#pretend my handwriting is nice

[aces-fav-husband]

This isn’t my usual content but ykw it’s my blog and I can post whatever I want. Trying to get back into art after a year long hiatus is hard. </3

[chryzuree]

did i ever tell you guys that once, for fun, i had my handwriting analyzed and the lady literally went “…. you write like an old person” i didn’t need to go to someone special to tell me that. i already knew that.

[starrysmiling]

ephemer's song

(read right to left)

i blacked out and when i woke up i had a(n albeit roughly drawn) comic

original (jp) version underneath!

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[hauntedhokage]

miscommunication

summary: Toge's been distant, you finally confront him to find out why

word count: 2.5k

warnings: explicit sexual content (minors dni), emotional conflict, Inumaki uses his cursed speech

note: for my beloved @silverrings-n-prettythings who drew some inspirational Inumaki art. Ily bbygirl

It felt like with every day that passed, he’d become more distant. Late nights that were once spent talking about the future, kisses exchanged between soft touches and other intimate gestures that replaced the words that he couldn’t use himself, turned into nights spent apart with you going to bed alone and waking up with cold sheets and a note. Did he love you anymore? You weren’t sure, and that uncertainty hurts more. The anxiety that came with waiting for that shoe to drop - waiting for the note written in his messy handwriting that tells you that he didn’t love you and wanted to separate. 

What would you do if it came to that? A life without him didn’t feel like something that you could do, considering the way he’d steadily been a constant in your life over the past year. Nobody made tea the way he did, or knew exactly how to scratch the itch at the base of your scalp when it was bothering you. Squeezes of your hand in his when you were feeling anxious, how it felt to be wrapped around him after a particularly rough mission - the despair you felt when he left, and the relief when he returned. 

These things all became constants, things you’d come to expect like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Your sunrise was Inumaki Toge; morning, afternoon, midday and the evenings - but you’re worried that the sun was beginning to set on your relationship. You didn’t think it was fair for him to just distance himself, not even try to talk to you about what was bothering him that he’d feel the need to do this to you. Even with his limited verbal communication ability, you’d spend hours on the couch texting back and forth or learning sign language to develop something that was more efficient than texting and note writing. 

Tonight was worse than any other night, only because you’d had plans. Plans made in advance; plans to stay in and have a nice dinner, play some silly board and card games, and then cuddle up for a movie or two. Plans that he was now two hours late for, plans that had you sitting at a dinner table with two plates of a dinner that was a blend of his and your favorite dishes. Dinner that was now about as cold as you’re Toge felt about you, dinner that had you crying as you stood to pick up the plates that clearly wouldn’t be touched tonight. To punish yourself; you’d probably eat the leftovers for a couple days, reminding yourself that Toge would rather do anything but share a meal with you. 

The front door opening has you slamming the fridge shut, and you’re making eye contact with your boyfriend as he takes his shoes off. Your obvious emotional state has him immediately concerned, closing in on you to try and assess the situation until your hands smack him away to put some space between you both. 

“You don’t get to pretend to care after missing game night for the third week in a row.” Your statement has his eyes widening, phone coming out of his pocket while his other hand pulls his collar down. “Don’t even bother, Toge, I get it. You don’t love me anymore and you’re tired of pretending, so you don’t have to pretend anymore! And to think I started taking sign language classes just for you to…”

You turn away as his fingers start to rapidly tap against the screen, needing to clean up the table and finish cleaning the kitchen. The whole time, though, you can’t stop talking at him. Telling him that you know he thinks you’re more of a burden because you don’t have any cool talents like his, that you must be overbearing since you like to know his schedule, how awful you most be to be around that he never wants to be home when you are or spend time with you. Those kinds of things that you’re not even sure where it all had been bottled up but you do hear his frantic tapping behind you as he tries to respond only to have to pause, backspace a bunch, and type some more. 

You catch him gesturing, frantic “tuna, tuna” leaving him while he tries to show you his screen, but you keep your gaze fixed on the task before you because you fear that if you look at him you’ll start crying. You didn’t want to cry when you were trying to yell at him for putting off breaking up with you, that would make you look more pathetic to him than you’re sure you already did.

“Please stop.” 

Two words uttered so softly yet full of desperation have you freezing, though you’re sure even without the cursed speech you’d be frozen at the sound of Toge’s using words that weren’t his usual safe words. You’re afraid to even look at him, but you face that fear as you turn to face him and the phone extended towards you with a screen full of words intended for you to read. 

“Toge?”

“Please,” he whispers again, angling the phone towards you in a silent plea for you to take it and let him defend himself. You do; your fingers grazing against his as you take the device into you hand with your thumb tapping the screen out of habit to keep the screen awake. 

I love you so much. 

I’m so afraid that I’ll let something slip and hurt you by accident so I’ve been trying to stay away while figuring out words that can be safe for us to use together. 

Didn’t know that my distance would hurt you

I’m so sorry

“Toge,” you whisper, nearly dropping his phone in your rush to pull him into your arms. Tears burn at your eyes while you feel his dampen the skin of your neck, his arms tight around your waist to keep you pressed flush against him - as if you could be apart from him after this. “Don’t you ever try to hide from me again.”

“Salmon,” is mumbled into your neck, and you give your own nod before you pull back to kiss his cheek.  A kiss to your cheek becomes a kiss on your lips, Toge’s mouth carefully coaxing yours open to allow him the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You feel small shockwaves along your tongue as it brushes against his, the sensation caused by his cursed markings sorely missed by you in the period of distance he’d forced between you now a source of comfort and a reminder that he was with you again and just as desperate for your touch as you were for his with the way his mouth worked against yours. Your back hits something sturdy, you think it’s probably the fridge but don’t have time to think too much about it because Toge is bringing your leg up to rest on his hip to press the growing tent in his pants to your core in search of friction that would bring pleasure to you both. 

“T-Tore,” you breathe when he pulls back, watching as his eyes search the space beside your head for something while keeping himself pressed against you. When he finds it, he’s reaching for it, and you recognize that it’s one of the magnet strips with pre printed statements on it that he’d been searching for. This one had been originally something unimportant to your life with Toge, so you’d used a label maker to make it something that would have real purpose in your home.

Would you like to fuck? Stares at you in bold black font, the smiley face after bringing a smile to your own face as you take the magnet from him to slap on the fridge above your head before you’re kissing him again. It’s not a kiss that lasts long before he’s pulling away, slowly lowering himself to his knees before you and pulling at your pants and underwear as he goes. 

He only bothers to free one of your legs from its confinement, bringing it to rest over his shoulder so he could be close to your core, his eyes closing as he takes a deep inhale of your scent. It was clear that he’d missed you just as much as you’d been missing him, the pure relief that you see in his relaxing features bringing a new wave of calm through your body. He was here, he was happy, any doubt that may have lingered regarding whether or not he wanted to be with you is calmed in this moment - only to be replaced with the sparks that come with the feeling of his tongue against your clit. With the way his cursed markings seemed to vibrate against your skin, it’s like you feel him in your skin in all the best ways while his fingers carefully probe your wet slit. 

“Toge,” you whine, your hand in his hair while your other hand grips the handle of the refrigerator door. “Please, no marathons.”

That earns you a displeased grunt against your clit, but he had to understand that his forced distance was the reason why you needed him to go easy on you. But you continue to stare at him, eyes locked on his own as you push his hair back away from his forehead until he gives a more affirmative grunt with a nod that would serve as his agreement that he would not intentionally seek to overstimulate you like he typically enjoyed doing. 

Two of his slender fingers ease into your cunt, the wet sound so loud in your ears but drowned out by the loud groan Toge let out when he got a taste of how wet you were already. His tongue moves eagerly around your clit, the cursed appendage rolling around the sensitive bud in tight circles while his lips maintain a tight suction that keeps you clenching around his fingers as they fuck you. You’re not sure what is louder; your moans of pleasure, Toge’s moans and groans of delight, or the sinful squelching of your wet pussy being attacked from the inside and outside by your attentive lover’s hand and mouth. His eyes open, the look he gives you full of pure adoration as he opens his mouth to press the pulsing flat of his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue their fast strokes inside your cunt. 

“Cum for me,” is mumbled against your clit, the command forcing your eyes closed as your body tightens up around him while he does his best to keep you upright and prevent injury. Your pleasured cry is music to his ears as his tongue laps at your throbbing clit to try and keep you on the edge of overstimulation. You said no marathon, you didn’t say he couldn’t use his cursed speech and that loophole was an unfair advantage you’d truly scold him for later. 

“You’re cheating,” you scold; voice nothing more than a whisper as you push his head away from your core, pouting down at him as he grins, his free hand massaging your thigh that rest on his shoulder as he brings his fingers to his mouth. Your leg is carefully removed from his shoulder, and he’s carefully pulling you down to the floor to sit with him. There’s a delightful awkwardness in trying to get each other undressed while sitting on the kitchen floor, and it all reaches its intended outcome when Toge is carefully lying you back against the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Your feeble attempt at an offer to reciprocate the oral pleasure you’d received is met with a shake of his head as he settles between your spread legs, his fingers trailing along your slit before you feel the blunt tip of his cock trying to make its entrance. 

Your hands settle on his chest as he kisses you, his length working its way into your neglected pussy. You feel his groan rattle his chest, the sound reverberating through your mouth with the additional hum of his cursed energy overwhelming your senses. He’s all that matters to you at this moment, the slow grind of his hips into yours to keep close as he savors this reunion. His pace is slow, hard strokes pressing deep into your core and sending waves of pleasure along your spine as your hands move to clasp at the back of his neck. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, a statement that has him frowning, an apology in his eyes that has you regretting your honesty only momentarily before he’s smiling again as he shakes his head. Everything was going to be okay, you know that and trust in that. He sits up slightly, his hands taking your thighs in his hands and pushing them back towards your chest to allow for closer contact. He’s checking only momentarily to make sure you’re okay, the nod on your end allowing him to continue with his forceful thrusts. 

“T-Toge,” you gasp, the deeper angle forcing the wind out of you as he rests his forehead against yours. The only sound that follows is the sound of skin on skin with his hard thrusts, the primary soundtrack to your lovemaking as his mouth leaves yours in face of kissing along your face down to your neck to that spot that made you squirm as you feel yourself approaching the cusp of your orgasm. He knows you’re close, the pace of his strokes slowing down to try and force you to hold out for him. He wouldn’t dare tell you to wait, and you’re relieved when he whispers in your ear for you to cum for him. The cry that leaves you has him smiling against your cheek, his own groans flooding your ears as he finds his own release inside your pussy. 

He finally pulls out, moving to lay on his side beside you and gently stroking your cheek as he smiles at you before poking your nose and getting a giggle out of you that has him chuckling. In return, you reach out to poke his nose, which results in a poke competition as you’re both laughing until your arm gets tired. Your eyes close, relief washing over your system at the fact that you still had Toge, he still loved you and wanted to be with you, but his need to protect you from himself had him doing something stupid and not communicating his fears. That would need to be discussed when you weren’t naked on the kitchen floor.

There’s a gentle nudge to your side, and your eyes open to see Toge sitting up and looking down at you with a fond smile while nudging you with his knee. There’s a head nod towards the hallway that led to your bedroom, you know he’s trying to get you either to the bedroom to rest on a more comfortable surface than the kitchen tile. 

“Get into bed.”

“You’re a menace!” And you’re standing, Toge taking your hand in his own so he could walk with you to the bedroom. 

[000-pawz]

press play! (bnd) ˚ · .

bnd as male leads , ot6 , fluff , slight angst , movie/film tropes, loosely (!!!) inspired by random movies/dramas/books i've seen and read (with song recs <3)

more under the cut!

a/n: me pretending that all of these are real dramas so i can escape into my silly little fantasy land >___^ <3 also thank you so much for 400+ followers!!! i know i haven't been as active lately, but seeing the sweet messages in my inbox and your genuine reblogs keeps me going for sure. i don't deserve all of this love and support, and yet, i've managed to find my place here. thank you guys!!! my little strawberries ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆<333

sungho ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "i have no idea why i like you, but i do" lead

university, streetlights, jackets, sunsets, fond eye rolls, sharing books, lunch dates, faint smiles, polar opposites, long calls, gardens, bouquets, lattes, butterflies

to put it simply, you are somehow everything sungho tries his best to avoid in life. disorganization, clumsiness, carelessness, and above all, making a fool of himself; four things you seem to have perfected. you always show up to lectures 30 minutes late, panting heavily as you clutch your backpack to your chest. your professor and everyone else in your course is used to your tardiness by now, so no one bats an eye—but when the only available seat left is next to sungho himself, he starts to mind. first, you ask him for a pencil, and then, you ask him what’s going on, and then you ask him how his handwriting is so neat. sungho responds to you in curt words, never sparing a glance your way as he tries his best to keep his focus on the lecture. but you keep. asking. him. questions.

he knows that you aren’t dumb. you somehow managed to get accepted into this school under a rigorous major, and you haven’t dropped out so far, so there’s no way you don’t know how to keep up. in a way, he sees you as a little yapping chihuahua who laughs way too loudly, and he sighs everytime you wave brightly to him across campus, cupping your hands around your mouth to tell him to wait up so you guys can walk to class together. it seems as if you’ve already claimed yourself to be his friend after your limited, brief interactions. great.

somehow you always manage to find him when he's studying at a cafe, pulling out the chair in front of him to plop down and pester him about what he's up to (and you always manage to convince him to buy you coffee just so you can leave sooner). you purposefully take the spot next to him everytime you show up to class, nudging hi sfoot under the table so you can pull a funny face at him or sneak him a lollipop under the table.

sungho likes to believe that he’s indifferent to you. you’re just another obstacle he has to navigate through in order to finish his day. but he realizes you may have struck a little deeper into his heart than he originally thought when he notices you sitting solemnly on a bench on his walk back to his apartment. you’re dressed up in a nice outfit and he can tell you’ve put in a lot of effort to your appearance, but under the glow of the streetlights, he notices your smeared mascara and wet cheeks, your purse clutched tightly between your fingers. you’re mumbling to yourself as you fiercely wipe at your face with the back of your hand, something about “that asshole” and how you’re “so dumb”. sungho doesn’t know what comes over him as he hears those words, but he finds himself stopping directly in front of you, watching as you slowly tilt your head up to meet his eyes. 

“you’re not dumb,” he says, staring down at you with such sincerity. you sniffle a bit, tilting your head at his figure in a confused manner.

“sungho? what are you doing here?” you ask quietly, your voice shaky as you try to stop your tears.

“you aren’t dumb,” he repeats again. “it’s late. you shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

you don’t respond other than blinking owlishly at him. in this moment, he realizes how beautiful your eyes are, glimmering despite the tears pooling at your waterline. a cord in him strikes; he doesn’t like seeing you without a smile on your face.

sungho shrugs off his jacket before leaning down to drape it over your shoulders, giving you a soft smile before offering his hand out to you. “may i walk you home?”

and from that day on, sungho seems to have opened up his heart to you. he asks if you want to visit a cafe after class, helps you catch up in schoolwork, his eyes lingering on your bright smile—and each minute he spends with you, he falls for you more and more. he’s not sure how you feel about him; he can’t read you quite yet, and he’s not quite sure why he likes you so much, but he thinks it’ll be worth the wait, as long as he gets to be by your side.

˚ ⋆｡˚ riwoo - the "i'll look after you, no matter what" lead

bustling city, dinner dates, gentle hands, puppies, headlights, midnight talks, watching the stars, wishes upon dandelions, breakfast in bed

it’s riwoo’s second year working at this company—and subsequently, his second year dealing with his inconsiderate seniors and selfish boss. so when you, the new, sparkly-eyed intern, are assigned two giant stacks of paperwork to go through on your first day, riwoo immediately empathizes with you. when it starts to grow dark and most of your coworkers begin clocking out, you find yourself trapped at your tiny desk with at least 3 more hours worth of work to do. 

you’re basically falling asleep, your eyelids slipping shut every few seconds before you finally doze off. riwoo watches you from across the office and some part of him feels guilty at the thought of leaving you all alone here. so instead, he makes you a cup of coffee and brings you a snack, placing it quietly at your desk. he even leaves a few sugar packets next to the mug because he’s unsure of how sweet you like your drink.

and then he waits. he exhaustedly types away at his keyboard, his knee bouncing under his desk to keep himself awake. you finally wake up an hour later with a tiny yawn, stretching in your chair before sleepily blinking at the scene in front of you. he watches as your eyes widen at the coffee and snack before looking around the office, locking eyes with him above his computer screen. he gives you a small smile and wave, to which you return, mouthing out a ‘thank you’. if you’re going to be working overtime, he’ll be there with you.

and it becomes a thing. riwoo makes sure you eat as you work through the mistreatment from your boss, comforting you when you stress cry in the breakroom, taking you out for dinner when you clock out and making sure you get home safe with a small reminder to get some sleep. you find yourself falling his selflessness. he works through those sleepless nights with you, cheering you on with shy smiles and quiet encouragement. before you know it, riwoo becomes your rock.

as you wait for the bus to head home, riwoo jogs up to you, his chest rising and falling quickly as he attempts to catch his breath.

“riwoo, hi,” you greet with a small, tired smile. riwoo’s cheeks are flushed red, his hands tucked deep into his pockets as he returns your smile with a weak one. 

“hey, y/n. i just, um… i wanted to ask you something before you leave…” he starts, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. your bus is nearing your stop in the distance, so you stand, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

“yeah, what’s up?” you ask, meeting riwoo’s eyes. they’re big and round, glossy as the headlights of passing cars speed by. your heart flutters in your chest at just the sight of him.

“i was wondering if i could take you out? on a date, i mean,” he stumbles out, pressing his lips into a thin line once the words escape.

“like a date date?” you clarify. you guys hang out all the time and you have to admit that you’ve started to want more. riwoo is the sweetest, most giving person you’ve ever met and you think you’re already in too deep.

“yeah. a date date.” at his words, your entire face lights up, quickly nodding your head as you answer. 

“i would love to.” right then, your bus pulls up to a stop, so you give him a tiny smile, motioning toward the doors. “ i’ll call you when i get home, okay?”

“okay. yeah,” he breathes out with the brightest smile on his lips. “get home safely.”

“i will!” you wave enthusiastically through the doors before they close behind you and riwoo watches you through the windows with a small smile until your bus disappears down the road, his heart light in his chest.

from there, one date turns into two. and then two into three. and then suddenly, you’re at his apartment playing with his puppies while he cooks you guys breakfast, the sunlight beaming through his sheer curtains. even if the weight of the world is falling on your shoulders, you deem it impossible to feel down around your ray of sunshine.

riwoo always waits with you for your bus, letting you rant to him about your day, or things you're interest in, or to just tease him about how he dropped a stack of papers that day. and you never forget to text him when you get home, going to sleep with a smile on your face as you reread the long paragraph he sends to you about how proud he is of you and how he can't wait to see you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. in this big city full of hustle, bustle and noise, he is your solace.

jaehyun ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "everyone wants me, but i want you" lead

road trips, rooftop hangouts with friends, bright smiles, street vendors, shared hoodies, soccer games, skateboards, sparklers, bonfires, sunny days

ever since you moved onto campus for university, you’ve had a crush on myung jaehyun. from his silly smiles, to his friendly nature, to his cute nose and cheeks. you like everything about him. the only problem is that everyone loves myung jaehyun—in fact, you can’t name a single person that doesn’t know and love him. so you’ve managed to keep your feelings to yourself for the longest.

you were in the same friend group from the very start, with your roommate dating his roommate, the intermingling of your circles was bound to happen. and in all honesty, you couldn’t wish for a better group of people to be around. you guys always go on road trips together, visiting different cities and towns to sightsee and explore. you attend jaehyun’s soccer games with your friends, cheering him on from the sidelines only to celebrate with drinks in someone’s dorm room after another win. the proximity is inevitable, and the first two years of college pass by before you can even blink. by the end of your second year, you and jaehyun became closer than you would’ve ever thought. but it always remained at that. close friends.

it’s the night of your friend group’s annual bonfire—something you’ve been looking forward to all year. you’ve been worrying about your future: what would happen when you graduate college, whether you would move away or not, would jaehyun ever like you back. but mid-summer is your favorite, especially when the tide is low, everyone has sparklers and drinks, and the night air is light and fun. your bathing suit clings to your skin after your friends had splashed sea water on your earlier, but you don’t mind it. it’s a break from your own thoughts.

you notice jaehyun sitting in the sand near the bonfire, shivering a bit, so you grab an abandoned blanket from someone else’s chair and skip over to him. when you drape it over his shoulders from behind, he looks up at you, his eyes scrunching up with the smile that overtakes his face at the sight of you. 

“hey,” he speaks, looking you up and down. you feel your body heat up under your skin, returning the smile with a small one of your own before taking a seat next to him.

“hey. you okay?” you ask, your eyes searching his face. usually, jaehyun is at the center of all the action, but tonight, he seems quieter than usual. the bonfire is warm on your skin, illuminating the sand in front of you.

“yeah, i’m okay. just thinking,” he says weakly, flashing you a tiny smile before looking back at the fire.

“about what?” you pry, bumping him with your shoulder. he looks especially good tonight, with his wet hair and soaked t-shirt, his tanned skin washed in a hue from the fire. you’re snapped out of your gazing when he speaks, though.

“you,” he says bluntly. he doesn’t look at you, but you’re staring holes into the side of head. 

“what about me?” you nearly whisper, your voice almost drowned out by the loud laughter of your friends at the shore. jaehyun watches the fire for a bit before he turns to look at you again, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“how pretty you look. how pretty you always look,” he says. you scoff at his words, bumping his shoulder again.

“stop playing around, jaehyun. i almost thought you were being serious,” you nervously laugh, looking down at the sand.

“but i am,” he replies quickly. “i am being serious. you’re beautiful.”

when you meet his eyes again, they’re boring into yours with an intensity you’ve never felt before. something so foreign and yet familiar at the same time. you can’t do anything but whisper a thank you before your friends are rushing over to drag you guys back to the water. some part of you is unsure of whether that was just another passing comment made by jaehyun. he jokingly flirts with his friends all the time. what difference would it be when it’s towards you? 

but when jaehyun texts you the next morning to meet him on the beach, and you see an entire picnic set up with flowers on the sand, you realize that maybe he wasn’t joking. he’s standing there with his arms awkwardly spread out in a ‘ta-da’ manner, a shy smile on his lips as you near him. the sun isn’t fully risen yet, so the sky is still slightly orange near the horizon. he looks softer like this, with his puffy morning cheek and his messy hair.

he confesses that your friends gave him the extra push to confess and helped him set everything up for you. over chocolate covered strawberries and french toast, he finally confesses that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and almost went crazy from keeping it a secret. the morning started with shy gazes, soft touches, and laced fingers as the ocean waves lulled you. with your head rested on his shoulder, you finally feel content. maybe the future won’t be so bad.

˚ ⋆｡˚ taesan - the "everything sucks, except you" lead

big school, skipping stones, handwritten notes, late-night bus rides, comfortable silence, dirty shoes, convenience stores, headphones, lingering gazes

han taesan always tries to stay out of the spotlight. he keeps his head down, his hood up, and his headphones on—in a way, he feels like if he can disappear from other people’s lives, it wouldn’t be so hard to disappear from himself either. he doesn’t have any friends, and if anything, people seem to act like he doesn’t exist at all. he’s okay with that. it’s comfortable. that is, until you come along. 

he’s not sure how he’s never noticed you at first. maybe it’s because you’re just like him; you stay out of the way, you don’t speak to anyone, and you’re simply going through the motions. he’s not even sure if you go to the same school. he first sees you on a late bus ride home, near the back. your head is leaning on the window, your face blank and solemn, with one earbud in your ear as you watch the passing city through a blur. taesan doesn’t know what it is about you that intrigues him. let it be the way your sweater is a few sizes too big, or the melancholic look in your eyes, or the way those same eyes meet him from across the bus, piercing and inquisitive.

he sees you again at the convenience store a week later, pushing around noodles in a cup with your cheek in your palm, staring down at your food with no intentions of taking a bite. even in the harsh lighting of the store, your face stops him in his tracks. your eyes follow him as he pretends to not notice your stare, his heart pounding in his ears with every movement. and when he makes it up to the counter to pay, you’re gone, as if you were never there in the first place.

he doesn’t see you again for a while; not until he runs into you on his walk home, sitting on a swing at a vacant park. your shoelaces are untied, and you’re watching the way they flow in the wind. your unreadable gaze intrigues him in ways he’s never felt before. he’s always told himself to not get involved, to not get attached, and to not get in the way. but his feet seem to have a mind of their own as they drag themselves towards you. the sound of his shoes against concrete catches your attention, and he watches with shallow breaths as you lift your head to face him.

“your… your shoes are… um, untied,” he stutters out, moving his headphones to rest around his neck before pointing at your laces. you don’t say anything, but you do follow his gaze down to your shoes, cocking your head.

“can you tie them for me?”

the request is odd, especially for the first words he ever hears you speak, but he finds himself unable to decline. he kneels down by your shoes before taking a quick glance up at your face, his palms growing sweaty with the way you watch him. with shaky fingers, he helps you tie your shoes before he stands back up, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“you, um… i see you around a lot. what’s your name?” he doesn’t know why he asks, but some part of him is overwhelmed by curiosity. he knows why he is the way he is, but with you… you’re an anomaly that eats at his mind. he wants to know you. 

“y/n,” you say quietly, looking up at him from your position on the swing. taesan nods with pursed lips, averting his gaze for a second.

“i’m taesan.” when he speaks, the corners of your lips perk up ever so slightly, nodding softly in acknowledgement. something about your faint smile makes his stomach churn and his head spin. he decides then and there that he would like to see you more often; and subsequently, your smile too.

“nice to meet you, taesan.”

“nice to meet you, too. y/n.”

from there, you guys meet every now and then. taesan likes to place his headphones over your ears to show you new songs, and you like to share earbuds on the bus ride home together. he slips little notes about his day in your pocket before you get off with a little p.s. to meet him at the park before sunset. you pick clovers and tie them together to make bracelets, sitting on the swings as you bounce conversation back and forth. 

there’s no judgment from the outside world in the little bubble that you’ve created with him. and if he starts falling for you with every curious gaze and passing smile, he barely notices the shift. with you , existing becomes natural. there’s no guilt, or shame, or need to hide from yourself. it’s you both against the world.

leehan ˚ ⋆｡˚ - the "i wouldn't mind living with you" lead

new to town, seashell necklaces, oceanviews, birds in trees, sunrises, midday strolls, the youngests in the neighborhood, cooking together, white t-shirts + flannels

it’s not easy living in a new town, far away from the city that you grew up in, but you can’t bring yourself to regret anything. you wake up the the sound of beach waves and boats docking, the grandmas of the neighborhood leave fresh food on your doorstep, and you get to gawk at the beautiful man that always seems to be at the shore collecting seashells. he’s the only person near your age in the entire town, but for some reason, you haven’t spoken to him yet. maybe it’s because of the way that he’s always alone at the shore, or running around the town helping everyone he can. 

leehan, they call him. a few of the grandmas have encouraged you to talk to him, saying that it’d do him well to have a friend his age. yet, something about him is unapproachable—let it be because of his long wavy hair or those flannels he wears way too often. you can’t place your finger on it. so you stick to admiring his bright smile from afar, taking in the way he speaks with fishermen as if he grew up in the water himself, or the way he assists the grandmas in caring their groceries home. he’s entrancing, moving with swiftness and speaking with intention. an aura of confidence follows him around like a glowing shadow. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a small, small crush on him by now.

you sit at the beach with your knees pulled up to your chest, the soft breeze kissing your cheeks as you gaze out at the water, the sun sparkling against its gentle waves. moments like these remind you why you moved here. your escape. although, you’re too wrapped up in soaking up the atmosphere to notice the figure moving to sit beside you, and the clinking of seashells is what pulls you out of your trance. you jump a bit at the sun block of sunshine, shielding your eyes to look up at the culprit. 

the handsome, handsome culprit who’s currently holding something out towards you with a small smile on his lips, the wind blowing his long hair into his face. in the midst of your shock, you manage to drag your eyes down to his hand—it’s a handmade necklace, made of white string and polished shells from the shore. the shells are an assortment of light blues, whites, and pinks, perfectly complimenting each other, replicating where the setting sun meets the sea. it’s gorgeous.

“made something for you,” he starts, his smile lopsided and charming. his head is cocked in a playful way, his eyes slightly squinted from the bright sun. he’s even more gorgeous up close. “y/n, right?”

“uh, yeah,” you stutter out, too distracted by the way the sun hits his face so perfectly.

“i realized i haven’t given you a proper welcome yet,” leehan speaks as he hands you the necklace, his voice deep and gentle. your eyes flickered back up to his sparkling ones, quickly shaking your head in dismissal.

“oh! no, it’s okay. i’ve seen you around enough times,” you laugh as you avoid his eyes again, running your fingers over the shells. leehan hums in response, his eyes watching your fingers. alone like this, up close, his atmosphere is affable and soft—nothing like the unapproachable man you’ve seen from afar. 

“so, are you liking it here? i heard you moved from the city.”

“i do like it here, actually. i couldn’t ask for more,” you speak, finding his eyes again. leehan’s are curious, sincere, and inviting in all the ways that makes you want to keep speaking. so you do. you tell him about why you came here, how you’re starting a-new and leehan, with a wide smile, offers to be your personal guide around town. 

you end up meeting up every morning for a walk by the beach, watching the sunrise as you exchange stories about anything and everything. leehan teaches you how he makes necklaces from seashells, his favorite recipes to cook, and where to find the quietest spots in town when you just need a break from it all. you’re falling for him—with his chivalrous, kind-hearted nature and warm smile—but you don’t mind it at all. you really do like it here; especially if he’ll be around too.

˚ ⋆｡˚ woonhak - the "i'm secretly in love with my best friend" lead

small town, childhood best friends, neighbors, growing up together, coming of age, grassy fields, tiny markets, bicycles, fireflies, shorts + graphic tees

woonhak's big smile has been a constant in your life for as long as you can remember. some of your earliest members are of making mudpies and catching fireflies in jars together, playing tag in the long grassy fields that border your town. you guys are partners in crime, drawing silly pictures in chalk outside of your neighbor’s houses or riding your bikes down to the store to buy all of the mango popsicles in stock with your pocket money. 

in your eyes, woonhak is just… woonhak. he is familiar. existing with woonhak was as easy as breathing to you. you remember teasing him when you lost your first tooth before him because it proved that you were going to be more mature than him, or when you took your training wheels off first.

your parents are best friends, and it also helps that he lives directly next to you. you guys have sleepovers all the time, using flashlights under the blankets as you pull funny faces at each other, sharing stories about past crushes or what show you’re currently watching. woonhak knows everything about you and you know everything about him.

your favorite spot to meet up is the flower field behind your house. the grass is so tall, it reaches up to woonhak’s chest, the flowers spotting the green with blooms of yellows, pinks, and purples. it’s quiet there, and you guys are free to discuss whatever and whoever. that’s where you are when you’re watching the stars one night with woonhak by your side, his arms tucked behind his head. you mirror him as you talk about something woonhak did earlier that week.

“you’re so cute, hakkie. still the same after all these years,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand so your voice doesn’t echo too loud. at your words, woonhak sighs, a big one that catches your attention. “huh? what’s wrong?”

woonhak shakes his head, looking straight up at the sky. “i just… sometimes you say things and it reminds me that you still see me as a kid.”

you turn your head toward him at that in confusion. “what are you talking about?”

“y/n, what am i to you? honestly.” his words come out so quick, you don’t have time to linger on the sharpness in his voice. 

“you’re… you’re my best friend, woonhak,” and you’re telling the truth. the answer is simple. woonhak is your best friend.

woonhak is silent for a bit, the crickets and frogs in the distance filling in the lack of noise. his gaze is far off as he stares up at the night sky, his body framed by grass and flowers. for the first time in your life, you can’t read his mind and it terrifies you.

“we are best friends, right?” when he remains silent and your heart drops a bit. “woonhak?”

suddenly then, he turns his head towards you, the side of his face illuminated by the glow of moonlight. his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, his cheeks flushed red from the humidity of summer nights.

“what if i wanted to be more than that?” he whispers, his gaze locked intensely on yours. you feel your heart stop in your chest, your palms growing sweaty from more than just the heat.

“more… more than best friends…?” you repeat dumbly. it’s as if you’re short-circuiting, all of the words that were once on your tongue dying off one by one.

“i…” woonhak sighs dejectedly, turning back up to face the sky. “i like you. i like like you. a lot.”

at the words, something in you clicks. something about the way your eyes always linger on his bright smile when he shows up on your doorsteps at the crack of dawn. something about the way your stomach churned when that girl from fourth period asked woonhak out last year. something about the way he links your pinkies together when you walk side by side, and the way he cups your face when you cry to him, and the way he holds you with so much security and love.

your lips move faster than your mind, sitting up quickly to look down at him with a wide grin. “i like you too. i like like you, woonhak. a lot. too.”

you aren’t sure what any of this means for your relationship, or for your future—but as woonhak laces your fingers together to press a small kiss to the back of your hand, any worry or doubt dissolves with the wind. you’re here now with him and for you, that could be more than enough. more than you’ve ever dreamed of.

reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3

masterlist

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Rumours - Lando Norris

<word count - 7287> |part 1 - Nerd|

"Hey, I managed to get your wood pieces cut up yesterday. Don't worry, I did them the right size this time," Lando told you, sitting down opposite you at your table in the library. The two of you had been meeting quite often, now exchanging your ends of the deal you had made due to your maths test results. 

"Thank you. Don't forget that you still have to sand them and glue them, yeah?" you double checked, knowing that he had remembered but would pretend to forget to do it. Lando had been trying to wriggle out of his half of the deal, but you weren't letting him. 

"Yes ma'am," he said with feigned formality, saluting you. "And I want my maths done. We hand it in today, yes?" he asked, also knowing that you had already done it. Lando had seen you doing it the other day, and had to keep his friends from seeing him smile at you. 

He knew they'd make fun of him for being your friend, so he often found himself sneaking off to come and see you in the library. It wasn't that he was ashamed of being your friend, he just didn't want to face the backlash from his friends. 

Plus, he hadn't forgotten the hurt written all over your face when Max had made those comments about you nearly a week prior now, and he couldn't let you go through that again. He didn't know why, he had harboured a soft spot for you. 

Maybe it was because you weren't outwardly trying to flirt with him, maybe it was because you treated him normally, maybe it was because he liked you more than he liked everyone else. He found your sassiness endearing, and a welcome surprise. 

"Of course, but you're still going to learn how to solve quadratics at some point, you know that, right?" you told him, pushing the papers that were his homework over the desk and towards him. You had gotten pretty much perfect at plagiarising his handwriting so the teacher wouldn't be able to tell it was actually you doing the work. 

You and Lando had agreed that you were allowed to get a few of the harder questions wrong, just so it didn't seem like he had become a random genius overnight. He didn't want an expectation to be put on him once he actually had to do his own homework again, so he was fine with you messing up sometimes. 

"You'll teach me, I know you will," he smirked, and he was completely right. You would teach him, just like you had been pretty much all of his other subjects. You helped him with everything at this point, and he was more than grateful - even if he would never tell you that. 

The friendship that the two of you had formed was quick, to say the least. This time a week ago, you would have avoided Lando Norris at all times. He was cocky, arrogant and a downright dick. But now? He was lovely. 

Those short, daily meetings to check in on the progress that you were making on your ends of the deal were some of your favourite parts of the day - and they were his too. It was nice for both of you to just let loose and have a little giggle, even if you were meant to be being silent in the library. 

Neither of you really knew how you had become friends, you just sort of... had. After you had opened your results together, it was just how you were. It wasn't some slow and steady thing, it was more like an instant connection, and immediate understanding of each other. 

"You're right, I will. I need you to be better than Max," you said, still not liking Lando's best friend after the far from tasteful comments he had made about you. Lando had said that Max had apologised to him for it, but he had never directly apologised to you. 

Lando completely understood the resentment. If anything, he encouraged it. He hadn't helped, he knew that, but at least he had apologised. He tried to get Max to say sorry to you, but he had always refused. "I will be. How that idiot is in top set is beyond me," he quietly chuckled so that the librarian wouldn't tell you to be quiet. 

"You and me both," you agreed, just looking at him. He had always been handsome, even when you thought he was a massive dick. But now? He was even more handsome. That happened a lot of the time, really. 

If someone has a good personality, their looks are suddenly elevated by the tenfold. If they're a complete and utter arsewipe? Then they could be the most dashing guy in the world yet they'll look average at best. 

Now, looking at Lando, you thought he was gorgeous. If only you knew how he saw you. He had never really paid you much notice, not until now. Not until you had been stuck on the bus together. You were pretty at a glance, but the more he looked at you, the more he truly believed you were the prettiest girl in school.

Anyway, now wasn't the time for admiring each other's good looks. The pair of you had maths next period, and you didn't want to be seen together again. Lando was pretty sure that no comments would be made if you walked in at the same time, but he understood why you didn't want to run the risk again.

He'd go and find Max to walk with him, and you'd get to maths first like you always did. Bidding Lando farewell, you took yourself through the corridors of your school and down to the maths row. All of the classrooms were identical, save from a few student-made posters messily blue-tacked onto the walls.

Your teacher smiled as you walked in, not surprised to see you in early in the slightest. Eventually, everyone filtered in, Lando sending you a small smile as he walked behind Max to their seats on the back row. 

All of you had your books out and were ready to start, but your teacher didn't make any headway on actually starting the lesson. "OK everybody, before we begin today, I do have a few changes to the seating plan," she said, earning a chorus of groans from the class. 

You weren't so bothered, though. Anyone would've been better than sitting between the wall and one of Lando's dumb friends. Well, maybe anyone apart from Max, but you didn't think your teacher would do that to you. 

"We'll start with Max, can you swap with Lilly on the front row, please?" she asked as Max huffed, clearly not impressed with being put on the front row. Lando also wasn't overly enamoured at the swap, since he certainly didn't want to sit with Lilly. 

She had always flirted with him, and he didn't need even more of it for 5 hours a week. But, he was thankfully put out of his misery. "And since you have been absolutely smashing your work as of recent, Lando, you can come and sit next to Y/N. I think she could be a good influence on you," she said, and you had to stop a big, goofy smile from spreading across your face. 

Lando had been doing well since you had been doing most of his work, but you didn't even care. You were just grateful that you'd get to spend more time with him. Max watched with a disgustingly mischievous smirk on his face. "Miss, are you sure that's a good idea? You remember what happened last ti-" he started, and your teacher's face instantly turned thunderous. 

But, before she could get so much as a word in, Lando pipped her to the post. "Max, drop it." he sternly said, sending daggers at his friend as the class let out a series of 'ooos' and 'get told, Max!'. 

Lando paid no mind to them, since he had seen the way your face had dropped as soon as Max had opened his mouth, and he hated the way his friend made you feel. "Max go and stand outside," your teacher instructed, and Max stood with a sigh and took himself out of the classroom.

She read out a few more seat changes, then put the starter activities up on the whiteboard. They were just some simple equations, so you got them rattled out and finished within a minute. Your teacher walked outside, obviously to talk to Max and probably give him a detention.  

"Hey, you OK?" Lando whispered, still scribbling down his working out for some of the sums. Honestly, you were just grateful that Lando had stood up for you and stopped Max from saying something more than hurtful about you.

"Yeah, thanks for that," you nodded, flashing him a small smile. Lando was going to protest and ask again, but he didn't want to push you. If you said you were fine, he'd believe you. "Plus the three, not minus," you prompted, pointing at the line of working out on his page. 

"Shit, course. Thank you," he softly chuckled, changing the numbers on the paper. He was slightly annoyed at himself for making such a dumb error, but he was glad that you were there to correct him. He found himself completely agreeing with your teacher: you really were a good influence on him. 

You made him want to work harder, you made that competitive fire burn brighter within him. You had pushed him to get an A the first time, and after that, he had wanted more and more because the pay off of hard work was so refreshing to feel. He was used to average grades at best, but now the disappointment was something that didn't sit right with him. 

Your teacher walked back in shortly after, with Max in tow. He packed his stuff up and hurriedly made his way back out of the classroom, undoubtedly to detention. The rest of the lesson went by without a hitch, and it was nice to be pretty much forced to sit with Lando. 

You'd spend time with him either way, of course, but it was nice for the two of you to get a couple of extra hours a week that you wouldn't have to spend being quiet as mice in the library. The bell rang, signalling the end of the day as you all flooded out of the doors and out of the front gates.

You were waiting at the bus stop for your bus, and you saw Lando and his friends waiting too. You couldn't make out the words you were saying over the slight gusts of wind and the music in your ears, but you could hear witterings of your name. 

"I stuck up for her because Max was being a knob, she didn't do anything," you heard Lando protest, his voice slightly raised. He sounded... angry? You looked out of the corner of your eye to see some of them prodding at him, stupid grins plastered on their faces. 

They were clearly teasing him, and it was pretty obvious that Max had told them how Lando had stuck up for you during maths. In some ways, you felt bad. The only reason he had said anything was because he knew how upset you were the first time around, and he felt so guilty that he had let it slide. 

"She's over there, go ask her out," another one one jibed, pushing him in your direction. Lando's face looked dejected, since he knew that it wasn't easy to get his friends to shut up. They'd keep going until he said something that they wanted to hear. 

"I'm not asking her out, OK?" he sighed, just as the bus rolled up to the stop. 

Just like everyday, your bus driver had the same, dead inside expression on his face and he clearly wanted to be anywhere but driving that goddamn bus. He didn't even bother looking at your pass as you took yourself back to your seat in the corner. 

It was one of the unspoken rules of the bus: everyone had their seats, you never moved, never differed from the norm. The older you were, the further back you sat. The year 7s had to sit at the front, and they'd be met with yells and arguments from everyone else if they didn't.

Lando's friends scrambled to the other seats on the back row, leaving the one next to you free. It was obvious that it was on purpose, so he kept his mouth shut as he sat next to you. It wasn't that he was sitting next to you, no. That was never the problem.

The problem was that he was really worried that they would start to pick on you now that they had it in their heads that he liked you. Well, he did like you, as more than a friend. That much was clear to him right now. But he didn't want you to face the brunt of his friends teasing because he did in fact like you. 

It was just a stupid little crush, that was it. Nothing serious. Nothing serious at all. Did his heart flutter whenever you smiled at him? Yes. Did he feel volts of electricity when your hands accidentally brushed together? Yes. Was his day instantly made better when he talked to you? Yes.

But it was nothing serious. 

He just laughed along mindlessly to his friend's jokes, not really paying attention. Eventually, the bus trundled to a halt so that you could get off. Shuffling past Lando, you walked as quickly as you could so that his friends hopefully wouldn't notice.

"Hey Lando, this is your stop, right?" Max piped up, pointing at you getting off the bus. "Not going to see if she's better than last time? I'm sure she's had some practice."

Lando refused to stay anything, his face like stone as he let you peacefully get off the bus. "Was she seriously that bad that you really don't want more?" another one of his friends added. 

"I knew you guys were dicks but you're really taking the piss," he mumbled, suddenly getting out of his seat and swiftly striding down the aisle of the bus. "Stop, please," he said to the bus driver, who pulled over as Lando hopped off the bus and ran down the pavement to where you were. 

"Hey, sorry. I couldn't deal with them being complete twats," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and standing beside you on the pavement. For some reason, he couldn't meet your eyes, his fixed on the floor beneath his feet.

"I get it, don't worry," you agreed, not really sure what to do. Inviting him back to your house was completely off the table, but you didn't just want to walk away and leave him there by himself. "Is your mum coming to get you or...?"

"Yeah, I'll send her a text," he nodded, pulling his phone out of his blazer pocket. He shot a quick text to his mum, and she responded within a few seconds, saying that she was setting off as soon as she could.

Lando noticed that you made no move to leave and go home, instead you stayed by his side. You both stayed silent, unsure of what to say. It hadn't been this awkward between you since the bus ride the week before, and even that felt more comfortable than this did. 

"Just... do me a favour and ignore what they're saying, yeah? It's just them trying to be funny, don't pay any mind to it," Lando said, hoping that you weren't bothered by what his friends were saying. The last thing he wanted was for you to be upset by what they were saying, since he valued your feelings a lot more than he thought he ought to. 

He also highly valued your opinion of him more then he deemed necessary. He didn't want you thinking ill of him, or of his choice in friends. He didn't want you thinking that he was like them, or that he would say things like that. He didn't want you thinking that he didn't care.

Because he did. More than he'd ever care to admit. 

"Yeah, sure," you nodded, not fully convinced. Any time you'd ever been seen with Lando in school by other people that weren't the library lot, you were chastised for it. Yes, it had only been twice, but that was enough to convince you that being around Lando inherently meant that you were going to be hassled. 

Of course, you didn't want it to be like that. Life would be so much easier if you were allowed to just be his friend, and nothing else. You'd help him with maths and whatever other subjects he needed, you could sit together in class without having the mick taken out of you, and you could just enjoy his company. 

Lando could tell that you weren't swayed by his words, and he didn't blame you. His friends would likely make comments for the remainder of the year, and he'd just have to take it in his stride. 

Soon enough, Lando's mum pulled up at the bus stop, getting out of the car to come and greet you. "Y/N, it's lovely to see you again," she beamed, and the smile on her face was enough to quell the worries and slight annoyance that you felt at that moment. 

"Likewise," you nodded, spotting the same scarf around her neck that she let you borrow when the picked you up the week prior. 

"How has your day been, sweetheart?" she asked, even though her motherly instincts could instantly tell that something was wrong. She had also clocked how Lando would barely make eye contact with her or you, and he was fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Good, yeah. Lando now sits with me in maths, so that's... fun." you trailed off, looking for the right word to describe it. Lando sitting with you wasn't the problem, it was the consequences of it. 

"Then I'm sure you can keep helping him out with getting those A's," she smiled. "Now Lando and I have to dash, dinner is nearly ready." 

"Sure, it was nice to see you again. Lando, I'll see you tomorrow," you mustered up one last small smile, before turning and starting the short walk off to your house. Lando clambered into the car next to his mum as she began the drive home. 

"What happened, Lando?" she asked her son, not having the patience to wait any longer to find out what was bothering the both of you. He stayed silent, just staring at the road ahead as she glanced at him. 

He knew her silence meant she was waiting for an answer, and he also knew that lying to her would get him absolutely nowhere. "Just my friends being di- they're being idiots." he corrected himself, his mum chuckling at the slip up. 

"What have they done? Did they say something about Y/N again?" she pushed, waiting for Lando to cave and tell her everything. It never took her long for him to crack and pour out his soul to her, but it would take a bit of prompting. 

"It's just because I've been moved to sit next to her in maths, and after last week they all think I have a crush on her and stuff," he mumbled. And there were those pesky motherly instincts again. 

"So you don't have a crush on her?"

"That's not the point," he rushed, wanting to brush over the tricky topic of his feelings for you as quickly as he could. "The point is is that the comments they make are too far and it upsets her. She says it doesn't but I know it does," he sighed, his mum giving him some more silence to continue if he wanted to.

"I try to get them to stop but they just keep going and it's getting on my nerves." he complained, slumping back against the passenger seat of the car. 

"You've got to try and ignore them, Lando. I know it's not easy when they're being nasty, but it's the best you can do. If you're not affected by it, then they might stop and then it'll be better for both you and her." she said, fully knowing it was easier said than done. 

Lando was strong, she recognised that, but he was already getting worn down by the teasing from his friends. "Yeah, sure," he reluctantly agreed, trying to take his mind off of the whole situation. 

He contemplated texting you to see if you were alright, but that was when he realised he didn't have your actual phone number. He had your Instagram and Snapchat, but not your number. He felt like he was supposed to have it, but he never really thought to ask you.

Maybe he would tomorrow, if he saw you again. He had to tell you about his plans for your DT project anyway, and he had some science stuff that he needed help with as well. 

The next morning, Lando was on the bus as it rolled past your stop. You weren't stood there with your headphones in, shivering because of the biting cold like you usually were. The bus driver didn't even think twice as to why you weren't there, but Lando did.

Thankfully, his friends didn't notice your absence, or how bothered he was by it. He hoped you'd be in school, since he didn't want to go through maths without you. Also, he was wanting to come to the library. It was part of his routine now, and he didn't want to break it. 

He didn't see you in first or second period, but he didn't have any classes with you until later. Going to the library at break, he didn't find you in your corner table, and he really was thinking that you weren't in school today. 

Meanwhile, however, Lando was completely oblivious to the rumours that were spreading about the two of you. The more tame ones were that you both had crushes on each other, and the much worse ones made your skin crawl. 

It was basically all just what Max had said to you last week, complete with the high-pitched, borderline pornographic moans. But it wasn't just him saying it. It was nearly everyone you walked past from your year, all because of how popular Lando was and how notable you weren't in the social hierarchy. 

It was driving you crazy, comment after comment from people who you had never even spoken too. Constant taunts of his name, over and over and over. You tried to hide in all the places you thought possible: the toilets, spare classrooms, corners that no one was usually in. 

Yet you couldn't escape the seemingly unavoidable torment, all because your bus broke down a week ago. You couldn't tell whether you were upset or pissed off, the emotions all swirling together in a maelstrom in your mind. 

You knew Lando would have gone to the library to look for you, but you didn't want to risk even being near him. It was at the point where you were even dreading maths, your favourite hour of the day, just because you'd have to sit with Lando.

The whole experience was so jarring, since one minute you were happily able to mind your own business, but now? You were the center of attention for all the wrong reasons. 

Finally, it was lunch, and you swiftly strode past the canteen where everyone was eating lunch. They'd all be occupied for a short while, so you'd finally be able to find some solace. You also had some of Lando's maths homework to do, even if that was one of the last things you wanted to be doing right now.

Lando was sat with his friends while you walked past, all of them looking and pointing. It was at this point where he started to realise what was going on, and he was catching wind of all the rumours that were being spread about the two of you. 

Guilt sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, the feeling of complete helplessness weighing him down. He gave it a few minutes before saying he was going to the toilet, and none of his friends actually caught on to what he was doing. 

He walked towards the bathrooms, before ducking out of sight and darting up the stairs to the library. There weren't many people in there as his eyes scanned the surroundings. There were the usual people that occupied the room, and you - sitting in the corner, furiously scribbling away at that familiar, crumpled sheet of his maths homework.

For a moment, he just stood there and watched you. You kept crossing things out and punching numbers aggressively into your calculator. This was a far cry from your calm disposition, and it worried him. You had obviously heard the comments, and he knew that people would be saying things to you directly. 

He walked over, pulling out the chair in front of you and sitting down. You eyes flicked up, before focusing back down on the pages on the table. "Go away, Lando," you whispered, the sharp tone of your voice catching him off guard.

He didn't have chance to respond before you chimed in again. "I don't want to be seen with you, so please leave me alone."

Now that hurt. 

You didn't want to be seen with him. This would upset anyone, so he wasn't surprised that you weren't happy about it, but completely ceasing all contact and interaction with him was painful for him. He didn't want to be isolated from you all because the kids in your year were bored and had nothing better to do other than spread lies. 

"No one will come in here, it doesn't matter," he replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. You still had your eyes focused on his homework, your pencil still moving over the paper. 

"And if they do, they'll just say even more shit and I don't want it," you rushed, a single tear falling onto the page and staining it. You wiped them away, trying to stop more from falling from your eyes. 

Lando's heart did nothing short of break as he sat there, feeling completely powerless. He didn't know how to comfort you in this situation, he didn't know how to help, how to make it better. He hated that he was the root cause of all your upset.

"They won't, I'll make sure they won't," he rambled, needing you to believe him. You both knew it was a lie, and he'd never be able to stop the constant teasing for you. He wished he could, but that was simply all it was. A wish.

"Please just leave me alone." you whispered, thrusting the crumpled, tear-stained sheet of maths homework towards him. "And don't worry about my DT stuff, I'll do it myself." you mumbled as Lando just sat there for bit. 

You didn't look at him, just down at the wood of the table. He didn't know what to say, how to get you to believe him. With a resigned sigh, he pushed back from the table, picking up his homework. He folded it and tucked it into his blazer pocket, stepping away from you.

"I still want to be your friend, despite what they're all saying. And I hope I can be," he told you, before walking away and out of the library. He had never felt so unsettled after a conversation ever, and now he felt so down and dejected. 

Mindlessly making his way back to his friends in the canteen, all that he could hear were your words echoing in his head. Sitting back at the table, his friends' attention all turned to him. "That took you awhile." 

"You and Y/N go for a quickie?" someone else laughed, all of his friends bursting out in fits of laughter. Lando just sat there, face like thunder. God, he was getting pissed off. You were upset, his friends were being horrendous, and he had had enough. 

"Will you lot just fucking shut up? Your jokes are tasteless and downright childish. It's not funny, I don't feel like laughing and neither does Y/N, so just drop it and find something else to obsess over." he snapped, and they all just looked at him. 

For a short moment, he thought they were just going to bite their tongues and sit there. Maybe, the normally cool, calm and collected Lando losing his cool was just what they needed to mature for a moment and reflect on how other people felt, not just what seemed humourous at the time. 

But, reality was far crueler than that. "God is she really that bad? Why do you keep going back if you keep getting disappointed?" That was his final straw. 

"Fuck all of you, honestly," he spat, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking off. It would only be a few minutes before the bell went anyway, so Lando took himself off to maths. As he arrived at the room, he found that the door was locked. 

Peering through the window, he saw you, sat there in your seat with a few tears trickling down your cheeks. Your teacher knelt down in front of you, balancing by holding onto the desk. Her face had sympathy written all over it, and it was clear that you were talking about what was happening. 

You kept wiping the tears away, but more stubbornly made their way out of your eyes. He felt like the convalescence was eating him alive from the inside and out. He wished he could take it away, make everything in your life as perfect as it should have been, but he couldn't.

Lando couldn't take watching you any longer, so he lifted his hand and wrapped his fist against the wood of the door. Your teacher stood and let him in, before pulling him over to the side. You still wouldn't look at him. "I know we've just moved you, but would it be alright if I moved you back onto the back row?" she asked.

He said nothing, just nodding and begrudgingly going to sit in his new seat. You didn't even want to sit with him. Lando pulled his phone out of his pocket, not caring if your teacher got mad. She noticed, but didn't say anything. "Lando phone away when people start coming in, please."

He put it away as soon as he asked his mum if she could pick him up, since he didn't feel like getting the bus. She responded with a swift 'yes', and he put his phone away as instructed. 

The end of the day couldn't come quick enough as maths droned on and he was finally able to escape. As he walked past the bus stop, he noticed that you weren't there. He figured you had done the same thing as him: asking one of your parents to pick you up to avoid the treacherous bus journey.

Wordlessly, Lando climbed into his mum's car as she looked at her son's face. For the first time ever, she couldn't tell how he was feeling. His face was completely blank, practically unemotional. She had never been this worried about Lando. 

"Sweetheart, what-" she started, before noticing the tears brimming up in his eyes. She would have pulled over, but she didn't want anyone from school seeing. "Darling what's wrong?" she asked, still reluctantly driving. 

"They just... they just won't stop." he said, his voice cracking with the words. "I just want them to leave me alone, leave her alone. She doesn't even want to be my friend anymore, I had to get moved away from her in maths, and it's just all shit," he rambled, a few tears rolling down his reddened cheeks.

"Oh, Lando..." she softly said, her heart breaking at the sight of his tears. He was never one to cry, or get overly emotional about stuff. He was a typical teenage boy in many aspects, and his emotions were no exception. He liked to keep things to himself, only letting is feelings show when they were hitting him in overwhelming bouts.

"Does she think you're saying things about her?" she asked, not wanting to upset him even more. 

"No, I don't think so. She just said she doesn't want to be seen near me when I went to go see her in the library like I normally do, and she was crying before maths to our teacher." he explained, and she was at a complete loss on what to do. "The stuff they say to her is just... God it's awful..." he mumbled, wiping away his tears. 

"Sweetheart I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but is that Y/N walking home?" she asked, and the question caught him off guard. Funnily enough, he looked out the window to see you trudging home. 

You had your hands stuffed in your pockets with your headphones plugged in your ears, your breath appearing like mist in front of you. That was when it dawned on him that your parents hadn't come to pick you up, you had taken it upon yourself to make the nearly hour long walk home in the freezing winter temperatures. 

"Yeah. Yeah it is," he confirmed, suddenly conflicted. His mum would obviously want to give you a ride, and he did too. He didn't want you walking home in the biting cold, but he also didn't think he could take seeing you upset, or you seeing him upset. 

But his heart won out. "Can we take her home, please?" he quietly asked, and his mum nodded, pulling over onto the pavement so that she could get out to talk to you. Lando got out to hop in the back, wanting to give you the front seat with his mum. 

"Y/N? Sweetheart? Do you need a ride?" she asked, approaching you as you pulled your headphones out of your ears. She could see the redness around your eyes, undoubtedly from crying.

"No, no. But thank you," you weakly smiled, the pained expression on your face making it impossible for her to just let you go.

"Lando told me about what's been happening. I understand why you don't want to be near him right now, but there's no one around, I will get you home and warm as quickly as possible." she reassured, hell bent on not leaving until she had you in the car. 

"OK," you agreed, walking to the car and getting in the front seat. Lando had already cranked up the heating and put the heated seats on for you, the leather warming underneath you. You knew he was on the backseat, but you refused to acknowledge him. 

Deep down, you knew you were being unnecessarily harsh towards Lando. He hadn't done anything wrong, and he had tried to be there for you in the best way he knew possible. Thankfully, he knew you weren't pushing him away because of him directly, it was because of what being around him brought you. 

He was sure that you still liked him, and he didn't take this personally. Yet it didn't stop him longing for you to be his friend again, to banter and joke with you and to just spend time with you like he used to. 

From his bag, he pulled out that same navy sweater and handed it to you, and you accepted it with a small smile in the rear view mirror. Your fingertips brushed against his as your fists closed around the fabric, the cold of your hands stinging his skin. 

You shrugged your coat off of your shoulders, pulling the jumper over your head. It was still too big on you, the sleeves stopping up to your knuckles. If you were standing, it would hand down to the tops of your thighs.

The drive to your house was silent, the only sound being the heating flowing through the vents as well as the occasional ticks of the indicators. After a short while of driving, you pulled up outside of your house.

Lando waited in the car as his mum escorted you to the door, a warm expression on her face. "Come here," she quietly said, opening her arms out to you. Without a second thought, you let herself fall into her embrace, softly shaking with silent sobs. 

"I know it's hard darling, I know it is," she whispered to you, one hand reaching up to stroke your hair. "It'll get better, I promise." she tried to reassure. 

For Lando, it was one of the worst scenes he had to bear witness to. He had seen you crying more than he had seen you smile as of recent, and it was killing him inside. He wanted to get out of the car and hug you as well, but he didn't want to run the risk of upsetting you even more.

Once you were settled in the house, his mum finished the drive home and let him have some piece. In his room, he sat at his desk, just mindlessly staring into space. You were all he could think about, and he couldn't shake you off. 

The sight of your tear-stained face was clouding his mind like an early-morning fog that he couldn't blow away. His eyes fell upon your pieces of wood for your DT project on his desk, as well as the maths homework he wouldn't be able to give you to finish. 

At this point, the deal didn't matter. Sure, you still had 3 weeks of homework of his to do, and he still had to do your workshop stuff for another week, but that was the least of his concerns. But he still wanted to do it for you. 

Lando had skipped dinner, not feeling hungry enough to go downstairs to eat. He also didn't feel like being held to people's questions and talks about what everyone had been up to in the day. He just needed some time alone. 

Just before he was going to take himself to an early bed, there was a knock at his bedroom door. "Yeah?" he called out, the door opening to reveal his mum.

"How are you doing?" she asked, entering and coming to sit next to him on the edge of his bed. 

"I'm... fine," he lied, not wanting to delve into the complexity of his feelings. He didn't want to have to voice his deeper rooted mindset on you. He couldn't tell if he was upset that now you'd never consider being anything more than his friend, or if he was more saddened by the fact that you didn't even want to be his friend anymore. 

He had been grappling with his feelings for the past couple of days, shocked at how quickly they had settled into his mind. Lando had never developed such a strong admiration for anyone in his entire life - even if every crush he had ever had was based off of purely superficial factors. 

But you weren't like that. Yes, he thought you were one of the prettiest girls he had ever laid his eyes upon, but it wasn't the driving motive for his feelings. He liked your personality, your humour, how goddamn smart you were. 

Seeing you thrive in the environment you worked best in was so fulfilling to him, and it was one of the many reasons he held you so dear to him. Yet he didn't know what to do about his feelings. He didn't want to ruin your friendship by telling you, but he didn't want to miss the opportunity to have something real with you. 

You were special to him, oh so special. He liked the idea of you as his girlfriend. Walking you to class, studying together, getting to sit together whenever you wanted and the comments wouldn't get to you because you'd be his. Maybe you'd even be able to sneak in a few kisses when no one was looking. 

Despite being the most sought-after boy in highschool, and the closest thing to an american 'jock' that a british secondary school had to offer, he still hadn't really delved into anything relationship-wise. No kisses for the sake of it, nothing. Hell, even Max had kissed a girl at a party once, but Lando never had.

"I'm really proud of you, you know," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging him closer to her. "You did the right thing today, even if it wasn't the most pleasant option for you," she continued. 

"I know you want her to be your friend again, but you've just got to give her time. People will forget about it and move onto someone else soon enough, but you've just got to wait it out and be there for her when she wants you, which she will. You're both very overwhelmed and neither of you know what to do, but it'll all work out." she reassured, kissing him on top of his curly locks.

"It doesn't bother me what they say to me, it's the fact that she's so upset by it... that's what makes it worse," he quietly admitted, leaning into his mum's comforting embrace. They sat there for a while, just hugging. 

"You need to get some sleep, sweetheart. You've just got tomorrow then all weekend, yeah? We can do whatever you want, with whoever." she told him, wanting to make his weekend as good as possible. 

"I've got homework to do," he sighed, thinking over all the assignments that he wouldn't be able to have your help with. Glancing back over at the desk, he saw the remnants of your DT project sitting there, his mind now set on doing this for you. 

"You can do it on Sunday," she told him, trying to sway him into just having fun for a day. She wanted to cheer her son up after the shitty few days that he had gone through, and he deserved a bit of respite. 

"But I want to finish off Y/N's project... I promised..." he whispered, the words tugging at his mum's heart strings. She had never seen her son so attached to someone, so desperate to please them and make them happy. 

She was proud of him, proud of the man he was becoming. It was obvious how much he cared for you, and she really hoped that you'd allow him back in again, than you'd allow him to be your friend and maybe more again. 

"How about you ask dad to help you with it on Sunday? Make it really special?" she suggested, and she noticed the slight light sparking in his eyes at the idea. 

"Yeah, I think I'll do that," he nodded, already running through the different possibilities of what he could do on your project to make it best in the class. He may have been struggling, but it wasn't going to stop him from trying to make you happy.

No matter what anyone said, how they made him feel, how they forced you to push him away, he'd always try for you. You made him a better version of himself, a version that worked hard and cared about more than just getting through school and being cool while doing it. 

You made him care about his grades, how he spoke to people, his actions. You made him better. You made him want to be better. For you. All of it was for you. 

A/N - I know, I've not posted anything in a week, I am sorry. I have been working on this one all week, and I have started the next part for y'all. Something about writing highschool Lando just hits different. It would be the same if I did Charles, Carlos, Max etc, but they would be in a british highschool because that's what I know best. Anyways, have a wonderful day/night, love y'all! 💖🤓

tag list: @anvi-sarai @robotchickenmerp @cheriladycl01

|masterlist|

[misotsukiiyeooo]

“Are you mad at me?”

Pairing: Chwe Vernon x F! reader

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

Genre: Angst + Fluff

Word count: 4.3k

Synopsis: Vernon couldn't tell that you were upset until hours later. So he attempts to make up for it.

Still upset with the fact that Vernon completely ignored you while you were talking to him. You decide to be a bit distant with him, petty you thought but you were still pretty upset.

"Babe, do you want to go outside with me? I'm going to the store." He peaks his head through the door viewing you lying on the bed, scrolling through your phone, not even looking at him you respond. "No, I'm alright." You state barely audible. He brushes it off and goes out. Time passes and you're sitting on the couch, away from him and you can't believe he still hasn't noticed your attitude towards him. Making you even more upset you get off the couch, mid-movie walking to the room, and slamming the door softly. An hour passes meaning the movie's over, Vernon walks into the bedroom, observing your body, facing the wall while you once again scroll through your phone. He raises an eyebrow, usually, you'd turn around and practically jump on him. But since yesterday you've been acting distant with him. Getting under the covers, resting his head on the pillow he bites his lip, nervously he looks over to your back. "Are you mad at me..?" Seeing you turn off your phone and make an excuse made his heart drop. "I'm tired." You pretend to go to sleep while Veron's now fidgeting with his fingers. "Oh alright..." He looks at your back for a couple more seconds before attempting to sleep himself.

The sun kissing your face wakes you up only to see the other side of the bed cold and empty. 'Way to make me grumpy in the morning' you thought. Getting out of bed walking to the bathroom only to see a pink post-it note on the mirror. Vernon's handwriting, you take the note reading it. "I had to go help Seungkwan out at his house, can you buy some more snacks for when I come back home?" Scoffing, you crumble the paper and throw it out.

Next thing you know, You're at the store getting his snacks. 'Why do I do these things to myself' You grunt filling up the basket with chips and candies. Driving home, you call Joshua, your therapist. "Hey, Y/n! What's up?" He answers jolly per usual. After ranting about Vernon you hear him hum. "Do you think he knows what he's done?" "No.." you know where this is going. "So then don't you think you should tell him? You know Vernon better than anyone, he won't know unless you tell him." You secretly knew all along however, it would've been nice if he at least acknowledged he was in the wrong. you huff, "You're right...like always. I'll tell him about it when I get home. Thanks, Shua." "Anytime, Y/n." You hang up, time to talk to Vernon. Sighing at the thought.

Walking into the house, eyes widening upon seeing Vernon hold a bouquet of your favorite flower and cute squishmellow. He bites his lips nervously. "Listen, I'm not exactly sure what I did...I sound like a fucked up boyfriend not paying to their girlfriend, but trust me I noticed you were upset. Probably a bit late but if you could explain to me what I've done wrong, I would never, ever do it again.." He emphasizes the 'ever'.

His nervousness turns into a worried expression after seeing you cry like a child. "Did I say something wrong?.." He attempts to approach you but stops himself mid-way. "Vernon, I-" You try to talk all choked up. "Vernon, I'm sorry, I should've talked about it with you instead of acting out of character...Now thinking about it, it was so stupid." He hugs you. "Tell me, if it upsetted you that much, I should know so I won't do it again." Calming down you mumble into his chest. "Well, I was trying to talk to you three days ago on the couch and you completely ignored me...I was pretty excited to talk about it but you didn't respond at all." You finally let out. "Oh my...Babe, I'm sorry but I'd never just ignore you for no reason. I had my AirPods in...I didn't realize they were that loud in my ear." You look up at him. "Are you telling the truth?" He chuckles and nods. "Great, now I've made a fool out of myself." Sinking your face into the crook of his neck he giggles. "I can't believe you actually thought I would ever ignore you. But still, I apologize for having my AirPods too loud in my ears. I won't do it again." Now chuckling, he wipes your tears. "Am I forgiven?" Admiring your face he picks back up the bouquet and squishmellow smiling. Grabbing his cheeks, tiptoeing, you kiss him. "Of course you are, Mr.Headphones."

Reqs are open!

Taglist!!

[moralesmilesanhour]

mad props! 05

summary: you learn a couple new things about Miles as you fall into your new study routine. wc: 1.1k start from the beginning prev next a/n: probs won't update regularly if i'm being transparent but i gotta wrap the story up! so expect more in the coming weeks probably. and before you ask no this does not mean i'm returning to writing reader insert i am just finishing what i started bc i feel like i owe it to my audience ! much love <3

The auditorium was empty during lunchtime, which meant that no one was there to spectate as the sound of your voice echoed through the rows of unoccupied seats. You were working on one of the numbers from the second act.

“It’s not up to me…Just let me be…Legally–”

“I knew I’d find you here.”

You sighed, not needing to look up to know who it was.

“Have you come to take me away?” you asked dryly as you descended down the steps and trudged over to where Miles stood in the middle of the aisle with a smug look on his face.

“You can finish your song, if you want.”

You brushed right past him towards the double doors.

“Stop pretending to be nice.”

Essentially being a teacher’s assistant, Miles had elevator privileges that removed the hassle of climbing up five flights of stairs to reach Mr. Sanchez’s classroom, making it the most (and perhaps the only) pleasant part of the experience.

Sanchez was digging into a bowl of salad when the two of you arrived.

“Ah! Buenas tardes,” he greeted hastily through a mouthful of lettuce. “Thank you for being on time.”

You shoved past Miles and rushed over to the professor’s desk.

“I just have to make up for last week’s missing homework and a couple quizzes, right?”

“Well, yes, but there’s also–”

“Can I just do that at home, then? All due respect, but I really don’t need a partner to–”

“Hold on,” he held up a hand to stop you. “You also have some gaps in understanding when it comes to grammatical concepts such as presente and futuro, missing assignments notwithstanding. You’ll go over those with Miles first before making up last Friday’s quiz independently. Comprende?”

You visibly deflated where you stood. To tell the truth, the different tenses were never your strong suit, but you were able to get away with that with flawless vocabulary memorization and verb conjugation (in the present tense, of course). Now? Not so much.

“Comprende,” you groaned before turning away to grab a seat.

Miles had already taken a chair and pulled it up to one of the desks in the front, and was sitting on it backwards with his notebook in front of him.

“Ready, partner?” he said with a wide, mocking grin. He knew you couldn’t tell him to shut up in front of Sanchez.

You rolled your eyes and sat down with a slump.

“Let’s get it over with.”

He opened his notebook and flipped through a few messy pages before landing on a blank sheet. Sloppily ripping it free from its binding, he took out a Sharpie (which he uncapped with his teeth) and began to draw a line down the middle. 

“What are you doing?”

He began writing a series of words down either side of the line.

“Helping you.”

Miles slid the piece of paper towards you.

It was a verb conjugation chart, labeled ‘Past Tense’ in his strange handwriting that made no distinction between upper and lower-case letters.

“I’m gonna give you a sentence, and you repeat it back to me in the past tense. Then we’re gonna do the same thing in futuro.”

You sulked, “How come you don’t have to memorize anything? You said you don’t even study.”

He gave you a blank, ‘are-you-stupid’ look.

“I speak Spanish.”

“No duh, I mean in every other class. You know the whole periodic table front-to-back.”

“Huh? Oh, photographic memory. I only need to read something once,” he tapped his forehead, “then it’s locked in.”

Stunned, you could do nothing but lean back in your chair and slowly shake your head.

“Absolutely ridiculous.”

The rest of that week had you repeating the same song and dance of trudging into Sanchez’s classroom and running drills with Miles and his impromptu conjugation charts. For every wrong answer, Miles made an incredibly irritating sound that was meant to imitate a game show buzzer, which forced you to pay more attention to minimize how often you had to hear it.

You hated to admit it, but at some point you began to retain the tenses with more ease than before and noticed a steady increase in your quiz grades as a result. 

Thursday after school saw you arrive at an empty auditorium, thirty minutes before rehearsal. Any normal student would spend this extra time studying or doing homework, but you had seen enough flashcards and charts to last you a lifetime. Instead, you pulled out your highlighted copy of the sheet music for ‘Chip on My Shoulder’ and began rehearsing as a one-man ensemble.

Your singing today felt more difficult than usual; the lyrics suddenly felt heavy on your tongue, the notes coming out strained and forced. In the middle of a line, the double doors swung open just as your voice cracked.

“Damn, were you lip-syncing this whole time? You sound rough.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course it had to be him.

Miles sounded nearly out-of-breath as he strolled past you, his uniform rumpled shirt and un-tucked, as if he’d just put it on. The band-aid on his forehead was joined by another, more colorful one on his cheek. 

“As if you could do better,” you scoffed as you watched him toss his bag onto an empty chair two seats away from where you sat.

He looked up with a mischievous grin.

“I could.”

“Oh?” You smirked and shoved the sheet music into his face. “Try it, then.”

Miles squinted at it before pushing it away.

“Pfft, this song is lightwork. I don’t need that.”

“Alright, then recite your lines. I’ll start,” you inhaled deeply and held up the lyrics. “ ‘You came out here–’”

“‘To follow a man? Harvard Law was part of that plan? Man, what rich, romantic planet are you from?’”

Startled by his near-perfect pitch, you stuttered, lowering the sheet of paper a bit to give Miles an odd look. 

He continued, “ ‘Instead of lying outside by the pool, you stalk some guy to an Ivy League School’...et cetera.”

You blinked in utter disbelief. Miles’ voice had a tone as clear as a bell, and flawless diction to match. If he had auditioned, he would’ve been a shoe-in.

“...Huh. You sing? Like, actually?”

He shrugged, “I used to lead the choir at church, but not anymore.”

Just as he finished his sentence, Sarah followed by a handful of tech kids began trickling into the auditorium.

“Oh, sweet, you guys are early!” Sarah nodded, making two check marks on her clipboard as her bag hung off of one shoulder. “Miles, d’you wanna help figure out the lighting situation for the show? Josh said you were good with color.”

“Sure, not a problem.”

“You’re amazing, dude. I don’t know how we would’ve gotten those sets done without you.”

“All in a day’s work!”

[lk0727]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[merakiui]

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back. 

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don���t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

[captain-mj]

The Journal

I don't know. Cw: Ghost's backstory

Soap found the unassuming book on his desk. The edges of the paper had turned slightly yellow and they were clearly flipped through quite often. He frowned at it, wondering who went into his room and set this there. It felt... almost threatening.

Soap gently opened the book to look at the first page.

I'm writing this journal as a "therapy" exercise. Frankly I think it's fucking bollocks. I'm fine. I dream about nothing.

Well. That wasn't very helpful. The handwriting was odd. Almost scrawling, like the person who was writing had shaky hands but also couldn't be bothered to hold the pen properly.

Soap frowned. This seemed a rather personal thing to give to a person. But it was in his room.

Just one more page.

Apparently I'm supposed to introduce myself. Fine. My name is Simon Riley. I belong to the SAS. I was a POW for a couple of months. I keep hearing numbers but none of them feel right. I think parts of me are still down there.

I hurt. Everywhere. Especially when people touch me. I can't sleep. Can barely eat. My mum is worried. So does Tommy. I want to tell them to fuck off. I have. But they keep worrying. I wonder if this is how Beth felt.

On the page was a polaroid. A baby faced Simon with nasty scars on his face, still fresh and angry. He looked half dead. Dark circles under his eyes and an expression nothing like his usual. Someone had their hand on his shoulder, but he could only see their arm.

Soap sucked in a breath. There was no way Ghost gave this to him. No fucking way.

He got up and grabbed the book, going straight for Ghost's quarters, planning on returning it immediately and pretending he had found it and couldn't find Price to turn it in.

Ghost's quarters were empty. His knives were missing, but his clothes were still there, meaning he was on a mission.

Fuck.

Soap paused and tapped his foot. He wasn't sure if Price was around. How did someone get this? If he left it in his room, he was worried someone would find it. He'd have to keep it. Just to be sure.

Soap set it back on his desk. When he saw Price, he'd talk to him.

After a minute of staring at it, Soap shoved the book into a drawer and closed it tight. He left to talk to Gaz to distract himself for a few hours.

Gaz was nice enough to tell him that Ghost and Price were on a mission together and that they wouldn't be back for a few days.

No big deal.

A few days with a book that potentially had a lot of answers to some questions he had about Ghost.

Soap didn't make it the night before he was reading more pages. He never claimed to have great self control.

Good morning. I feel like a teen, writing in a diary. I've been put on new medication today. Supposed to help. It makes me dizzy for some reason.

My mum keeps making me tea. She wants to make sure I'm real. I see her hands hovering around me. If I wasn't such a shit son, I'd tell her she can hug me. The thought makes my skin crawl. I see her dead body in my dreams. I see the skull they said was hers. I want to tell her I'm okay, but I don't want to lie.

Soap felt sick. There was a drawing. It was crude, clearly done out of boredom and with no real care behind it. Soap was pretty sure it was a skull that was dripping something. Maybe blood. The ink was all black so there was no way to tell. "Mum" was written several times around it.

I dreamed about her again.

That caught Soap's attention. Her? Was Ghost into women? That seemed unlikely.

She used to speak so soothingly in spanish to me. I wonder if she was like me. Did Roba rape her too?

Soap shut the book and shoved it under his pillow. Enough of that. Nope. He didn't want to think of those words and what they meant.

Fucking too.

No.

No...

No!

The idea of something like that happening to his Lieutenant was... It just... didn't happen.

Soap pulled the book out and kept reading. Just... to prove it wasn't real.

I don't know. It's not a nice thought. Maybe I want someone else to hurt too. I tried to jack off the other day and ended up scrubbing myself raw afterward from how it made me feel. How pathetic right?

Not sure what this is doing. What benefit this has. I'm writing my thoughts. Trying to feel better. Tommy joked about me buying a hooker. I had a panic attack. it was like i was back in high school again. fucking baby.

There was a picture of someone, presumably Tommy, and Simon hanging out. They were both smoking and Tommy was making a sign with his hands. He had a giant grin on his face. Simon had a carved out Glasgow smile that looked like it hurt. Raw. it looked to be after the earlier polaroid. The dark circles hadn't gotten better, but there was more color and flesh in his face.

My mum wants me to talk to my dad. I don't know why. I don't know want to see him. Can't let him see me right now. Maybe when I'm recovered. Last time I saw him, I beat his ass. Doubt he's going to forgive me.

Bastard is pure evil. He gets off on hurting people. Got off on hurting me. I think he's trying to use the cancer as an excuse to get close to my mum again. I'll beat his ass again. I'm putting on more weight. I'll fucking do it.

There was a little stick man drawing labeled 'Simon' and 'Bitch' with Simon beating him to death. Soap thought the blood was rather well drawn, even if the stick figures wasn't.

As the week went on, he kept reading a few pages at a time. He learned... things.

Ghost liked Vanilla tea.

Ghost had been assaulted by more than one person.

Ghost's father had beaten him. A lot.

Ghost was scared of snakes.

Ghost loved his Mum.

Ghost hated most mystery movies.

Tommy was Ghost's brother and was the second most important in his life.

And that they were all dead. All of them.

He wrote an explanation of everything there. In a clinical, harsh detail.

I wish I had died down there in Mexico. I wish I had laid down in that grave and died. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

It kept repeating and then he had just started over and wrote over the first layer.

Soap was crying. He couldn't help it. Tommy was so... young. Not to mention the descriptions Ghost gave of his family in general. The pages after that were mostly drawings or scribbles, all made with heavy hands.

Simon knocked. He could tell by the sound he made when he knocked. "Johnny?"

"When did you get back?"

"...Just now. Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Soap wiped his face so he'd look... normal. "Yeah come in."

Ghost stepped inside and saw the book. "Enjoy it?"

"What?"

"I left it for you."

"Why?"

Ghost hummed. "Thought it would be the easiest way to let you in."

Soap swallowed. "You don't do anything half assed do you?"

Ghost's eyes stared at him. Answer enough right there.

[horrorhot-line]

eunoia

(n.) beautiful thinking; a well mind.

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo/reader

➵ word count: 4.8k

➵ genre: slight angst? fluff

➵ warnings: none

➵ summary: teruhashi and mikoto swap looks and all it does is annoy saiki, he asks you for help once again. alternatively, teruhashi and mikoto compete to figure out saiki’s type, you try not to get involved but get dragged into things anyway.

➵ masterlist  (requests are open)

➵previous post -  rame

I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING POSTED BY ANYONE ELSE ON ANY PLATFORM

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader’ ‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’ “saiki talking without moving his mouth.” “saiki talking using his mouth.”

notes: this was a request, found here, finally i’ve managed to update the series and i hope you all like the newest rendition. this one’s based off of season 2 episode 17. enjoy!!!

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Sitting across from Kokomi, you took down notes from her book. You had asked her beforehand for help since you didn't understand the class material. Of course, like the 'angel' she was, she didn't refuse. After grabbing a chair from another desk, you had parked yourself in front of her. Though, it proved hard to focus when everyone around you gushed about her perfect she was.

You leaned back in place, picking up Kokomi's notebook to take a closer look at it, squinting your eyes at it. Almost as if the action itself would help it magically make sense. The words written on the pages were elegant- even her handwriting was perfect. You sighed, yet again realising that if anyone ended up with Saiki- it would be her.

'Stop thinking useless things.' You nearly jumped in surprise. Would you ever get used to him randomly talking to you telepathically? Probably not. You furrowed your eyebrows and closed your eyes in slight frustration. 'I swear I told you to stop that.' You thought back at Saiki, recognising his voice in your head.

You shoved down the thought of how nice he sounded, regardless of whether he talked to you with his mouth or not. 'Stop what?' He retorted. You were grateful Teruhashi was too busy feeling proud of the attention she was getting from the guys in the class to pay attention to your expressions. 'Checking into my thoughts like I'm some radio station.' You huffed mentally.

'I can't help hearing you.' You exhaled through your nose, slumping in your seat. You knew he was right, but still! He didn't have to reply to you- he could ignore it. 'It's not like I'm wrong, she's perfec-' He cut off your thought before you could continue. 'Don't care.' Typical Saiki, always having to be in the right. 'Why not?'

'Because I don't... besides, she's not my type.' That made you raise an eyebrow to yourself. You looked over your shoulder to Saiki, still sitting at his desk, before you turned around to face in front of you. 'Why not?' You hoped you didn't sound too curious, aiming for indifference. It didn't work. 'She's not my type,' He reiterated.

That made you wonder, who was then? You shook your head, going back to pretending you were paying attention to Teruhashi's notebook- or trying to, at least. It was none of your business, to begin with, so it's not like you'd pry. Part of you didn't want to know so you wouldn't go around unconsciously changing your appearance.

What good would it do finding out anyway? It's not like you would fit his expectations. Knowing him meant being aware of the fact that he didn't have a single bone for romance in his body. That didn't stop the pang of pain you felt in your gut. You chose to halt your thought process before you got upset. There was no point souring your mood over something like that.

You would've started focusing on the school work you had left had it not been for Mikoto calling out Saiki's name. "Kusuo!" Turned out, you weren't the only one paying attention- Teruhashi had whipped her head to look in their direction. If you hadn't moved back in time, her perfect hair would have slapped you in the face.

"Let's go get cake later!" Mikoto announced, and you ignored the bitter taste in your mouth. Was this feeling... jealousy? No way. It was, but it's not like you would admit it to yourself. You watched Teruhashi's expression darken, and you moved back. She had a piece of her hair in her mouth, and she ground her teeth in anger. She looked creepy, and you had no intention of setting her off, even by accident. She was giving off Sadako (girl from the ring) vibes. You shivered involuntarily.

You didn’t need the power of mind reading to know what she was thinking. ‘Acting so friendly with Saiki, darn that b!tch!’

You said nothing when Teruhashi got up abruptly and excused herself to you, knowing full well she was going after Mikoto and the psychic. Saiki was popular- he had two of the prettiest girls in the school chasing after him. You exhaled deeply, shaking your head to yourself.

So much for not putting yourself in a sour mood. You quietly returned to your desk, deciding to sleep the rest of the day away instead. Education be damned.

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Your jaw dropped to the floor when you came to school the next day, only to find Teruhashi had copied Mikoto's style. The rest of the guys in the classroom shared your sentiment. "Oh, my!" and "No way!!" was all they could muster. One of them asked what had happened to her directly. "A makeover," She answered, a faint blush lining her cheeks. You cringed.

The boys in the class ogled at her telling her how great she looked. Personally, you thought the change didn't suit her, but to each their own. Did miss perfect think the fortune teller in question was Saiki's type? Oh, dear lord.

You were sat across Saiki this time when she showed up to school. 'What is she doing?' Saiki thought at you, and you replied, still staring at Teruhashi- dumbfounded. 'I think you already know.' He deadpanned, sighing at her behaviour. 'She thinks I'm going to gasp.' 

‘Who knows, maybe you will.’ You teased, only for him to turn to you with his face void of emotion. ‘Stop it.’ You wanted to snort because Saiki would do that when pigs fly. Disclaimer: never gonna happen. Not on your watch. 'Fat chance.' Knowing him, he'd just sigh at her behaviour. She had the wrong idea about the pink-haired boy, that was for sure.

You hadn't noticed Mikoto standing behind you until Saiki raised his head to look at her, and she spoke. "Wah! Terukoko, that look fits you!" She complimented, before presenting herself to Saiki. 'And this one, what has she done?' You raised your head back to look at her before you rushed to turn around in your chair when you caught a glimpse of her. 'Oh, no...' You thought back at Saiki. 'Oh, no indeed, good grief.' What a disaster.

She had straightened her hair and dyed it brown- though her iconic clip remained. Her jewellery and acrylic nails were nowhere to be seen. "What do you think? I'm mainstream, now," Mikoto questioned. Had the two- had they switched their looks for the day? Of course, they had. But why? Ah, it was because they were trying to be Saiki's type, each one confusing something fundamental. The boy didn't have one- a type. 

He did, but what you weren’t aware of that.

Not waiting for an answer from Saiki, she turned to Teruhashi, going back to gushing over her with a smile. "Terukoko, you looked really cute, so I tried a more conventional look like yours." At least she was honest, you had to commend her for that. 'Terukoko?' Saiki commented, questioning the nickname. You were too shell shocked to reply.

"It's a wig, though," Mikoto clarified, and you sighed in relief. She hadn't done any permanent damage. 'What are they trading looks for?' Of course, he didn't know- the boy was dense as a rock. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Exactly what I said. It means you can't even tell when they change their styles to impress you.' You shot back. You felt Teruhashi staring at the two of you, but refused to look her way- in fear of incurring the anger of a jealous high school girl in love. 'Great, now Teruhashi thinks I like girls for their boobs.'

You turned to look back at him, your back hurting from twisting to observe Mikoto. 'Why would she think that?' You questioned Saiki. He sighed, lowering his head. 'That's the difference between the two.' You brought your hand up to cover your mouth. He wasn't wrong, Teruhashi's chest was small compared to the fortune teller. A cup vs Double Ds.

It was clear the psychic had had enough of the whole fiasco. Mikoto left after Saiki told her off, apologising as she did. You exhaled. Something about the two of them switching styles to catch Saiki's attention didn't sit well with you. You ignored the feeling, refusing to dwell on it further. Instead, you focused on Saiki. A mistake, if you were being honest.

The moment you got lost in admiring his features, the world faded away. A horrible sign, because it meant this boy had a hold on you and he wouldn't do a damn thing about it. You wanted to reach out and touch his hair, it looked soft to the touch and you wanted to feel it. To feel him. You restrained yourself, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

Saiki would let you touch his hair if you asked, but you didn't- so it's not like he'd offer himself. You didn't need to know that, though.

His lips looked soft too, they were light pink, a few shades dimmer compared to his hair. When the thought of kissing him crossed your mind, you clenched your jaw. No. You would never go there, you wouldn't allow yourself to even imagine it.

He was your friend for god's sake! You had to keep yourself in line. Lest you destroy the relationship you had with him. When his eyes met yours, stoic and devoid of emotion, you felt your heart stop. The butterflies erupted in your stomach and you cursed at yourself for letting something that simple get to you.

You didn't even realise he was calling, your mind hadn't even registered his lips moving, calling out your name. Only when he softly touched your hand, the one on his desk did you snap out of it. You flushed red- the colour, you were sure had enveloped your entire being.

"Y/n. Pay attention. You'll fail the upcoming mock test otherwise." No witty response came from you, too dazed to fire back. "Ye-yeah." You said meekly, failing to notice the look of slight worry Saiki shot at you. The feeling of his fingers on the back of your hand, made the tips of your ears burn. You tried not to think about how nice his touch felt. 

His hands were warm. He was warm.

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You decided by the end of the school day that you weren't going to get involved with the non-existent love triangle Mikoto and Teruhashi were convinced existed. You made quick work of packing your bags, noting how Saiki had come to the same conclusion as you, excluding himself from the situation.

Saiki had gone to the toilet right before the last period concluded, his typical escape route when he wanted to avoid people. Truth be told, you were surprised that neither female had followed him.

Before you had the chance to put your pencil case away, the girls in question had walked up to your desk. You reluctantly looked up, your hand in your bag as you shot them a tense smile. You had spoken too soon. Looked like not getting involved wouldn't be an option.

Mikoto brushed her wig behind her shoulder before folding her arms in front of her chest. You tried not to pay attention to the way her boobs looked bigger because of the action, looking at the desk next to you as if it was interesting.

'Y/n, don't say a word. Walk away.' Saiki's voice reverberated inside your skull.

You tried to control your expression of surprise, had you not done so, your eyebrows would've disappeared past your hairline. Trying not to think about how much you missed his honey-like voice, you zipped up your bag quietly.

Traitor. If he was going to escape, knowing what was to come, he should've taken you with him. A fair warning, at least, would've been nice. You didn't have the braincells for this. The remaining three just screamed 'Hungry, angry, hangry!'

"Need something?" You asked absent-mindedly as you checked the time on your phone. "What's Saiki's type?" You sighed inwardly. Of course, Mikoto would be direct. Your eyes met Teruhashi's, who immediately looked away as if she was embarrassed. No surprise there, she would never ask, lest she gives away the name of her 'secret' crush.

'Don't say anything, Y/n. I'm warning you.' Saiki affirmed, and you groaned internally. 'I got it, I got it. Wasn't planning on it anyways, I don't know your type to begin wit- wait, are you still in the bathroom?'

Silence passed for a few seconds before he said something again. '...Yes.' The corners of your mouth twitched. You stopped yourself from laughing, the idea of Saiki squatting on a closed toilet bowl trying to talk to you flashed through your head. 'I'm not squatting. Good grief. Just get rid of them.'

You rolled your eyes mentally, before looking at Mikoto, who was still waiting for your response. "You're asking the wrong person- I don't know." You hoped that would get them to leave you alone. You didn't even get the chance to grab your school bag before she spoke up again. "How could you not? You're close with him!" You sighed, audibly this time.

"So, what? Doesn't mean I have an answer to your question." Forget being polite, you did not have the mental capacity for a conversation like that today. You turned to leave the classroom only to find Mikoto was still following you, Teruhashi on her heels. "Wai- Wait up! Stop trying to keep him to yourself, Y/n! I got a right to know." Her voice still as cheery as always.

That pissed you off. Keep him- to yourself? What a joke. You had no intention of making a move on Saiki. You turned around abruptly, stopping her in her tracks. "I am not. He's my friend, and I have no interest in the guy. Do you get that? F-R-I-E-N-D-S. I don't know his type, he's never told me or shown a liking for the female gender for that matter." You clenched your jaw.

Did they have any idea how much it hurt watching them try so hard for him? Knowing you could never act as freely as they did? Watching them chase after him any chance they got? You didn't mind their feelings for him- after all, it wasn't your place to decide who could go after him and who couldn't. That didn't mean you wouldn't feel jealous of it, though. ‘F^ck this.’

"Why don't you ask him, yourself?" You huffed before you turned on your heel. You half-heartedly accepted the sorry Mikoto shot your way, waving your hand before you walked down the hallway to the stairs that would get you out of the stupid school building. 

When Saiki teleported from the bathroom to the shoe lockers near the exit, joining you in walking home, you stayed silent.

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The next day wasn't any better. Mikoto showed up with the same wig from the day before, and glasses this time. You assumed she hadn't taken your advice and asked him. When Teruhashi entered the classroom, you sighed for the 1000th time that week.

Teruhashi had dyed her hair blonde and had a bow resting in it. Not to mention the fact that it was curled just like Mikoto's. 'It gets worse,' you thought to yourself, shaking your head. Like clockwork, the boys in the class crowded around her, telling her how cute she looked. Some wondered why she had changed. What was she? Some kind of zoo animal?

"Te-Teruhashi, what did you do?" One of them asked. 'She really did it,' Saiki thought at you, and you glanced to your left to observe him. His glasses hid his eyes, but you knew he wasn't pleased. Teruhashi put her hand up next to her eyes like Mikoto would and answered the boy, "I just felt like it." Like hell she did. "So edgy!" The boy who had queried, exclaimed. 'A personality makeover, too?'

Teruhashi passed in front of your desk, heading to Saiki's. You would have bet money that she was trying to get him to gasp. "Good morning, Saiki." When Saiki nodded at her, acknowledging her existence, she turned her head 180°, like some owl. She was clearly shocked he hadn't reacted.

'What's wrong with her brain?' Saiki questioned, and you answered, of course. 'It's because she went to so much effort for you.' The two of you watched as the girl in question ran out of the classroom.

'She's still fixated on boobs?' You snickered quietly to yourself at Saiki's comment. 'Good grief, I don't want her to fall deeper into this,' He stated before he turned to you, 'If she asks for love advice from you, tell her to go back to her normal self.'

'Before I agree, I have to tell you something.' You thought back at him, before completely clearing your mind. A skill you developed, knowing how to stop the psychic from seeing it coming. 'What is it?' There was a pause, you continued to look in front of you. 'You should never fart in an apple store.' You heard him audibly sigh, '...Why?' You tried not to laugh. 'Because they don't have windows.'

'I will kill you.'

'No, you won't.'

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Truth be told, you weren't sure why the school turned to you for advice on relationships when they had Mikoto to just point them in the direction of their soulmate. It was a good revenue to make money though, nothing in this world came for free, after all. That's how you found yourself sitting across from Mikoto, a 100 yen coin in her hand. She had decided to turn to you the right way this time. With money.

"I need advice." She claimed, and you nodded looking around the empty classroom. Mostly empty, since Saiki was still there, just existing. You were next to the seats near the lockers since everyone else had left to go on their break and the chairs were free. "I know." You rubbed your temple, ignoring the headache that emerged.

Trying not to pay attention to the dull pain behind your right eye socket, you gestured with your hand for her to continue before folding your arms in front of your chest. "I changed my style to fit Teruhashi's looks and it's not working, I don't understand what I have to do to get his attention."

When you stayed silent, she continued, and you pretended her talking about Saiki didn't affect you. Nope. Not one bit... Okay, maybe it did a little. Your job as the designated love guru came first, though. You needed the 100 yen to buy coffee jelly for Saiki. "I'm gonna be honest with you. You're my rival." That caught you off guard, and you furrowed your eyebrows at her.

"Heh, why?" You questioned, not understanding what she meant. Why would you be her love rival when you had no intention of acting on the stupid crush you had? She sighed, looking out the window of the classroom. "I looked into your fortune like I did with Saiki. I just want you to know I'm not going to stop competing with you." Mikoto turned back to look at you, and you were left even more confused.

Your head reeled. What the hell was she on about? You liked Mikoto, she was nice, and headstrong, not taking shit from anyone, but she was cryptic. Something you didn't enjoy much, since she spoke in riddles at times. Like now. "Why would you compete-" You didn't get a chance to finish as Mikoto cut you off. "You're his absolute future, his absolute soulma-"

Teruhashi walked in before she could finish, and you coughed into your hand and moved back in your seat, pretending you hadn't been at the edge of it. She still had Mikoto's style, and you had to say, it was growing on you. You wouldn't lie, she was still pretty. She took a chair and placed it beside Mikoto.

"I need your advice." Of course, she did as well. You dragged your hands down your face, already done with the day. You weren't a fan of talking about love with them when you knew that they were trying to pine for Saiki. Regardless, you'd give it, because the boy in question had asked you to.

"Payment first, both of you." When they gave it to you, you put the 200 yen on your side of the desk before you looked at them expectantly. "The guy I like doesn't care no matter how much I change myself for him." Teruhashi piped up first, and Mikoto agreed with her, saying she had the same issue.

You leaned back in your chair and it creaked slightly due to the shift in weight. "The issue isn't whether he cares or not. Ask yourselves this, why are you changing into someone that isn't true to yourself? Why do that for a guy? There isn't any point in it, because if he doesn't like you for you, then what use is he to you?"

Both of them looked at each other before turning to you. "So, what are you saying? Give up on him?" Mikoto spoke first this time, and Teruhashi agreed. You sighed, they still didn't get it. "No- I'm saying go back to your original styles, then try again. Copying each other won't help you." When they stayed silent, thinking on your words, you knew your work was done. With that, you took the 200 yen and returned to your desk next to Saiki.

The day after, the both of them had returned to normal and you sighed with relief.

'You owe me.'

'I know.'

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bonus: 

"I need your help, again." Of course, Saiki did. It was a regular occurrence. Whenever he didn't want to be bothered, he'd use you as some sort of human shield against 'nuisances', i.e, his friends. Now it was your turn to deadpan at the pink-haired boy.

You raised your eyebrows to mock him, your eyelids lowered as you nodded your head with a knowing look. "What is it this time?" As your eyes trailed from his to stare at the hand on your arm, a feeling of deja vu washed over you. This situation was eerily similar to when Saiki had asked you to third wheel when he didn't want to hang out with Teruhashi alone. "Mikoto wants to get cake with me after school."

The only difference this time was that it was break time and he had caught you on the roof of the school. You tried not to think how pretty he looked with the sunlight bathing him in its glow. You ran a hand through your hair, "I can't refuse, Can I?" You turned from looking at the school field to Saiki. When your eyes met the place he was holding you, he didn't let go.

"It wasn't a question." He stated bluntly. You let out a huff of amusement, of course, it wasn't. The same predicament as the last time this had happened came up, to help or to not help. You could try ducking under him to escape, but you knew it wouldn't work. As much as you didn't want to roll over and let Saiki have his way, you knew you'd let it happen.

Then, making him work for it, wouldn't hurt right? "I don't think so. I'm not helping." Despite Saiki's expression not changing, the twitch of his eyebrow told you he was peeved. "You're coming with me." You huffed in annoyance. Always so damn stubborn. "Why don't you just go with her? You love sweet stuff." You tried not to pay attention to how his touch was doing things to your heart. You felt the breeze of the afternoon on your skin, thankful for it since it helped cool you down.

Saiki had yet to break eye contact with you, and you didn't like the feeling of your insides being squeezed, not one bit. You broke the stare first. "Because it's bothersome." You looked at him incredulously, why was it your job to help him, just because he thought of it as a chore?

"You already owe me, Kusuo." You stated.

"I know." He replied almost immediately.

"I will come to collect a favour." You confirmed.

"I know." He shot back.

You sighed, "Fine! I'll come with- see you after class." You agreed as much as you didn't want to. Seeing Mikoto try to get Saiki to like her didn't sound appealing in the slightest. You expected him to leave, he had gotten what he came for.

To your surprise, he stayed put. "...What?" You asked, unsure what he wanted. "I'm waiting for you. Class is about to start and we're going to be late." You gave him a soft smile at that. The small act of consideration was enough to remind you that this boy owned your heart. Out of all the people in the world, Saiki Kusuo just had to be the one you fell for. When you didn't move, too lost in your thoughts, he spoke.

"For your first favour, I'll let you touch my hair. Once." You nearly choked on the spit in your mouth, did you hear him right??? When you stayed silent, too shocked to say a word, Saiki elaborated, "You were thinking about it two days ago." You flushed with embarrassment. He had heard you?!

Of course, he had- he had telepathy after all. Curse you for letting your thoughts run wild in a 200-metre radius of him. You wanted to combust, praying to any higher power to just let the ground beneath you swallow you up. Anything would be better than having to be in this situation.

"Stop reading my mind, will you?" You said meekly, hoping that was all he heard. "I can't help it when you're that loud. Now hurry up before I change my mind." You forced your mind to not go at a hundred miles per hour. No such luck. Act cool, Y/n, please. You begged internally.

You moved closer to him, trying not to pay attention to his eyes following your every move. Why did this man have to make you so nervous? You could feel your face burning, and when he finally let go of your arm, you reached forward. You tentatively placed your fingers over his pink locks, exhaling nervously.

The moment your hand came into contact with his hair, your mind went blank. Why did it all feel so natural to you? You were surprised at how soft his hair was, it was like a fluffy carpet, the ones you'd draw designs into just because of how nice it felt on your hands. You let your fingers move to feel more, experimentally.

Saiki's expression had yet to change, the only thing that did was the fact that he was no longer looking at you, staring off to the side. You licked your lips, letting yourself enjoy the moment, knowing you'd never get a chance like this again. You would.

'Why does it feel so soft? What conditioner does he use?'

You sighed in contentment, absentmindedly running your hands through his pink hair as you thought back to when Mikoto and Teruhashi had cornered you to try and find out Saiki's type. What was his type? Did he even have one? If you had to guess, you'd reckon it was someone who loved themselves.

You had a feeling that Saiki didn't like those who tried too hard or who changed just for him. That much was obvious from how he reacted to the two girl's switching styles. So, someone who remained true to themselves, no matter what? That had to be it. 

“Oh, Wow.”

You froze, what f^ck was that? You looked to Saiki, questioning if you had misheard him. It was his voice, but there was no way the robot of a human was capable of saying those two words. The only thing that changed was that his hand now covered his mouth. You watched him, and when he refused to meet your gaze, you became suspicious.

"Kusuo...?" Your words trailed off when you noticed his ears, moving your hand to the side to take a better look. Were they... were they pink? Compared to his normal ivory skin, they looked flushed. Again, what the f^ck?

When you realised the same colour was creeping up to his neck from the collar of his school shirt, you wondered if you were hallucinating. Then, like it had been a trick of the light, it disappeared. He turned to you, finally looking you in the eyes. "What?" He tried to act nonchalant, but you saw through it. If you weren't so shocked you would have teased him.

You knew it! You had heard right! You had managed to do what even Teruhashi couldn't after months of effort. You had gotten the boy to say, "Oh, wow!" You were never going to forget this, mentally patting yourself on the back. You didn't care this time when your ears burnt as if they were on fire.

With one final rub to his hair, you retracted your hand. You wanted to say it. Right then and there. 'I like you. I've liked you since the moment we met, I don't know how it happened but I like you, you idiot.'

You stayed silent, swallowing your words, and biting your tongue. "Your hair is soft." Was all that you could muster. Saiki sighed, "Good grief. Now that you're done, we need to go. We're going to be late if we don't leave, Now." When he turned and started to speed walk, you shouted, "Wait up, Kusuo." Before following him.

The smile on your face didn't leave, not once.

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next part - kilig

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[toournextadventure]

Could I request a story thats Wednesday with a reader who drinks a lot of coffee and barely ever sleeps, and so she tries to convince them to sleep but they dont so reader ends up fainting in front of her and enid and Wednesday is really worried and at the end reader finally sleeps and theres fluff

Hell yeah, bestie, I feel this on a spiritual level. Coffee is the devil's drink, yet I indulge shamelessly ✌🏻😙

too much coffee

Midterms were going to kill you. There was no possible way you were going to survive. You had done the one thing you had sworn you wouldn’t do (pretend you didn’t need to study) and Wednesday had offered to help (you said no) and now you were on day three of no sleep. Times were tough enough, but Wednesday couldn’t introduce her parents to her highschool failure girlfriend! The Addams family was beyond accepting, but this? It would be unacceptable.

On the other side of the library, Wednesday watched you sit back down with another cup of coffee. It had to have been your fifth one of the night, if her counting was correct. Which it was. If you had just accepted her rare offer of help, you wouldn’t be stuck with more coffee than your body could handle.

She watched you as you finished your cup. Watched the way your hands were unusually shaky, causing your handwriting to come out looking worse than Pugsly’s. The way you should shake your head after staring at a page for too long; were you trying to clear the haze of caffeine from your mind?

She waited until you had emptied your cup before walking over to you.

“You need sleep,” Wednesday said. You jumped; it was a good thing your mug was empty.

“Jesus christ, Wednesday,” you huffed. “A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Go home,” she said, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” you said with a shake of your head.

“Please.”

You looked up at her with furrowed brows, and Wednesday had to bite her tongue to stop herself from taking it back. She knew how you worked; you were a snarky asshole until she asked nicely. If she took it back now, you would go back to being snarky. It was humiliating to have to resort to such niceties, but when you looked like you were on death’s doorstep, she would swallow her pride.

“I’ll sleep after my exam tomorrow morning,” you said with a soft smile. “I promise.”

“Not a moment later.” Wednesday didn’t tell you goodbye as she left the library. She didn’t want you to know that she was concerned for you.

Now she just needed to make sure Enid wasn’t losing her mind about her own midterms.

—---

The exam had been a cakewalk. Not only had you known nearly all of the answers, but you knew the bonus questions too. You were so going to ace it. Okay, maybe you would get a B, but it was still passing! There was a new swagger in your step as you walked out of class and started heading to the cafeteria.

You were going to treat yourself to a nice hot cup of coffee.

“Your dorm is in the other direction.”

Aw man.

You turned around slowly, praying to whatever gods existed that you were just hearing things. But then you saw Wednesday standing behind you, arms crossed over her chest and a look that you had definitely seen far too many times.

“Hello, dearest,” you said with a small smile.

She did not smile back, even though her face was a little twisty. Was she moving around?

“Go get some sleep,” Wednesday demanded. How can someone so short be so bossy?

“I’m just getting myself a little treat,” you said as you gestured your thumb behind you. At least you thought you did. Were things spinning?

“Hey guys!” Enid called, running up to where you were both standing. “How did your exam go?”

“Don’t encourage her.” Wednesday turned her body to face Enid.

They started talking, saying things that you really couldn’t understand. Surely they were still speaking English, right? That was your common language, was it not? So why did they sound so funny? And why was everything spinning? And why was everything going dark? And why-

-you were out cold before you hit the ground.

—---

Whatever you were laying on was extremely comfortable. It was soft and fluffy and warm. Was it heaven? Were you in heaven? Oh god, your mother was right, too much coffee would kill you. You had wasted your last few days on earth studying for a stupid exam that didn’t even matter!

“Don’t even think of moving.”

Oh no. No, you weren’t in heaven, you were in hell and Wednesday Addams was your grim reaper.

The struggle to open your eyes was more intense than Prometheus stealing the fire from Zeus. It was like your eyes were sealed shut and would rather kill you than open. But when they opened and the migraine hit you like a ton of bricks, you understood; they weren’t trying to fight you, they were trying to protect you.

“What happened?” You asked; god, you sounded like you smoked two packs of cigarettes a day.

“You fainted,” Wednesday said. Everything was hazy, but her voice came from your right. “Enid helped me carry you to your room.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look you could finally see on Wednesday’s face was enough to shut you up. In the privacy of your room, with no one to see, she looked concerned. It was in the furrow of her brows, the tightly pressed lips, the slightest twitch of her fingers.

Wednesday Addams was concerned.

Without hesitation, you moved over on the bed to make room. She stared at you for a moment until you patted the now-empty spot. There was a hesitancy in her movements, but she finally came and laid down beside you. Her back was to you, but that was okay; you pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Please sleep,” Wednesday said softly. She would only ever talk this softly to you when she wasn’t looking at your face.

“Only if you sleep with me,” you answered even though you could already feel yourself falling back asleep. “My roommate won’t be back for a few more hours.”

“If she sees us, I’ll kill her,” Wednesday threatened even as she backed up closer to you.

“I would expect nothing less,” you said. You leaned forward and left a small kiss on the back of her neck, and you felt her interlock your fingers before you both fell asleep. You should faint more often if it meant Wednesday would cuddle and sleep with you.

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 6

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Even though he's expecting company, Eddie still jumps and yelps when his front door flies open without so much as a knock, revealing Dustin and Will.

"I know I said to let yourselves in, but a warning knock would have been nice," Eddie shoots them a glare, not bothering to stand from the couch where he'd been pretending to watch whatever terrible daytime movie was playing.

"Sorry," Will apologizes sheepishly while Dustin just laughs.

"Which of your moms dropped you off? If it's Claudia, I'm filing a complaint about how you were raised."

"Har har," Dustin says, swinging his backpack off and knelling down to unzip and dig into it. "We biked here."

"Lucky you, then. The complaint will wait."

Dustin wrestles a blanket from his backpack. Unwrapping it reveals Steve, hair rumpled but otherwise unharmed. "Alright. Delivered safely. We gotta go meet El and Mike now but we'll see you on Saturday, right?"

Eddie sets Steve on the couch, angled towards the TV. "Yeah. I get the feeling if I don't show for the barbeque that Joyce will show up here and drag me there by my ear."

"She would," Will confirms with an easy shrug. The boys turn to leave before Will exclaims, "Oh! Almost forgot!" before digging into his pocket for something, turning around to give it to Eddie.

"What?"

"El and Steve spoke again. He had a lot of things to say. I spent a good portion of the last three days writing down everything as El repeated it to me. This is your letter," he says, having successfully pulled out what looked to be a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

"Oh," Eddie takes it, and realizes it's not just one folded piece of paper, but three. "Wow."

"Seems you are Steve's second favorite," Dustin grins at him from the doorway.

"You are first, I assume?"

"No. Robin is. She got five pages."

That tracks, actually. Eddie's not surprised Robin got the most pages.

Soon enough, the boys are off and Eddie returns to the couch, pulling his legs up to sit crisscross. "Alright, Stevie, let's see what you have to say."

He unfolds the pages completely and is met with Will's now familiar penmanship scrawled across the sheets of wide rule paper that has clearly been ripped from a composition notebook. He's seen Will's handwriting plenty over this last year, quickly scribbling notes during DnD sessions and on the little item cards Will makes himself to hand out when he DMs.

Will's handwriting isn't always the neatest, but this looks like Will took time, wanted his writing to be legible. Flipping through the papers he sees it is two pages, front and back, of a letter, and the third page is a list of questions in a different, neater handwriting. He gets the feeling that Will probably didn't paraphrase anything. How many people got letters? How much of Will and El's time was devoted to doing just this?

Eddie feels emotional over this, misty-eyed and a lump in his throat, and he hasn't even read the damn letter yet.

"Shit, Stevie, do you even realize how loved you are?" Eddie asks out loud, turning to look at Porcelain Steve like he might answer him this time. Blank hazel eyes stare forward. Eddie shakes his head, to clear away his thoughts, and gets to reading. Not out loud, because he doesn't want Steve to hear how wet his voice will sound.

Eddie,

I guess the first thing I want to say is thank you. I was kind of freaking out when I first woke up like this. It was calming, that day on the lawn, after Robin and Nancy found me. You were so chill and just chatted my ear off like you would have if I were, like, there. I mean, there there and not like, doll-there, if you get what I mean.

Shit, man, being stuck like this would have been a hell of a lot worse without you, I'm certain. Everyone's been great, of course, and, like, no offense meant, Will and El, but you act most normal. Helps me feel, well, I don't know how, exactly. Describing emotions is not something I'm like, good at. Robin's great, too, but she catastrophizes, you know? And since I can't speak back, she can get herself pretty worked up about this and I hate that. Hate that I can't do anything to help her.

Shit. This isn't your issue. Don't include that. No, wait, do. Sorry, El. (It is here, off in the margin, that Will has added 'I wrote everything word for word. Enjoy the asides to El and me.) Hanging out with you helps her, I think. She seems less anxious on days we spend with you. So, I guess, I also want to thank you for that. For being there for Robin when I can't.

Eddie has to pause there because he had no idea. Robin has been a grounding force for him this whole time. He had no idea he was doing the same for her. She never said, or let on... well, that was probably her goal and now Steve's spilled the beans.

This is getting easier to say, even if I still don't know how to feel about the other two people who are going to be privy to everything said, or I guess from your end, written here. (Here, Will has transcribed a conversation they seemed to have had in the middle of writing this up.) Oh. He means us. - El Yes. Don't worry Steve, we'll do our best to forget everything you've said once it's written down. - Will Steve laughed and says thanks. - El I appreciate that but- well, being honest there's some things I want to say but I don't want anyone else to hear. Those conversations are better left face to face, anyway. So, uhh, what else did I want to say?

Oh! Yeah, I told Robin she could drive around the Bimmer, so she can have a car while I'm- so she doesn't have to bike everywhere but knowing her she probably won't take me up on that offer. Maybe you can talk her into it? Or, maybe she'll be willing to drive your van around and you can take the bimmer.

"Jesus, Stevie, can't you just be okay with existing?" Eddie says it under his breath and tenses instantly. For a moment, he forgot that Steve was right there on the couch with him, could hear him. Now he has to explain himself because Steve's already heard, and without the context of how Eddie really means those words, they can sound judgmental. "Shit. Sorry. I just read the part about your car and, dude, you just don't know how to not try and be helpful, huh? I bet it's destroying you on the inside that you can't do anything. But Steve, you gotta know, we don't care about you because you're useful."

Steve, of course, can't reply, so Eddie goes back to the letter.

Uh, what else was there? Oh! Yeah! I don't get migraines here. Or, in this body? Or, whatever it is. I haven't had one since this happened. Also, no hearing issues. Though I find myself wishing to be completely deaf sometimes. I get that Max can listen to Kate Bush for a week straight, but I'd like a little variety. God, what I wouldn't give to listen to the Top 40 again. Don't say anything, Munson. I can already see your judgmental face at my music taste. Unlike you, I have the ability to like multiple types of music. The Top 40 AND that one song from, uhh, shit. Might not have migraines or hearing issues at the moment, but the memory is still as it was. Which means it is shit. That one song by that metal band where their name sounds like it's metal? You know who I mean. (In the margin, Will has just written five little question marks in a row ?????)

"The band you were thinking of, it's Metallica," Eddie says.

Not important. But, uh, the reason for telling you this. I was hoping you might smuggle me to a show the next time your band plays at the Hideout? Last time I tried to go it was too loud and gave me a migraine, you remember, but I think that I could listen to your whole show like this. We might as well take advantage of the perks of this shit situation, right? So, uh, I wouldn't mind if you did that. Or, like, had Robin or someone else bring me. Whichever.

Actually, wait, I lied, I do care which way. I've already had them pen down Robin's letter, so you'll have to pass this on, but I want Robin to take me. So, I can also watch the show, not just listen. That was the part I liked most, when I went last time, before I had to leave. Wait. Scratch that. Ask Argyle. Other than you, he seems like the only person willing to be caught holding me in public, mostly because I don't think he even knows how to be embarrassed. Jesus that was such a weird sentence to say. Holding me in public. Such a weird thing to experience, too.

Uh, anyway, I think that's it for now. Thanks for everything, Eddie.

"I think you're handling this loss of bodily autonomy rather well, Steve. This letter is a lot more positive than the one I would have written if our roles were reversed," Eddie says with a sigh. He can't help but wonder what Steve would have said in this letter if it hadn't had to be filtered through two teenagers first.

He looks to the last page, the list of questions, and is surprised to see that, mixed in with questions about which sports team is winning (he is not going to watch Sportsball for Steve. There has to be a line drawn somewhere and this is it. He will ask Wayne about it later and hate the glee he sees in his uncle's eyes because now he's going to have to pretend to like sports for the unforeseeable future) and for honest updates about their friends are questions about Eddie's campaign that he's rambled on about since Steve can't escape. Steve wants spoilers, wants to know what Eddie has planned.

Steve has actually been listening. He'd been operating on the assumption Steve just tunes him out when he gets going, unable to stop his brain to mouth filter when it comes to talking about Dungeons and Dragons and his current campaign.

"I'm at your list of questions now. I can't answer anything about sports, and don't think I'm unaware of how you asked me and not Lucas. I see what you are doing and I'm not going to fall for it. So, your first non-sportsball question here; How is Dustin doing, really? Well, that's a whole thing but overall, okay."

[buzzyb33]

3rd of December

Prompt: head cannons of the boys giving you their sweater on heather day!

Warnings: swearing, suggestive

Simon:

He was just scrolling on TikTok when he saw a boy saying “making a personalised hoodie for my girlfriend” with the song in the background

He knew you was into this kind of music and you would know what this was, he had a free evening so why wouldn’t he make a hoodie?

He got an old white sidemen hoodie and after looking on TikTok he put some of his cologne on it and got you some flowers.

“Y/n?” He called as he knocked my bedroom door.

“Yeah- one sec si!” I call as I finish doing my laces.

“Yeah?” I open the door and he has his hands behind his back.

He then gives me a bouquet of red roses and instead of paper it’s wrapped in thick fabric.

“Awe Simon.. what’s this for?” I grin as I see it’s a sidemen hoodie that smelt like him.

I think for a second before my face lights up.

“You got me a hoodie for the third of December?”

He opens his mouth but just nods.

I put the flowers down and smile.

“I saw it on TikTok and I thought-“ he’s cut off by his girlfriends lips on his.

I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss.

“This was sweet of you Simon..”

I say in a heartfelt tone.

He smiles.

“You’re welcome.”

Josh:

He’d been preparing for a while, he had got a Christmas jumper with some roses (the chocolate) that day, he had a shoot so he left it at his side of the bed.

I wake up and frown at Josh’s absence. I sit up and look to my left.

There is a folded jumper and a note on top.

“Happy 3rd of December, see you later.” It read in Josh’s handwriting.

I felt my eye well up as I see the box of chocolates under the hoodie.

Vikk:

You actually bought him on, you got him a stupid Minecraft hoodie and begged him to wear it for the sidemen reacts.

He begrudgingly did and got taken the piss out of by Harry and JJ without even getting the chance to defend himself.

Ethan:

He spoils you anyway so when he heard about the little thing he pre ordered the actual hoodie from Conan greys’ website.

He pretends like it’s not a big deal but he loved how happy you got.

“A parcels coming today- ‘s for you.” He says with a smile and a thank you as you hand him breakfast.

“Oh? And what is it?” I say with a smile as I kiss his cheek and begin eating my own food.

“Surprise.”

That left you on edge all day, the parcel came when he was doing a moresidemen video.

He hears the gasp and knows he’s about to be embarrassed.

“Ethan!” She calls with a squeal.

“Are you in trouble?” Josh asks.

“No, I’m not.”

She comes into his room and he stands up, she hugs him tightly.

“Thank you.. you are nice aren’t you?” She grins into his shoulder.

“Course I am.”

He says with his face heating up.

“You got me a real one! Oh I love you.”

I smile and kiss him for a few seconds.

I go to leave the room as he sits back down.

“Love you too..” he says as he puts his headphones back on.

I run back to him and kiss his cheek, then I leave.

Harry laughs.

“What did you do?” He says as Ethan’s face heats up.

“I got her a hoodie- it’s Uhm a day where that’s a thing? 3rd of December?” He says.

“Yeah, heather day, awe that’s nice of you Ethan.” Tobi agrees.

“You’re face is still red.” JJ comments.

Tobi:

Bro got you MATCHING.

He got you your favourite too, he got spider man matching hoodies, he got the miles morales one and you the Gwen Stacy one.

He made a sick Instagram post out of it.

I was working on a new request that had came in for my photography, I had to do a shoot for some models.

I mumbled something as I replied to the email.

“Y/n I got us something!” Tobi calls as he walks from his room.

He handed me a parcel and I opened it. I gasped slightly as he showed me his miles one.

I grinned and put mine on.

“Can we take pictures??” I grin and he nods.

“Course, was gonna ask you.”

I prop up his phone and we do a couple, one where we’re both crossing our arms and have our back to the camera, another where we’re both doing the spider man hand in front of our face, another where we was back to back and one where we both had our hoods up and we were kissing.

He posted them and captioned it: “happy heathers day 🤟🏽😝 @conangray”

When he posts them he hugs me from behind.

“Glad you like it, n/n.” He smiles and kisses my forehead.

JJ:

HE WAS CHEESY.

He got you a dragon ball hoodie that had got ‘KSI’ embedded on the sleeve.

“Y/n, I got you this for that Uhm, December day.” He calls out and hands me it.

“What? Heather day?” I say as I unfold it and smile.

“Oh! This is cool! Thank you JJ.”

I put it on the spot and see his name I grin.

“Thank you, this was sweet of you.” I smile and put both my hands on each of his knees and kiss his lips gently.

He wraps his arms around my waist.

“You’re welcome.”

Harry:

Listen, he went all out, he got one designed for you, he got it in light blue and Did everything, (your letter)+ H on the back and it said ‘I love my boyfriend’ on the chest with a smiley face on the sleeve.

“I got this- especially made for you, n/n.” He handed me the hoodie and I looked at the back first and laughed.

I looked at the front and giggled.

“I thought I’d speak your truth for you.” He says proudly.

“Thank you, Harry- is this for heather day?” I smile and pull it on.

“Course! Love you, I have to go but see you later.”

“Love you too, bye.”

I record an Instagram video of me doing a spin and I post it, tagging Harry and Conan gray for ‘happy heather day’

A/n: honestly, shocking.

Two in one day??? Couldn’t be me.

Anyway josh fic soon!!