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toe-ruoikawa · 3 years

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summer loving- an oikawa x reader smau/classic fanfic ABANDONNED

3. The Diner

(y/n) runs - or, well, bikes - to the miyagi prefecture during summer break to escape her stifling family. while she's out in miyagi, she meets a cute boy named oikawa tooru.

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yeah, you loved suga's mom probably more than your own, but without suga there to actually create a bridge between the two of you, your conversations were dull and awkward, and you had left the house as soon as you thought she wouldn't mind.

for a few hours you had gone around the town, taking pictures of whatever seemed pretty to you. you had taken at least 50 by the time afternoon rolled around. that's kind of your thing; photos.

your camera roll was full of gorgeous landscapes-rolling hills and swaying trees, gigantic buildings and fluffy clouds, delicate flowers and creeping vines. it was a shame that you had lost some of your best shots when you had gotten rid of your old phone, but at least now you have a clean slate to fill all over again.

you're just finishing up a mini shoot of some train tracks when it hits you.

the single most delicious smell in the entire world hits your nose, and you almost black out it's so wonderful. it smells like frying oil and ice cream, and you almost cackle in glee because you had brought money for food and you just found the best place to spend it.

following your nose like a bloodhound, you start to walk past all the cute little buildings that had served as background for your railroad pictures. the smell keeps getting stronger, mixing and dividing into similar, more specific scents, like french fries and fried chicken. you feel your artist heart squeal with excitement as you round the corner on the block and find yourself in front of a cute American-themed diner.

the name of the restaurant is written over the door in fluorescent green lights, and there are similar signs hung in the windows of the diner. as the sky gradually darkens, you can tell that this is your photographer paradise. the booths in the diner are bustling with people who you swear are all smiling, and there's a bar where a few loners and couples sip at their extra thick milkshakes, with the overflow cup on the side. you haven't even set foot in the building and you could bet away your life's savings that the floors are checker tiled.

"ah," you don't even realize you've gone into the diner until the bell at the door jingles above your head, and you just gaze at it in dreamy shock. your feet are pulled to a red leather stool at the counter where you sit and swivel around a few times.

"what can i get to get you started?"

you swear you almost die when you see the outfit the waitress is wearing. the entire retro vibe of the restaurant has your artist heart weeping tears of bliss and the uniforms are just icing on the cake.

you order your favourite flavour of milkshake and a side of fries and then glance at your phone to see what you've missed from suga.

you don't really ever understand most of his vague volleyball tweets. from what you can gather, the team is a bunch of hooligan children that suga babysits, with the help of daichi, who you only know through suga's texts.

seeing as you don't even want to know what watermelon and hills have to do with volleyball camp, your thoughts drift to your other best friend, aki. you had blocked her with your new twitter account so there would be no chance of her stumbling across it, but you couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt as you look at her account. she's probably the closest thing you have to a sister, which is why you had to leave her behind, too.

sisters are lovely but they're also snitches.

you put your phone face down as the waitress from earlier reappears, setting down a plastic basket full of fries and a milkshake, as well as a large metal cup filled with refill milkshake. ah, the glory of retro american diners. you're about to dig in when the bell rings and you hear laughter from someone your age.

the idea that it could be someone that recognizes you jumps into your head and you spin around in your swivel stool so quickly that you almost launch yourself off of it. in your commotion your eyes lock onto the warmest brown eyes you’ve seen in your entire life and you swear time slows.

they belong to a cute brunette, who has come to the diner with a group of friends. he is quick to look away, playing it off like he had been glancing around the restaurant. he waves to the waitress, who smiles bashfully, and follows his friends to a booth table that you know by the way they are drawn to it is undeniable their booth.

the boy with the warm eyes does another sweep over the diner as his group settles down, and as the chocolate irises linger on you, you realize that you’ve been staring at him the whole time.

flustered and feeling heat rise to your face, you jerk yourself back around in the seat so you’re facing your meal and take a long sip of your milkshake. ignoring the sting in your skull from the sudden cold, you flip your phone around and quickly open your texts.

taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the embarrassment you’re about to undergo willingly, you turn around in your swivel stool.

much to your bewilderment, the boy is already staring at you.

he waves at you and you freeze for a moment, taking in his dark hair and his huge, intelligent brown eyes that are gazing right back into yours, and then you offer him a small smile and meek wave of your own hand. the lazy smile that had stretched across his face brightens in return.

instead of earlier when he had entered the diner, now the boy seems content to keep eye contact with you, and, with each quickened beat of your heart, you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with his gaze in yours.

you almost start to daydream when one of his buddies elbows him, clearly jiving him by the way the other boys are laughing. he turns his attention to them exclaiming something you don’t hear that makes the booth burst out into raucous teenage guffaws.

coming to your senses, you’re certain your face must match the shade of red on the ketchup bottle that you clumsily dump on your fries. you shoot suga a few more texts, stuffing a handful of fries in your mouth to keep yourself from squealing.

the mere idea that this beautiful and pretty boy might even consider to be interested in you has your heart melting in purpley yellow puddles of pure simp essence and your brain turning into honey. you find yourself slurping down the rest of your milkshake in an attempt to beat back the steady blush that burns on the apples of your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

sadly, whenever you turn to look back at the booth the boys are eating in, he never has his attention turned on you. you know there’s a chance that you’re just not catching him at the right moments, but as his laughter continues fills the space throughout the evening, your certainty that your shared gaze was a one time occurrence grows.

eventually, disheartened and a tad embarrassed, you give up on trying to catch the boy’s attention again. you pay for your meal before going to the washroom.

when you return, the group had left. disappointed in yourself, you’re trudging over to the door when you notice a turquoise and white jacket laying in the seat of the booth.

“excuse me, but the group that was sitting here earlier just left, right?” you call out to the waitress that had served both you and the group.

“huh?” the waitress looks up from the table she’s wiping down. “oh, yeah. they’re gone. did matsukawa leave his jacket again?”

“yeah, i guess,” you shrug. an idea pops into your romance driven brain, and for once you don’t wave it away immediately. “if you don’t mind, i could run it out to him. i’m leaving anyways.”

“that’d be a big help, sweetie, thank you!” the waitress graciously accepts your offer and then turns back to the table she’s cleaning.

you’re exiting the diner with a ring of the bell overhead, turquoise and white track jacket in hand with the words ‘aoba johsai’ printed on the back, when you stumble into a wall of warm fabric.

“woah there!” the voice you’ve been tuned to for the past hour replies, and the cute boy’s grabbing your shoulders gently to steady you. you gaze up into the calf’s eyes that you had been so fixated earlier, and they focus back on you for a brief moment, before trailing to the jacket in your arms. “oh, look! you’ve got mattsun’s jacket.”

“oh, yeah, here,” you hand the boy the jacket, only now realizing how much he towers over you in such close proximity. despite how that thought makes your heart race, you jump at the chance to get to know the boy a bit more. “so you’re not matsukawa, then?”

he laughs, not unpolitely, throwing his head back the slightest bit. “no, i’m oikawa tooru.” he fixes you with a sunny smile, like you’ve surprised him in the best way possible, and it’s like you’ve never realized how gorgeous a smile could be.

“(l/n), (y/n),” you grin back. “so oikawa-san, what’re doing here coming back for a jacket that’s not even yours?” on the inside, you’re practically screaming; when did you become so bold?

“well,” his grin turns sheepish. “i meant to ask you for your number earlier but iwa-chan kept breaking my train of thought, so i figured i could try again now.”

“oh, thank god you’re asking,” you let a sigh of relief as you pull out your phone. “i wanted to ask you earlier, too, but i chickened out.”

the two of you exchange phones and enter your numbers in a new contact, while oikawa makes a little joke about your default wallpaper, which you laugh a little too hard at.

“let’s go out sometime this week!” oikawa says as his words of parting, and you hum in agreement, waving goodbye.

once you’re far away enough from oikawa, you check your phone as if making sure the contact is real. you giggle once you realize what he’s put as his name. maybe this summer won't be so bad after all.

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hazbbyhaz · 3 years

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sleepless || harry styles

one

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: the first meeting

disclaimer: physical violence, cursing, talk of hookup,

Everybody needs that - a meaning of life

Sometimes she wants to be Michael Jackson. Sometimes Paul McCartney. And on occasion, maybe even Miss Henson from next door. That is just how most people thought she assumed. Everybody wants to be someone else and if not constantly, like herself, then sometimes. Whether or not they tell anyone is their own business.

The life of others always seems easier than your own, or at the very least more bearable. Painted in colors so much brighter than your own. Regardless, at the end of the day, everybody goes to those same dark places.

“You want another one, mate? Well, there you go!” Avery jumps at the loud voices in the alley down the road. It is right around what looks to be some kind of night club. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see two men standing in front of each other, fists raised, and both drunkenly stumbling. One of them connects his fist with the other man's face, who immediately falls to the ground, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Fucking prick!’’ The man who is still standing says once again. He begins to turn away and leave, but before he can do so the other one grabs his ankle and pulls him onto the ground right alongside himself. Avery's face has changed color and her normally rosy cheeks have now gone white, competing with the artificial light of the street lamp.

“Hey, you can’t do that.” she croaks trying to raise her voice but failing as the stress of the current situation takes over her body. His gaze wanders away, looking for anybody who could stop these two men from beating the life out of each other.

That's when she realized that they weren't beating the life out of each other but rather the one on top was beating, what appeared to be an unconscious body lying lifelessly on the ground of the alley. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her mind was racing with memories and it became difficult to concentrate on the present. Her breath began to quicken, but Avery made her way over to them.

It's on America's tortured brow. That Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow. Now workers have struck for fame because John Lennon is on sale again.

“Hey, you! Why are you punching him?” She politely yells, trying to calm down the mood that had been created. She was never one for heated situations of any kind, as they never suited her well or did her any good.

“Cause he deserves it.” The man grumbles, landing yet another punch to the jaw of the other before spitting into his face. “Fucking prick.” He murmurs again before finally getting up from the ground, and taking a glance down at the damage he had caused. From far away he had seemed a lot smaller, now he was towering over Avery, making her feel incredibly thin and useless.

“You know him?” he nods towards the ground. There's sweat rolling down his face and his pupils are dilated. He honestly looked like he just escaped prison with his freshly buzzed hair and white wife-beater top.

“Yes,” She quickly nods as her palms begin to pool with sweat, the man steps even closer towards her.

“You plan on telling anybody what you saw?” He came impossibly closer, so close that she could smell the copious amounts of alcohol on his breath. Avery shakes her head without hesitation. The guy nods and takes another glance down at his victim before walking deeper into the alley.

The boy on the ground has yet to move an inch

“Uhm… Are you okay?” She carefully steps forward toward the motionless body. That is the first time Avery can get a clear view of his features. His brown curly hair is covering his right eye, he has a very structured face with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Though his features are quite strict he looks sympathetic.

A second later the guy coughs, holding his chest while doing so. Avery jumps back a little when he props himself up on his elbow, still in a coughing fit. She stays quiet, watching the stranger, her heart still beating heavily.

“That was a nice speech.” He finally manages to say, now properly sat up while leaning on his elbows. He looked like he was comfortable like he was casually laying on his couch instead of in the dirt behind a sketchy club at 1 in the morning. “I had everything under control, but I owe you a thank you.”

Avery swallows, her eyes not leaving the handsome boy. “Why did you punch him?” She asks, instead of accepting his apology. He didn’t have to apologize.

“He looked at me funny.” The guy shrugs, finally getting up from the ground, patting away the dirt from his shirt and black jeans. Avery immediately avoids his gaze, her eyes focusing on her shoes. “That was a joke.” He adds as he notices her behavior.

“Oh,” she murmurs, still not looking up at him. “I'm sorry, I don't get that.”

“It's fine,” His voice has changed from being quite confident and careless to calm and careful. This is why she just avoided talking to people. “I’m Harry, is there anywhere I can take you?”

Avery raises her head, Harry looks rather presentable again. Ignoring the fresh cut on his face, it wasn't obvious that he had gotten into a fight. “I’m good.”

“Why are you out this late all alone?”

“Why are you out this late all alone?” She replies, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater because she can't rid herself of the anxiety she is feeling. Always a racing mind, always a loud heart.

Harry dodges her question. “You know that song?” he is quiet for a second before starting to quietly sing, to her, an unknown tune. “If you be my bodyguard I can be your long lost pal. I can call you Betty and Betty when you call me, you can call me Al… maybe you're my Betty, I mean you did just save me.”

Avery had never heard the song before nor did she understand what Harry was implying, so she just lied. “I'm not that into music.”

He frowns but soon after a grin appears on his face. “Uptown girl, she's been living in an uptown world, I bet she never had a backstreet guy, I bet her mama never told her why… Let me take you home.”

She couldn't tell if him making these music references was a normal thing for him. Or if it was simply because he was slightly tipsy.

“I don't know you.” Her nervousness had calmed down considerably until he took another step towards her, holding out his hand. Avery immediately jumped back, wrapping both of her arms around her small frame, her big eyes fixed on Harry.

“Are you okay? Did something happen to you?” He lowers his hand and looks up and down the street. “Did someone hurt you?”

Her breath quickens as the memories begin to flood in all at once. “No,” Avery manages between gasps. “I was alone. Can I just go home, please?”

Harry steps back, eyes not leaving the strange girl standing in front of him. “I’m sorry… Uhm… Are you sure you are capable of making it home on your own?’

She slowly nods. Harry didn't look like a threat, nor did he act like one, But he was still a stranger who had just moments before gotten himself into a fistfight with another guy.

“I'm not going to harm you if you think that. We can keep a healthy distance between us if that makes you more comfortable.”

Avery shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her mind begins to think of a thousand things once again. “Why would you do that?”

“A favor. I can't risk the very savior of these dangerous streets getting harmed on her way home. Now, can I?” He jokes, giving her a warm, genuine smile.

“I wasn't planning on going home actually.” What would she do back at home? Drown in her thoughts once again, making it another night doing things she knows she shouldn't. She’d rather be outside.

“Great, let's get a fish and chips then.” Harry grins, leading the way without paying any attention to whether she follows behind him or not. Just before he disappears into the darkness of the streets, Avery begins to trail closely behind him. And he knew.

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