Bucky grins and ruffles Gale’s hair. “Yep. You’re comin’. Come on, we leave in an hour. Get your suitcase out.”

— 

Gale doesn’t cry the first time he walks through the front door of the Egan household. It’s a stereotypical farmhouse, with a simple but lovely exterior, a stone front walk, and a fresh Christmas wreath hanging on the front door. There’s a dog watching them through the window, and, not for the first time, Gale wonders about the difference between a house and a home. He shuffles in, shy and awkward, behind a boisterous Bucky, who flings the door open and loudly calls out “we’re here!” with such a lack of decorum that it makes Gale flinch, his brain still wired to the house in Wyoming. 

“Hi honey!” A light voice drifts through the house, and it’s not unlike Gale’s mother’s voice. The way he remembers it, at least. 

That, combined with the smell of cookies baking in the kitchen, shoves a lost memory to the surface of tugging on his mother’s skirt until she offered him a spoon of raw cookie dough. It has him so taken aback that he doesn’t notice the dog running at him until it’s too late. He nearly gets knocked off his feet by the force of two big golden paws colliding with his torso, causing him to stumble back a step, wide eyed. 

“Down boy!” Bucky reprimands, but he’s laughing, his commands futile. “That’s Buzz. He likes people.”

Gale can’t help but smile despite his nerves, and he kneels down to the dog’s level, scratching his ears and letting Buzz lick his face. He manages to just barely keep his balance against the way the golden retriever surges toward him. “Buzz Aldrin?” He asks, trying to avoid the dog’s tongue as he glances at Bucky, and he can’t quite understand the look in his roommate’s eye. 

“Finally!” Bucky says. “Someone who understands that it isn’t Buzz Lightyear.” Then he yells out, “Ma?”

A short middle-aged woman comes frantically around the corner, and Gale shoots to his feet, trying to smooth out his sweater and jeans again. He tries to remind himself to hold his head high, shoulders straight, make a good impression.

Without even a second thought, though, the woman bypasses her own son, her eyes landing right on Gale. No appraisal, no critical eye toward what he’s wearing or if his hair is too shaggy. She just beams at him, reaching her hands out to immediately pull him into a hug. “You must be Gale.”

Gale awkwardly returns the hug. “Yes ma’am.”

He does not cry at the feeling of a warm, motherly figure who smells like cookies wrapping him in her arms. 

When she steps back, she rests her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. It seems a little awkward with how tall Gale is, even if Bucky won’t let him forget the small size difference between them. He finds it amusing how, with Bucky being even two inches taller than he is, his mother can’t surpass 5 foot 4. But Mrs. Egan doesn’t seem to mind, and Gale wonders how often she does this to her own son.

She looks him up and down, studying him, and Gale tries not to feel too embarrassed or nervous. Stand up straight, he reminds himself. He’s military after all. It shouldn’t be hard. He braces for some critique, some conclusion that he isn’t good enough. For what, he isn’t sure. To be here, perhaps. But it doesn’t come. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Mrs. Egan gushes instead, shaking her head fondly. She lifts one hand even higher to cup his cheek, and Gale raises an eyebrow, letting himself smile back at her. 

“Thank you?”

“Ma, you’re embarrassing him,” Bucky groans. He’s never seen Gale blush so much.

She shoots a glare over at him before looking back at Gale. She squeezes his shoulder gently. “We are just thrilled to have you,” she says. “John talks about you all the time, you know.”

“Oh,” Gale says. He looks over at Bucky, who is rubbing a hand over his eyes in exasperation. Gale’s smile gets a little wider, a little less meek. “Thank you so much for letting me join you for the holidays,” he tells Mrs. Egan. “It means a lot.”

Bucky’s mom gives him another quick hug before turning her attention to her son, hugging him tight and bombarding him with questions about school that Bucky insistently avoids, saying they can talk about everything later, after he helps Gale settle in.

—

Gale doesn’t cry over the way the Egans move mountains to make sure he feels comfortable and welcome in their home. 

They set him up in the guest bedroom, which is just one door down from Bucky’s room, which is not unlike his half of their dorm room with the exception of several more remnants of a happy childhood. Bucky’s bedroom is adorned with space travel posters and baseball posters, and Gale can even see where some are missing – the ones Bucky chose to take with him to college. There are little gold baseball trophies lining a bookshelf in the corner, and a photo of him and a couple of his teammates in high school, boyish grins on their faces and sweat soaking through their hats, fresh off a championship win. 

Gale wanders around the room when Bucky leads him inside, inspecting the trophies and the photographs. There’s a lego set of the Saturn V rocket, glow in the dark stars pasted to the ceiling, stacks of books about history and science and adventure strewn around the bed and the desk. All the little pieces of John Clarence Egan, a whirlwind force of nature with his eyes on the unknown. 

There’s a dog bed on the floor for Buzz, but the dog takes to jumping up on the bed in the guest room instead, keeping Gale company every night. 

Bucky wonders what it is about dogs that help them know which people need a little extra love.

Gale marvels at the fact that even the guest bedroom feels homey and cared about. The queen sized bed is the biggest bed he’s ever slept in, with a nice mattress, a selection of pillows, and warm blankets. There are original paintings hung along the walls, beautiful images of the forest and the lake and countryside done by some mysterious artist. There are family photos framed on a bookshelf which is filled with an assortment of books, from science to romance and everything in between. There’s even a string of Christmas lights strung around the room, which Bucky turns on for Gale, looking all giddy about it.

Gale doesn’t cry over how Bucky is patient and kind in a way that isn’t exactly unexpected but also isn’t exactly expected. He lets Gale cling to him, whether it’s sitting down for dinner with the family or hiking through a snow-dusted countryside to watch the sun set or sitting sprawled out on the living room couch with a couple of good books and mugs of hot chocolate. Bucky asks Gale if he needs any extra blankets, and he’s gathering them up from the closet before Gale can even answer. He asks Gale what he likes to eat for breakfast, and the next morning Gale’s favorite cereal is in the pantry and there’s even some fresh pastries – which Gale never would have dreamed of asking for – sitting on the counter. Bucky asks Gale if there’s anything he wants to read, and the next day the book he sheepishly mentioned has appeared on the coffee table. 

He brags about Gale to his parents, telling them all about how smart he is and how much he’s helped Bucky this semester. He tells them about how Gale is already excelling in the toughest major in the school all while impressing everyone in ROTC, keeping Bucky in line, and being a humble, easy going guy to boot. 

Gale doesn’t cry when Mr. Egan expresses genuine interest in all of his astronomy and physics knowledge at the dinner table. Gale’s own father always wanted him to be a pilot. He never cared much for the rest of it.

He thought academics made his son too soft. 

Mr. Egan tells Gale it’ll make him unstoppable. 

—

Gale doesn’t cry when he accidentally drops a glass of water in the Egans’ kitchen, sending it shattering across the tile floor in a splash of crystal constellations. He comes damn close, a hot wave of panic rising in his chest at the same time that biting pain blossoms across his skin. His cheeks heat up as he blinks rapidly and tries to figure out how to go about cleaning up this mess all the while bracing for some kind of punishment. And those tears sure come close to actually falling when Mrs. Egan whisks into the kitchen with worry all over her face, wanting to know what the racket was. When she sees the mess, she reaches for Gale. Gale winces, closing his eyes, but all he gets is a firm, guiding hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a gentle voice. “Oh honey, you’re bleeding.”

Gale blinks his eyes open, the tension on his face beginning to drop away as he looks down and realizes all of a sudden that his feet are bare. He doesn’t remember his feet being bare. He vaguely wonders if the red on his pale skin is associated with the stinging feeling in his foot, radiating up to his ankle. 

“Don’t move quite yet,” Mrs. Egan says. Her hands are still on the sides of his arms, keeping him standing in one place. “Don’t want you stepping on any sharp bits.” She turns as John comes rushing around the corner. “Johnny, can you get Gale some shoes to-“

Before she can even finish, Bucky, clad in old ragged Converse himself, marches right up to Gale, flakes of glass crunching under foot, and plucks him out of the center of the debris. Just picks him up in the air like he weighs no more than a feather before marching him to the kitchen entryway and plopping him down. Gale stares at him in shock, his brain not quite catching up with everything that just happened. 

“I’ll get the vacuum,” Bucky says to his mother, but he’s looking at Gale as he says it, some sort of mischievous little smile on his face, and Gale feels his cheeks turning pink again. 

When Bucky leaves the kitchen in search of the vacuum, Gale tries to step away from the wall he’s been placed next to, holding a hand out toward Bucky’s mother. “Mrs. Egan, I can clean-”

“Nonsense.” She waves her hand dismissively, then looks down at his feet, still bare. “You stay right there until John comes back with the vacuum.”

“I’m so sorry about the glass. I didn’t mean-”

“Gale, darling. I don’t give a damn about the glass.” She steps over to him and clasps one of his hands between both of hers. He doesn’t cry at how genuine and concerned she looks. “Let’s get your foot cleaned up and make sure you don’t need any stitches.”

—

Gale doesn’t cry when, on Christmas morning, as all the presents under the tree are being handed out, there’s a few with his name on them. He, John, and Mr. and Mrs. Egan are gathered in the living room, all still in their pajamas. Even Buzz, who can’t seem to sit still and has been making rounds around the room with his tail wagging, has a green and red Christmas bandana around his neck. He keeps stopping to look at the stockings above the fireplace, where he has his very own, filled with dog treats that he has to wait until the end to get. 

Bucky, who is passing out the gifts from under the tree, is wearing a Santa hat along with his gray sweatpants and blue Yankees sweatshirt. Gale laughs a little bit every time Bucky makes any sudden move and causes the pom pom on the end of the hat to whip around. Bucky tried to put it on Gale, but was adamantly shoved away. It looks far better on him anyway.

Gale, in green and gray flannel pants and a dark gray university sweatshirt, is sitting on the floor beside the Christmas tree, where Bucky said he himself usually sits. He tries not to ask for the third time if Bucky is sure he doesn’t want any help. Having found himself increasingly comfortable with the Egans over the last week, he instead scratches Buzz behind the ears and laughs as Mr. Egan sings along to the Christmas music playing on the radio. He doesn’t really know what he expected out of this morning – being included is enough; being with a family on the biggest holiday of the year is enough.

So when, once all of the gifts have been passed out, Bucky stands in front of Gale with a stack of wrapped boxes, Gale just blinks dumbly up at him. When Bucky insistently shoves the collection of gifts at him, Gale looks around the room, then starts to shake his head in confusion as his hand falls away from Buzz’s soft fur. “A-Are these for me?” he asks, genuinely confused as he takes the small stack from Bucky and stares down at the name tag on the top package. 

“That’s your name ain’t it?” Bucky teases. He takes his seat between Gale and the tree, where he’s amassed his own collection of presents.

Gale nods and looks over at him, eyebrow raised. Bucky tilts his head toward his parents, who are sitting cuddled up on the couch, watching with kind smiles on their faces.

“Couldn’t leave you with nothin’ to open on Christmas morning,” Mr. Egan insists. “You’re family, now.”

Gale swallows thickly, tracing his finger over his name, written in neat script. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he’s worried it didn’t come out at all.

“Well you better open one,” Bucky laughs. He’s sitting so close their shoulders nearly brush. “Youngest goes first.”

Gale tears into the pretty red and white wrapping paper of the first gift. He feels his heart beat too fast in a terrifying but exhilarating way as he peels back the paper, revealing a beautiful, hardcover edition of A Brief History of Time, complete with illustrations. It’s the exact type of book that he would have stared at longingly in a bookstore, knowing he’d probably never have it. He looks up at John’s parents, who are watching him eagerly, and he doesn’t cry at the joy on their faces or the kindness of the gesture. “This is amazing,” he tells them. “Thank you so much.”

He’s so taken with the book, staring down at it and running his fingers gently along its spine, that he barely registers the new video game John gets, or Mr. Egan’s new sweater, or Mrs. Egan’s new romance book. It’s only when they circle back to him, Bucky shoving another gift into his hands, that he really comes back to himself, and he wonders what he did to deserve such kindness.

By the time they’re on their final gifts – Gale had been told to save a specific one for last – Mrs. Egan stops him and Bucky before they can start unwrapping. “Now, Gale, we have a tradition,” she explains. She points to the Christmas tree. “Every year, we each get a new Christmas ornament, and we hang them on the tree. There are ornaments up there from almost every year of John’s life.”

Gale looks at John, then back at the tree. This piece of knowledge runs through his head again, and again, and his eyes fall back to the last little box, wrapped in silver snowflakes. He blinks at it. “Is this-”

Gale almost flinches when Bucky’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. The touch has become familiar. He knows it’s safe. “We got you one, too,” Bucky whispers, and Gale nods.

Bucky slowly unwraps his own ornament, and Gale starts to follow his lead. He watches Bucky pull out a little astronaut with a gold visor, sitting on a crescent moon. And oh so carefully, Gale’s fingers loop through a gold string, and he lifts out a matching astronaut, this one with a blue visor, sitting on a crescent moon of its own.

“Would you look at that.” Bucky grins, and he bumps Gale’s shoulder as they hold their ornaments up beside each other.

“Thank you,” Gale finds himself saying again, and he wonders if his voice sounds thick to anyone else. He doesn’t even comprehend the fact that he’s standing up, stepping over to Mrs. Egan. She readily accepts his hug, though, and she lets him cling on, the astronaut resting against the back of her shoulder where it’s clutched in his hand. 

He and Bucky hang their ornaments side by side, two little astronauts shooting for the moon.

—

Gale doesn’t cry later that morning, when Mrs. Egan places a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of him and tells him that John mentioned those were his favorite.

He doesn’t cry that afternoon, when Mr. Egan asks to take a look at that book, or when Mrs. Egan asks if he wants to help her with the final batch of Christmas cookies, or when Bucky tries to teach him how to play his new video game.

He doesn’t cry when they ask if he wants to watch a Christmas movie with them, and he finds himself curled up on the couch munching on a cookie with Bucky’s head on his shoulder and Buzz splayed across his lap.

He doesn’t cry at dinner, when Mr. Egan includes him in his prayer, asking the lord to watch out for both of “their” boys.

He doesn’t cry when Mrs. Egan says goodnight to them both late on December 25th, gently kissing the top of Bucky’s head, and then doing the same to Gale.

He holds it together pretty well, he thinks. He laughs, and he finds himself smiling, a warm feeling trying its best to settle in his chest as the good and the bad memories go to war with the perfect reality he’s been met with today. He pushes down the lump in his throat and lets himself, just for a little bit, feel loved and cared for and protected. He loves them all back. He lets himself act like he could be a part of the family, even if he doesn’t quite believe it.

—

Late on Christmas night, after his parents have gone to bed, Bucky steps quietly into the hall and creeps toward the guest room like a child up past his bedtime. He knocks on the door with one knuckle, listening closely.

“Come in.” Gale’s soft voice sounds off, a little uneven. Bucky frowns as he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

Gale is curled up at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard with his knees pulled to his chest, his pillow laid neatly on top of the one beside him. Buzz, having officially traded Bucky in for Buck, is sprawled on his side with his head resting on Gale’s bare foot, right over the bandage from the water glass incident yesterday. The lights are off, and Gale is staring up at the colorful Christmas lights lining the room, as if it’s a sky full of stars.

“Buck?”

“Mmm?”

Bucky walks around to the side of the bed. It’s only when he gets close that he really notices: Gale’s been crying. His eyes are red, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy. When he lifts a hand to rub at his face, Bucky notices that he has the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his fists, wet spots marking the fabric. 

What’s wrong? Bucky wants to ask. Are you okay? Why are you crying? Did I do something? Do you need anything?

He doesn’t ask any of those questions. 

He shoves the pillows down next to the dog and climbs into the bed, settling back against the headboard so close to Gale that their shoulders touch, his legs crossed in front of him. Buzz stretches his head forward to lick his knee, and he reaches out to stroke the dog’s head in return. 

“He reminds me of my dog,” Gale says. “He was a mutt, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Dunno if I’ll ever see him again.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. Neither of them are looking at each other, both of their eyes trained on Buzz. “Why not?”

Gale takes a deep, sharp breath as his whole body tenses, and Bucky worries it was the wrong thing to say. They sit in silence as the seconds tick by. “I haven’t had a Christmas this nice since Mama died…” Gale finally says, something like nostalgia, or maybe resignation twisting through his voice. Sometimes, the line between those two is quite thin. “Well. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a Christmas this nice.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. What is he supposed to say? He thinks he’s put enough pieces together over the last few months to understand a bit about his roommate’s home life since his mom died, but Gale’s never said a thing about it out loud. 

Gale shrugs uncomfortably in response to Bucky’s silent question, which hangs in the air between them without any words being spoken at all. “Dad wasn’t a… well… I-I guess…” His breath shakes. Bucky presses closer against Gale’s side, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. Gale sinks his weight into the hold, and Bucky finally looks directly at him when he hears quiet sniffling, feels Gale’s fingers latch onto the front of his shirt. 

“I don’t plan to ever go home again,” Gale says quietly. His face twists into something angry and sad, but he fights against the expression like he doesn’t want Bucky to see how he’s feeling at all. Bucky wonders if it’s the first time Gale’s ever said this out loud, the first time he’s let such an idea be heard by the world. He wonders how long Gale’s been thinking about it in silence. Days? Weeks? Months? Maybe since the moment he closed the door behind him when he left for college. 

“I’m not goin’ home,” Gale says more firmly. “I… I don’t think I’d mind never seein’ him again.”

Gale’s shoulders tremble almost imperceptibly with rattled, unregulated breath, and when he goes still, it takes Bucky a moment to realize that he’s not breathing at all anymore. He’s holding everything in to keep himself from shaking, from crying, from feeling. 

Bucky wraps both arms more fully around him, holding him tight like he’s trying to hold him together, trying to hold some invisible weight so Gale doesn’t have to. Like maybe if he takes the burden of keeping Gale in one piece right now, then there will be enough space to breathe again. “You need to breathe, Buck,” he whispers.

Gale turns toward Bucky and wraps his arms around him, and his fingers curl into the back of Bucky’s shirt like he’s grasping for something steady but half expecting it to vanish. His breath hitches when Bucky stays, and his fingers curl tighter into the fabric. Buzz whines and crawls further up the bed, pressing his nose against Gale’s thigh.

“Breathe,” Bucky says again. He rubs Gale’s back in what he really hopes is a soothing way. He hasn’t often found himself in this type of situation, having to find a way to make the world keep turning for someone else. He didn’t know he ever could be that person. “Just breathe.”

It takes a few minutes, but Gale’s breathing evens out, his grip on Bucky’s shirt loosens, and the silent, stubborn tears that he so obviously didn’t want Bucky to see clear out of his eyes. By then, he and Bucky have slid down so that they’re laying on the bed, Gale’s face buried in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky finds that he doesn’t mind, not one bit. When Gale shifts away, no longer trying to hide, Bucky grabs the pillows and puts them back under their heads where they belong. And they stay there, just them and the dog, staring up at the Christmas lights. 

“I’m sorry,” Gale says eventually. The sound of his voice is clear again, but still quiet. Bucky looks at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s officially December 26th, no longer Christmas day.

Bucky shifts so his arm is behind his head, and he glances over at Gale. “For what?”

Gale isn’t looking at him. “It’s not your job to-“

“That’s ridiculous, Gale.” Because it is. Ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

Bucky frowns and squints up at the lights. He wonders how he’s supposed to say that he doesn’t care without it sounding weird. He wants to see Gale in every mood, every condition, every emotion. He doesn’t care. He wants to help Gale through everything. He wants to make him feel better when he’s sick or tired or scared or putting himself down. He wants to take away any pain he ever feels. He wants to protect him from everything bad that’s ever come his way even though he knows full well how strong and capable he is on his own. 

It’s a lot for a college freshman to feel about a person. It’s more than Bucky’s ever felt about anyone before, and he doesn’t really even know what he’s supposed to do about it. So he reaches out and puts his hand over Gale’s, and he fights back a smile when Gale turns over his palm and lets Bucky rub his thumb across his fingers in reassurance. “I’m glad I came to check on you.”

He hopes that says enough. 

“Thank you for… everything.” Gale finally looks over at Bucky, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“This really has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had I think. I- I can’t… thank you for including me.”

“You’re family now.”

Gale’s face goes blank, and Bucky knows he has no idea what to say. So he squeezes Gale’s hand once, and he looks back up at the ceiling. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

They fall asleep like that, laying on the bed and looking up at colorful, LED stars that reflect off the ceiling and the walls, the light bathing their faces in red and green. Gale’s head rests over Bucky’s chest, where he can hear his heartbeat, steady and calming.

That’s how Bucky’s mom will find them in the morning. She’ll knock softly on the door after realizing her son isn’t in his own bedroom, and then she’ll quietly push it open. She’ll see Bucky, asleep on his back with Gale curled against his side. Bucky will open his eyes tiredly, looking at his mom in confusion as he realizes where he is. His mom will nod, closing the door quietly once again, and then she’ll lean against the wall outside the guest room. She’ll smile to herself, and she’ll thank the universe for bringing her boy someone good, someone to love and to love him. 

Bucky will look at Gale beside him, and he won’t even be able to imagine everything that comes next. He’ll hope, and he’ll wonder, and he’ll give it his all, but he won’t know for sure that this was only the beginning. Their first perfect Christmas.

[sukacheri]

Academic Integrity [AO3 or Keep Reading below]

Hinakasa | 5k words

Tsukasa Suou is a first-year student in law school striving to graduate at the top of his class. Hinata Aoi is his tutor.

a/n: the AO3 version uses a work skin for a texting feature; the tumblr version is free of that if the AO3 ver isnt working for you! i hope you all enjoy this, i brainrotted a lot

Today, 4:49 PM

Tsukasa: Are you available tonight? Urgent.

Hinata: hmm finals szn is pretty busy for me ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

Hinata: maybeeee for a good offer i can see if i can swing by

Tsukasa: How are you even busy? There’s no exams tonight

Hinata: i still gotta read the textbooks! lots of last minute clients looking to bump their grade up a letter

Hinata: if ur that hard pressed about it, then ill just take it for you

Hinata: teehee

Tsukasa: I’m not last minute and we have an existing agreement. One that does not involve academic dishonesty, so don’t even joke about it.

Tsukasa: I expect you here at 6pm.

Hinata: whoaaa tsukasa-kun’s ordering me around what am i gonna do

Hinata: not show up i guess

Hinata: (*≧ω≦*)

Tsukasa: I’m ordering in dinner. What do you want.

Hinata: (´ ω `♡) my hero~

Hinata: place an order at that ramen place i dragged you to a few weeks ago. if you remember what i got then ill help you cram tonight

Hinata: get the good spot in the library!

Tsukasa: Actually I have some reservations about that. I’d rather not be seen in public with you. Especially right now

Hinata: our forbidden love! hiding our courtship is so cruel… unless…? my prince is shy~?

Hinata: or maybe… you just want to get me to your place… i see i see… tsukasakun is so sly. you wont pass your exams if you youre too focused on flirting

Tsukasa: Shupt up

Tsukasa: Shut up.

Tsukasa: Just come over alright? I’ll text you my address and order the food.

Hinata: yessir (`･ω･´)ゞ

Tsukasa did not get visitors to his apartment. There had been a total of two people in it, one of which being himself. Even his own parents hadn’t come to visit, but Tsukasa hadn’t expected them to; the Suous had higher priorities than seeing their son moved in, especially when at this point it was for law school and Tsukasa was a grown twenty three years old.

The other visitor had been his nosy neighbor who insisted on poking her head in whenever she got the chance, but Arashi meant well so it didn’t bother Tsukasa that much. She frequently commented with much amusement about the giant textbooks Tsukasa lugged around, saying he was starting to look as if he may be building muscles after all this time.

Guests were unexplored territory for him, and especially with only a one hour notice (his own fault, he knows), the uncertainty clouded over him about the state of his apartment. Tsukasa was a clean person so by habit there was no trash or dishes out, everything put away once used, but he frowned at the state of his living room. 

It was boring.

Tsukasa didn’t care about that, but he knew he was asking for scorn from Hinata. The guy did nothing but bring up all these little faults in Tsukasa he never realized he had, or if he did, he at least thought they weren’t noticeable. Each and every time they met, Hinata would point out anything and somehow relate it back to how Tsuksa was so rigid or uptight.

The living room, where he was planning their study session to be, was empty of anything except basic furniture. A couch, a coffee table, an ottoman. Not even a TV.

Hinata struck him as a cozy person, someone surrounded by blankets and throw pillows, with an assortment of trinkets and decor on a warm wooden coffee table. And Tsukasa did not own a single blanket or pillow, and self consciousness began to rival the grip his test anxiety kept him in all day, tempting him to go drag the comforter off his bed and try to pass it off as a throw blanket.

He considered it more than he should have, until his phone started buzzing in his pocket bringing him out of his thoughts.

Today, 5:25 PM

Hinata: oooo tsukasakun you did remember my order!

Hinata: im so touched!

Hinata: ill stay over if you wanna cram that much ⸜(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)⸝

Tsukasa looked at his non-blanketed couch and clicked his tongue.

Tsukasa: If you are able to, I would appreciate it. I understand it is last minute though.

Hinata: nope! no take backsies! im on my way!!!!!

Hinata: about 15 minutes i think!

Hinata: ε===(っ≧ω≦)っ

Tsukasa: Is this one… farting?

Hinata: NO!!!!!

Hinata: (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Tsukasa: I do not like that one.

Okay, fifteen minutes to find a solution to the blanket problem. Except Tsukasa knew for a fact there were no stupid throw blankets anywhere in his apartment. Why did blankets matter so much? They were blankets. But if Hinata was going to stay over to help Tsukasa, then he had a duty to make sure it was comfortable for him.

Tsukasa stepped into the hallway outside of his apartment, hoping and praying that Arashi was staying in tonight and wouldn’t think it was too weird what he was asking for. He walked to the door directly across from him and knocked.

No response.

Oh, please Narukami-senpai, Tsukasa thought while knocking again. Tonight of all nights when I need you to stick your nose into my business and you’re not here.

Again, no response. The doom of Hinata approaching by the second sent a jolt of anxiety on top of his already existing mountain of it through him. He knocked again, a bit harder than he meant to.

The hallway was quiet, and Tsukasa didn’t hear any movement from behind Arashi’s door. He sighed and turned to return to his own apartment, but caught the eyes of someone peeking out from the door to the left of his.

“Nacchan’s not here. Usually someone only needs to knock once to realize that,” Ritsu said lazily, looking at Tsukasa with sleepy eyes.

“I apologize if I woke you up from a nap, Ritsu-senpai. I needed to ask her a favor, but if she’s not here, then I’ll figure something else out.”

“Mmm,” Ritsu hummed. “What do you need? If Nacchan finds out I didn’t help the poor guy she treats like a stay kitten, then she’ll have my neck.”

Tsukasa squinted. “I am not a stray cat. And she doesn’t treat me—” he paused, taking a breath and remembering the task at hand. “I need some blankets. Throw blankets. I’m having company over and I don’t really have anything, and I’d hate to be a bad host.”

“Aw, so caring as always, Suuchan. You do know Nacchan is strong enough to carry her own groceries, right? If you help her, you should help me too.” 

“If I say yes, will you give me blankets?”

Ritsu waved a hand. “Forget it, I can’t put your poor soul through waking up at 3 AM for my shopping hours just to help me carry my junk food up the stairs. I’ll go get you your blankets, wait here.”

Relief flooded through Tsukasa as Ritsu went into his apartment, and he couldn’t be more thankful that Arashi had dragged him over for dinner when he first moved in. He appreciated his brief interactions with Ritsu and Arashi, and if his schoolwork weren’t so vigorous he’d liked to be closer with them. Maybe if Hinata’s help scored him high enough on his finals, he could see about having another dinner with them.

“Here you are, Suuchan.” Ritsu returned, at least four different blankets stacked on top of each other. “You’re getting my rejects, but just know that a reject from me will still be 10x better than anything you’ve used in your entire life.”

Tsukasa was in awe, bowing before accepting the blankets with giddy hands. “Thank you, Ritsu-senpai! I owe you many favors for this. I really will help you carry your groceries if that is what you need of me. You are a lifesaver, and I’m in your debt.

“Relax, it’s nothing. Honestly? Keep them, I don’t use them.” 

“Thank you, I will remember this and repay you.”

Ritsu shrugged. “Well, I do like gifts. Have fun tonight, Suuchan. And try to get some sleep. You won’t last through school if you don’t get plenty of rest.”

“I think you get too much rest, but thank you. Goodnight, Ritsu-senpai.”

Tsukasa returned to his apartment, blankets victoriously held in his arms. He dropped them on the couch, finding himself agreeing with Ritsu’s declaration that his rejects still made for perfectly acceptable blankets to Tsukasa. He was given four, he discovered, as he laid them out on the couch. One of them was noticeably smaller than the others, with detailed fringe around the edges, so Tsukasa put that one over the back of the couch as a decoration. 

Already a vast improvement over the boring blandness this space had been, and Tsukasa buzzed around the couch laying the remaining folded blankets out in different ways. His mind switched through the different options like he was flipping pages in his textbook, trying to find the specific precedent to refute a classmate during a lecture. It’d be easier if there was a clear defined answer, but much like the law, blanket arrangement was an art.

Where he drew trouble was that couldn’t decide on the amount of blankets to leave out. The dark purple fuzzy one he hid inside his broom closet, not finding it to match his theme, and he kept the decorative one where it laid. The last two were the ones giving him grief. 

Tsukasa bit his lip— a bad habit that required him to constantly keep chapstick on hand— as he fretted over his predicament. He struggled to think of what Hinata would tease less, his cheery voice nagging at the back of Tsukasa’s head each time he tried to lay the blankets differently.

Time was slipping away from him. He pulled his phone out to check for any new messages.

His last message was marked as read at 5:27 PM.

Tsukasa sighed. It was 5:40 right now; he may have a few more minutes to figure this out. The current arrangement could be worked upon, perhaps he could have unfold the smooth maroon blanket and put it over the arm of the couch. That felt a bit pretentious though, so instead— something flashed in the bottom of his eyes.

Texting bubbles.

Tsukasa stared at them intently, a weak hope inside him wishing that the other boy was running late. There was still more he had to do before Hinata arrived. He should’ve started tea earlier so it’d be ready by now, and now it would be just another stone on the pile of Tsukasa’s poor hosting skills.

He wasn’t aware he was holding his breath until the bubbles disappeared, no message sent in their place. He looked back up at the couch, a new formation taking shape in his mind, yes, this one would do much nicer. Tsukasa picked up the maroon and was about to fold it back into a square when a sudden knocking struck his door. The blanket fell from his fingers with a jolt as he whipped head to the door.

Surely it was not Hinata. The intercom hadn’t buzzed so how would he have gotten in?

Idiot, Tsukasa thought while walking to the door. Of course the same guy that takes exams for other people can sneak into an apartment building. This was probably even easier than that.

Tsukasa glanced through the peephole, and… nothing was there except an empty hallway. Narrowing his eyes, he opened the door.

“Boo!” Hinata jumped out from the left, orange hair bouncing around his face, framing his bright smile. “Aw, boo. You were expecting that.”

Hinata forewent his glasses, green eyes peering at him without obstruction. Tsukasa remembered him mentioning he only wore them as a disguise anyways, despite the fact Tsukasa had caught him more than once sliding them on as he went digging through his laptop. 

Hinata was dressed warmly for the increasingly colder weather as winter grew closer, his white cable knit sweater hung off of him. The black straps of his heavy backpack contrasted against it, completing a proper academic look, and Tsukasa found it funny how Hinata enjoyed looking to be the part of a typical enthused student so much.

“I’ve put up with you for weeks. You’re not surprising anymore,” Tsukasa scoffed.

“I think it’s been like months now. And all that means is that I have to be more surprising.” Hinata lifted his hand up, showcasing the takeout bag he carried. “Let me in? C’mon I’m starving and I kinda forgot to eat lunch sooo…” 

Tsukasa frowned but stepped aside to let him in. “You should remember to eat, Hinata-kun. You can’t be that busy that you’re forgetting.”

“Geez, judge someone much? I thought you were just being grumpy in your texts, but you really can’t believe that I’m busy. Don’t you realize this is prime time for someone like me? Why, you kids need all the help you can get!”

“I keep telling you I’m older than you.”

Hinata shrugged as he walked inside, setting the bag onto the kitchen counter. The smell hit Tsukasa in a nostalgic wave, the flavors reminding him of dark wooden tables and dim lighting. Of the sweetest yet still savory ramen he’s ever had, and the way Hinata had shook his arms with exclamations of ‘I told you so’. 

“That,’ Tsukasa said, “smells so much better than I remember.”

“I told you it’s the best. You can harp about the fancy ramen you’ve had with your parents all you want, but this is how it’s supposed to be. Nice, warm, and comforting.” Hinata opened the bag and took out his container, popping the lid off with a grin of satisfaction.

“I have some bowls we can use. Better than eating from the plastic.” Tsukasa took two porcelain bowls out from the top shelf of his cabinet, turning to see Hinata staring at him.

“You went on your tiptoes. It’s cute. Y’know, if you need help reaching something then the magic word is please.”

And here we go with the teasing. This guy never stops, Tsukasa thought as he glared at Hinata.

“I can reach everything just fine. You keep thinking you’re all these things I’m not, like how you think you’re older and taller. You have, at maximum, two inches on me. What is it they say? ‘You’re one to talk’?” Tsukasa snapped, placing the bowls on the counter and taking out his own food. “I was going to offer you tea, but now I have half a mind not to. You don’t deserve my tea.”

Hinata widened his eyes in mock hurt, speaking in an exaggerated tone. “Oh, Tsukasa-kun! You wound me! Mar me! Kill me! And two hundred other synonyms I don’t feel like listing out. The humanity! I’m so hurt I… I may just start crying… I don’t… sniff sniff… I don’t think I can help someone so mean…”

Tsukasa huffed and turned away, picking up his kettle to fill it with water. It was hardly for Hinata’s sake. Tsukasa knew he would start needing caffeine now if he ever hoped to get through an entire night of cramming with him, and if he had any hope of staying awake enough to retain his studies.

If only he were the one gifted with a photographic memory.

Tsukasa set the kettle onto the stove to warm up, and pulled out a box of assorted tea bags to leave next to it. He sidestepped past Hinata to fill his own bowl, who was already slurping away at his noodles while somehow conveying an annoying smirk with only his eyes. Irritation lit up under Tsukasa’s skin, and he grabbed his container and poured it into the bowl, moving too fast and causing a series of drops to splash around the counter.

“I’d say something, but I’m more sad than anything. That’s a waste of the most delicious broth in the world,,” Hinata said through a mouth full of food.

“It’s a few drops, it is not the end of the world.”

“Whatever helps you cope. So, are we eating in the kitchen, or? Not that I mind standing. It really puts into perspective those two inches I have over you.”

Tsukasa snatched his bowl and chopsticks, barely repressing a complaint and forcing Hinata’s words to roll off of him like oil on water. Except it felt more like trying to ignore a tick intent on trying to suck at his blood and scrambling all over his body.

“We’ll eat on the couch. I already dragged all the books that we’ll need out of my room.”

“Books that you’ll need.”

Tsukasa stuffed noodles in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to respond.

They sat down on the couch, Hinata dropping his backpack to the ground with a thud while Tsukasa waited for a quip about how his blankets complimented his nerdiness, or how only someone so stuffy as himself would have a decorative one. To Tsukasa’s dismay, Hinata didn’t give any of the blankets a second glance, instead sitting down with his legs criss-crossed on the cushion and focusing entirely on shoveling food into his mouth.

At least that was something Tsukasa could concede on. The ramen was good, the flavors so striking and unique that they kept fighting to drag Tsukasa’s mind back to that first time he ate it. That day, Hinata insisted on meeting at the restaurant despite Tsukasa’s protests that it didn’t exactly seem like a good place to study. And it wasn’t, he felt too awkward to even try bringing out a single stack of flashcards in that atmosphere of dim lighting and quiet, yet ample, background noise that drew one’s mind to a place of calm.

Hinata had forced him to sit down and share a pot of tea with him while they waited for their food. Tsukasa had the beginnings of a cold, and whatever was in that tea soothed his throat so well that whatever had tried to start was sent right out of his system. And once their food arrived, that was when Hinata started grilling him with questions like a human flashcard machine.

It wasn’t the most productive study session they’ve had, but it was Tsukasa’s fondest for some reason.

“So, what’s urgent tonight? You’re my best student.” Hinata paused to slurp more noodles into his mouth. “And aren’t your finals heavy loaded for the last few days? You have extra time.”

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. It’s rude.”

“You shouldn’t avoid questions. It’s rude,” Hinata mimicked him. “And I’m your tutor! So, you gotta answer everything I ask related to your studies. That’s just the rules.”

Tsukasa bit back saying that the rules of common courtesy usurped the rules of informal tutoring agreements. “I’m struggling with property law. Again. I understood everything last week, and I could name all the landmark cases, and all the obscure ones we went over. Then I took a practice quiz this morning and I scored a 91.”

“Good job!”

“Not a good job!” Tsukasa scowled. “That’s one mistake away from an 89. Honestly, 95 is my low bound and I scored four points below that. I don’t have time to look through the book and remember what I’m forgetting.”

Understanding dawned on Hinata’s face and he nodded. “So, you want to bounce your head off of mine to figure out what you’re forgetting. Yeah, okay, I get what you’re saying. Do you think that’s going to take a whole night cramming? Not that I’m trying to get out of it! You bought me dinner and a deals a deal, but… you could have texted me and I would have told you the lists we made, y’know?”

Tsukasa bit his lip, poking the egg in his ramen around while his face grew hot. “If I’m being honest… that thought did not occur to me. I panicked, perhaps, in calling you here so suddenly.”

“I mean, it’s alright. Who doesn’t like getting free food? And I’m also super flattered you remembered my order.” Hinata grinned at him, and Tsukasa felt some of his embarrassment drain away, yet somehow replaced with a different sort of burning in his cheeks.

“I suppose I may have unconsciously had other intentions,” Tsukasa said as Hinata’s green eyes snapped to his with such intensity it nearly gave Tsukasa pause. “It’s always fascinating watching you work. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but it’s not like you meet someone like you that often, or ever. I can’t forget the chill I got back when we first met and you started reciting the textbook I was reading with your eyes closed. You’re amazing, and I like witnessing it as much as I can.”

While he talked, Hinata’s eyes lost their intensity and his smile grew in their stead, now stretched wide across his face as he waved his chopsticks around.

“Aw, well, it’s nothing. Lucky genetics and all that. Write some numbers on a piece of paper and flash ‘em to me and I’ll tell you them all. Or whatever other fun tricks you want.”

“Hmm,” Tsukasa hummed. “First 100 digits of pi?”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “That’s way too easy. A dedicated nerd can do that. Anyways, let’s start figuring out what law mumbo jumbo you’re forgetting while we eat, so that once we’re done we can jump right into it.”

Tsukasa agreed, and he started listing all that he remembered in between bites of gradually dwindling food. Hinata was an enthusiastic listener, always giving an indication of acknowledgement to Tsukasa, either nodding his head or his chopsticks, or through a series of ‘yeah’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’ streaming through his lips. His eyes never regained their earlier intensity, but they also never left Tsukasa’s. 

For anyone else, he was sure the near constant eye contact would be discomforting— Tsukasa himself had the habit of maintaining direct eye contact, but because of that he was used to seeing people shift and look away from him. With Hinata’s unwavering gaze, Tsukasa suspected it was some sort of habit due to his memory. If one was able to remember all the details from a simple conversation, and all you had to do was to make sure you could focus and listen the first time, then you’d make an effort to consistently do that. That was Tsukasa’s theory at least.

They finished their ramen and began studying in earnest, with Tsukasa pulling out his textbooks to cover the near entirety of the coffee table like a tablecloth of legislative finery. Hinata grabbed the maroon blanket from the armrest, settling it across his shoulders like a cloak. The sight of it left a tingle in Tsukasa’s chest, giddy that he did good at making sure his blanket dilemma was solved.

Tsukasa meant what he said, that witnessing Hinata work was something special. He’d recite questions from previous practice tests he assigned Tsukasa, and recall with precise clarity the answer choices and the explanation for the correct one. Hinata could also socratic method circles around Tsukasa, able to ask a question and discuss with him as if playing the role of multiple fellow students, each with their own arguments and viewpoints. The only thing he lacked compared to his classmates was the condescending attitude, and when he tried making a joke about that before to Hinata, the other man smiled and said Tsukasa had the same exact attitude problem.

He did not have a comeback for that one.

A few hours later, as Tsukasa sat on the floor and flipped through a book on rental property law changes in the past five years, he found his mind drifting to a familiar question plaguing his mind. He glanced at Hinata, who had eventually put on his glasses and tied his hair back as he skimmed over some news articles on Tsukasa’s laptop.

Tsukasa clicked his tongue. They were due for a break anyways.

“Hinata-kun.”

Hinata’s eyes stayed on the screen a moment longer, finishing his line on the page, then looked up. “Did you think up an argument for overruling the rental clause we talked about? Bed bugs are serious business, you know.”

“No, it’s not about that. I had a question.”

“Well, usually when someone like you has a question you just ask it.”

“I’m not sure if it will be rude or not.”

The intensity from earlier flared behind Hinata’s eyes, curiosity boring into Tsukasa, as if shaking him to spit it out already.

“Just ask! I’m an open book. Kinda literally if you think about it in a test taking way.”

“Okay,” Tsukasa said. “How come you’re not trying to become a lawyer? You have all the knowledge needed for it, and I’m sure you could pass the bar right now if you wanted to. You could quite literally be the lawyer of the century if you went through the steps of getting the proper qualifications.”

Hinata stared at him, the silence stretching heavy over a few seconds while Tsukasa felt the oncoming reprimands for his nosiness prickling against his skin.

But Hinata just sighed and placed his elbow on the couch to support his head as he looked away. “I’ve already passed the bar. I did that years ago. That’s such a boring question. I thought you were going to ask me something more interesting like what my type is.”

“What the hell do you mean you’ve already passed the bar?” Tsukasa squawked, eyes widening with the new information. “If you did that then why are you wasting your time cheating on exams for law students? You could be in a courtroom right now presenting real cases!”

“Hey, okay, so when I say ‘passed’, I do mean in a more unofficial way. I don’t have a piece of paper or anything, so no courtrooms for me.” Hinata grinned at him, eyes squinting from it. “Besides, the last thing I want to do is be in a courtroom. That’s way too stuffy and boring for me. It’s more fun harassing you about article codes and clauses.”

“I don’t see how digging through papers is the fun part for you. In court is where you can actually present your case and do something else other than read legal briefs for hours at a time.”

Hinata took his glasses off, tapping his finger against the frame as he stared at Tsukasa. “Regardless, I don’t care about being a lawyer. It’s just fun to know things. Y’know, I passed the MCAT in the 99th percentile.”

“Bullshit. Why are you collecting exams like trophies? You are a very sick individual.”

“Such language, Tsukasa-kun. You should be more polite and sweet like me,” Hinata said. “And if it makes you feel any better, I make it my policy not to help med students. I’d kinda rather not have the future medical professionals of our generation be unable to do the work. That’s my geriatric butt in their waiting rooms in the future, so best not to shoot myself in the foot now. You’re welcome.”

Tsukasa narrowed his eyes. “You say that as if releasing a bad lawyer into the world isn’t a bad thing.”

“Ah, now I didn’t say that at all. A guy’s gotta make money somehow, right? And it’s the lesser of two evils, and even you can’t tell me it isn’t.”

“You’re insufferable.” Tsukasa leaned across his textbooks, as if inching closer to Hinata would let him understand the other guy more. “Why not actually go to med school then? I can understand not being a lawyer if you think it’s boring, but as a doctor you would be actively saving peoples lives. It would make a real difference to know mountains of information when trying to diagnose a sickness or disease.”

Hinata continued tapping his glasses, his smile shifting into an inquisitive look. “Tsukasa-kun, do you know the Chinese Room argument?”

Tsukasa’s nose wrinkled. “You could not possibly be comparing yourself to the Chinese Room. That’s a supreme overreach of the argument to try and apply it to yourself.”

“But you knew instantly what I was talking about! It has to have some sort of application, right? Just because I can list off anything about some topic doesn’t really mean I understand any of it. Even now, how do you know if I actually understand law or if it’s just that I’ve read so many practice tests that I can give an output that sounds about right?”

“Because I know you’re smart. You’re clever and witty, and you like shoving it in my face. And it’s not because you’re overcompensating, it’s because you’re good-natured.”

Hinata tilted his head. “Those are conflicting thoughts, aren’t they? I’m good-natured, yet I like shoving my intellect in your face. You make me sound like a meanie.”

“The point is you’re not,” Tsukasa said. He took a breath and met Hinata’s eyes with all his sincerity. “Hinata-kun, you are incredibly kind. I am grateful for all the help you have given me and I owe keeping my sanity during law school to you.”

“Whoa, where’s this coming from?” Hinata’s lips twitched into an uncertain smile. “Just cause we talk philosophy doesn’t mean you have to get sentimental.”

“I thought you would like to hear it.” Tsukasa stood, grabbing his empty tea cup from the coffee table. “I’m making more tea, would you like some?”

“Oh.” Hinata blinked. “Yeah, sure.” He held his cup out to Tsukasa, their fingers brushing in the handoff.

“Same flavor?”

“Yeah, with extra honey if you could.” He slid his glasses back on, diving back into his research on the laptop.

Tsukasa began to walk away, but glanced back at the sound of shuffling on the couch. Hinata was turned towards him, a soft smile on his lips as he spoke.

“Thank you, Tsukasa-kun,” he said earnestly. Tsukasa found himself smiling back until Hinata finished speaking, his soft smile slipping into a mischievous grin.

“For the tea, of course. These rich boy flavors are such a treat.”

I’m never going to win with him, am I? Tsukasa thought as he rolled his eyes and continued onto the kitchen.

He’d indulge Hinata’s teasing and tea requests for now. They still had a long night of studying ahead of them yet.

[not-so-rosyyy]

Your reblog hit home to me way to close. The lack of sleep makes want to cry sometimes because it so important to our health. But when we live in capitalist society, it don’t really matter. But sometimes not everyone can get 8 hours of sleep which fucking sucks. Like it can sometimes depend on how our days go if it will be good or bad. I started experiencing sleep deprivation first year into college. Like going to school or work sometimes I rather be in my bed a sleep.

you just reminded me of the fact that i was very young as well when i started to experience sleep deprivation. i think it was during the last two years of high school. being in star sections meant i had advanced classes and competition was tough, so everyday i would wake up at 4:30am, be at school before 6am, stay there till 3pm for my classes, then extend to 4-6pm for my extracurriculars. i'll be home at 7, have dinner, do homeworks/revise for an exam, and if i'm lucky i'd be finished at 10.

at some point i started feeling deprived of my time, like it was being stolen from me. so i began stealing it back. i would make it a point to stay up as long as i could just to do something that's for me. whether that be reading something that's not in any way related to school, playing games and chatting online, binging a tv series, or engaging in fandom.

that habit carried over to my adult life, and i didn't realize how unhealthy it was till about 3 years ago when covid happened.

and yes, you're right. it is capitalism's fault. we were taught from a young age that the only way to get ahead (and it is important to get ahead) is to put in more time for work. capitalism tricks you into dedicating all of it to labor early so that maybe, just maybe, you can have more once you've put in enough. because time put into labor means money and money must mean more time, right? except it isn't and most of us will realize it pretty late into the game when there's no way to get out and the only thing we're focused on is how to survive.

[jow99]

Roses

Thursday dawned grey but not too cold. We hauled ourselves out and went for a wander along by the beach and did a bit of an explore before having morning tea and returning to Tessi.

The rest of the day was spent with washing and other chores, some admin, cycle watching and of course last minute revision.

A bit before 5pm we headed off to my Spanish exam with one stop along the way. We were all due there by 5:30pm for a 6pm start. There had been a late venue change so it seemed that everyone like me had decided to arrive early. Thankfully they started checking us in early because as it was we didn’t get started until about 6:05pm.

I was alarmed to see that I’d only just snuck in, I was 79 out of 80 attendees 😳. By 6:15pm I was messaging Jose to let him know I’d finished and I wasn’t even the first or second person finished. I was really happy as I was pretty much 100% confident on most of my answers. It’s only 25 questions and I took my time to be sure. They made me laugh because they’d changed the order of some of the answers. I had kind of expected that so had made sure I knew the answer not just a,b or c.

Given I was out so quickly it was a bit early for dinner so we went for a well deserved drink first. We then strolled back down to the beachfront and found a Galician restaurant. We had a lovely meal. They did a shared mixed tapas plate and it was filled with all our favourites! That and a couple of glasses of cava (not to mention dessert and a chupito to finish) - happy days!

Overnight it poured and at times was so heavy I was having trouble sleeping. Thankfully I did get back to sleep and we had a relaxed start to the day given the rain was forecast to continue on and off through the morning (thank goodness I did the washing yesterday).

I’m now studying in earnest for my next exam which will be much harder. The morning was pretty cool so we were both happy to stay inside and get stuff done, though the forecast rain didn’t materialise.

We watched the end of today’s stage of the UAE race while I made lunch. After lunch we headed out to check out the Citadel here in Roses. Like a lot of the area here it was settled by the Phoenicians, the Greeks and then Romans. Over the years it became Christian and the Benedictine monks took over and then the Napoleonic forces arrived. Bunkers were built in the Citadel for during the Civil war and the final twist were the fortifications installed by Franco to stop any outside interference as he ruled Spain.

It’s a huge site and was definitely worth a visit. By the time we finished wandering around the Citadel we were ready for a vermut in the sunshine, overlooking the sea - tough life 🍷

Back in Tessi it was more studying before a quiet night of reading.

[endofapaige]

The School Saga: A-Levels

TLDR; I'm stressed

As I write this now it’s very almost 6pm on the 7th of June, the night before double exam day. I have watched hours of media focus videos and spent more hours on twitter than I care to admit. I have always known I wanted to record my experience of my A Levels and my getting into university, but I have never been one for YouTube videos, as talking to my phone in my bedroom is extremely embarrassing no matter who can or cannot hear you. So, we’re going to attempt this as a written journal thing and as fashionable of myself and half of the internet, yes, I forgot about it until just.

An introduction to me, I am studying A Levels in English Language, Media Studies and Psychology and I am already over halfway finished. I think it’s ironic that English was the first to be done, the one I have had no problems with over my two years, while I’ve still got a week and a half until I can finally forget about the methods of modifying addiction, which I promise you is not as interesting as it sounds.

Not to pass the blame, but as someone who has never been fazed by exams, these ones are getting to me. Not because I don’t think I don’t know the content, which if you ask me now with my research methods paper a mere 15 hours away I definitely do not, but because I haven’t been prepared. My year must have been one of the worst affected by the Covid pandemic, it hit in 2020 just before we were supposed to take our GCSEs so we never got the chance to experience that stress and trauma of last minute revision and the relief mixed dread that comes with walking out of the exam and realising you used a word in the entirely wrong context and wondering just how badly that will fuck you up (hegemonic is now my least favourite word fuck you). I think if I’d sat these exams, I would’ve learnt that I cannot go two years without looking at my notes outside of lessons and expect to learn the entirety of first year content in a week. Not without a few tears and a fortnight-long headache anyway. On top of that, we have never done real exams, AS Levels were yet again cancelled, and the 25 mark topic tests where you know the questions a week before surely cannot count as valid preparation. However, I am here now, having revised more than I have ever revised in my life despite not attending a single lesson for a month. Let’s hope my university offer truly doesn’t take in to consideration my attendance as I’m scared to even look at that now. (I have since looked at it, it’s still at 87%, nothing to worry about...)

To start off exam season, I had my first psychology paper, after having seen twitter uproar about exam boards not sticking to the advanced information it’s safe to say I was terrified. I had spent two weeks committing the advanced info to memory, and any other topic was but a distant memory and a jumble of words that didn’t make sense to my too-tired brain. The morning came, and sleep surpassed me (not as badly as I expected mind you) I woke up feeling like I was going to vom. Not in an I’m sick way more in an if this exam is hard, I’m going to sob so hard it hurts. Getting to college, the stomach was still churning. Meeting up with my friend Emily, she ran me through all of the revision she had done, and all of the content she knew that I did not. That didn’t help. I did not need to know that being left-handed affected the brain activity in Raine’s research Emily, but thanks for the stress. There was a quick flip and a friend’s breakdown that helped the nerves pass, because I was far more worried about her than I was about myself - the few advantages of not needing any special requirements in exams is that they cannot get them wrong. The paper in the end went well, not to jinx it, the questions were nice and straightforward, and I wrote until my hand was in a cramped claw that I couldn’t quite move. I remembered the five stages of Little Albert’s conditioning study for no reason at all. But all in all, it was a very very pleasant start to the four weeks of hell.

The day after, my first English paper came around, children’s language acquisition had always been a strength of mine so the feeling of throwing up wasn’t nearly as bad. My friends and I spent half an hour just spurting random knowledge at each other hoping that anything we’d miss would finally stick and then we walked into the exam hall yet again. There’s something odd about being sat behind your friends because while I was writing frantically about the nature and nurture debate in the effect on a child’s language, I was mutely aware of Daniel staring at his paper doing not much at all, well it didn’t look like it anyway. Considering children’s language gave us the easiest question known to man, AQA had successfully led me into a false sense of security. A false sense of security that was instantly and horrifically dashed by textual analysis. When you read ‘this section will be on a cooking text’ I think it’s safe, fair, and correct to assume you are likely to be faced with a recipe of some sort. I along with the entirety of the nation were frantically prepping for a Jamie Oliver guide to something or another, a recipe for his kids or something I don’t know, to be faced with an article about how to survive a student kitchen and a narrative piece from the opening to a 1960s cookbook about God knows what. I think it’s safe to assume if anything has bought my grade down for English language, it was that.

Friday the 27th bought my first media paper, missing an English lesson I would have much rather have been in, missing my two best friends for the final lesson we would’ve had together, I was suffering in another exam. With media comes the watching of an audio-visual product and therefore being in a separate room which apparently leads to nothing but shambles. In our case the product was the Up All Night music video by Beck, a song nobody in the room knew bar my friend Charlie who only recognised it from FIFA. Contemporary my arse Eduqas, we were all waiting in anticipation for Olivia Rodrigo. Analysing music videos has never been something I particularly struggled with, however that was when I could actually see the music video I was meant to be analysing and I wasn’t very aware of the 5 minutes we were supposed to spend watching this music video had turned into 25 because the invigilator was so fucking useless, time we lost out on writing by the way. I am not happy. Obviously not off to the best start I didn’t have high hopes for this exam, which was good because the entire thing was a travesty. I would explain but I might cry, let’s just say that easy A is a solid C and I can kiss my dreams of university goodbye.

Half term rolled around, and I had an entire week to revise for my next three. Did I? Funny you should ask. No, I didn’t, I sat at my desk watching The Big Bang Theory, I should have regrets, but I don’t, it was nice. I’ll let you know if that changes. A little bit of cramming on a Sunday after a summer holiday shopping trip and the Queen’s platinum jubilee, English Language paper 2 had quickly snuck up on me again. A positive start as Emily, Eleni and I walked into the exam hall still cry-laughing about inky crotches (don’t ask) and trying to spell Schloffer? Schodloff? Shodffer? I still don’t know. This exam must have been the peak of exam season because that was the nicest paper I’ve ever sat. If there’s one thing you learn about exams, it’s the topic that came up the year before is very unlikely to come up again. However, my entire class actively ignored this and still wishfully revised language and gender hoping AQA would be nice and give us the easy topic. They did. And thank fuck that they did. Discourse analysis wasn’t bad either, a mix of standards of English, occupational lexis and accent and dialect. Not as strong as language and gender, but not one I couldn't’ve messed up too badly. So, all in all, with my English course done and finished, I can say that I’m not too scared. A bit scared but not shitting bricks.

As I write the next couple of paragraphs it’s somewhere between the evening of the 8th of June and the afternoon I should hope of the 9th. Another two exams have passed, I am officially finished with Media and I have just over (as of 11:38 on the 8th) a week until my final paper for psychology and I am done with my A Levels for good. Today had been the day I had been dreading since the beginning, Psychology research methods in the morning and Media to follow the same afternoon. In my humble opinion, yes it should be illegal to sit two exams in one day because once you’ve done one the wrist ache and brain pain is too much to take 2 hours and 30 minutes’ worth of waffly essays on a French TV show you’ve only half-assed watched twice and a youtuber you haven’t watched or thought about since 2014. But it’s done, I did it and the exhaustion is another level. I say as I’m still writing and awake like I don’t have to get up at half 8 tomorrow morning for a driving lesson, Emma if I fall asleep at the wheel that’s not on me.

Upon reflection, psychology paper 2 could have been much worse. I only revised a very small section of the spec, having convinced myself that everything else was common sense and making up some strengths and weaknesses was a walk in the park. Something in my brain must be psychic because the very small number of topics I revised, was everything that came up on the exam. There were a few questions where wording caught me out and my bullshitting superpowers came into play yet again, like my attempt to justify the use of a directional hypothesis in a study rather than a non-directional hypothesis. Or my attempt to convince the examiner the line graph was used because it was a test of association when it tells me on the next page that it was in fact a test of difference. I didn’t go back and change it I thought writing something down was better than a load of scribbles and the written format of a mental breakdown. I did however finish with half an hour to spare in which I checked, checked and checked again that I read every question right (yes Dad I actually read the questions) but I still managed to come out of the exam having definitely lost two very easy marks, after writing it wrong, correcting it and then changing it back again. But hey that’s only two marks.

The media paper was another story, a very appropriate and consistant follow on from the hell on paper that was component 1, but that’s a story for tomorrow (it’s still the 8th!) while I try to avoid having to commit the social explanations of addiction to memory. For now, sleep must embrace me, so I don’t kill myself on the road and my brain doesn’t start leaking out of my eyes. Stressful evening to follow a stressful day, never try to plan a holiday with your friends it’s bound to end up in arguments especially when you’re used to being the one organising and you are not the one organising, sorry Elyes the control freak in me jumped out thick and fast…

Okay, it’s the 14th of June and realistically I don’t have time to write this at all. I’ve just worked the busiest weekend at work I think I’ve ever worked, Paul is yet again creeping me out, and I’m supposed to be memorising the NICE guidelines for Naltrexone. Instead, I’m drinking coffee from my basically broken coffee machine and listening to Hamilton, so I thought I’d run through how my media exam went very quickly. I always thought Media was going to be my easy A, I’d spent the last two years getting As and A*s and being praised to no end by my teacher (I love you Karen x) but Eduqas really took that and crushed it to dust. The first exam was traumatic, no time to finish, couldn’t see the screen for the music video, not enough space to write, no spare paper in the room, horrendous invigilator. Luckily, paper two was in the Sports Hall so the invigilator issue was better. It had been my only exam where I’d been sat right at the back. I could not see the clock. The clock is a vital piece of equipment when you need to time essay responses. Great start.

Yet again Eduqas decided to fuck us over, giving us a page and a half worth of space for a 30-mark question, and making the layout of the exam incredibly confusing. With media, the teachers get to pick which set texts to teach from a long list, all schools do different ones so at the start of each question you have a tick box to say which texts you are writing about. You then have the answer space for question 1, what I didn’t realise until after I’d spent 25 minutes writing about Humans, was that despite that being my first question, to the exam board Humans was question 2. There was a separate space for question 2. I had written a 15-mark essay in the wrong space. Obviously panicking, I asked what to do. I basically asterisks'd the booklet 4 times and now I’m hoping the examiner can figure out what goes where… so if I fail Media that is one of many reasons. I could sense my friend Abi practically laughing at me from behind, only for her 5 minutes later to realise she had done the exact same thing, as did half of twitter by the sounds of it. So, it’s definitely Eduqas’s fault not me being an idiot.

As for the questions, the exam boards’ claim they would make it easy for our year due to the pandemic definitely should’ve been taken with a pinch of salt. The Human’s question was to evaluate the fandom theory. The theory half of the country didn’t learn at all and the ones that did learnt it as an A* push. The theory very simply states that an audience interacts with a text nowadays by creating their own content relating to it, like fanfiction or fan edits and the like. It’s not a substantial enough theory to drag out into a 15 marker without repeating yourself until it hurts or ignoring the question entirely. The first of two 30 markers later on in the exam we found out was content taught in the third year of a media degree and wasn’t anything we were expected to know at A Level at all. So that was another 50 minutes of pure waffle and loose links to the question hoping if I dropped enough names and referenced enigma codes enough, I’d still get the marks. I’m not convinced. So, coming out of that exam and finally finishing my media course (thank the lord, I was promised interesting, I was highly disappointed. I also think I learnt more about my teacher’s take on football than the content itself but hey ho) I’m starting to think that easy A is practically impossible. Let’s just hope the grade boundaries are 6 feet underground and I can still scrape a B to get me into university. We shall see. For now, though, I really should return to psychology. Just two days to go and 10 topics I am still clueless about. I’ll update you Thursday evening when I am finally free, and newly stressed about making sure I have everything packed to go to Portugal the day after.

Thursday evening has arrived, my parents have both left the house shouting something I couldn’t hear, but something I’m sure I don’t actually want to know what it was. The temperature is uncomfortable, I have been sweating in the most ungodly places for hours, but I am free. Free from revision, free from Psychology, free from college. Forever. By forever I mean I’m done with revision for at least 4 months, bur the rest of it forever forever. Obviously, I’m beyond excited to be free from it all, but something in me is now a bit lost. So much time, so little to do now I don’t have anything to memorise. The exam this morning was a shambles, well not really, but it was the first time I’d walked into an exam hall and blanked. No names, no research, no content. Appropriately, everything in my mind went ‘shit!’. The questions were cruel, three methods of modifying, no characteristics and the ethical costs of research controversy. Just like Eduqas to fuck us over at the last second. I can’t complain though, I answered every question and my hand ached like hell by the end of it. I wrote a conclusion for every question that needed a conclusion, one of which cost me a very valuable five minutes I needed for the antipsychotics question. But I answered them, and I got in as much content as my melting mind could remember, even if I have jumbled up names, dates and what they did I should hope the examiner gives me marks for trying. It was the general consensus that component 3 of psychology had fucked us over, we all came out pulling faces and complaining to our teacher. We all are hoping we made up for what we lost in this one in the first two exams.

But this is it. My A Levels finished. I no longer study Media or Psychology. I am now technically an undergraduate studying English, or Publishing (we’ll see which university I actually get into) and I have three months ahead of me where I will be spending more money than I have. If you were wondering my plans for this summer: after Portugal, I’m going to see Dear Evan Hansen in the West End, and then between watching and rewatching movies, reading as much as I can, hopefully, maybe, I’ll start on writing a romance book that I’ve been planning for months. And I will do all this while I wait anxiously, always niggling in the back of my mind, for the dreaded Thursday that is August the 18th where my future will be decided for me. Where I’ll find out just how badly Eduqas has fucked me over, and if I’m officially a student of Lancaster University or another burnt out gifted kid scrambling for something to do when September rolls around. And that day is when I will write to you again, like I have now, in the style that I usually save for my notes about feelings I don’t usually have, to update you on that dreaded Thursday and share with you my fate.

[sirenedeslily]

i wish halloween was bigger in aus 💔 doesn’t fit the spring vibe bc of the swapped seasons and also bc the neighbourhoods are just not fun 😭😭 i think the main celebrations here would be the uni halloween parties but i am unfortunately too socially awko taco to be attending 😞 me 🤝 matt on staying home to avoid interaction w people our age 😍

the only thing i’ll be this year is an academic victim bc i had my russian oral exam on halloween and HELP why did the language makers make completely different things sound so similar 😟🙁 like i said “we are getting divorced” instead of “we eat dinner” AND “my parents and i humiliate ourselves at 6pm” instead of “my parents and i make a fire at 6pm” …🧍🏻‍♀️…🧎🏻‍♀️ clearly was not meant for the trilingual life !!! what languages do u speak queen :3

if i WERE to dress up tho (ever since i found out s1 of gravity falls was on youtube i’ve been rewatching it all week :D) id go as mabel pines my no. 1 girl forever !!! she is too cutie 💘 BUT ALSO OMG I HAVE been seeing soo many people dress up as lottie wearing the antlers w her party dress and they look so mf cool like that is definitely going on my bucket list of costumes

whoops sorry for the rant queen its 1.30am here and im delirious from yet another day of being in the hell that is exam szn 🔥🔥🔥 happy halloween queenie weenie 🎃 !!! hope u have a haunting day

-🦌<3

i hate that i’m replying to this two flipping days later but we’re literally triplets with matt bc i too am deeply awkward in any social setting and this halloween was my first time actually doing something in years 😭😭 also just my first time hanging out with friends in forever

see i don’t think i’d ever be able to learn russian i feel like it’s one of the hardest languages to learn.. like you’re an better than me fr and honest to god you should be proud of yourself cause you still said a whole phrase in russian eeeeeven if it’s not what you wanted to say :3 and i speak french and english and i can understand arabic a teeny bit >< but fun fact i only learned english when i was 9, it’s my excuse for me sounding illiterate sometimes

you are so mabel’s like she is so cutieful !!! i never really watched the show but i love her :p AND THE ANTLER QUEEN LOTTIE MATTHEWS COSTUMES ARE EVERYTHING i love it so freaking much man. ppl are soooo creative, i loved all the yjs costumes :)

[kun-summacumlaude]

SUMMA CUM LAUDE? #18

I'm keeping my word, it's about 3 weeks since my last post and I'm already working on the next one.

Hello Peoples

So I've been telling everyone this is week 3 but for some reason I'm the only one that believes the convocation week (week 1) counts. Anyhoo, today is day 3 of week 2, and I've had only two actual classes. I should have stayed at home, but that's too late now.

Just to give a little update on how the semester started for me. I resumed last week (my own week 2) because I spent all of convocation on completing Breaking Bad. But last week I moved to anime, I thought being in school would get me serious again but that didn't work. What finally did the job was having my first lecture (online) but she was so serious about the class that I got serious right after that class.

The engineering student, Kunle, is back. *Sheds tears from suffering*. I already want to go home, I'm looking forward to the short election break. I hope it's like one week long. Jaja is as Jaja as ever and I want to go home for a breather. It seems I didn't fully recover from the intensity of the final push last semester until this week. I was so tired last week and I struggled to sit down and study for a significant amount of time. Feb 1.

Omo nawa o, February 16 today and I am very tired of school. Election break is three weeks long (God is good). I honestly cannot wait to go home, it's almost like I've pulled the student plug in me. My plan was to move with each lecturer as the classes commenced, this has worked well so far except in 3 courses where I have a lot of questions to solve. Last time I posted I hadn't seen any of my second semester results but as at the time I started this post I had seen about 1 or 2 but now I've seen 6.

Year 2, 2nd Semester SCL ?

6/6 As. Four to go, I'm hopeful. Super hopeful. Getting a 5.00 SGPA would be lovely. Regardless, these results are the Grace of God because three of those six As were a huge relief considering how the tests and exams went. I wanted to keep mum about the results until I saw everything but I want to take you through my emotions. Current mood: happy but slightly anxious.

Let me quickly return to present academics. After 6pm, it is such a struggle to study. Most of these past weeks I have slept off, achieving nothing in the evening and at night. 6pm I get dinner, after that I either go back to my room or the office and so far neither location has done the job for me. I really wish the library was 24/7 and allowed us take our stuff in. Currently , there's no toilet there, 9pm closure is way too early and not having my stuff with me inside is a problem. Sometimes you can't even charge your devices and all of my stuff is digital, doesn't work at all for me. I'm sure I've mentioned this before though, maybe in a much earlier post. I'll stop here for now, I really hope they release my the rest of my results before we go home for the election break. I want to know my cgpa while I'm grinding at home. Oh yes, my plan for the election break is to come back way ahead in all of the courses, so help me God.

Election Break

March 25, 2023. I returned from the election break on the 21st, the break about a month long. Nothing has changed, reading past 6pm is still a struggle, the four results left to see have still not been released and this most disappointing of all is that the only grinding I did at home was grind in my Clash of Clans. I'm even in a worse position now than I was before the break but I guess I have two months to get things in order. My election break would have gone well but I spent all four weeks worrying about how I was going to write a term paper on a course we hadn't had a single lecture on. That totally destabilised me and I lost all of my focus. An experience to learn from and navigate better in times to come because I'm sure another lecturer will give us a ridiculous assignment. That assignment was actually so ridiculous in hindsight, but I allowed it to have too much control over my actions during the break. To be fair to myself, I was very much invested in both elections and that itself was another distraction from grinding academically. I want to be in a good position academically so I can take out some time to participate in the next edition of ULES Games Festival so I'm ready to get the job done this semester by God's grace.

ULES GAMES FESTIVAL

We didn't have this last session because of covid, the strike and renovations for NUGA 2022. But this session it happened, and it just got concluded today. Metallurgical and Materials Engineering won more medals than any other department, congratulations to them. I only attended physically on the penultimate day but I absolutely enjoyed myself because I love sports. At some point I felt sad because one of my plans upon getting into university was to participate in sports. So far, I have done close to nothing in that area, and it made me sad, but I'll work towards it for 300 Level.

Academics

The next line of action is to assess the course outline and ascertain how bad things are, then improve on everything. I mean, what other approach is there to take?

I don't know if I should still wait for those results or just post. We'll find out eventually.

April 4, 2023

6.33PM, I'm at shop 10 eating my dinner when I open the class and see a text from Toki: "Results are out on lagmobile For those interested". Every rate in my body went up. To finish that food was a challenge, I kept on asking myself if I should check the results right there in shop 10 or wait until I got back to my room in Jaja. I eventually decided on the latter.

7.17PM, I open lagmobile to check my results. I quickly scanned through all the grades and didn't see a single B or C, at that moment it dawned on me. 5.0 SGPA!!!! SUMMA CUM LAUDE-ESQUE SEMESTER!!! It honestly felt surreal at that moment. I was like GOD! WOW! A 5.0 in a semester that felt so terrible for most of it, unbelievable scenes mehn. All Glory to God, because I cannot do such on my own, I would be a dirty liar if I said I could. I want to encourage you to trust in God when you pray, no matter how what kind of circumstances you're praying under, those things do no limit God. Today is April 8 but I'm typing like it's 4th, I just realised hehe. I'm reliving the moment; it was just such a good feeling inside of me. It's really lovely to achieve your goals, whew. More to come deo volente.

I guess that wraps up the first semester of 200 level, it was a lengthy ride to be honest. This wrap up is quite deep into second semester. Let me just mention that Dr. Ibhaze has come again, he gave us a test on physical electronics (EEG 226), 10 marks and we didn't know what to write. We can't catch a break with him, but I don't believe he'll use that test anyways, hopefully I'm not wrong (very hopefully).

For ease of calculating my cgpa, let me put the scores of each semester here. LevelSemester: TotalScore-TotalUnits Yr1S1: 66-14, Yr1S2: 78-16, Yr2S1: 100-20. CGPA moves from 4.80 to 4.88 (Huge!)

There's are so many social events going on in school at the moment, it's so easy to waste your time and then end up failing your tests. Dear reader, you cannot be everywhere. I won't say snub all events but be very picky with the ones you attend, select a few (very few o ejoor) and ignore the rest. You don't have that much time especially if you're behind in some courses. Don't set yourself up for struggle.

I'll end this post that has been pending for too long here, next time I'll probably have written a few tests, I pray I return to you with good news. Thank you and bye bye :)

Check the date I made this note:

God is good !

[emerald-evans]

You like working for the Barbers—their house is huge, kind of a pain to clean, but the work is steady, and for the most part, you haven’t had any issues. On the days Jacob comes home early, he’s more than happy to let you in to do a quick once over, and by the time Laurie and Andy have arrived, you’ve usually got dinner started, if not completely finished. You’re not blind—of course Andy is handsome, but you know better than to try anything, especially with your job on the line. It doesn’t stop your cheeks from heating when he brings home an extra Valentine’s bouquet for you, or stop you from noticing when he puts an extra twenty or two in your week’s pay…

😈

ma chère lis 🕊

pairing - dark!andy barber x reader

summary - lilies often symbolize purity and the rebirth of the soul…however, they are also commonly associated with death 

w/c - 1.5k

warnings - 18+, implied death, dubcon, noncon (just to be safe), implied sex pollen, smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s), forced captivity/basement wife vibes

a/n - hello all, this is my embarrassingly late piece written for the lovely @boxofbonesfic 7k Monkey’s Paw challenge celebration! everyone go check out her binge-worthy masterlist and send her love. I stupidly got the dates mixed up but I still hope you enjoy <3 (let’s please remember this is my first dark fic LOL) and a huge thank you to @dbnightingale24 who held my hand through this process

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed <3

December 

Stirring the pot once more just to be sure, you inhale the smell of garlic and parmesan coming from below you. Your salmon was simply the Barbers favourite- a touch of nutmeg and fresh dill was your secret. After months of working as the weekly house cleaner, the Barber house had become your second home. You initially started working twice a week as you were juggling your second job on the weekend, just so Laurie can be given a slight break throughout the week. The strain of a full-time job raising an 11-year old and pretending to be in a loving marriage was getting to her. You have been there long enough to see how they would hide the denial of their failing marriage through soft touches and the emotionless state of their eyes on each other. As the holidays rolled around you found yourself at their house almost 4-days a week for a few hours each night. Eventually, you had enough hours to quit your second job and focus on school.

February

A new semester brought a new qualm of peace in the house. The holidays were over, and so were your exams. Jacob had let you in today, it seemed Andy and Laurie were still at work. After a quick once over all the rooms, you decided to start prepping for dinner; Settling on a hearty chicken and vegetable soup, you began to cut the ingredients as you heard Jacob enjoying his playstation. 

Your friends found it a bit odd, your dynamic with the Barbers. They weren’t wrong, just unnerved by how quickly you seemed to settle into their lifestyle. They did not seem to mind your presence and encouraged your stay for dinners. What can you say, you enjoyed it. Pretending to play the part of a loved one.

Who else did you have? 

Shaking those thoughts out of your head, you tossed everything into the pot.

By 6pm, both Andy and Laurie made their way to the dining table Jacob was helping set. He always listened to you, seeing you as a friend more than… well… whatever your role in the Barber family seemed to be. You noticed Andy’s eyes on you tonight. Typically he seemed to trace your every move when you two were alone, or when Laurie was too preoccupied to notice her husband’s persistent stare on your body. You pretend not to notice it, but in the back of your mind you knew it was because you never wanted him to stop. He was partially to blame, you reasoned. 

The vase of lilies sitting on your kitchen counter itched the back of your mind.You remember the day when Andy came home with two bouquets of flowers. Valentine’s Day. One bouquet of roses, and your bouquet of lilies. 

Beep! Beep! Beep! 

The sound of the timer you set earlier pulled you out of your thoughts, reminding you to take out the bite-size sandwiches you prepared along with the soup. Glancing at the table, Laurie was flipping through her magazine. Bringing the final plate to the table, you sat beside Jacob, across from Andy. The four of you ate in quiet as you avoided Andy’s gaze that seemed to flicker between you and Jacob, before inevitably settling on you. 

April

With a quick knock to the wood you waited for Jacob to open the door. It was half past 4pm and you were officially an hour late for your duty at the Barbers’. Your car decided to toy with your fate on the one day both your bosses come home later in the evening. Waiting for an answer, you knock again. After no response you start digging through your bag to find the spare key they had given you. After making quick work of the lock and head inside. 

“Jacob!” you call out. “Are you home?”. Walking into the kitchen you put your bag on the counter. You take out your phone to call him before-

“You’re late.” 

Jumping at the sudden voice, you turn to see Andy lounging on the couch, nursing his usual tumblr of whiskey.

What is he doing here in the middle of the day?

“Mr. Barber, I-” Andy slowly stands and lowers his drink to the coffee table before turning to take his first look at you. 

“Come take a seat. We have some things to discuss.” his response seemingly unbothered by your lack of punctuality. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Plus, I know it won’t happen again .” 

“Mr. Barber, I am so sorry about being late, this is the first time it happened, I promise it won’t happen again.” You rush out before you can stop yourself. He looks at you for a moment. “Would you like a drink?” He questions you.

“Oh.. I really shouldn’t. I need to get started on the cleaning, I know Laurie likes everything tidied early before the weekend.” 

“Don’t you worry about Laurie now, and you can take it downstairs with you.” He walks over to the beverage cart parked at the side of the family room. You stand there silently gawking at his back as you watch his muscles move beneath his shirt. Missing the smirk in the reflection of the window in front of him. Gotcha.  

Andy keeps his eyes on you as he walks over to where you’re frozen in your spot. Handing you the drink, his fingers just barely brush against yours. Looking up at him to offer a thanks, you find yourself lost in his blue eyes. Unable to break eye-contact, you take a couple sips to ease his mind. Wincing at the burn, you clear your throat before making your way to the basement entrance. 

Turning over your shoulder to take a final look at him, your head swarm from the movement. Suddenly appearing beside you, he grabs the drink from your sweaty hand and wraps his arms around you to keep you upright. “Careful there honey, can’t have you making a mess already.” 

You feel the skull-splitting ache making its way across your temples, making it hard to adjust to the light. Slowly your eyes started to flutter.

“What…?” You groan out. At first you try to open your eyes slowly, lifting your hand to shield the light away, only to feel your movement restrained by the cool metal digging into the flesh of your wrists. You jolt awake. 

“You should really take it easy right now, honey.” You shriek coarsely as Andy’s figure comes into sight. The stale taste of your drink fills your senses, the dryness making it hard to swallow to soothe your aching throat. He takes a step closer to come sit beside you on the modest queen-sized mattress. “The effects should start soon enough”. He continues casually.

“Mr. Barber why-“ You try to start, before you look down when you feel a tug on the tight string of the unfamiliar silk robe adorning your body. His hands remain at your waist, feeling the silk against your frame, his eyes trained on your body. You try not to squirm as you relish in the feeling of his warm palm resting against you. 

Why does it feel so good?

 “I think we have passed that point, no? It’s Andy to you, honey. A good little wife calls her husband by name, silly girl.” Chuckling as you gawk at him while he continues. 

His wife?

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, you know you had a hand in this. Staying over for hours cleaning and cooking for us. Is this why you quit your other job too?”

“I like to stay for Jacob” You muster out. It was pathetic really, how hot you were getting.

What was in that fucking drink?

“I’m the fool for not realizing how good you are for Jacob. For me.”

Looking past his large frame, you try to focus on the surrounding area. The concrete staircase at the far left entrance, a small table with a couple of chairs, a modest window near the ceiling that overlooked parts of the backyard, and a nightstand beside your bed. 

“HEY!” Andy’s voice boomed. His eyes softened at your startled expression, before gently cupping your face. “You won’t be down here long, honey. We just need to let the first cycle pass. Okay?”. 

Huh? 

The fire burning inside your belly only grows as your body shuts out his voice, and the only thing you feel is his fingers down your dewy neck, uncaring of how little the robe covered your modesty. He continues his trail before roughly cupping your now exposed breasts and greedily sucks at your nipple. A broken moan leaves your lips as his other hand pinches the other. 

“We are going to live happily ever after, Honey. I promise.” He bends down to whisper in your ear. Your head turns to look through the window again, finally met with the sight of the garden and its freshly planted lilies. “Whether you want it or not”.

banner by the wonderful @maysdigitalarts

divider by the wonderful @/firefly-graphics

[iwadori]

Haikyu boys when they make you insecure PT 1 (Kenma,Kuroo)

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6.

Word Count:3k 

genre: angst, fluff

masterlist

Kenma:

You and Kenma have been in a long distance relationship for a while.

Both of you stream, Kenma doing it seriously for his job and you just playing it for fun,

Sometimes you stream together of course but because of your difference in audiences and games you don’t do it all the time

“Bye guys! Hope you enjoyed todays stream” You wave off to the camera and shut off your PC taking a few sips of water.

Kenma: Hey.. nice stream today Y/N are you going to watch mine?

Y/N: Of course I will 

Kenma: Ok talk to you later

Y/N: okayy <3

Kenma is what inspired you to stream, he also taught you all the ins and outs of streaming making sure you were set and ready. Your gaming style was very relaxed and friendly as you obviously weren’t streaming as a career just for fun and to make friends with your online viewers. The games you played were usually: minecraft, COD, Sims 4, Roblox, Animal crossing and *Insert your favourite game here* the way I literally named all the games I play 

You wait for Kenmas stream to start, kind of excited as you’ve always loved seeing your boyfriend in his ‘element’ when it comes to playing to games. As your boyfriends stream starts you see he’s already chosen what game he is playing today which is to your surprise Call of duty, since that was the game you were playing earlier.

As he gets into the stream you are entertained, as always since Kenma was being his usual self laughing at his own deadpan jokes and interacting with his viewers. He is currently waiting for his capture the flag game to start so as he waits he decides to read some comments in the chat.

You’re used to the usual ‘Kenma where is Y/N I miss your usual streams together’ or ‘kenma please RAIL me’ which always makes you laugh. You were also used to the common hate comments Kenma and You both got on your streams but you were definitely not ready for this..

@ Ihatewomanandiamadick : Hey Kenma did you see your girls stream today she is so dog shit at COD lmaoooo jhdfkjdrhdrr

“Well hello ihatewomenandiamadick” started Kenma “but yes I did see Y/N stream and obviously she is not the best at games and I would definitely NOT ask her to team with me for any serious gaming competitions ... but she’s fun to watch I guess” as he finished speaking about you his game loaded up so he focused his attention on that the words he just spoke going to the back of his mind as they end up at the forefront of yours.

You obviously knew you were no match for Kenma’s gaming expertise but you didn’t expect him to publicly agree with a hate comment let alone add more of his imput on you. Did he really think that about you? ‘She’s fun to watch I guess’ did he not even enjoy your streams that much?

You wanted to distract yourself, and you definitely couldn’t do that watching him so you close off of his stream and get in your bed deciding to watch your favourite show. 

Waking up at 6pm after your sad nap, you see that Kenma has left some messages to you,

Kenma: hey did you watch my stream?

Kenma: do you want to facetime later and play some minecraft..?

Kenma: y/n r u ok??

Y/N: oh hey cnt play minecraft w you rn not really in the mood..

Kenma: oh ok..

Time passed since then a month to be exact and you basically dropped off of the face of the earth, you weren’t in the mood to do anything let alone game and stream, which was a constant reminder of your boyfriend (something you didn’t want at the time.) 

You felt embarrassed over all the things he said about you and all the things you now think he thinks about you and the way you play. Maybe he thinks even worse things about you, beyond just how you game? What if he doesn’t even genuinely like you...or he has someone else...it does make sense, you do both live miles and miles away from eachother AND he’s a big streamer you see the amount of girls in his comments.

You shake your head to erase your protruding thoughts coming in your mind, but it doesn’t really help. You and Kenma haven’t spoken much over this month he tried to constantly reach out to you at first but you assume he got bored over your constant, repetitive dry texts. So you were almost content with you and Kenma not even being in a relationship anymore.

However on Kenma’s side, he was beyond worried about you. Since you haven’t been streaming or barely responded to his texts he thought something happened to you, but he didn’t want to be seen as ‘overstepping boundaries’ if there was nothing wrong at all with you and you simply were just ‘not in the mood.’ 

So here he is, in Kuroo’s apartment trying to get him to help him out on finding out what is wrong with you.

“So kenma can you remember what happened the day when Y/N went ‘ghost’“ asked Kuroo in a mock detective voice

“Y/N didn’t go ‘ghost’ Kuro, and take this seriously” said Kenma “I’m worried bout her”

“Okay fine, but for real what’s the last thing you remember before she started acting all weird.” 

“Umm I think it was around a month ago I did my saturday stream and I think she was on it but she didn’t leave her usual nice comments throughout”

“Ohh that was the stream when you sai-” Kuroo said before pausing his words as the memory of what Kenma said about you on his stream came in his mind, as even Kuroo thought it was a tad bit harsh for Kenma to say all those things “I think I know why Y/N has been so distant kiddo”

“What why?” Asked Kenma

Kuroo pulls out his phone and brings up the clip off what Kenma said and Kenma’s face cringes ‘did he really say all those things about you’ he thinks. 

“Shit.. I didn’t know I said all of that” he said quietly “how do I make it up to her?”

“There’s only one thing you can really do Kenma” said kuroo

You are woken up out of your sleep by a knock on the door. Getting out your bed like a zombie, you trudge to your front door only surprised by what you see. There in his 5′6 glory stood your ‘boyfriend’ Kenma with a controller and a kitten teddy in his hand. You were very tempted to shut the door in his face and get back to your dreamless sleep but you waited on him to speak.

“Hi Y/N” he said quietly “wanna play some minecraft...?”

“Why so you can ridicule me on how shit I am?” You ask bitterly ready to shut the door on him

“No! No not all” he said stopping you from shutting the door entering your place “Y/N i’m really sorry on what I said, I wasn’t thinking AT ALL... I love watching your streams and I think you’re great at playing games...I was just being a dick,”

You take a deep breath before tears pool in your eyes “what you said really hurt me kenma..” you say “ I know people say shitty things on the internet all the time... it’s the internet. But I wasn’t expecting you to agree with the hater and say even more shitty things on top of that.. I don’t think I want to even stream anymore”

Upon hearing that, Kenma’s mouth parts open with shock ‘you dont want to stream anymore’ were his comments that bad? Now he feel even worse as he should and is now more determined to make things right. 

He impulsively drags your arm into your game room, catching your surprise ‘what is he up too?’ you think. He stops for a second seeing your usual pristine gaming set up, collected up with dust. 

“What are you do-” you start 

“Just wait!” He says, as he rushes away turning on all your stuff and logging onto his twitch account as he sees the views go up he starts to speak

 “Hi guys, its me kodzuken and today I’m here on stream with my beautiful girlfriend and today I want to say..” he turns to you “Y/N im so sorry for the horrible things I said to you that day... I was just being a dick and I’m sorry I really am.”

You look at the chat and you see some confusion and some people recalling his words from last month. “It’s fine Kenma, I forgive you” you say giving him a hug”

“Okay Y/N, so what do you say... wanna beat my ass at bed wars?” He says with a smirk 

“When have I ever loss?” you return his smirk

Of course you did beat his ass as bed wars for rounds on rounds never losing proving yourself to actually be a good gamer girl. You enjoyed your time with Kenma, forgetting what he said before about you and moving on. 

Eventually, you guys moved in together and streamed together all the time and yes you still do play for fun but you’ve gotten way better at COD (some may say better then Kenma) but who is better didn’t matter to any of you, as long as you got to play together that’s all you both cared about.

Kuroo:

Kuroo and you have been together since you were in your first year of high school 

You met as friends first when you got him to tutor you in chemistry ( a subject you still aren’t that good at.)

Now you have your upcoming entrance exams for university in a month so your school has you doing mock exams in preparation for them.

20%

You look down at your chemistry paper that your teacher just handed you. 20%. You’re surprised, very surprised since out of all your subjects (that you go 90+% on) you studied on the chemistry test the hardest ensuring Testurou, that you didn’t need his help at all. But I guess it turns out, you did.

This failing mock grade put a blunder on your day, you didn’t interact with anyone and didn’t want to see your boyfriend so you skipped your usual routine of meeting him on the rooftop and went to the library instead ‘might aswell start early on your studying’ you thought.

As you were going over your chemistry topics, you hear an ‘ahem’ next to you and you turn your head only to find your boyfriend and his friends next to you. Kuroo with his usual goofy smile on his face. 

“Hey kitten where were you at lunch?” he asked 

“Needed to go to the library, Chemistry is kicking my ass” you mumbled 

“Oya” he said as he noticed your chemistry test laying under your textbook “20%, well damn Y/N I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t know you were that stupid” he laughed doing his stupid usual hyena-like laugh.

Ouch well that hurt. You slightly flinched at his words, “Really your name, you didn’t know the molecular formula for ethanol, that’s first year work” he said continuing to laugh “I’m pretty sure that’s one of the first things I tutored you on when we first met” 

His overbearing laughter was not good for you, you were already having a bad day and yes you do know your not that good at chemistry but you didn’t need your chemistry-enthusiast boyfriend to make fun of you for failing. Kenma and Yaku stood there awkwardly obviously aware of how bad Kuroo is making you feel but they didn’t really know how to stop his friend in the moment.Whilst he’s still dying of laughter you decide to pack up your stuff and leave the library.

You managed to get your Chemistry tutor to let you retake your mock paper in a week so that means, extra hard studying with no distractions you definitely can’t fail again. Since studying on your own was definitely not a good option, and you couldn’t go to Kuroo (especially after he ridiculed you) you decided to ask the second smartest person you know to tutor you.

Y/N: Hey Yaku! Can I ask you a favour?

Yaku: Hi Y/N what do you need??

Y/N: I have my chemistry retake next week, and as you know from your loud-loud friend I failed my recent test so can you tutor me?? 

Y/N: Pleaseeee

Yaku: Ok Y/N why can’t you ask Kuroo you know that he’d be more than happy to help

Y/N: Yakuu pleasee just help me out 

So there you was, nearly a week done with your study sessions with Yaku and you’re feeling way more confident than before. 

“Y/N what is the functional group of a Carboxylic Acid” Yaku asked

“umm... COO?” 

“Great! that’s correct Y/N” he praises i dont actually know if it’s correct or not

You then hear a knock at Yaku’s front door and hear his mum let the person in, Kuroo then enters Yaku’s bedroom with shock plastered on his face surprised to see you here.

“Y/N...hey?” he says confused “what are you doing here?”

“Oh Mori-chan is just helping me with chemistry for my retake tommorow” you say nochalantly internally smiling at the twinge in Kuroo’s face at the purposeful use of Yaku’s first name.

“So why didn’t you ask me to help you know I’m a chemistry whiz” he asks

“Maybe I’m too stupid to be taught under your tutelage” you mumble “since I seem to forget whatever you teach me, even when it’s 3 years ago... but ok”

“Y/N I-” he starts 

“Oh save it Kuroo, I have studying to do” you say cutting him off

“But I-” he tries

“So Mori-chan COOH is the function group of ethyl ethonate right?” you ask ignoring your boyfriend who is now at a lost for words

“ummm yeah it is” says yaku who is clearly feeling heavily awkward at the tension in his bedroom.

Kuroo leaves and you and yaku finish off the studying for the night, you did feel a little bad for being a bit mean to Kuroo but it’s karma for him being a dick to you. 

You wake up the next day ready for your exam which was first thing in the morning, before you hand in your phone you see a message from Kuroo,

Kuroo: I know you’re still mad at me, but I think you’re going to do so well on this test. You’re not stupid at all, you’re really smart and I love you < 3 

Kuroo: Good luck Y/N

You don’t respond to the message but smile at the sincerity of it and thankful for the boost of confidence it gave you before you start your exam.

Finishing the exam with a smile, you were confident you did well as everything you and Yaku went over was on the paper and you’re almost certain you atleast got more than 75%. You have to wait an hour before your teacher can give you your results, so in the meantime you might aswell reconcile with Kuroo.

When you exit the classroom, standing there was Kuroo who seemed to have been waiting for you for the whole duration of the exam.

“So how was it?” Kuroo asked, apprenhensive as he assumed you would just ignore him like you did at Yaku’s house.

“It was fine, I think it went alright..” you say

“Kuroo”

“Y/N”

You say simultaneously, he pauses for a second to let you speak “I’m sorry I was being so stand offish when we were at Yaku’s I just wanted you to see I could do it on my own, and when you called me stupid I really took that to heart since you and I both know that Chemistry wasn’t ever my best subject” 

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, and since it was only a practice test I didn’t think you’d take it to heart but I am sorry I know you aren’t stupid.”

Before you got to say anything else, your Chemistry teacher exited the room with your chemistry paper in hand. Kuroo grabbed your hand anticipating your nerves and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Miss L/N” said your teacher “Well done on your chemistry test” he turned your test around to sure a perfect 100%. Both you and Kuroo gasped, you were elated to say the least you wanted to jump up and down in excitement but a PERFECT 100%.

“I’d also like to add that you have now got the top chemistry score in the school beating the previous title holder Kuroo Testurou” said your teacher, this made Kuroo open his mouth even wider in surprise nearly making you giggle at his response. 

Your teacher took his leave, leaving you and Kuroo in the hallway “ I guess i’m the chemistry whizz now “ you say wiggling your eyebrows just as Kuroo did to you before at Yaku’s this made him chuckle as he came to put his arm around you.

“Y/N don’t get ahead of yourself now, you may have won this battle but I will win the war” he said smiling

In the final exam, you continue your winning streak also getting a near 100% and still beating Kuroo which didn’t matter to either of you, now you’re just like him cracking chemistry puns and jokes all the time which none of your friends appreciated but atleast Kuroo found them SODIUM funny.

AN: Please kill me for the last line of Kuroos, I didn’t really like Kuroo’s since it was a bit self indulgent with my hate for chemistry but what do you guys think?

[ristoranteivorykeys]

twst mermay 1 — dorm swap

au in which octavinelle and pomefiore were in the opposite dorm ft. octavinelle and pomefiore

╰┈➤ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first day of twst mermay! i posted this at midnight of may 2, but it’s okay, it’s may 1 in the rest of the world. xD i was heavily invested in this au for the whole day. it was really interesting to think about how the characters’ personalities could be slightly altered so that the mirror would sort them into different dorms. with that, i hope this would be an enjoyable read~! ╰┈➤ 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐨: mermay masterlist

“And check.” With a flick of a pen, Azul drew a check mark in thin but dark lavender ink. A proud smile grew on his face as he faced the student in front of him, whose grin could almost stretch out of his face. “An amazing job, Deuce Spade! You have improved significantly since our first session.”

“T…” Deuce’s eyes and lips almost quivered, as if about to cry from sheer joy. “Thank you, sir!”

“Please, you may simply call me Azul,” he answered with a small chuckle. “And keep it down.”

“M-my apologies, sir!” The first year bowed from his seat. “Uh, I mean, Azul…” 

He shook his head in bemusement. “It’s 5:30pm, so our session ends here. Thank you for coming here.”

“Thank you so much, si— Azul,” Deuce exclaimed, standing up from the plush couch of the Pomefiore lounge. “I’ll be sure to ace tomorrow’s exam thanks to your teachings!”

“I’m sure you will,” Azul smiled. “But don’t forget your payment as well, alright?”

“Of course. What do you need me to buy next?”

“There is the upcoming 11/11 sale in the campus store in a few days,” the dorm leader said, pulling out a long piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Deuce. “Purchase these items on this list, and that will be counted as your payment.”

The first year examined the list, wincing at the amount of items for a moment before shaking his head and giving him a determined nod. “Understood, sir!”

Azul decided to ignore the honorific. “Good. You may go now, Deuce.” 

He remained on his sofa as Deuce waved goodbye and walked out of the Pomefiore lounge. As he let out an exhausted sigh, shoes tapping on marble floors echoed in the grandiose ivory halls outside the room. Clearly, two people were walking towards the lounge, with one pair of footsteps making a steady moderate rhythm while the other pair of footsteps sounded more spontaneous. He knew both rhythms all too well. 

“Have you finished your last study session, Azul?” Jade, clad in Pomefiore’s blue robes, entered the threshold of the lounge, wearing his typical honeyed smile. Beside him was his twin brother Floyd, who sported the same robes as he did except the top button was unbuttoned, and the gloves were absent. 

“Yes.” Immediately, Azul stood up. His own robes cascaded down to his ankles, a length much longer than any of the other robes the Pomefiore students wore— a sign of his dorm leader status. “I also managed to secure all items we may need from the upcoming sale. After all, Deuce Spade is formidable in the world of sales.” 

“As expected of you, Azul,” Jade responded happily. “I never would have thought that Pomefiore would fit you, yet you exemplify the trait of perseverance as well as the Fairest Queen.”

“I still admire the Sea Witch more. but I find that she and the Fairest Queen have their similarities,” Azul answered, his eyes wandering to the wall clock. “Ah, I need to get ready. I have a short meeting with Vil at 6pm in the Octavinelle lounge.” 

“Oh.” Jade’s eyes lit up in immediate understanding. “It is for that agreement you made with him last week, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“Ooh, sounds fun,” Floyd grinned. “I wanna come!” 

“You may go, but you can’t sit in the conversation,” Azul said, preparing to exit the room. 

“That’s fine, I don’t mind,” he said. “I just wanna explore Octavinelle.”

“Alright. Wait for me here, I’ll just retrieve the things I have to bring.” He faced his vice leader “Jade, watch the dorm while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Azul.” 

Sitting on the pristine gray couch of Octavinelle, Vil Schoenheit held a drink in one hand, his lips encasing the tip of the drink’s straw. On his other hand was a phone that appeared to be of the latest model showing his reflection. Hair looked neat, makeup on point, pose appeared attractive, nothing out of place in his outfit… Everything was perfect. 

3, 2, 1, click!

Vil put down the arm holding his phone, taking a sip of his drink as he clicked the Magicam app. A few taps, and the selfie he took was uploaded on his Magicam, with the caption: ‘A refreshing drink after work. #drinkafterbreak #fruitshakefromthetownofSage #allnatural’

“Ah, Roi du Poison, you are exquisite as always!” A blond boy wearing a feathered hat approached, his face beaming with pride. “I could cry from sheer joy seeing your newest post! Everlasting beauty paired with a generous heart to help small businesses grow… Octavinelle is proud to have such a dorm leader embodying the spirit of the Sea Witch!”

“You never run out of words, don’t you, Rook,” Vil chuckled in bemusement. “But of course. The mercy of the Sea Witch is something to admire as well. As someone with fame, I should help those less fortunate than I, don’t you think so?”

“Indeed,” he answered with a nod. “And that is what makes you most beautiful, Vil.”

And this is what will help me in becoming the fairest one of all, he thought to himself. Speaking of, Azul promised to give me potions to help me win against Neige. 

“Vil, is there something on your mind?” 

He blinked for a moment. “Ah, yes, I was just thinking of the meeting I have with Azul,” he said. “He’s supposed to arrive just about…” He glanced at his phone screen. “Just about now, actually.”

Right on cue, the characteristic sounds of Pomefiore’s boots reached his ears. The moment Azul and Floyd entered the Octavinelle lounge with a box in hand, several eyes turned to gaze at them. They may not match the beauty that Vil radiated, but they glowed enough to distract the crowd. Azul especially knew how to appeal to the eyes, from his make-up to his silhouette. 

“Hello Vil,” he greeted as he neared the Octavinelle leader. “I apologize if I kept you waiting. Floyd also decided to come with me, but I told him to leave us alone.” 

“Hey, Betta,” Floyd greeted, his voice carrying more lilt than Azul’s.

“Good to see you, Azul and Floyd,” Vil replied. “Don’t fret, I appreciate your promptness. And Rook, keep an eye out on the rest of the dorm. Make sure nobody minds our conversation.”

“Oui.” He nodded before leaving. 

“Have a seat over here. You may place the box on the table.” Vil gestured Azul to the spot beside him and to the table where another box laid. Then he turned his head, momentarily looking around before his eyes found a freshman with pink hair watching them. “Epel! Kindly serve our guest some tea.” 

“A-ah!” Epel jumped slightly in his place. “Coming right up, sir!” 

“Now then…” Vil faced Azul the moment Epel left. “Let’s cut to the chase. What potions are you giving me?” 

“These potions,” he gestured to the box, “are designed to enhance and alter your features, depending on the kind of look that you’re going for. Now I don't mean to insinuate in any way that you need these potions to become beautiful. You already are beholden for your beauty. But beauty standards and fashion trends do change, and to be the fairest of them all, it would be good for you to follow them.”

“Okay…” He nodded with a frown. 

He opened the box, pulling out a bottle filled with a clear blue liquid. “For example, this potion can bring out your youthfulness. And then this,” he placed down the bottle and pulled out a red bottle, “can give you more effeminate features.”

Vil squinted at the potions skeptically. “I experimented with numerous recipes to create my line of skincare products, and I know about transformation potions. Yet, I have never heard of any potion that does such delicate work.”

“Well, I was able to give you a moisturizer that lasts for more than 13 hours, did I not,” Azul said. “I do not create flukes or fakes.” 

“E-excuse me.” Epel’s voice interrupted the conversation. He set down two cups of tea gently though shakily. Behind him stood Rook. “Here’s your tea…”

“Thank you,” both dorm leaders said as they picked up their own cups. Epel and Rook walked away. 

Vil took a sip of his tea, frowning at the taste. “I should make Epel review his lessons on brewing tea,” he commented quietly. With another sip, he stared at the potions one last time. It is true that Azul’s moisturizer works wonders, he thought. Not to mention that each student that asks him for help in studies always comes out with higher grades, and I see how well he brings out the best in others. Perhaps… 

“It is as you say,” he answered. “Very well, I shall take these. And in return…” He picked up the other box from the table and handed it to the other dorm leader. “Here are my skincare products, as you requested.” 

“Thank you,” Azul said with a grateful smile as he took the box. “I’m glad to have made this exchange with you.”

“Man, Octavinelle really looks awesome,” Floyd remarked as he and Azul exited the mirror. “Kinda wish I was sorted in there.”

“It would have been nice, yes,” Azul said with a smile. “I love the look of the uniforms. Their cummerbund and black jacket would give me a good-looking silhouette.”

“Sheesh, you really should chill a bit about that, y’know?”

There was nothing else said as they entered Pomefiore’s mirror, their feet landing on the familiar white brick path. The courtyard is void of students except for themselves. Mealtime is approaching, after all, and Pomefiore strictly eats at 6:30pm. 

“Hey,” Floyd spoke up in the silence, “can I ask something about the exchange you made with Vil?”

“You can, but whether or not I’ll answer depends.”

“Why’d you give Betta confident booster potions?”

Azul paused in his footsteps and faced him with a surprised look. “How did you know?”

“Duh, I’ve seen you make those before,” Floyd answered with a nonchalant shrug. “But anyway, answer the question.” 

He sighed, adjusting the crown on his head as he resumed walking. They were still alone.  

“... I was once there,” he began, his voice more serious than usual. “I was on that path of vengeance to get back at the people who wronged me. You witnessed that time.”

“Mm.” Floyd simply nodded.

“I know that look of envy and frustration Vil sometimes wears,” Azul continued. “And every time I see it, I can’t help but feel some sort of pity because it reminds me of my own weakest moments.” 

He paused, taking a breath as he felt the beginnings of a lump in his throat from remembering the times he holed himself up in his pot. “Vil is a very capable individual. He built himself a successful career and has worked hard to get to where he is. I don’t want to see him being brought down because society brought him down in some way.” 

They stopped by the tall black gates. They were closed but not locked, and they could push the gate open, but neither made a move. Floyd watched Azul, and Azul took another breath.

“Pff— hahahaha!” The eel’s laughter bursted out. “You’re so cheesy, Azul, y’know that!” 

“Oi, be quiet,” he yelled, lightly pushing Floyd’s arm and causing him to stagger a bit before regaining balance. “Everyone can hear your laughter!”

“Hey, chill out, Azul,” Floyd said through dying laughter. “It’s cheesy, but y’know, it does make me kinda happy to hear that.” 

“Eh?”

“It was really interesting seeing you work so hard to be better than everyone else,” he added. “But honestly, it was also kinda sad.”

Azul blinked in surprise.

“You rarely smiled,” Floyd continued. “And I would always wonder, Hey, was this octopus ever happy? But seeing you now?” He patted the dorm leader on the back. “You’ve grown from that octopus in the pot. I’m glad to see you happier now.” 

For a few seconds, Azul stared at him with mouth agape. He could feel the lump building in his throat. What did he do to deserve people like Floyd? 

“Ahem.” He quickly faced the gate in front. “We should go back inside. It’s almost dinnertime.” 

“You look really red, Azul,” Floyd teased. “Are you about to cry like before〜?”

“N-no! And be quiet about this! We’re about to go inside!”

[offtorivendell]

Bat Bros' Brewery: 🦇³

Apologies that this is late to the game. I'd meant to have this modern AU fic properly finished as a one shot for Day 4 (Bat Boys), then Day 7 (Free Day), of @azrielweek2022, but last week coincided with a lot of our moving preparations. That insanity took over my life, understandably, so here it is now, but in the form of a headcanon, instead. I'm sorry, I know it's not my best effort, but I'm currently so exhausted that I fell asleep at 6pm last night and slept for 12 straight hours, so... 🥱🥱🥱

Please enjoy the unedited fluff and nonsense.

While at university, all three of the bat bros lived together while in appropriately different fields (Rhys studied an arts-law double major, Azriel studied software engineering with a minor in robotics, and Cassian studied secondary education with the goal of teaching PE and bio).

To celebrate the end of their year as JAFFYs, Cassian and Rhys bought a home brew kit and set it up in the dining room of their share house.

Azriel, who was a year ahead, just rolled his eyes and sighed. Rhys and Cassian could get chaotic.

After their final exams, the three of them made their first attempt at a basic ale. Reader, it was barely tolerable (and entirely messy), though their friends didn't much care; it was still free beer, and it "did the job."

Their second attempt was marginally better.

It wasn't until their third go round that they had something they would call both functional and enjoyable.

By the end of Azriel's third - and Rhys and Cassian's second - year, they had a solid ale and lager, and were almost there with a stout.

By the time Azriel was graduating, at the end of Rhys and Cassian's third year, it was so good that they were proud to serve it to their friends.

Rhys' girlfriend, one Feyre Archeron, a first year fine arts student who was the youngest sister of his law classmate, Nesta, had even designed a logo for the three of them. Thanks to their years on the high school football team, they called themselves the bats, and Feyre had grown up obsessed with the TV show Charmed, so... 🦇³ it was.

A decade passed them by, and they had all settled down, both into relationships and careers. Azriel worked in the tech industry, as did most who completed his degree, for a moderately sized company.

Feyre and Rhys had married young, followed by Azriel and the middle Archeron sister, Elain (a botanist) two years later. Azriel and Elain had met when Feyre brought Rhys (and Cass and Az) home for dinner with her sisters, who were attempting to mend bridges after their rough childhood. Nesta and Cassian then proceeded to drag out an almost decade-long battle of wits that had finally ended with a hook up at age 29. After that, they were as inseparable as their siblings, though not married. They joked that it would be another ten years before "any of that," or, to call it even, they'd probably marry by 40.

At approximately the seven year mark after graduation, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys were all getting a little frustrated with their careers, as they could feel themselves stagnating. By the ten year mark, they had decided to actually do something about it: turn the Bat Bros Brewery into a legitimate business.

Over the preceding years, they'd taken quite a few short courses in home brewing, not to mention they'd discovered that Elain, an avid cook, had an amazing palate for beers and cider in addition to food. Their brews were, in short, pretty damn good, so they began to run a stall at the local farmers' market on the weekends.

The first weekend all of their friends and families came out to support them - they highly suspected that Rhys' cousin, Mor, had a thing or two to do with that - and everyone had a blast. The second weekend was a bit of a let down, and they were worried about beginner's luck, but business picked up a bit in week three, and slowly but steadily continued to improve.

Not quite two years into this endeavour, the boys taking it in turns to run the stall each weekend, or sometimes running stalls at bigger festivals after they'd made a name for 🦇³, the co-owner of a local gastro pub got in contact with them and said that she and her sister would love to stock Bat Bros Beer on tap.

It took some time to ramp up production in their small, rented brewery space - and they tentatively began to look at larger facilities, just in case - but eventually, 🦇³ ale and lager were on tap at The Wolf and Shadow, with their stout and cider to both follow in autumn, if sales were as good as they hoped.

Nuala and her twin sister, Cerridwen, were so pleased with the popularity of the Bat Bros Beer that they could hardly wait for the new stock to arrive, and they began to negotiate for a Wolf and Shadow special brew.

By the end of that school year, Az, Cass and Rhys - along with Elain, Nesta and Feyre - realised that they could no longer treat BBB as a part time venture. With their families on top of two essentially full time jobs, it was too much, and something had to give; Cassian quit his job at the local high school, and Rhys and Az left their positions, too.

Their collective experiences weren't for nothing, though. Bat Bros Brewery boasted one hell of a website, to say the least.

As the school year ended, they found themselves moving into a much larger building that they fitted out with just enough equipment to get them started, and plenty of space left over to expand as they (hopefully) needed.

Everything progressed so well that, by the next December, other local pubs and restaurants were also clamouring to stock 🦇³ products.

The boys were very pleased that they didn't have to slink back to their old jobs with their proverbial tails between their legs.

Feyre, Elain and Nesta were glad that their partners were being professionally fulfilled once more.

By the ages of 38, 37 and 37, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys were happier than ever. In addition to their brewery, Azriel and Rhys had Elain and Feyre respectively, and a hoard of kids (or "batlets") between them. Nesta had proposed to Cassian on his 37th birthday, and they were "happily engaged."

You know those couples who get engaged and stay that way forever? Cassian and Nesta were beginning to appear that way until, one Autumn day, they invited their siblings, nieces and nephews to the park for a picnic.

Well, surprise, it was their wedding!

Nesta's good friend Gwyn was officiating, and Emerie, the other member of their inseperable trio, had returned early from her trip home to Illyria when Nesta had asked (because Nesta had never asked for anything like that before).

It was the most spectacular, Pinterest worthy autumnal wedding that anyone could have imagined. Elain was overjoyed that her spiced apple cider cake (made with 🦇³ apple cider, of course) was THE wedding cake; Feyre took the photos (and thank god she'd gone back for her tripod, after all).

At the end of the day, Nesta and Cassian handed out thank you cards that said the "three" of them were so glad everyone made it.

Feyre, the first to open hers, actually screamed. Mor followed suit no more than a second later, as Elain laughed her joy.

Azriel just raised his eyebrow at the commotion, at which point Elain gave him her card to read.

A giant smile bloomed on Az's face as he and Rhys tackled Cassian in a hug.

[kiyosamu]

a lucky encounter~

———♡———

pairing: issei matsukawa x female reader

genre: fluff, first date, one shot // 3.7k words

synopsis: when a fellow third year at fukurodani won’t leave you alone, you desperately try to find an excuse not to go to prom with him. funny enough, your perfect excuse walks by in the shape of a certain 6’2 volleyball player.

———♡———

“come on, i know you’re not going with anyone.” a man towering over you pressed his palm to your locker, caging you in and rendering you unable to make a quick escape. “go to prom with me.”

the school volleyball team walked by and gave you strange glances as they headed toward the gym. you silently pleaded for any of them to save you, but you’d never even spoken to any of them.

“come on, washio. we need to warm up.” the captain, bokuto, gave him a hard smack between his shoulders and the dark haired man flinched. he nodded at bokuto and turned back to you as the team went into the gym.

you knew you just needed to speak up and say no.

why was it so hard to do that?

“i am, actually, i uh- i have a boyfriend.” you said quietly.

“really? who?” washio gave you an amused grin, clearly not believing a single word you were saying.

you crossed your arms, trying to act as natural as possible. “he goes to a different school.”

“really.” he snorted, “what school?”

“uh-“ you paused, glancing around and could’ve sworn a lightbulb appeared over your head when you realized the volleyball team was hosting a game from another school. tall boys in teal and white uniforms walked past the two of you, not paying attention to your situation.

you nodded at them. “he goes to aoba johsai.”

“aoba johsai.” he smirked, “kinda far from here, isn’t it? this is our first time ever playing them.”

you shrugged. to be honest, you didn’t even know where the school was.

“huh.” he smiled, “well who is it? he must be on the volleyball team since you’re here, right?”

you were actually at school late because you needed private tutoring for college entrance exams. but he didn’t need to know that.

“yeah, he is,” you were getting frustrated with washio’s persistence and just wanted him to go away. it was obvious he didn’t believe you, though, and wasn’t going to stop.

as you looked away from him, a tall volleyball player from aoba johsai slowly walked down the hallway. you wondered why he’d taken longer than the rest of his team, but you took it as a sign. now or never.

“he’s right there!” you smiled, ducking under his arm to run to the taller boy. you gripped onto his arm and he practically jumped away, eyes wide with surprise when he did a double take between you and washio.

“wh-“ he opened his mouth to ask what was going on before you quickly interrupted him.

“i missed you, babe!” you smiled, standing on your tiptoes to hug him. he awkwardly returned the gesture which gave you the opportunity to whisper in his ear.

“please pretend to be my boyfriend,” you hissed, “he’s a creep and won’t leave me alone.”

you pulled away with a smile, turning to look back at washio who was completely dumbfounded.

“i missed you more.” he smiled, leaning down to give you a kiss on the forehead. he put his arm around your waist and guided you towards the gym, still speaking loud enough so washio could hear. “find a good seat, i wanna hear you cheer for me.”

“of course!” you giggled, snuggling into him. washio scoffed, walking past the two of you before heading over to the side of the gym with fukurodani’s players.

you immediately pulled away from the man. he looked down at you with a playful smirk.

“i’m so sorry, thank you so much-“ you began.

“it’s no problem.” he grinned, “go sit down. i’m already late and my captain can be a real ass.”

“oh, i don’t have-“

“you’re not gonna stay and cheer for me?” he gave you a fake pout and you laughed, nodding along to his request.

“sorry, of course i will. it’s the least i could do.”

“cool! the guys are gonna be really jealous.” he grabbed your hand and walked into the gym with you. all eyes were immediately on the two of you, washio whispering to his teammates and aoba johsai’s team staring in disbelief.

“alright, i gotta go.” he gave you a thumbs up.

“okay- wait, who am i even cheering for?” you looked lost as the only time you were ever in the gymnasium was for p.e.

“matsukawa.” he smirked, leaning in closer to you, “but if you wanna make it real believable, you can cheer for issei.”

“oh, okay then.” you smiled. he nodded towards the bleachers on the aoba johsai side of the gym.

“see ya!” he waved as he jogged towards his team.

“…bye?” you said to yourself. his teammates flooded around him in a huddle, some of them looking up at you and you were suddenly aware of how you were the center of attention. might as well get a good seat.

———♡———

walking up the bleachers on their side felt like you were at a different school. their fans and colleagues completely filled the stands. even more than your own school, and they were having the game at fukurodani.

you sat down in one of the only empty spots and pulled out your phone. it was 6pm. you were tired, and to be honest, had absolutely no idea how long volleyball games even were.

“hey, can i ask you something?” a blonde girl sitting on the bench behind you poked you on the shoulder.

“yeah, sure.” you looked back at her curiously.

she leaned in, looking back and forth before speaking quietly to you.

“are you dating matsukawa?”

who? …oh!

you let out a nervous laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “oh i wouldn’t call it that! i-“

“oh my god, look how red you are!” she squealed, pulling on the sleeve of the girl next to her. “they’re totally dating!”

“no way!” the other girl shrieked. “well, i’m sure we’ll hang out soon since i’m with oikawa.”

“he can’t be your boyfriend if he never officially asked you out.” the first girl muttered, turning to you. “i’m yuki, by the way.”

“well he is, okay! he’s just… shy.” she pouted and looked back at you. “i’m sakura.”

you introduced yourself to them, pausing before asking “which one’s oikawa?” a bit too loudly.

“what?” they both looked at you in disbelief.

“only, like, the most popular guy in school.” sakura blinked. “number 1. the captain, setter for their team. has matsukawa not introduced you to him? they’re, like, best friends.”

“oh, uh- not yet-“

“shh! it’s starting. we can’t interrupt his serves!”

the game began and you found yourself enjoying it as the night continued. you quickly leaned seijoh’s cheers, joining in with them to cheer for each of the players when the time came.

you made sure to cheer extra loud for matsukawa, who noticed and gave you a thumbs up.

when the game ended, aoba johsai had won. you noticed your school’s team looking visibly defeated. bokuto, who was the only one you knew by name other than washio, looked like he wanted to cry.

they shook hands and parted ways.

“come on!” sakura grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the stairs. “let’s go see the guys!”

“oh, we really don’t have-“

“come on, we can congratulate them on their win.” yuki smiled. you nervously went along with them, unsure of how to act once you got down there.

“congratulations on your win, boys!” the two girls called in unison near the locker room doors. you nervously stood there with your arms crossed as 4 of the players looked over to you.

“aw, is your girlfriend shy, mattsun?” oikawa sauntered over to you, tilting your head up by your chin and smiling at you. you were taken back for a minute, silently wondering if he was secretly an idol or an actor. his movie star looks were unexpected.

sakura immediately glared at the two of you. you nervously stepped back, only to feel his arm around your waist. “i don’t believe for a second that he pulled someone as pretty as you.” he whispered.

“get off of her, you freak.” a brute looking guy approached the two of you. he grabbed on to the back of oikawa’s jersey, pulling him off and away from you completely.

“aw, iwa-chan, always so noble.” oikawa teased.

“uh huh.” he muttered, turning to look at you. “nice to meet you. i’m hajime iwaizumi.”

“hi!” you smiled. you genuinely had no idea what was happening. this was going to be awkward to explain later.

“shouldn’t you be talking to someone who’s actually interested in you?” matsukawa cooed, walking up to you and putting an arm around your shoulder. he was the tallest player and his height was almost intimidating.

“what’s the fun if there’s no chase?” oikawa smirked. yuki whispered something to sakura and she finally spoke up.

“hi, toru.” she smiled.

“hm?” oikawa hadn’t even noticed the girls standing next to you. sakura looked up at him with bright eyes full of hope and was immediately shut down.

“oh, hi.” he gave a fake smile, “thanks for coming to the game. see ya later!” he waved them off and headed into the locker room, pulling iwaizumi by the wrist and muttering something in his ear as they walked side by side.

yuki and sakura said their goodbyes, clearly wanting to vacate as soon as possible. this left you and matsukawa standing alone at the gym entrance.

“so, wanna get something to eat?” he suggested.

“oh, uh, you don’t have to do that.” you smiled, “you’ve done enough. really.”

he took his arm off of your shoulder and leaned back against the wall. “i’m not asking because i feel obligated. i think you’re cool and i want to get to know you.”

your heart fluttered at his words. the way he spoke was both dominant and respectful. the latter being a trait you had yet to experience with a man.

“on second thought, sure.” you nodded. why not? you had nothing to lose at this point.

“sweet.” he grinned, “do you have a curfew?”

“not anymore. now that i’m over 18 my parents kind of just want me to fend for myself at this point.” you laughed.

“all right then. let me take a quick shower and change and we can go. do you mind waiting?” he swung his backpack over his shoulder. “i’ll be, like, 10 minutes tops.”

“oh, yeah, go for it. i have some stuff to put in my locker so i’ll meet you back here?”

“sounds good!” matsukawa excitedly jogged off to the locker room and you stood there unable to really process your evening. in a good way, though. you were excited.

for the first time in a really long time.

———♡———

“where are we going, anyway?” you asked, leaning back in the passenger seat of his car. you’d been driving for almost 45 minutes now, mindlessly chatting about yourselves and singing along to the music playing through the speakers.

“it’s kinda like a diner. lots of food choices. good milkshakes.” he leaned his left arm on the driver door with one hand on the steering wheel and you couldn’t help but admire this man who was only a stranger to you a few short hours ago.

matsukawa glanced over at you as you spaced out, letting out a small chuckle. “is that cool?”

“yeah, yeah, that sounds great.” you nodded, feeling your face get hot, “sorry, i was just thinking about something.”

“let’s be honest,” matsukawa smirked, “you were checking out these guns, weren’t you?” he winked and flexed his bicep at you and you immediately turned away.

“no! i-“

“i’m just kidding,” he snorted, “i don’t think i’d be able to live with myself if i said something like that seriously.” he leaned over, patting your knee reassuringly and placed his hand back on the steering wheel.

“by the way, if you get uncomfortable or wanna bail, i totally get it. just let me know and i’ll take you home. or even pay for a taxi to get you back.” his tone was light but you could tell he meant his words, “i’m sure it’s not a common occurrence for you to hang out with some random guy from another town so i don’t want to do anything to make you feel unsafe.”

“i’m fine, matsukawa, really.” you smiled, “where is this coming from?”

“i have a little sister and have seen how shitty and weird other guys can be. not to mention the way some of my friends act.” he rolled his eyes, “i just don’t want to be that guy.”

“i get it. i appreciate your thoughtfulness.” you noticed him pulling into a small parking lot with a cute little diner, just like he’d said.

“we’re here. don’t get out yet, okay?” he shut his car off and quickly got out. you looked around, unsure of why he wanted you to wait.

your door opened and matsukawa offered his hand to you to help you out. you graciously accepted, already feeling like you were falling prematurely out of pure appreciation for his manners.

“let’s go eat!” he said happily, putting his arm around your shoulder and leaning down to talk quietly your ear. “by the way… you can call me issei.”

———♡———

“that was good, right? did you like it?” matsukawa paid for your dinners (he insisted on paying for both), and the two of you walked back out to his car.

“it was. thank you so much.” you couldn’t lose the massive smile on your face. it felt too good to be true. he was sweet, cute, funny, and a total gentleman.

“my pleasure. i hope we can do that again.” his smile was as big as yours and you weren’t ready for the night to end yet.

“me too, i’d love to-“

you were interrupted by his phone ringing, he checked who it was, and apologetically told you it’d only be a second.

“hello? yeah, uh, i’m kinda busy tonight, really? shit, you have to go in? in 10 minutes?” he sighed, “it’d be nice if you let me know ahead of time. i’m with a friend. i can’t just bring her over… wait, i can? i- yes it’s a girl! jeez. have a good night at work.” he hung up and groaned.

“i have to go home, my mom’s gotta go into work and my sister is gonna be home alone.” he ran his hand through his hair, “i’m so sorry, that’s so lame of me. you’re totally welcome to come over, but i understand if not and i can pay for a taxi-“

“i’d love to come over.” you said as you leaned back in the front seat. he turned towards you with wide eyes.

“no way? really?” he couldn’t hide his excitement.

“sure, why not? it’s a weekend and i’m having a lot of fun. only if you’re comfortable with me coming over, though.”

“oh, yeah! of course!” he started his car, letting out a sigh of relief. “to be honest, i’m having a great time and wasn’t ready for the night to end yet. i was hoping you’d want to come over. we can watch a movie or something?” issei was very animated when he talked, and as he was speaking he subconsciously rested his hand on your knee while he drove.

“sure that sounds great.” you placed your hand on top of his and relaxed in your chair. “i was feeling the same way.”

matsukawa looked at you and made a satisfied hum, resisting the urge to do a double take at the beautiful girl who’d been taking his breath away since he laid eyes on her.

———♡———

matsukawa had made sure his sister was sleeping and the two of you went into his bedroom to watch a movie. his bedroom was big, it was the master bedroom of the house with an ensuite and everything.

he’d made an entire blanket fort on his bedroom floor. comfy pillows all over and even made popcorn.

“my mom will be home at like 3 or 4 am,” he yawned, laying down on his stomach next to you. he groaned as he stretched his body out before continuing, “so i can take you home after if you want.”

“i’m not in a rush. are you sore?” you glanced over and he nodded.

“always get really sore after a good game. we played well but man it takes its toll.” he sighed, “i guess that’s the price to pay.”

“you just need a good massage.” you smiled, feeling a bit daring. the late night and building feelings were making you feel… impulsive.

“want me to give you one?”

he turned back to look at you. “one what? a massage? hell yeah! i mean, if you want.” he tried to tone down his excitement.

you giggled at his reaction and straddled his lower back, sitting down on him.

“okay, just relax.”

you started at his neck and worked your way down his shoulders, you rubbed into his muscles carefully and he made small noises to let you know how good it felt.

“you were so tense.” you murmured, leaning in close to him.

“mmh- well, i’m definitely not anymore.” he let out a weak laugh, sighing and resting his head on the pillow. “feels so good.”

“glad i could help.” you said quietly, moving your hands under his shirt to rub his back directly on his skin. his skin was warm, very soft and you could tell how toned his back was just from touching it.

you finished giving him a massage and he’d pretty much turned into a puddle of bliss. the stress on his body gone in just a few minutes and it was such a relief.

“thank you,” he smiled. you laid down on your stomach next to him, the two of you turning your heads to face each other.

“my pleasure.” you smiled back.

matsukawa let out a happy hum, studying your face carefully before resting his palm on your cheek.

“i just wanted to thank you for choosing me.” he said softly, “you could’ve picked any of the idiots on my team to save you from that dude and somehow ended up with me. and now here we are after spending the entire evening together.”

you nodded into his palm, resting your hand on top of his.

“i’m happy it was you who happened to be there. the right person, in the right place, at the right time.”

“maybe we should just date for real.” he said casually. your eyes widened at his boldness. you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t hoped he’d say something like that, but it was still something that made your heart race hearing it out loud.

you softened your gaze and smiled at the man in front of you. the kind, respectful man that you just wanted to spend more time with.

“i’d be cool with that.” you replied quietly.

“yeah?” he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “let’s do it, then.”

you gazed into each other’s eyes and you leaned in closer to him.

“a gentleman isn’t supposed to kiss on the first date.” he whispered playfully, his lips barely an inch away from yours.

you looked into his eyes with an equally playful smirk. “that’s too bad. i’ve been hoping you would all night.”

“hmm,” issei pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours. his hand travelled down your side and pulled you against his chest. “i suppose i can make an exception.”

you giggled against his lips, bringing your hands up to tangle in his hair. “well aren’t i lucky, then?”

“hah,” matsukawa pulled away for a second, silently appreciating your beauty once again. he sighed, pressing his forehead to yours before giving you another soft kiss. “and here i was thinking that same thing… ever since i laid eyes on you.”

[elimaster23]

My FIFA Journey

When I was in still in the Philippines, I had known already that FIFA World Cup 2022 will be held in Qatar. On October 7, 2021, I arrived at Qatar for work purposes for a three-year period. A heightened excitement runs through my veins as the event draws near. During the FIFA season, all schools in Qatar would be closed and that means that our last day of school would be November 17, 2022, and the opening of FIFA WC 2022 would be on November 20, 2022, at Al Bayt Stadium.

As early as September of 2022, I and some colleagues did apply as FIFA Volunteer but after knowing that we will not receive a salary, we opted to withdraw. What we’ve done next was to visit some agencies advertising for some hospitality and logistic works affiliated by FIFA. Since my interest was working in a bar, I decided to apply as a barman. I even influenced my friends to accept the offer as barman. We accepted the offer by Inspire Training Management as barman as they are specializing on hospitality management. With that, after signing the contract, we were required to attend session and trainings for food and beverages handling. Our trainer Miss Yogi was so effective and inspiring.

The next step we’ve done was undergoing a medical procedure. I passed the medical exam together with my colleagues and we were then given a uniform plus the medical certificate that would certainly grant us the access to the stadium and be allowed to serve the international guests.

A night before the FIFA World Cup opening, I and my friends Loida and Mark went to 900 Park Doha to watch the interesting views. And as we go home, we made ourselves ready for the next day’s big event.

On November 20, 2022, our call time was 10am. We were then transported to Al Bayt Stadium and reach the location about 11 in the morning. Two-way pass was then issued to each of us after two hours. We felt the sun burned our skin after long hours of waiting outside. At 2 pm we were allowed to enter the Workforce Entrance for security checking. Again, we were made to wait for another hour before we were finally able to enter the stadium. We finally settled in our assigned area at 3pm and waited for the guests to arrive. From 3-6pm, we served the guests with beverage that they want. It was the starting point where I see a lot of foreign nationals although I am accustomed to it back when I was in Saudi Arabia.

At 6pm, that was the time that we were allowed to eat food since the guests had been watching the match. We ate hurriedly to prepare for the influx return of the guests during the halftime. I took a glimpse of Jungkook’s performance through a tv screen only without volume, but I was fully aware of what was he singing since the release of the official theme has dominated the airwaves already. We were then required by our floor supervisor to report on our station and continue with our work.

During that moment, I gained friendships with my co-barmen and other food servers. It was a nice moment since I appreciate the approachable attitudes of my supervisors. There are many supervisors to deal with. Luckily, all of them were easy to work with.

We were released by our coordinator at exactly 10:30pm for the next day’s duty at 974. I reached home at 12am. The next morning, we were required to report at 974 around 9am. There was a bus fetching us at Al Rayyan Al Qadeem and there were only four of us in the bus. We reached the 974 stadium and had to clean all the utensils since there was no match that day at 974. It was prepared for the next day’s match wherein we were again assigned there to work as barman. During my first work as a barman at 974, our guests were the Mexicans whom I fondly regarded as the friendliest peoples. They look like an upgraded Filipino. Why do I love the Mexicans? First, I am heavily influenced by Thalia, a Mexican superstar who dominated the Philippine television in the 90’s and early 2000’s. I was never wrong with my admiration to them since my guests were very friendly. Added to that, they were very generous in giving tip.

I had a supervisor named Miss A, whom I am quite upset with. She was always scolding us, the barman as if we were robots and should do what she wanted accordingly. My point was, if ever she wanted us to learn something, why didn’t just she teach us about it. Human as I am, it is just normal to feel pain, and anger towards her for the maltreatment and humiliation I received.

I am a fan of team Argentina ever since I got interested with football back in 2013 when I arrived at Saudi Arabia. I do not play but I just love watching my students play football and sometimes when they submit an essay, most of them would write about their favorite football stars like Leonil Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. I felt the same thing along with the worldwide fans back in 2016 when Messi announced that he would no longer be playing in international football due to multiple losses. Thankfully, he was convinced to play once more. In 2018 FIFA World Cup, team Argentine lost to France during the round of 16, dropping their hopes to the Finals.

Until they won the COPA Americana trophy in 2021 and the much-coveted world cup trophy during the FIFA. Qatar has indeed successfully hosted to one of the biggest events in the world. I, myself had been truly enjoying and entertained by the dazzling array of performing stars who rendered a stunning performance at the FIFA Fan Festival at Al Bida Park. I had personally seen the performances by Julian Marley, The Uprising Band, Myrath, Paul van Dyk, and Sean Paul.

During the Finals, I was not able to watch the match at the big screen at FIFA Fan Festival due to multitude of fans already inside. What I could hear was the loud screaming of fans whenever Argentine team scores. I, together with my friend Marque, was only seated at the nearby entrance and looked only at the mobile screen of a guy who was also denied entrance. The game ended and I went home extremely happy for the result. When I arrived home, the Argentine celebrations continued, and I was able to watch the live broadcast. They were paraded at Lusail Boulevard and throng of supporters showed their admiration and congratulatory remarks. Meanwhile, at Messi’s hometown, millions of Argentine people celebrated the winnings of Argentina at the FIFA World Cup 2022.

              I wish it had not come to an end!

[key201303]

SF9 as best friends

Pairing: SF9 x reader

Warnings: This is fiction, some of the situations desbribed in this post might not be what you expected. This is not meant to mock the mebers in any way as well.

Genre: fluff

A/N: It's been quite a long time since I made a reaction so here I am 🤭hope you enjoy it ❤

Taglist -> @ailoveyuta @jaysbestie (let me know if you want to be added!)

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THE PICS USED IN HERE ARE MINE (except the banner) CREDITS TO THE RIGHT OWNERS.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Inseong

The intelectual bestie.

You met him in middle school

And he has been the reason why you passed your math exams ever since then

At first you thought he was a nerd

But ended up loving him like he was your brother

Older than you but probably more childish than you

Cafe dates at Thursday's at 6pm are a must for him

Organized af kid

Also tries his best to convince you to organize your life

Helps you out whenever you ask him too

A simp for books

He made you become a simp for books as well

After you two had a beautifl day at a library reading such interesting books

He's literally the reason why you love cultural things

Super proud mom whenever you achieve something on your own

Even if it's a boyfriend/girlfriend 💀

Not the kind of bestie to get too jealous about you getting a boyfriend

Unless you forget about your Thursday dates

"I have no reasons to hate that guy/girl unless he/she makes you go back to the dumb self you were 15 years ago."

Youngbin

The protective bestie.

Probably was besties with your brother/sister before he met you

But then he started to spend more time with you and ended up being closer to you

Your second older brother

Spends more time at your home than you

Takes you out on random trips to random places

Your parents cosider him part of the family

Protects you quite a lot from absolutely everything

Doesn't want to see you feeling bad because it hurts him

He literally raised you up and taught you everything you know about life out of your little bubble

At some point, you see him more than you see your own family

Night escapes to go watch the stars (of course with your parent's permission until you become adult)

Car rides to heal your heart whenever it has been broken

Has been there for you in every single break up you have had

He's not jealous when you talk about other boys/girls or when you tell him you want a boyfriend/girlfriend but he's scared

Will literally prepare an interrogatory just to make sure that he's leaving you in good hands

"If you hurt her/him, I'll kill you."

Jaeyoon

The fit bestie.

24/7 on the gym

And trying to convince you to go with him because is good for health

Mocks you when you get tired after running 5 km with him on a Sunday morning

Sends you pics of his gym achivements just to hear you nagging at him for doing that

Thinks you will never get a boyfriend/girlfriend because you already have him so, why would you want a boyfriend/girlfriend?

Thinks all boys are jerks and lowkey tries to protect you from dumb people

Doesn't want to see your heart breaking because of someone else

Says he's the only one with the rights of mocking and teasing you

He's actually right tho 💀

Becomes your personal trainer with a wide smile

Really serious and strict when it comes to doing exercise

Tells you to send him your achivement pics just to tease you

Will treat you healthy food after every training

"Look at you! You're going to look even better than my ex if you keep working like that!"

Dawon

The annoying yet supportive bestie.

You've known each other since you were kids

Calls you every day and night to check on you

Or maybe just to tell you a dad joke because he says texting is not the same

You both share the same half braincell remaining in your brains

24/7 asking you if you're free to spend time with him

And when you're actually around him, he doesn't stop asking and doing stupid things just to see you smiling

Your number 1 fan and supporter

Whatever you want to do, he'll be there in the front row to support you

Even if he's the only one

And even if they're stupid things like buying a new plant

Would go to the end of world for your happiness

But will never admit it because he likes playing hard

Both of you are really stubborn so little fights happen quite often

But they don't last more than 5 minutes because he feels bad for fighting with you

Though when you were kids, both of you were the hell to the neighbor

24/7 shouting at each other and wanting to kill each other

But missing each other so much whenever you couldn't be together

Has been there for you in every single hard moment and so you have for him

Doesn't get too jealous about you dating someone else but will make an exhaustive interrogatory to be sure that you'll be safe

Probably making the boy/girl in question to run away because of his inapropriate questions

Leaving you once again alone with him and only him

"It wasn't that bad, it was a normal question! He/She's not worth of your love."

Rowoon

The flirty bestie.

He was your neighbor in middle school

You have had a crush on him ever since then

But then it slowly turned into a beautiful friendship as you notice you liked someone else

Flirts with you 24/7 just for fun and because he feels comfortable with you and only you

Whenever he has a problem or an issue he needs to fix, you'll be the first person he thinks of to help him out

Late night calls whenever he can't sleep or you can't because you both feel safe in each other's presence, even if it's just through the phone

Exams coming means him being locked in your bedroom with you as you both study for your respective exams

Everyone thinks you two are dating but actually none of you are in love with the other

You both just enjoy the other's presence that much

Watching movies and dramas together are your favorite ritual, specially during holidays

You both would probably become roommates when you started university

He's the first one to know that you have a crush on someone

And even though he likes to flirt with you in a joking way, he will help you get that person's heart

Even if it means that he won't be able to flirt with you from now on

"But I swear that if he/she breaks your heart I will go back to the pick up lines after healing you with ice cream and movies."

Zuho

The cold outside but cutie inside bestie.

He has been your bestie ever since you entered high school

He was the typical quiet and shy boy that gave cold vibes and so you were

Your friendship started after you had to do a project together and found out how similar both of you were

The only person he feels comfortable with is you

And you're the only person that could see his true and cute self

Even of you nag each other 24/7

Cat cafe dates are a must for both of you

If you ever end up being roommates, the first thing you will get (even before a damn couch) would definitely be a cat.

Study dates are also a must

You both just enjoy sitting there for hours in complete silence, just admiring each other's presence

Enjoys night walks with you because of the cooler weather

You're the only one with who he can joke around

Actually, deep inside, he's really protective over you because you're his only true best friend and he's too afraid of loosing you

If you ever mention you like someone or you're dating someone he will make you sign a contract saying you will never leave his side, no matter what

"Just sign this and I'll let you go with him/her."

Yoo Taeyang

The aesthetic bestie.

Loves to take you out with him just so you can take aesthetic pics of him

But will pay back doing whatever you asked him to do

The type of friend you can trust to tell him all your secrets and know he will never talk about them again unless you start the conversation first

Gift him a camera for his birthday and he'll be the happiest human being on earth

Falls in love with your best friend and ask you to help him out

Spoils you a lot just to convince you of helping him win your best frind's heart

You end up helping just to not hear his complaints over and over again

Your favorite night talks are always with him, because it doesn't matter how tired or upset you feel that he will always make you feel better

If you have an upcoming exam that is making you feel kind of anxious, he will pack a lunch box for you to make you feel better

Feels kind of bad for not being able to do anything else but tries his best as always

"I can't help you study but I can cook you delicious food."

Hwiyoung

The inseparable bestie.

24/7 with you

Ever since you were born

Your parents being besties not helping to both of you get away from each other

And he being a few minutes older than you was not helping either

Knows absolutely everything about you and so you do about him

Summer trips together are a must

Likes to tease you from time to time because now he's taller than you

Your friendship was the perfect example of what soulmates meant

Whenever you weren't together, you felt empty and even sad sometimes

Promised you he would never have a girlfriend because he had you when you were 5 years old

Never treats you because he says you're yonger so you have to pay

Which always lead to a small discussion because you literally were born the same day

Disturbs every single boy/girl that apporaches you because he enjoys seeing your annoyed face

And when you actually tell him that you like someone, he gets even more cocky and annoying

Only to end up helping you confess your feelings because he just wants to see you happy even if he never admits it

"You win, but just because you are younger."

Chani

The teasing bestie.

Known each other since kindergarten

You have both always been fighting against each other

But both of you ended up being inseparable

Nagging each other 24/7

He literally lives for teasing and pranking you and so you do

Have a bet on going about who would make more teasings/pranks when the year ends

The prize for the winner being a 691666 won dinner (578 $)

Both of you loved betting on things because of how competitive you both became when it came to betting with each other

Can you hear his devilish laugh? Because I can 💀

Made you set his voice calling you 'babo' (stupid) as a ringtone because you lost a bet

Deep inside his heart, he loves you quite a lot and won't know what he would be doing if you weren't part of his daily life

May confess you that kind of stuff at late night talks when you're feeling down

But then will deny every single word the next day, just to tease you

Will act all fine about you getting a boyfriend/girlfriend but inside he's panicking because he thinks you will leave him forever

Secretely makes an interrogation session with the said person you're dating just to make him/her scared about hurting you

"Listen you bastard, she/he is my bestie. No!! My little sister/brother actually! If you hurt her/him, I swear I'll go find you."

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist