#wednesdays are just a fucking torture in uni and by the end of it I get so tired that all my issues surface

[shrews-things]

This is horrible when can I start working out again

[zwiezraczek]

Hello:) can I make a request about warren and the reader (you can choose her mutation) where they like each other but he denies it and everybody teases warren about it but then he snaps(?) and says mean/rude things about her and maybe she’s right there and he doesn’t realize it. Like super angsty but some fluff at the end pleasee (ik this is too specific so hopefully you can make it, and I knoww you can do angst so good, but if you don’t want to do it is ok)💖 :D

We're Not Friends [Request]

Note: I got SO SO SO carried away with this one, like... I love writing Warren, I just love the character in general! He's... I love it! It's never too specific, it always helps me to have some guidance! And well... Angst's my jam I guess! XP I hope you'll like what I wrote :D nonnie!!! 💕

~~~

You were late. Extremely late. Fashionably late. Tastefully late. Your boss wouldn't be happy about it, you knew it so you got a wriggle up. Friday nights were always so hectic for you: you had to run from university directly to the mutants bar, for the greatest fights of the week. Stars seemed to hate you, they aligned like this in order to be a pain in your ass and you hated it.

The bar was already full when you walked in and made your way towards the fighter's lockers. You had about ten minutes to make yourself ready for the show you had to put on that night. Ten minutes to secure your body and to put a nice leather jacket on. Should be enough. You pushed the door and bumped into a wide chest. You began to babble some lame excuses before looking up. Warren. Obviously.

“Was about to see if you weren't eaten by someone outside,” he joked and you rolled your eyes before pushing him aside a bit in order to enter the room.

“I'm not tasteful,” you replied as you made your way towards the bench on which you threw your bag with everything you needed for tonight.

“Yeah, tell that to this big guy,” Warren's friend – whom you haven't noticed at all when entering the room – said as he tilted his head towards Warren.

“Very funny,” he grunted and closed the door behind him before coming back to his spot to end his preparation for the night.

You never knew what to expect from Warren. Well, you mostly knew that he was able to show up at your university's library when you were working on an assignment and gather all of your books to take you to the cinema, or to sit next to you during some of your classes – sleeping most of the time – just because he had nothing to do. And whenever he wasn't trying to sneak into your university, he would encourage you to practice for the fights or go with you into a coffee shop.

You smiled when you remembered how much you hated each other's attitudes at the very beginning, when you joined the bar's crew. You were cheeky, and so was he. Both of you tried to out speak each other until you understood that you shared a common passion: literature. You shared a love for a French author, Boris Vian, and his books. You were fond of these and that made you stay for the first time, after work, at the bar discussing about the books he had written.

“Hey, Worthington, you'll let her win today too?” another guy asked him and you looked at him after putting a black t-shirt on. He groaned before rolling his eyes and looked at you tying up your hair for the fights of tonight.

“Shut up,” he snapped without even looking at the man as he put his leather jacket on.

“Yeah, shut up,” you added as you were bandaging your hands now. “I'm just too powerful for him, he never lets me win: I win,” you teased him as you stuck out your tongue.

“We'll see whose hands will be bruised tonight,” he warned you with a smirk, a smirk his friend noticed – not for the first time he had to admit it.

“Be careful birdy, or I'll pluck your feathers out.”

“Sure thing. We see each other in the cage, sandwoman.”

“As every night, birdy.”

~~~

He had trained well to avoid your eyes during the fight, because he knew. He knew that if his eyes would meet yours, he would be screwed. You were called the Illusionist for a reason, this reason being your eyes plunging your opponent in a deep sleep, a beautiful dream full of torture which made them twist with pain if you wanted. And you still remembered how confidently Warren flew towards you, with the intention to crush you right in front of all the people right there when you looked him right in the eye. And he fell. Like a feather, a heavy feather, right on the ground. Since then, he was careful especially with the painful moment you gave him.

But then, you shared memories, you shared beautiful places with him. Because he was your cheeky friend, the kind of friend who would hold your hand when you were walking in the streets and telling you that your stage name was lame, a friend who would buy you books from time to time and you would offer him the priced copies of some Vian's books, a friend with whom you would argue to know who would pay for the coffee. He was a friend, a friend with beautiful eyes and a husky and raspy voice – giving you goosebumps when he spoke right above your shoulders and made your knees weak sometimes – a friend you liked, or maybe just someone you liked a bit more than first intended.

And on that night, he won the fight. He caught you off guard, throwing you against the fence and you had your breath short. You struggled to breathe for a moment and rose your hand in defeat, after almost fifteen minutes of fighting. He proudly smiled, and flew in order to show off his skills as the crowd chanted his name. But from there, you could see his concerned expression. And as soon as he caught your eyes, he mouthed if everything was okay. You simply nodded before going out the cag before the next fight. You had won three fights in a row, it was Warren's time to shine.

And as soon as the fights ended, you packed your things to go back home. You were exhausted, you needed sleep and Warren bruised you well – and he seemed damn proud about it, but first he admitted that he had been really anxious about your state when you hit the fence. He first insisted to take you back home, but you told him that you were too tired to wait for him to finally get ready to go back home. He chuckled and shook his head as you waved to say goodbye to the whole crew. You were already outside the bar when you noticed that your bag was heavier than intended, you opened it and found out why: you took Warren's fighting belt. And the thing weighted a ton and a half. You sighed, either you went back into the bar either you went back home. You opted for the first one. You stood already behind the door, ready to push it when you heard a big laugh.

“Warren, don't be such a dick and tell us that y/n is your girlfriend,” you recognized one of the other fighter's voice and you decided to stay behind the door.

“She's not,” he defended himself, and you could hear annoyance in his tone.

“Everytime you're looking at each other you're practically fucking in front of us,” another one exclaimed and you were thrown off balance for a second. You blinked furiously, shaking your head. No, that wasn't true.

“That's true,” the first one commented as if he had heard your mind. “And all these dates?”

“Dates,” Warren asked.

“Cinema, coffee shop... You going with her to uni, like man, we're not blind! Tell us you're fucking around or...”

“Listen to me fucker,” Warren's tone rose quickly, and you almost felt as irritated as he was. “I don't care about her, okay? I never cared. I don't care. I just want to win every fucking fight in this fucking cage against her because she humiliated me the first time! Got it?”

You perfectly got it. You perfectly did. You turned back, holding back tears and walked out the bar.

~~~

After a whole weekend of crying, you decided to tell your boss that you couldn't make it on Wednesday because of the fence incident, but that you would be there on Friday. He understood, and told you to rest well during the week. It hurt a lot to hear these words coming from a friend's – or even more – mouth, it did hurt so much. You couldn't let the words go. “I never cared.” Of course he never did. Of course all he ever wanted was to win, to be the best. He still was the haughty prick you though he was at the very beginning before you bonded over literature. He was a bastard, he was even worse than that.

And because he knew when you had classes, when you were home or not – mostly – you decided to go to other classes during that week. You couldn't let this bastard ruin your education, you couldn't let him win there too. So you avoided the places you knew he would come to meet you. You avoided him for a whole week, your greatest achievement so far. You were strangers. Nothing less and nothing more. He claimed being your friend, he claimed that you were an amazing person, he claimed it all. All lies, stupid lies you fell for. You even regretted developing stupid feelings towards him. You hated yourself for letting this man come into your life, become a part of your every-day life, your little sunshine with his golden locks and angelic smile making you melt when he laid his green pearly eyes on you. You hated yourself so fucking much.

And then, Friday had come. You entered the changing room, and all eyes were on you. You smiled and waved. The boss told them you were sick, you confirmed what he had said to them.

“Y/n, I'm so sorry for throwing you against this fence, I didn't,” Warren began, approaching you in order to put his hand on your shoulder but swiftly you moved so he couldn't.

“No problem,” you snapped dryly and briefly looked into his eyes. You tried to erase any ounce of emotion in yours, the pain, the anger, the cries. Every one of them.

“Sure you're alright,” he asked you, frowning.

“Yeah, I'm ready to fight Warren, if it's what you're implying.” He looked at you confused.

“Oh, okay...”

“Here, your fighting belt, took it by accident,” you said, before throwing it into his hands.

What an actor, what a motherfucking actor. The pain in his eyes? Fake. These glistening eyes were anything but truthful. His words echoing in your mind, “I never cared”, you tied your hair up before storming out the room, leaving all the others surprised by your attitude. And on that night, you fought like you never did, rage filling your veins and filling your opponent's minds – especially Warren's when his time had come to lose against you.And when the night ended, you were the first one to leave. No goodbye, no waving, nothing.

The delicate breeze caressed your burning cheeks. Once outside, you let all your emotions out, thinking how cathartic this night was for you. For a moment only.

“Y/n!” Fucking hell, you thought as you recognized Warren's voice. But you didn't bother to turn around and continued walking. “Y/n!” And you heard a flap of wings. God, he landed right in front of you.

“What the fuck,” you snapped standing still in front of him.

“No, what the fuck, y/n,” he repeated. You could tell how confused he was with his jaw clenched. You blinked a few times, playing it innocent. “You know what I mean, y/n! You're avoiding me, right?”

“Avoiding you,” you asked and put a hand on his shoulder. “You wish. The world isn't revolving around you, Archangel.”

“So why you weren't going to uni this week? I tried to see you there, as usual, you know.”

“I was going to my classes, just had to change hours, I had a tough time this week healing my wounds.” Every wound of your heart, you had to heal them. The process just began, but the stitches itched so much.

“You're cold, y/n,” he stated, his puppy eyes looking down at you.

“I thought you never cared, Warren,” you told him sarcastically. The stitches broke at that very moment, how did it hurt, how much did it bled.

“What?” His eyes widened as he looked surprised. You couldn't help yourself but chuckle through the pain.

“Well, I humiliated you the first time we fought, remember? Being my friend was a great strategy Warren, you're way smarter than I thought you were.”

“How you...”

“I came back to give you your belt back,” you cut him off sharply. “Your stupid fucking belt. Thanks to that belt I know that I have no friends, I mean no,” you corrected yourself with a pained smirk, “I have friends, but you're not one of them.”

“Y/n, listen I'm sorry you had to hear this I,” he tried, but you couldn't gather yourself to hear his pitiful explanations.

“That's fine Warren, I got you. You wanted to win, you hurt me and you won. Congratulations, you're a true bastard now.” You stepped aside to walk away, and he didn't move. He probably never liked you in the first place.

~~~

You couldn't stay home, it was too painful to lose a friend. To lose somebody you loved so much. Your heart was ready to explode again, filled with sadness and anger. You wanted to take some fresh air, so you put your coat on and went outside, hands in your pockets and strolled your way to the park.

Some flowers were already there, colorful and joyful as your mind was gray and gloomy. You sat in the grass, against a trunk and closes your eyes for a second. You would have given anything to let somebody use their mutation against you, a mutation erasing memories, a mutation making you feel whatever the person wanted – and in your case it was joy – or a mutation letting you sleep and never care. How funny, you wanted to never care. You maybe were both the same, him and you. This massive flapping of wings, people's “oh's” and “ah's” and you knew he was here. You were stupid thinking that he wouldn't check if you weren't here, it was one of your favorites spots after all.

You closed your eyes again, not having the strength to get up and leave, to flee. You weren't a coward, unlike him. You could hear his steps in the grass, right in front of you. You opened your eye, to look at him briefly. He had a book in his hands, standing above you with a sad expression. What a liar.

“What do you want,” you snapped, before closing your eye.

“To apologize,” he said after a moment of silence.

“Apology accepted, go home.”

“No, y/n, I want to properly apologize,” he said, and knelt before you. You opened your eyes, and he was right in front of you, looking into your eyes, devouring your soul.

“I thought you never cared.”

“I lied. I fucking lied. I just had enough of them saying this,” he admitted as he looked away.

“Yeah, I understand. I'm a fucking pain in the ass.”

“No, you're great! You're... Fuck, here we are. You're so great, y/n, you're really amazing, and you're intelligent and your mutation is fucking insane and...”

“You wanted to compete,” you asked, not fully following his train of thought.

“At first yes but then... I just wanted to know you better? And I found so much more than competition, for fuck's sake, you like Boris Vian, who in this fucking world likes this weirdo,” he asked before handing you the book. “Put my hand on one of the first editions of the 'I spit on your graves', and I thought it should be yours.” Your eyes lighted up. But at the same time, you couldn't tell if he did it only to be able to continue this littlegame of his. However, you put your hand on the cover of the book.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I want to kiss you right now.” He took your breath away, without any warning. Your hand fell off the book, and you slightly opened your mouth in surprise. You blinked.

“But you said,” you started, really confused this time.

“Screw what I said, I already screwed many things so I thought that I might tell you right now how I feel about you.”

“I think I... Feel the same?” Your voice was unsure, and your mind full of fuzzy thoughts. A moment before you wanted to tore him apart, and now he confessed his lore to you, your little heart began to pound with love.

“Does that mean that I can kiss you?” You nodded, and he put the book aside, right next to you.

He approached you, his wings behind him, and you felt your cheeks burning. He put a finger under your chin before touching your lips with his. A tender touch with his rosy lips. You felt it all, your mind all dizzy. And when he pulled off, he caressed your cheek gently.

“I promise I'll never make you sad and angry like I did, I promise y/n,” he whispered and you felt that you were his world. And he was your world too.

[faresramettas]

prima di sorridere un po’ (eng trans, repost)

i decided to take my translation of this italian fic of mine off ao3 because i never really liked the idea of translating it in the first place, and when i see it between my works it doesn’t make me happy. i’m sorry! i definitely have a love/hate relationship with this fic and its translation, however i don’t want it to be completely gone because it’s over 3k too and it took time and effort, so i’ll be posting it here. 

a couple of notes before reading: this is set in june next year, when marti is about to take maturità. maturità is the exam italian students take at the end of the 5 years of high school. notte prima degli esami (the night before exams) is a song about maturità and peak italian culture. there’s even a movie about it. the night before exams is supposed to be a big deal.

read below!

Martino was screwed. The day before maturità, when all he wanted to do was drown his sorrows in liters of beer, the truth was that he was behind on his history program, he hadn’t even touched his literature book and if he had to translate another text from Greek he’d throw up on the dictionary. His days were split between study groups, Eva and the girls for history and philosophy, Giovanni, Elia and Luchino for maths, only to go back home and keep revising, head bent over his desk or lying on his bed surrounded by books. Martino was good at school, he’d finished his essay a month ago, he had nothing to worry about, his mom kept telling him to reassure him. But anxiety was the issue, that fear of disappointing his and other people’s expectations that twisted his stomach and wouldn’t make him sleep. On top of that, he hadn’t seen Niccolò in almost a week. Martino had been the one to reluctantly force this distance, after the umpteenth study afternoon turned make-out session, turned fucking on his bed. “I can help you study, you know.” “You know perfectly well that when we’re together we never end up doing shit,” Marti had replied, running his fingers through Nico’s sweaty curls sticking to his forehead. “Case in point.” “But we barely see each other,” Nico had whined, rolling to lie on top of him. Marti had chuckled and wrapped his arms around his waist. It was almost the end of June and Rome was already too hot. Nico, naked and glued to him from chest to ankles, definitely wasn’t helping him fight the heat but Marti would have never complained. “I know, Ni. Just for a few days. I need to focus on terza prova. Then you can help me prepare for the oral exam.” “Okay,” Nico had sighed, a slow smirk making its way on his face. “Nerd.” “Fuck off. In case you forgot, you have exams, too,” Marti had teased him. Nico had rolled his eyes and mocked him. Marti had pinched his sides in retaliation and flipped their position in one swift move, earning himself a surprised gasp from Nico, who’d looked at him and pulled him down by his hair for a kiss. Schopenhauer can wait, Marti had thought. He missed Nico. They talked on the phone every day but it wasn’t the same. He was right, they’d been seeing each other less since he’d started university. It was an inevitable change that they’d made up for in advance, spending the previous summer always glued to each other. But they’d adapted to it, more or less, at least until January. Nico hadn’t been able to take all the exams he'd planned on his first winter session because his head had had other plans. Martino had been by his side every day, from the moment Anna had called him on Wednesday to tell him Niccolò hadn’t shown up to his first exam and was refusing to get out of bed. He had rushed to his house after school and all he’d needed was one good look at him to understand how bad it was and that Nico wouldn’t say a word. So he’d just laid down next to him, hugged him and stroked his hair, whispering in his ear that he was there, that he’d have to go home tonight because he hadn’t warned his mom but tomorrow he’d be back and sleep with him. The next day he’d brought a duffel bag with a change of clothes and his toothbrush at school and had asked his mom if he could sleep over at Niccolò’s for a couple of days, that had eventually turned into four. Finally, on the third day, Nico had gotten everything that was torturing him out, an avalanche of self-pitying and distorted opinions on his worth that Martino wanted to pull like weeds. “I should have never enrolled in uni. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing there. I don’t even know if I like sociology. I’m just wasting my time and flushing my parents’ money down the toilet. As if I wasn’t causing them enough problems already. I can’t do anything, I’m just a burden to everyone I know.” Marti had let him vent because he’d learned it was the best thing to do, even when listening to those words filled him with anguish. Marti’s heart broke every time Nico’s head didn’t allow him to see just how wonderful he was. In those moments, Marti wished he could lend Nico his eyes so he could see himself through them. “And you, Marti? I don’t even know where you find the patience to bother with me. You don’t deserve to have a noose around your neck at eighte—” He had interrupted him, then. He’d taken Nico’s face in his hands and looked him straight in the eyes, and one by one he’d tore down every single unfounded word that had come out of his mouth until Nico had stopped crying and had given him a small smile full of gratitude. Marti had spent the next two days on a mission to make him feel better. Cuddling him, taking a bath together, changing his sheets, making Nico eat and smile in front of his parents too, following the minute by minute motto that had become a pillar of their lives, a philosophy they’d both embraced outside of their relationship too. Three weeks later, they had celebrated Nico acing his first exam. Nico hadn’t had episodes as bad as that one in months and Martino hoped that the summer session wouldn’t bring a relapse. Although Nico still talked about his doubts on his choice of university every once in a while, he’d managed to settle in and make some friends. He still preferred the company of Martino and his friends, though, who scolded him all the time, because instead of helping them sneak into university parties full of hot girls, he was still spending his Friday nights drinking Peccio’s artisanal beer with them and listening to Giovanni’s relationship woes. Two years after their breakup and despite the short Argentina chapter, Giovanni still hadn't gotten over Eva and had decided he would try one last time before the end of their exams. Nico had been offended by their comments. He knew he was welcome. Martino had met his new acquaintances and, as nice as they were, his friends were better. Giovanni, Elia and Luchino had complained, yesterday, about Niccolò’s absence, because he’d always helped them study in the previous weeks and most importantly, as a survivor of the worst maturità in history, he had helped them not panic. “The last days are crucial, bro. Nico could’ve helped us,” Luchino had said. “Well, I can’t focus when he’s around. If you miss him so much, you can always text him, okay?” Martino had snapped. “Okay, calm down,” Elia had commented. Marti had swallowed and apologized. “Sorry, bro. I’m freaking out.” Gio had squeezed his shoulder and stared at him with that searching look he always had when he understood that something was wrong. Martino had sighed and complained about the derivatives exercises he couldn’t solve to change the topic, asking Elia for help. Because, yes, Elia was the best at maths out of all of them, although no one would have guessed. They had started seeing each other less and less sometime around April. Because Marti’s study load had tripled in an attempt to raise his grades in the last months of school and write his final essay in advance, so as not to worry about it in June. Because Nico, maybe suddenly nostalgic of Radio Osvaldo, had joined the university radio as a volunteer and had started giving piano lessons to earn some money, something that would give him a sense of independence. Those weekends spent in bed that used to be their routine were almost a miracle now. They barely managed to see each other twice a week, and never for two days in a row. It was hard, but Marti knew that it wasn’t forever. He cheered himself up thinking that soon they’d have entire weeks of sweet nothing and that they’d take a trip to Berlin together to celebrate Martino’s maturità on the first week of August. Niccolò wouldn’t stop talking about it, how he couldn’t wait to be there, to see the East Side Gallery and the Museum Island, to go to bars, to have Martino alone to himself in a hotel room for five days, and Martino had started counting down the days in his head, because Niccolò was Olympic champion of contagious enthusiasm. But today was the day before maturità and Martino was screwed. Because of all the stress and anxiety, he had slept six hours in total over three nights and he was on edge. Maybe that’s why when Niccolò showed up at his front door unannounced in the late afternoon, he didn’t react the way he would have expected too. “Ni, what are you doing here?” “I missed you,” Niccolò said, kissing him on the lips and making his way into the living room. “Don’t you want to spend the night before exams with me?” he added, chuckling. “Yes,” Martino replied, hesitating. He immediately recognized the signs of Niccolò’s impulsive behavior in his jerky head movements and the way his hands were shaking, and he furrowed his brows, worried. “But I have to study.” “For what? It’s just an essay.” “For everything else…” Martino mumbled. There was a small part of him that was almost flattered that Niccolò couldn't resist more than six days before knocking on his door, but something about his teasing was ticking him off. Maybe Niccolò got it from the tone of his voice and he stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on his neck and searching his eyes. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” “Of course, I am,” Marti smiled at him, trying to relax. “I can leave if you want, huh,” Niccolò said, raising his brows and tilting his head. Marti shook his head. “Stay. But I really have to study. At least another couple of hours. Then we can do whatever you want.” He didn’t want to kick Niccolò out but he hoped he’d been clear: no distractions allowed. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry,” Niccolò said, taking his hand and leading them to Martino’s room. “How are you? What are you studying?” “Greek. I wanna die.” “Shut up and be grateful you didn’t have last year’s fucking latin-greek combo,” Niccolò said, throwing himself on Martino’s bed while Martino resumed his place at his desk. He smiled, remembering the desperation on the fifth-year boys’ faces when the new seconda prova with both languages was announced. The worst maturità in history. And luckily, the only one. Marti picked up his copies of old translations, scribbled with pencil on the margins and heavily underlined. He wasn’t bad at it, obviously Latin was easier than Greek, but he couldn’t wait to abandon these shitty dead languages, like Giovanni always called them. Niccolò managed to stay put on his bed for about 10 minutes before he came behind Martino and bent down to hug his shoulders. Martino had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. He didn’t know why having Niccolò around was bothering him. He didn’t like feeling like this. It’d never happened before, and Martino knew it was his problem. “Ni,” he warned him. “Marti,” Nico replied, sing-songy. That unpleasant feeling twisting Marti’s stomach just kept building up. “I’m in deep shit, Ni. I mean it.” “Just spend ten minutes with me, what difference does it make? You barely said hi to me,” he said, with a sweet whiny voice. Martino was sure he was pouting too. “Can you wait until I finish this? Please, please, please," he begged too, looking up. If Nico could pout, he could use his puppy eyes. “Okay, okay,” Nico sighed, “got it. I’ll be good. I won’t move.” He lied on the bed again, pretending to be very still like a robot. Marti smiled at him, mumbling an apologetic “thank you” and turning in his chair to stick his nose back in the dictionary. “Don’t you have to study too? Why didn’t you bring your books?” Marti commented offhandedly. Niccolò sighed. “Fuck, Marti, you sound like my mom.” “Why? What did I say?” “You think I don’t know when I’m supposed to study or not?” Martino was taken aback by Nico’s snappy reply. And that was it, that pushed him over the edge. If there was anything that Martino had learned in the year and a half with Niccolò, it was that his patience went way over the limits he’d always thought he had. Being with him had brought out a better version of himself, a Martino who knew how to listen, how to think before he spoke, who always put Nico before himself, and this selflessness had never felt like an obligation, Martino had never felt forced to do it. The bitterness, pettiness and smallness that he had held before Nico only resurfaced after conversations with his dad or in moments of psychological and physical weakness caused by stress and insomnia, two things he hadn’t learned how to cope with yet. They made him lash out, even with his mom when she didn’t deserve it, and apparently, even with the boy he loved more than anything in the world. There were days when Martino couldn't handle his own emotions, let alone Niccolò’s unpredictable ones, and the pedestal he sometimes felt he was on crumbled. This is how Martino was feeling today: small, petty, irascible, and Niccolò had come here thinking it would make him happy, but instead he’d become the catalyst of all the anxiety and nervousness Martino had accumulated over the last few weeks. “I was just saying. Chill.” He realized how much he sounded like an asshole as soon as the words left his mouth and he regretted them immediately. A few moments of awful silence passed and then Nico stood from the bed. “Okay, I get it. I’m leaving.” Marti shot up from his chair to grab his wrist. “Ni…” “I don’t wanna be here if I’m just a pain in the ass,” he said, looking everywhere but at Marti’s face, avoiding his gaze. “You’re not a pain in the ass. I’m sorry. I’m stressed, you know I can’t handle it,” he tried to apologize. “It’s not your fault.” “Sorry if I thought you’d be happy to see me. Call me after the written exams, or the oral. Or whenever the fuck you want,” Nico said, his voice low and full of bitterness. He turned towards the door and Marti pulled him back. “Stop it, please.” “We never see each other anyway,” Niccolò mumbled, finally tugging his arm out of Marti’s grip. “And that's my fucking fault, Ni?”, he snapped. He swallowed harshly. He’d raised his voice with Niccolò. He never thought he could be so stupid. Neither of them had ever yelled at the other, in a year and a half. They’d had hard moments, moments of tension, disagreements, but they’d never had a real fight. And why had he yelled at him? Because he was in a bad mood? I'm a piece of shit, he thought. “It's no one's fault if I have to study and you’re busy with uni,” Marti said, lowering his voice and his gaze. His head was pulsing and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Niccolò, standing three feet between him and the door, bit his trembling lower lip and said nothing. His hands were clenched by his sides. Martino sighed and continued. “Of course I miss you, and it pisses me off that we don’t see each other often… but I just needed you to do me this favor, today.” “I see,” Niccolò nodded. “And I’m so useless and needy that I couldn’t even do this one thing?” Marti closed his eyes and sighed, again. “I never said that, why do you have to do this? Ni, please,” he stepped closer to touch his face but Nico moved away like his palm was scalding. Marti looked at him and lowered his arm, waiting for him to talk. Nico kept biting his lip and nervously bouncing his leg. “You know uni isn't going well. That my parents are badgering me about it. You know it. There’s no need for you to always remind me about it too,” Niccolò said, finally looking at him. His shoulders were shaking, and his green eyes were full of hurt. All the hurt Martino had caused. “If you hate seeing me, just say it.” I don’t understand why you hate spending time with me so much, his mom had told him, so long ago that Martino didn’t even remember when. He only remembered it was before he made up with Nico, before the terrace, because Martino had become such a different person ever since things had started working out with him that he would have never expected to hear almost the same exact words coming from his boyfriend. They hit him like a ton of bricks and Marti physically felt the fight drain out of him. Every cell In his body abandoned the fight and, this time, he thought carefully before he spoke, while Niccolò looked at him like he was waiting for the next blow. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear. When I’m like this… I act out, I can't stand myself. I can’t explain how sorry I am, Ni,” he whispered. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.” “I know. It’s not your fault. I’m just an asshole.” There’s always a turning point in an argument, when according to the words you choose the fight can go on or die out. Marti had given Niccolò the chance to choose an out. He hoped he would take it. “Hm. Yeah, a little bit.” Marti smiled at him, grateful, and closed the distance between them to hug him tight. He hugged him for minutes and Nico held him back, hiding his face in his shoulder. Marti kissed him and whispered apologies on his lips that Nico returned with a soft smile. “You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna close the books, jump in bed and--” “You don’t have to fuck up your study session because of me. Go on. But let me help,” Nico interrupted him. He took Martino’s notebooks and dictionary and put them on the floor, in the little corner under the window with the pillows and carpet, where they loved to spend hours cuddled up under a blanket next to the radiator in winter. He sat down and looked up at Marti, patting the floor next to him like you would do to invite a shy cat. “You sure?” Marti asked, sitting down by Nico’s side and hugging his knees to his chest. Niccolò nodded. Marti thought about it and then grabbed his notebooks, photocopies and dictionary and threw them by the foot of his bed, ignoring Niccolò’s amused protests. “No, fuck it. I want to be with you. Talk to me. How are you?” Nico smiled at him. He leaned his head against the wall and turned to look him in the eyes. “I miss you,” he whispered, fragile, shaken by a fight that had had no reason to exist, that should have never happened. Marti felt the raw honesty of those words hit him in the chest. “I miss you, too.” They kissed, and Marti kept muttering apologies until Nico forced him to stop, fondly exasperated. They talked while Marti’s hands played with Nico’s, twirled his curls, stroked his cheeks. They talked, but for the most part they just held each other, because sometimes silence healed better than words. The vibration of Marti’s phone startled him. It was a voice message from Gio. “Oi, Marti, we’re all meeting up at Baretto later. The girls are coming too. It’s the night before exams and you’re coming, don’t even bother with an excuse. And bring Nico cause we all miss him. Okay, bro?” Marti laughed and looked at Nico with a complicit smile. “Feel up to spending your night surrounded by a bunch of high-schoolers singing Venditti?” Niccolò laughed too, that whole-body laugh, chin lowered and eyes crinkling. That laugh that Martino had fallen in love with on that mid-October day on Nico's couch. Then Nico looked up and scooted closer to give him a kiss. “I’d be offended if I missed it.”

[guardians-of-exo]

Debate Drama - Part 3

You are offered to be a part of your university’s ace debate team against the rival uni, but your partner is someone you’d rather not spend any time with. In fact, you’re pretty sure that you and Junmyeon will end up killing each other before you get any work done.

Pair: Junmyeon / Female reader

Genre: Enemies to friends to lovers | Fluff | AU

Word count: 763

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6  | 7 | 8

Masterlist

Source

You’d had an awful week. Not only were you drowning in schoolwork, your weekend shifts had gotten longer as well, and for some reason they had started asking you to come in on weekdays to help out, though they had previously promised it was weekend only because of school.  

Waiting tables was stressful enough as it was; doing it with multiple assignments hanging over your head was just plain torture. You couldn’t say no though, you couldn’t risk getting fired. You needed the money.

So all in all, you were in a pretty sour mood and looking forward to spending your Wednesday night with Junmyeon was just… It had already been two weeks and you weren’t any better friends than when you had started.

Junmyeon was already at your table as usual and you sat down, ready to just get on with it and go home. You had even forgotten your headphones at home, so there was no distraction. Great.

You huffed and Junmyeon glanced up at you, his nose wrinkled in distaste.

  “You’re late.”

It was almost a regular occurrence by now that you would usually just ignore. But today you weren’t up for any shit.

  “I realize that,” you said sharply. “But as I told you the first day, my last class is way across campus. I’m getting here as fast as I can.”

He just rolled his eyes and went back to reading while you swore in your head, biting your tongue not to yell at him. You didn’t want to make it worse and knowing yourself being in this mood, you would only say something you’d end up regretting.

A headache was creeping in and you honestly just wanted to go home and get started on the mountain of homework you still had to do. It looked like you’d have to do another all-nighter.

Junmyeon luckily didn’t speak to you the rest of the evening, but it still ended up with you sitting until way past midnight slaving over your books.

The next morning, your friend gasped as she saw you walk into the lecture hall. “You look like shit,” she said and you just sighed. You had barely gotten any sleep, hadn’t had any time to put on makeup or do your hair, so you looked as tired as you felt.

You barely managed to stay awake during your lectures and didn’t get any notes written down. Hopefully you could get them from someone else.

The last thing you wanted to do was to look at Junmyeon’s face today, but you had no choice. And so you dragged yourself to the library feeling dead on your feet.

As you walked in he looked up, haughty as ever but you cut him off before he could even get to scold you for being late.

  “I’m late, I know. You don’t have to tell me every fucking time!” you snapped.

Junmyeon’s mouth shut, lips drawn back tight, eyes turning to steel as he looked you up and down. You were still very aware of your messy hair and dark circles under your eyes and the disgusted look on his face told you it hadn’t gotten any better.

  “Have you slept at all? How can you mess around with this much at stake? You’re not taking this seriously!”

Your jaw dropped and a wave of anger washed over you. How dare he?! “Not taking it seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you even know how hard I work for this?! You have no idea!”

By now everyone were staring as your voice had attracted their attention, but you didn’t care. Your voice broke and you could feel frustrated, tired tears build up in your eyes but you would rather drop dead than let him see you cry.

  “You know nothing!” you spat. “But it’s not surprising since you get everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

Junmyeon, who had been looking a little taken aback and somewhat regretful, immediately stood up, eyes on fire. “And you think you know everything?” he hissed. “Little miss know-it-all, huh? I can’t believe they put us together, I would have a much better chance with literally anyone but you.”

His words hit you right where he wanted them to, and much harder than you had expected. The tears welled up again and you didn’t say anything, just stormed away, everyone in the library staring after you in shock.

You didn’t care anymore. Fuck that debate. Fuck Junmyeon. He could do it on his own if he was really that good. Fuck that.

[sxmriddhi]

Retrospective: This week was an okay week.

Ups and downs again. A lot of worrying and even more travelling. I’ll try to be better about writing these updates again because I really don’t want to let myself down but the last few weeks have just been a little bit insane if I’m honest. So once again, let’s start up where we left off:

Sunday: I went to the gym and had one of the first personal training sessions with my trainer in a long time. I think I’ve improved and even he said that he thought I was doing better and that I had lost weight in his eyes. Knowing him, he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t think it was true which was super nice to hear. My mom popped down for a surprise visit though and completely ruined it by being a compete bitch and saying that I hadn’t lost weight at all and undermining my confidence completely. I also had the longest, most stressful train journey of my life which included missing my first train by literally half a minute, changing trains half-way through and being super late in getting home. Oh well.

Monday: I can’t actually remember anything fun happening on Monday. I didn’t go to uni and spent the day trying to catch up on work. I’m pretty sure I just slept all day and relaxed. I didn’t go to the gym or do anything particularly exciting. We did have some drama in our group chat because I was in a particularly sassy mood and managed to get on Emma’s nerves because I jokingly uninvited her from a night out.

Tuesday: What a fucking day. I went to uni and had a really interesting sensory awareness workshop in which we were taught how to interact with people who had hearing difficulties. It was super interesting and eye opening to talk to someone who relied on sign language to communicate. I felt really humbled by the experience. I then went to my accommodation and got ready for a night out with friends. We were going to Ministry of Sound and had a wonderful time drinking in my kitchen and bitching about people and just catching up. I got to meet Mihir’s girlfriend and she was super lovely and the entire night was off to a wonderful start. We got to Ministry and two ladies in the bathroom complimented my hair, we met two girls who lived where I was staying and we danced for ages to really good music as the place filled up. It really was so much fun! The night went downhill near the end though. Lexi got a bit out of it because she didn’t like the music playing and I think everyone was getting tired so we called it a night early before heading back to my place where four of us were going to eat some drunk food to sober up and then my friends would go home. However, security was not having any of it. He was rude and abrupt and scared away Lexi, making me anxious and angry which led me to lose my temper and swear at him. This caused him to call some random warden lady to report me which I was not in the mood for. I had been calmly trying to explain the situation and how my friends just needed to eat before they left - I had even offered to escort them myself or accept a chaperone - but security was being unreasonable and rude. She accused me of being drunk (which I was not!) and then told me that I couldn’t go after my friends who had run away by this point due to fear. Instead she told me to call them which I did multiple times to no avail before I decided to go after them anyway. I didn’t find them but called Kirstie instead and walked to her house where I stayed the night.

Wednesday: I woke up at Kirstie’s, still in a bad mood but super grateful that she’d let me stay over. I do honestly love that girl sometimes, even though she can be annoying. I then eventually came home, got changed and did some work before meeting everyone who had gone out last night and going to the Cereal Killer Cafe for a nice post-night out meal. We had a lovely time and I then came back home and did some work. I even went to the gym before going to sleep.

Thursday: Ugh. I got an email saying I’d been reported for my behaviour and had to attend a disciplinary hearing next week. It was so out of order. Mahdi and Jaasir agreed to write statements supporting me and tried to convince me that I had nothing to worry about but I’m still kind of worried about the whole situation if I’m honest. Our uni also had a mandatory meeting because they’d messed up our entire course and essentially screwed around with our year group. They basically don’t have enough placements in hospitals to accommodate for the number of students in the year because they’d told none of us to intercalate. This means that either some of us intercalate (and miss core teaching) or we get allocated to shitty new hospitals that hadn’t taught our curriculum before. Basically a huge lose-lose situation. I was not happy at all. Overall, it was a rubbish day and I couldn’t wait to go home.

Friday: I came home and lord was I happy to do so. I got to see my dad and have a relaxed night in. We watched the final episode of Sherlock together and ate rubbish take-out food before going to bed. But I was still super stressed about the reporting. I didn’t tell my dad about it because I didn’t want him to worry but I knew I had to do it.

Saturday: Driving lessons. I’m getting better each time but who knows if it’ll be enough? I have to pass this test because I just can’t hack taking it again or failing. I also had to tell my dad about the intercalation situation and the disciplinary hearing. Luckily, he was on my side and tried to calm my nerves. He’s the best honestly. I don’t know what I’d do without him.

Sunday: Heading home again after a really painful personal training session. We’re trying to work on my hip flexor and it should improve slowly but surely. I really want it to because I don’t like the idea of having to use a walking stick too early on in my life. It was an easier journey today but I did arrive back home to find a letter detailing the alleged behavioural incident and saw that it has some blatant lies in it. I’m so angry about the whole situation and I just wanted it all to be over but it looks like I’m going to have to fight my case in the hearing on Wednesday. Sigh.

In the words of a high-functioning sociopath: “This isn't torture, this is vivisection.”

Maybe tomorrow (today) will be better...