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carnalcrows · 8 days ago

Text

STUDY ME

pairing: perfect student! male OC x male reader [faceclaim]

synopsis: No one’s ever ranked higher than Haruki Mikage—until you do. You’re new, unsettlingly smart, and partnered with him for a major project. Haruki’s trying to stay composed, but your odd habits, offhanded comments, and freakish talent in the kitchen are messing with his head. He should’ve ignored you. He doesn’t.

content warnings : 18+, academic rivals to something else, reader is creepy-smart and says weird shit unprovoked, golden boy Haruki smokes under pressure, slow burn with freaky tension, blowjob at the end of ch1 (reader giving), reader’s thoughts are not normal, shared trauma over academic excellence, high-school setting, light humiliation kink energy, some bullying, borderline-obsessive chemistry, they’re both unwell but in different fonts. also: the project does get submitted on time. barely.

word count: 3.4k

The paper wasn’t even all the way up on the board before someone in the hallway let out a low whistle.

“Yo, he’s not first anymore.”

The teacher pressed the last corner of the sheet flat against the corkboard with her palm, used a pin to anchor it in place. She stepped back. The crowd surged forward.

Haruki Mikage didn’t move from his desk.

He didn’t have to. He already knew what it said.

He’d been top-ranked every semester since middle school—longer, if you counted the city-wide assessments and mock entrance exams his mother used to post on the fridge like they were participation ribbons. Everyone knew his name. They whispered it before exams, hated him for it after. Professors adored him. Classmates tolerated him. His grades were a forgone conclusion.

But still, there was that whistle.

That murmur again.

The skin between his shoulder blades prickled with something unfamiliar.

He’s not first anymore.

He set his pen down.

Someone pressed a palm to the open door. “Mikage.”

Haruki looked up.

It was Kinoshita from 2-A. Always too loud, always too nosey.

“There’s a new name up there,” Kinoshita said, eyes wide, half in disbelief and half in that messy kind of glee people reserved for perfect students slipping. “You’re second.”

Haruki blinked once.

Kinoshita grinned. “They only wrote the family name. No one knows who it is yet.”

Haruki didn’t answer. He just turned back to his notebook and wrote the date in the top right corner. Kinoshita lingered in the doorway a second longer, waiting for something. A reaction. A twitch. Even a shrug.

He got nothing.

Haruki didn’t even look bothered.

But the tip of his pen was pressed too hard into the paper. Ink pooling.

∘₊✧

He didn’t go look at the list.

Not during lunch, not after school. Everyone else swarmed the board. The hall smelled like shoe rubber and shampoo and stress. A few people snapped photos. One girl squealed. Someone muttered your last name and said, “It has to be a mistake.”

It wasn’t.

Your name was written in blocky black print above Haruki’s, the gap between your scores barely two digits wide—but it was enough. It was real.

You weren’t in his class last year. No one knew who you were. You didn’t even have a photo in the club yearbook. No whispers, no rumors, no posts online. Just a name no one recognized and a score too high to ignore.

That should’ve been the end of it.

One test. One fluke.

People were curious, but curiosity burned out fast here. Unless you were someone interesting, someone visible, someone like Haruki—nobody lasted more than a few weeks before fading back into academic noise.

Except you didn’t fade. You didn’t do anything. You just existed in the background.

Quiet. Distant. Present. Like static. Like a blank space on a page that never stopped drawing the eye.

He should’ve forgotten it.

But your name kept coming up—softly, between other people’s conversations. No one knew where you were from. Or why your name was never on any club roster. Or what kind of person beat Haruki Mikage and then refused to show their face.

Someone in class said you were weird. That you mumbled to yourself. That you drew creepy shit in the corners of your worksheet margins and then never turned them in.

Another said you laughed in the middle of a chemistry lecture, and no one knew why.

Someone else said they saw you eating cold rice balls under the gym stairs, headphones on, eyes closed, mouthing the words to something that didn’t exist.

None of that made sense.

None of it matched the clean, precise writing next to the top score on the midterm report.

But Haruki remembered it anyway.

∘₊✧

The first time he saw you was two weeks later.

There was no grand entrance. You just walked in a little after the second bell, half-zipped jacket, hair a mess, notebooks clutched to your chest like a bribe.

Haruki was already seated. Already organised. Already done with the warm-up quiz.

You didn’t look at him.

You walked past him, past everyone, and sat in the back corner of the room by the window. The only desk that hadn’t been claimed.

You slumped down. Dropped your bag. Took out a pencil that had bite marks in it and started copying notes from the board with a half-lidded stare.

Haruki stared. He couldn’t help it.

There were no rumours about how you looked—no pictures online, no Instagram stories. But this wasn’t what he expected.

You weren’t particularly neat. Or polished. Your uniform didn’t fit right, like it had been ironed two days ago and then slept in. Your fingers were ink-stained. Your collar slightly crooked.

You were pretty. But in a way that felt… accidental. Or wrong. Like a painting flipped upside down.

There was something strange about your face. Or maybe your mouth. It looked like it wanted to smile, but didn’t know how.

You looked up once during the lecture. Your eyes met his.

Then you winked.

Haruki turned back to his textbook immediately, his throat dry.

He didn’t look at you again for the rest of the period.

But he felt you looking.

∘₊✧

The class project was announced the next week.

“Pairs of two,” the teacher said, holding up a glass bowl with folded slips inside. “We’re going to assign them randomly. You’ll have three weeks to put your presentations together. Graded on both content and performance.”

She walked between rows with the bowl.

Haruki reached in, pulled a number: 9.

He waited patiently while the others filed through their slips. Then your name was called.

You pulled yours out. Paused. Tapped it twice against your palm.

You looked right at him when you said, “Nine.”

Haruki’s fingers twitched around his pen.

∘₊✧

He didn’t say anything until after class.

You were still packing up, slow and disorganised. You dropped your folder and didn’t bother to pick up half the papers that slid out. A few had doodles in the margins. They looked like vines. Or veins.

“Haruki Mikage,” he said.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Yeah?”

He stared. Then, “That’s my name.”

You tilted your head.

“I know,” you said. “You're the guy with the stupidly perfect eyebrows.”

He stared harder.

You reached for your bag, smiling faintly. “Are we gonna start working on this project, or are you gonna keep staring at me like I just spit in your bento?”

Haruki didn’t respond.

You laughed softly—barely audible. Like you hadn’t meant to do it.

Then you leaned forward and whispered, “You always look like you’re trying not to judge me. It’s okay. You can. It makes your mouth look sharper.”

His stomach twisted. He stepped back.

You turned and walked off like nothing happened.

Like you hadn’t just said the first thing that’s ever made him lose his breath.

∘₊✧

The two of you met for the first study session in the back corner of the library, because, of course, you suggested it, and of course, Haruki said yes, even though it went against his better judgment, instincts, and every fibre of his tightly-wound existence.

“This is where the ghosts live,” you said, dropping your bag to the floor and immediately sitting cross-legged on the chair. “They’re chill, though. As long as you don’t read anything out loud in Latin.”

Haruki blinked at you over the top of his textbook. “I don’t read Latin,” he said flatly.

You grinned. “That’s good. You’ve got exorcism hands, not summoning hands.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a compliment.” It didn’t sound like one. But also—it kind of did?

You kicked your leg a little, humming under your breath. Then you reached over and grabbed his pen. Didn’t even ask. Just took it. Twirled it between your fingers like a wand and said, “Alright, Harvard. Let’s get this nerd orgy started.”

“…Excuse me?”

You looked at him innocently. “You’re telling me you don’t think studying is a group kink?”

Haruki did not dignify that with a response.

You leaned back in your seat and tilted your head, staring at him like you were taking inventory of something beneath his skin. Then:

“Have you always been like this?”

“…Like what?”

“Like a boy who was genetically engineered to be the president of every club. Like a human version of whatever’s in those vitamin gummies for your brain.”

Haruki frowned, flipping to the next page of the syllabus. “And you’ve always been like this?”

“Unfortunately,” you replied, deadpan. “I tried being normal once. Got a nosebleed.”

He didn’t believe a single word out of your mouth.

He also couldn’t stop looking at you.

Not in the overt, obvious way. Just… his eyes kept landing on the curve of your neck when you tilted your head back to think. Or the way your lips moved when you mouthed words to yourself under your breath. You chewed your pen sometimes, distractedly.

You had a pretty mouth. Haruki wondered what it would feel like around his fingers.

You tapped your fingers against your leg in a rhythm he couldn’t decipher. You made references he didn’t understand.

“Did you know Freud had a raging thing for eels?”

“…What?”

“He dissected like so many of them. Never found the testes. Drove him insane. I feel like you’re my eel.”

Haruki slowly set his pen down.

“I’m… what.”

“I don’t get you,” you said, voice lighter. Not teasing now. Just honest. “You’re like this shiny, polished, student council-approved perfection android. But then you make these tiny expressions when no one’s looking. Like you’re pissed. Or bored. Or like you wanna scream into a pillow for eight hours.”

He stared. Speechless.

You tilted your head again. “Have you ever screamed into a pillow?”

“No,” he said slowly, carefully. “Have you?”

You smiled. “Only when someone's on top of me.”

Haruki’s brain short-circuited for a second.

You opened your notebook like you hadn’t just dropped a sentence that would require him to pray afterwards. “Okay, let’s start with the thesis breakdown. We can decide if you wanna present or I wanna present, but either way, I get to say the weird part.”

“There’s… a weird part?”

“There’s always a weird part,” you said, eyes sparkling. “It’s the whole point of writing anything. Gotta add the bite.”

He didn’t know what you meant, but his pulse ticked up anyway.

You worked surprisingly well together.

You were smart. Not just academically, but weird smart. You pulled random quotes from obscure films, recalled footnotes Haruki had skimmed past, and made connections he hadn’t even considered. And the worst part was—your instincts were always right.

You were completely unserious about your own reputation, but deadly serious about the work. Which meant that Haruki—perfectionist, ruthless, prideful Haruki—couldn’t even hate you for beating him.

All he could do was sit across from you while you explained why you thought the author used soil erosion as a metaphor for emotional decay and pretend his leg wasn’t bouncing under the table.

When the session ended, you leaned over his side of the desk to grab your drink—and stayed there.

You were too close.

Too casual.

Your hair was a little messy. Your breath smelled like melon soda and mints. And when you pulled away, you laughed like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’ll text you,” you said, swinging your bag over one shoulder. “Unless you’d prefer I send smoke signals from the roof.”

“I don’t have your number.”

You blinked.

“Oh. Right.”

You held your hand out. Palm up. Waiting.

Haruki hesitated. Then handed over his phone.

You typed something fast, then handed it back.

The name you saved in his contacts wasn’t your name.

It just said: [threat level: weirdly hot]

He didn’t correct it.

∘₊✧

Haruki stepped out onto the rooftop with his blazer slung over his shoulder, tie loosened just enough not to look sloppy. He didn’t really care if people saw the cigarette between his fingers — nobody ever said anything. Not to him. It was the kind of privilege that came with being him.

Top grades. National mock test finalist. MVP of the volleyball team. Editor of the student journal. The golden boy. Your mother’s favorite. Your teacher’s pride. The one who always knew the answer but never rubbed it in.

And here he was, burning through his second cigarette of the afternoon, hoping it would quiet the spinning in his head.

He hated that it didn’t.

The shouting started before he even made it down the last step.

“Why don’t you just eat somewhere else?” someone hissed.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with this freak show today—seriously, you always pick the corner seat like it’s your kingdom or something.”

Haruki’s foot hit the bottom stair.

He knew that voice. Loud. Entitled. A second-year student from the basketball team who walked around like he owned the school just because he had abs and rich parents. The group around him laughed, but it sounded more like barking.

You were sitting alone, lunch in your lap, face unreadable. Picking at your rice like you couldn’t hear them.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. But your hands had gone still.

Haruki’s voice cut in before he could think about it.

“You talk a lot for someone that far below average,” he said flatly.

Silence.

The air shifted.

The guy whipped around, only to pale when he saw Haruki standing there, jacket off, sleeves rolled, cigarette still burning between his fingers.

Haruki didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Keep walking,” he added.

The group scattered. No one apologised. No one even made eye contact. They just fled, like hyenas realising the lion hadn’t left after all.

You glanced up at him with a half-smile. “Wow. My hero.”

“You shouldn’t let them get to you.”

“I don’t.” You popped a cherry tomato into your mouth. “I just added them to the list.”

“…What list.”

You didn’t answer. You just chewed and smiled.

∘₊✧

Later that week.

You opened the door in a loose black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair wet from a shower and sticking to your forehead in damp, clinging strands. You looked cosy in a way that made Haruki’s lungs feel too tight.

“You made it,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “Wanna see something cool?”

Haruki followed you in, expecting weird posters, weird books, and maybe an Ouija board or something.

What he didn’t expect was—

The kitchen.

Clean. Lived-in. There was a wooden cutting board already dusted with flour. Soy sauce, mirin, and sesame oil lined up neatly on the counter. A cast iron pot simmering quietly on the stove, steam curling like the first exhale of a ghost.

You tied an apron around your waist and turned slightly. “Sit.”

He did.

The scent was unreal.

Rich and savoury. Ginger and garlic blooming in oil, followed by a splash of sake and the quiet crackle of meat hitting the pan. Chicken thighs, if he wasn’t mistaken—bone-in, skin crisping in real time as you basted it with soy and sugar.

The sauce thickened into a lacquered glaze, caramel-dark and glistening. You flipped the pieces with casual precision, face calm in a way he’d never seen in class. Focused. Almost elegant.

You weren’t speaking. Just humming. A low, tuneless little rhythm under your breath.

He watched the way your fingers moved—quick and practised as you sliced scallions into fine curls, sprinkled furikake over the steaming rice. You moved like you lived in the kitchen, like it wasn’t a performance.

The food was simple, but the kind of simple that only comes from knowing what you're doing. Like you’d made this a hundred times for someone you cared about.

No one had ever cooked for Haruki before.

He didn’t realise how tightly he was gripping the edge of the chair until you set the plate in front of him and the smell hit him like a memory he didn’t have.

He blinked. “This is…”

“Chicken nanban,” you said. “I made the tartar sauce from scratch.”

Haruki picked up his chopsticks, swallowed something thick in his throat, and took a bite.

The chicken cracked at the surface, still hot enough to burn, still sweet from the soy and vinegar glaze. The homemade tartar had bits of pickles and onion, just sharp enough to cut through the richness. The rice underneath had soaked up some of the sauce, sticky and warm.

It was stupidly good.

He kept eating quietly. You sat down beside him with your own plate and started scrolling through your phone, legs tucked up under you.

“Why do you know how to cook like this?” he asked finally.

You shrugged. “I like taking care of things.”

“…People?”

“Depends,” you said, tone lazy. “You wanna be taken care of?”

He looked at you. You didn’t look up.

The silence between you stretched like sugar—warm, sticky, slow.

He put his chopsticks down.

You turned to him.

And smiled.

Haruki wasn’t sure what he expected your room to look like, but it wasn’t this.

Simple, mostly. Clean. A little lived-in. The walls were bare except for a stack of books pushed into a crooked shelf, a futon folded neatly in one corner, and a secondhand desk with a few pens left uncapped. A soft hum filled the silence — maybe a fan from the hall or the fridge ticking quietly through the wall.

You tossed your bag down and sat on the floor like you didn’t feel the shift in the air. Haruki did. His skin felt too tight. The space between your bodies suddenly felt loaded.

“So this is where you hide,” he said, trying to sound casual.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Then shrugged.

“I like quiet,” you murmured. “It’s hard to find in school.”

Haruki didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all.

You watched him for a long beat, then patted the space in front of you.

“C’mere.”

He hesitated. You raised a brow. And then he moved — sat down across from you with crossed legs and a heart that wouldn’t stop thudding.

You didn’t touch him at first. Just stared. Haruki stared back. He wasn’t used to that, either — being looked at like he was something to be read, not admired. It made him feel strange. Exposed.

“Haruki,” you said, voice softer now, almost uncertain. “Do you ever stop thinking?”

His mouth opened — then closed. He didn’t have an answer.

You leaned in, slow like a question. Gave him time to stop it.

He didn’t.

So you kissed him.

Just once, at first — a slow press, the kind that didn’t demand anything. Then again, this time deeper. Haruki inhaled sharply, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where to put them. You pulled back only slightly.

“You can touch me.”

The words were soft. Not teasing. Just an offer.

Haruki’s fingers found your shoulders, then your jaw, then finally threaded into your hair like it made sense.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Until you shifted, pushed gently at his chest. He leaned back onto his elbows, lips parted, breath shaky. You sank to your knees in front of him, palms brushing the hem of his shirt.

He watched, stunned, as your hands moved with practised ease — unbuttoning, unzipping, until he was bare from the waist down. The air was cool against his erection. Your breath was warm.

“Wait—” he managed, voice a little broken. “Are you… sure?”

You looked up at him with the faintest smile.

“Very.”

And then you lowered your head.

The first touch of your mouth on his cock made his breath stutter. He’d never—no one had ever—

He clutched at the sheets beneath him, back arching slightly. You didn’t rush. Just took him in slow, deep, unhurried. Your hands on his thighs kept him steady, kept him grounded.

Haruki didn’t know where to look. Your lips, your eyelashes, the ceiling — nothing helped. His brain was static.

You hummed against him, the vibration sending a full-body shiver up his spine.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hands fisting the blanket. “That—wait—don’t—”

But he didn’t want you to stop. Not really. And you knew that.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper, “It’s okay. You can let go.”

And when he did, it was quiet.

His jaw went slack. His head tipped back. Your name curled off his tongue like something reverent. He was shaking.

You swallowed, slow and clean, and wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

Then you looked up at him.

Smiled like it was just another Tuesday.

“You taste like stress and bad decisions.”

Haruki lay there, bare and ruined, heartbeat in his throat.

You stood, grabbed your water bottle, and stretched like a cat.

“Wanna stay for dinner?”

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roanofarcc · 11 months ago

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WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom.

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face.

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them.

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair.

��Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them.

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.”

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.”

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences.

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night.

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you.

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos.

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds.

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet.

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people.

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!”

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?”

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it.

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes.

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter.

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast.

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing.

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk.

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion.

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run.

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound.

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?”

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow.

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey.

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir.

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances.

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces.

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you.

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly.

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap.

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?”

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.”

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.”

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.”

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.”

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him.

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest.

Bonus!

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt.

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased.

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.”

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #glen powell #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #twisters 2024 fanfic #glen powell x reader

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basictutor · 2 years ago

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Six Test Taking Strategy

These are Proven and Practical Test Taking Strategies to help you ace your exams.

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on effective test-taking strategies for students of all levels. Whether you’re in middle school, nursing school, or preparing for standardized tests like the SAT, we’ve got you covered. Learn invaluable skills to boost your confidence and ace your exams!

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#active reading techniques #boost exam performance #effective test taking techniques #how to ace exams #sat test taking strategies #standardized test preparation.#study tips #test taking skills #test taking strategies for elementary school #test taking strategies for middle school #test taking strategies for nursing students #test taking strategies for students #time management for exams #what are 10 test taking strategies

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katsukilvr · 4 days ago

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SUPPORT DEPARMENT!READER x KATSUKI BAKUGOU ༄ cw for the story: angst, situationship, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, bakugo is a bitch and needs a hug, so does reader, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, cussing. A/N: this chapter is mainly exposition, sorry! i will get into their dynamic in the next part <3 enjoy!

just like everyone else, you grew up fantasizing to be a hero one day. you watched all might all day and night on tv, admired local heroes in front of you, even joined a couple forums online that were all about heroes.

you dreamed of being one, of going to UA, working alongside teens across the country that have the same goals and aspirations as you was intoxicating to think about.

soon enough, your quirk developed, you had your dads quirk, you could take away heat from the air around you and channel it into the tips of your fingers. it wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t big, but you felt like if you trained hard enough, you could make it to the hero course.

your parents had split when you were young, and you were on good terms with both of them so the summer you had developed your quirk, you visited your dad for 2 months.

he was a mechanic, and he lived out in the outskirts of the city, and he was very.. rugged.

you learned quickly that slacking off was not allowed at your dads house. you weren’t allowed to sleep in, you had to wake up before the sun and help him work on cars but soon you got a taste for it. you had grown a love for cars, engineering, welding, etc.

by the end of summer, you were getting up on your own, enjoying seeing the sunrise as you guys went to the junkyard, coming out covered in grime and sweat, grabbing scraps for your new love of inventions.

of course you still were aspiring to be a hero, but you also really loved inventing new things, so you didn’t know what path to choose and your quirk was perfect for welding.

so you talked to the counselor at your middle school, wondering what career paths you could choose that would involve both saving lives and heroes and engineering.

“have you heard of the support department?”

support department?

you searched it up online,

“Students in this department focus on developing support equipment that help heroes out on the battlefield. With a workspace stocked to the brim with all sorts of special tools, the department provides an unmatched creative environment.”

you smiled at what your screen displayed.

it was perfect, so your new dream was to enroll into UA, join the support department, and open your own agency that’d help heroes build the equipment of their dreams that help them fight crime.

so that’s what you studied. you were in your first year of junior school (7th grade) when you realized this, so the next two summers you went back to your dad’s to work on cars and inventions, but during the school year, you trained. you trained really fucking hard. you did not play about getting into UA and chasing your dreams. if you only lived once, you were gonna live it right.

so you changed your schedule, mirroring the one you had during summer. you’d wake up every morning, go to the nearest junk yard which was a mile away from your house. you brought your wagon, and lugged scrap after scrap into it, dragging it back home.

your mom had made your own personal workshop in the basement, knowing how much it was your passion. you’d spend hours on hours down there, and not to toot your own horn but you were insane at engineering. if you could think it, you could build it.

your creativity was through the roof, you started taking commissions and fixing up cars by yourself, earning a bit of money to buy yourself an at home gym to train even more.

before you knew it, it was time for ‘entrance exams’, except for you, for support department students, you had to submit an invention, an original piece that was unique to you, easy to use, but difficult to make.

you spent months on your invention, your admissions essay, and your recommendations. you were overachieving, but you didn’t care.

when you got the letter in the mail, your heart thumped and thumped, your hands started to shake, barely seeing where the letter was sent from, all you could see was the UA stamp.

“mom! mom! it’s the letter!” you called out, setting it on the dining table as you saw your mom excitedly rush out of the bathroom, half her hair in hair rollers. she knew how hard you worked and she was proud of you if you got in or not.

“what are you doing? open it up!” she said, smiling ear to ear. you could swear she was more excited than you.

you picked up the letter, opening up the envelope and taking it out when a little button looking thing dropped out. you furrowed your brows, moving to pick it up before a hologram flickered on. you and your mom were both stunned, taking a step back before getting met with the face of all might, your childhood hero and inspiration, welcoming you to UA, and to their support department.

once the words reached your ears, you and your mom jumped around, hugging each other, beaming from ear to ear. you got in! you were gonna be the best of the best, and you weren’t going to let anyone get in your way.

you then read the letter in the envelope. you got a full ride scholarship off your inventions and recommendations alone. you felt like you could cry, and you did. happy tears streamed down your face. all this hard work? absolutely worth it, and you weren’t gonna slack off just because you got in.

further down the letter, it said they were going to be enforcing dorms earlier than usual. something about teaching future heroes about responsibility before becoming an adult, blah blah blah.. all you could think about was how you got in all by yourself, you won, and getting into UA will go amazing on your resumes and help you open your own support agency in the future.

this was your first step to your dream.

in the months before moving into the school, you obviously kept up your practice, but allowed yourself to relax a bit, you no longer had the anxiety and weight on your shoulders of trying to enroll, so instead of 5AM, you woke up at 7AM instead. you let yourself hang out with friends more, go out more, and spend some of that cash that had piled up through commissions and a job that you had taken up at a local coffee shop as a barista when you thought you had to pay for UA on your own. doing this, you learned about the world outside of your basement or the junkyard, and grew an appreciation for clothes and shopping.

the day to move in crept closer and closer, you started packing your clothes, using 2 suitcases. i mean you were gonna be there for a year, and obviously you were gonna visit home, but you didn’t wanna travel back and forth for clothes. you packed up everything you could, and used moving trucks to deliver furniture once the day did roll around.

walking up to the dorm building was scary. a chill ran down your spine as you stared at the huge building that was shaped like a U. it was smaller than the school, obviously, but still big. general, hero, support, and management students were all mixed into 2 buildings. the school didn’t want to separate students, it saved money and was under the guise that it’d help you make friends with whoever, despite was class you got into.

what they didn’t state was the hidden hierarchy inside the buildings. after a month, you soon learned that some hero students looked down at the rest, most general students looked down at support department students, and management was a weird mix of egotistical assholes and shy people who knew that they were in the ‘lowest’ class. lowest meaning easiest to get into, which wasn’t really true. you felt like you could’ve easily gotten into the general course, but whatever. you didn’t care about that.

back to the dorms, other people were passing you by when someone bumped into your shoulder. it was a tall guy, muscular, and weird blonde spiky hair.

“watch it, extra.” the stranger growled at you.

you were taken aback, annoyed at the audacity. “you bumped into me, weirdo.” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

you thought this was a well-mannered school, guess not. you brushed it off though, lugging your suitcases into the building. you were met with a big common area, there was even a small kitchen with a cafeteria. you smiled, it was modern, fancy, nothing like anything you’ve seen before.

you rolled into the elevator, going to the second highest level, where your dorm was.

you were nervous. still. you didn’t know who you would meet, if you would make friends, if people would like you.. but all you needed to focus on was unpacking.

ding.

the elevator doors opened, and you walked out, strolling down the long hallway until you got to the end. your room was at the very end, it had more open windows, letting a LOT of natural light in. you knew you had to get curtains though, since the windows were so big. you walked in and gasped. your very own living space. obviously you’d have to decorate and make it home, but all in due time.

you walked in, closing the door behind you, looking at your view. you could see the city from here, which wasn’t a huge drive, 10 minutes, 20 maybe if the traffic is bad, which it usually is.

on your other window was pure forest, you could see beautiful mountains. it was stunning, breath-taking view.

you put on some calm music and unpacked, humming to yourself and you hung your clothes, folded pants, ironed your uniforms, and placed your usual tools and books you brought in the shelves and drawers that the school had provided.

you were exhausted by the end of the day, you watched the sunset dip under the mountains and you closed the curtains you had installed earlier as you changed and got into bed and slept for a couple hours before waking up in the middle of the night.

thump. thump. thump.

were those.. drums? music? who the hell was playing such a loud instrument so late at night?

you needed your sleep. you could not be tired on your first day so you got up and out of your dorm, stepping down the hallway a bit. the noise was coming from your neighbor. seriously? am i gonna have to deal with this for 3 years? you thought as you knocked politely on their door.

no answer.

you knocked louder.

no answer, and you could hear their music getting louder, almost as if they were trying to tune out the knocking.

you started to bang on their door before you heard the music stop and angry stomps to the door before it swung open.

a handsome face met you, but it was tainted with a scowl, a disgusted and annoyed look.

wait a minute.. you recognized that ugly hair. it was the same dude that bumped into you earlier. a flicker of recognition flashed on your face before you furrowed your brows.

“the hell do you want?” he growled down at you.

“mind turning down your music? to 0, maybe?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his audacity (again.).

“mind getting some earplugs, bitch?”

you gasped, shocked a bit.

“some people are trying to get their beauty sleep.”

“yeah, you look like you really need it.” he chuckled in your face, his eyes roaming your disheveled form.

you groaned, “if anyone needs it, it’s you.”

“yeah? well go fuck yourself.” he said before slamming the door in your face. you groaned harder, shuffling back to your room and slamming the door shut as well. you got into bed, trying to cover your ears with pillows to block out the obnoxious drums from next door.

you eventually willed yourself to go to sleep.

maybe tomorrow will be better?

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renskaji · 2 months ago

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a quiet place to land

ren kaji x hiragi!sister reader, wc: 3k, req? yes! find it here.

You know it’s a bad day when Ren Kaji shows up at your front door.

It’s not like you don’t like him. You’ve known him since middle school, back when his hair was still dark and your friends warned you to stay away from that Kaji boy because his temper was unleashed and uncontrolled. You ignored them, stopped hanging around those who refused to see how hard Kaji tried to keep himself sane, and watched the changes happen in him from start to finish.

It’s bad, because Ren Kaji is standing in front of you, and your brother won’t be home for hours.

“Toma isn’t here,” You say upon opening the door. He’s standing on your front stoop, hair a little disheveled and something that looks suspiciously like a fresh set of bruises littering the skin of his cheeks and jaw. Sure enough, one glance at his hands clenched in fists at his sides, you see the skin torn from a fight.

It doesn’t scare you. You’ve been watching your brother get in fights since elementary school. What you are wary of is the fact that something went down, something bad enough to bring Kaji to your door, and Toma isn’t there to help fix it.

“I’m not here for your brother.” Kaji’s voice is harsh, but that’s his normal. You twist your lips to the side, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you study him carefully. His headphones are resting around his neck and he has a lollipop sticking from his mouth, which is nothing of note. You’re more concerned about the way he’s clenching his jaw and how his gaze seems hidden, ducked to the side and refusing to meet your evaluative stare. It’s almost protected. Like he’s worried about you seeing what he’s feeling, despite the fact that he showed up at your house.

And he’s not there for Toma.

You sigh, pushing open your front door wider and leaving him to enter on his own. He’s been over enough times to know the rules of the house, to know how to navigate himself to the living room. You’re suddenly way too conscious of the fact that you’re only wearing a random hoodie you quote unquote borrowed from Toma and athletic shorts you’ve had for far too long.

Not that it should matter. Because under no circumstances can you entertain the idea of anything with Kaji. Nope. Absolutely not.

And it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever come over without intending to see your brother, either. There have been a handful of occasions, like the one you’re currently in, where something happened, where life got too loud, and Ren Kaji found himself on your doorstep wanting to see you.

It’s really no wonder you fell in love with him along the way, honestly.

“Sit,” You throw the order over your shoulder carelessly as you retreat further into the house than the living room, gesturing vaguely towards the couch as you go. Kaji follows your command without fuss, which is just another sign on the long list of red flags he’s already flown that something is wrong. Usually, he’ll grumble out a ‘don’t tell me what to do’ before complying regardless. But now he’s silent, and you’re struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

The first aid kit is well stocked and kept within arms reach in your household. It takes less than a minute to collect it, but by the time you return to the living room, Kaji’s already retreated into the sanctuary of his headphones blaring rock music to drown out whatever was bothering him.

You don’t think anything of it. You’ve known Kaji for years, and you’ve come to understand how to exist in the same space as him without overstepping. Which is why you know enough to grab your own headphones on your way back into the living room, and you busy yourself with connecting them while you settle atop the coffee table directly in front of Kaji’s position on the couch. It’s cramped, but you make it work with your knees slotted between his casually spread legs and a blush burning the tips of your ears.

As soon as your own music starts playing, you set your phone to the side and look to your patient for the time being. He’s staring at you, but you know he’s not really seeing, so you nudge his foot with yours and stick out your hand, palm up and fingers splayed. With the music playing in both your ears, words are useless.

Kaji knows to set his own hand in yours, because he’s been through the routine too many times, too. You’ve lost count of how many nights you patched up Toma and his gang, Kaji included. You’re pretty sure even Sako still knows the drill, and he hasn’t shown his face to you since junior high graduation.

The alcohol wipe stings, but Kaji is already tensing his jaw so tight that he doesn’t show a visible wince. Regardless, you know it doesn’t feel good, so you make quick work of cleaning the torn skin on his knuckles. He watches you work carefully, obediently switching hands without you even needing to tell him to.

The scratches on his face aren’t anything serious, either, so you finish disinfecting in a matter of moments and apply necessary bandages to smooth skin. He’s still watching you carefully, but you know he’s finally seeing, and the recognition that he’s coming back to himself makes you let loose the tension you had been unknowingly holding in your shoulders.

Your mind inevitably drifts while doting on him, and you find yourself studying his face too closely for just simply looking for injuries. Especially when you’re looking at his lips more than his bruises.

He’s still wearing his headphones when you finish packing up the first aid kit, so you know he needs more time until you can bother him about what happened. He’s not running off, which is an improvement from middle school, when he would tug his hoodie over the top of his head to block out the world. Now, he’s drowning out sound while scrolling through his phone on your couch.

The thought makes your cheek twitch with a smile. You know better than to comment on his growth.

Instead, you stand from your seat on the coffee table and return the first aid kit to its rightful home. When you make your way back to the living room, you choose a spot on the couch with a comfortable distance between yourself and Kaji. In place of badgering him, you pull out your own phone and begin to scroll.

There’s no message from Toma about a big fight happening in town, which makes your face twist in silent confusion. Your brother has always been good about warning you about Bofurin’s actions in a bid to keep you away from the trouble. The lack of a text makes you glance at Kaji, trying to piece together how he could’ve gotten so injured without a noteworthy Furin fight having gone down.

But the blond seated beside you offers no answers without you having to dig for them, so you fire off a message to Toma and shut down your phone, tucking it between your leg and the couch cushion. You twist in your seat until you’re leaning back against the arm rest, feet pulled up on the couch to give you something to wrap your arms around and rest your chin on.

You study Kaji’s profile for as long as it takes for him to notice you’re waiting for him. Or maybe, for as long as it takes for him to work up the resolve to take off his headphones. He sets them on the coffee table, and you know that means he’s ready to talk.

“Thanks,” He mumbles out to break the silence. You’ve never known Kaji to be an overly talkative person, so you take the opportunity he’s given you with both hands and ask the question that’s been bugging at you since he arrived.

“So, who’d you fight this time?” You keep your voice light, non-accusatory. You’ve never loved all the fighting, but you know they’re doing it for a good cause. And you also know Kaji is too good of a guy to get in fights for no reason.

“Dunno their names.”

Kaji shrugs, attention fixed on his abandoned headphones on the coffee table. Now you’re confused, because there’s something far worse than a regular fight wrong with him. He can handle scraps with random troublemakers on his own, without needing to see you. Something about this fight in particular is bothering him.

“Kaji,” You try again, a bit more forcefully. He finally looks at you, but he’s just as quick to glance away. You frown, and shift further down the couch until you’re directly next to him, your sock clad feet only a few inches away from his leg. Part of you thinks you see the tips of his ears start to turn bright red, but part of you knows that would be ridiculous. “What happened?”

There’s a telltale crack as Kaji’s jaw clenches over the lollipop he’s been savoring since before he arrived. His face is stony, completely giving away the fact that whatever did go down before he arrived at your door was bad.

“I really don’t know their names. But they were wearing the uniforms from your school.” He explains, though it sounds like it’s taking a lot for him to get the words out. Like each one has the same feeling as poking at an unhealed bruise. Your face twists in confusion, but you stay quiet, hoping that encourages him to keep talking. “They had some stupid shit to say.”

“About you?”

“About you.”

“Oh,” You’re not sure where to take the conversation from there. Toma has always told you that you’re too headstrong for your own good, which you never thought was a bad thing. You’re not oblivious to the fact that some of your classmates don’t like you, but you never thought that they would talk so poorly about you that Kaji would fight them.

It makes a heavy weight settle in your chest, and you look away from Kaji with a frown anchoring the corners of your lips downwards. You wonder what they said, if the boys he’s talking about actually knew you.

There’s a few unsavory thoughts running through your mind, but you’re abruptly dragged back to reality when Kaji nudges your shin. You know you’re still frowning when you glance at him, but it all melts away to surprise when you see what he’s offering you.

It’s one of his lollipops. The peach kind, too, and distantly you think that he said one time that those were his favorite. It makes your throat tighten and your sinuses clog with emotion you really hadn’t expected to feel when you opened the door twenty minutes earlier.

“Thanks,” You sigh as you take the candy. The shake to your voice is hard to ignore, but Kaji is good enough to not comment on it. You’d almost think he doesn’t notice the way your eyes are a bit shinier than usual, but the candy he’s offering is proof otherwise. “You didn’t have to do it, though.”

“Huh?” He’s turned fully towards you, now, and it’s hard not to burn up under the total weight of his attention. Most days, you’d love to revel in his focus, but now it feels too hot, too close to something you’ve never been brave enough to address.

“You didn’t have to fight those boys just ‘cause I’m Toma’s sister,” You clarify, voice quiet and close to shattering. It’s the only reason you can think of that explains why Kaji would bother dealing with some random assholes. You busy yourself by popping the gifted lollipop in your mouth, savoring the taste of peach on your tongue, folding the wrapper into a neat triangle, then half it again.

Under different circumstances, it would be almost amusing to watch him process what you’re saying. It’s almost like his brain stutters, then stalls, before needing to reboot and start over. You watch as flashes of confusion shine in his eyes, then disbelief, before finally settling on annoyance.

“You stupid or something?” He asks, and you snap out of your self-pitying to glare at him, mouth already open to retort with your own insult by the time he barrels on. “I didn’t do it ‘cause of your brother. I did it because I like you, a lot, and those assholes don’t get to talk about you like that.”

You’re still a little pissed off at the stupid comment, so it takes you longer than it typically would to realize he just confessed to having feelings for you.

In the stretch of silence you foolishly let build after his admission, Kaji groans and reaches for his headphones to hide from the world again. His blush is crawling up his neck, and all you can think about is how adorable you find it as you hand shoots out to grab his sleeve.

His focus snapes to you the moment your touch finds his sleeve. He’s frozen, half leaning forward to grab his headphones off the coffee table. You’re convinced that one wrong move will send him flying out the front door and avoiding you forever.

“You’re really shit at this kind of stuff.” You find yourself saying before you can think about it. It falls under the category of a wrong move that will send him flying out the front door, but you’re holding the sleeve of his sweatshirt so tightly he can’t go anywhere without dragging you with him.

“Just forget it.” He grumbles, a glare he doesn’t mean fixed on something over your shoulder. You can’t help the way your grin finally breaks free, but he misses it by avoiding your gaze.

“Now you’re the one being stupid.” You tease. “The guy I like just beat up bullies I didn't know I had and confessed his feelings for me. I’m not just going to forget it.”

You’re leaning closer towards him now, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want him to kiss you. The lollipop is plucked from your mouth, held by the stick in your hand that isn’t currently bunched in the fabric of his sweatshirt. You think you’re inching closer towards your goal when you spot his gaze tracking the way your tongue darts out to wet your peach flavored lips.

“Your brother—” He starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“Now it’s finally about Toma.” You tease with a playful roll of your eyes. “My brother loves you. And he trusts you, too. He’s not going to be bothered by us.”

Kaji’s ears burn impossibly brighter at the mention of an us, which makes you grin and lean even further into his space. This is so not the direction you thought your afternoon would go, but you’ll take it.

He’s quiet for a moment longer, so you decide to give him another nudge, another tease that will hopefully push him over the edge towards action.

“If you really want, we can call Toma and ask—”

You’re interrupted by his hand suddenly cradling your jaw, angling your face just right in the seconds before his lips crash against yours. It’s a little sloppy, a little inexperienced, but it makes your head feel dizzy all the same. You press towards him the moment you get your bearings, desperate to show him how much you care for him.

It’s nearly embarrassing how breathless you are after the kiss ends. But Kaji’s panting too, so you know you’ll be alright. Your smile is a little dazed, but there’s no way for you to miss the determined look in his eyes.

“I owe your brother so much, but it’s never about him for me. It’s always you.” There’s a weight to his confession that you’re not quite sure how to unpack. Kaji has idolized Toma for years. But to think that as deep as that devotion goes, Kaji’s commitment to you goes deeper—

You’re not sure what else to do but kiss him again.

It’s shorter than the first kiss, but no less meaningful. You see the way he’s blushing under your touch, your attention, and you wonder how you went so long without drawing that reaction from him. He’s too adorable, and it makes you decide that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him blushing, always. You’re smiling, and it’ll take a lot to keep you from doing so.

“We still have to tell my brother, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

+ bonus

“Have you heard from Kaji lately? Word is he got into a brawl in town and no one’s seen him since.”

Toma Hiragi groans at his vice captain, reaching into his jacket for both his phone and stomach medicine. It’s one thing for Kaji to get into a fight while on patrol, but it’s another to disappear after.

He pops a gaskun-10 pill into his mouth while opening his phone. There’s no texts from his underclassman, but he has one from you, his younger sister.

Kaji showed up at the house. I patched him up but he seems off. I’ll talk to him and figure it out. Oh, and get me that bread Ume was talking about before you come home.

Toma huffs at your text before turning off his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. He doesn’t actually remember what bread Umemiya recommended to you, so he’ll have to ask and endure a ten minute lecture on bean sprouts.

But you’re cleaning up Kaji for him, so it’s the least he can do.

“Kaji’s fine.” Toma explains to the small crowd of Bofurin that had gathered while waiting to hear about their teammate’s whereabouts. “He’s with my sister. She’s taking care of him.”

And maybe you’ll put him out of his misery and finally admit you’re in love with each other.

#word count was at 1.6k and then I blinked. now we're here.#not even the least bit sorry for it tho #renskaji writes #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wbk #ren kaji #ren kaji x you #ren kaji x reader #kaji ren #kaji ren x reader #kaji ren x you #wind breaker kaji #kaji wind breaker #wbk kaji #kaji wbk

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ibchemist · 1 year ago

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Sharing my schedule for next week with you! I have to study this much because I have 6 exams when I come back (4 on chemistry...) so wish me luck!

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akisteahouse · 19 days ago

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FALLING FOR YA! featuring your quaint neighbourhood’s boys ACE TRAPPOLA, DEUCE SPADE, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS and TREY CLOVER…

Ace Trappola! Who’d been your next-door neighbour and annoyance ever since you were born in the Queendom of Roses, after the fateful day where he threw his basketball over your backyard's fence. Self-proclaimed ‘childhood best friend’ of yours, hanging out with you for the next years many, many blisteringly hot summers - riding your bikes together at the beach(he’d fallen off so many times while learning, always averting his eyes whenever you bent down to put a bandaid on his scraped knees), stealing licks off each others rapidly melting ice cream(nevermind his pink-tipped ears, or how he didn’t seem to really mind at all), getting kicked out of the town’s movie theatre one too many times after giggling and nudging each other at lovey-dovey couples a little too hard(couples…psh, he could never, right?)… fun times, fun times. Lunch and dinner at the Trappola’s becoming an almost daily tradition, with Mrs Trappola fussing about second and third servings, before insisting you stay the night… but it was alright, your parents were too close with the Trappola’s to care, and Ace most certainly didn’t mind sharing a bed anyway - you’d just have to deal with his playfully kicking feet and his not-so-slick longing glances, but it wasn’t not like you’d mind too much - he was your best friend, after all, and what would he do without you? ;)

Deuce Spade! Who everyone knew as the resident problem-causing delinquent, and not for the sweet boy you’d seen tinkering away at his mom’s broken appliances at the blast cycle workshop next to your apartment, brows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip adorably sticking out as he worked. You’d found him doubled over in the park once, knuckles battered and bruised, blood streaming down his nose, and who were you to leave him behind? Deuce, who incessantly refused for help, but softened at the mention of his mother seeing him like that, begrudgingly letting you patch up with the cheap med-kit you’d gotten from the corner store nearby, grumbling a ‘thanks’ under his breath as you worked, offering to pay you back with fixing any broken machinery you had lying around, blue eyes firmly focused on the stray leaf on the concrete rather than your eyes, before leaving. Perking up like a stray cat when you found him the next day with a broken clock, and then a watch, and then a radio - nevermind how his eyes brightened when he saw you walk up to him on the very first day, how he looked at you like you were too good to be true, how he waited for you to come again to retrieve your fixed item, nevermind it at all. And oh, the day he vowed to change for the better, he vowed to change not only for his mother, but for you too - the one who’d treated him like a normal person. You would accept his diligent efforts, right? ;)

Riddle Rosehearts! Who’d always been a bit of a neighbourhood enigma, well, at least to the children, of course - the strange, quiet boy who never left his house. What child wouldn’t be curious? Well, your middle school friends were, for one, and on the night of Halloween, had dared you to visit the boy. And so, you did - hurling small pebbles onto the window where the redhead was currently studying, head bowed and nose deep into impossibly thick books, before he’d finally noticed your unceasing efforts. Chest puffing out and face red from anger as you scuttled closer to the window, berating something about how ‘rule 672 clearly states that no stone shall be thrown past eight lest it be a romantic intervention!’…oh? Romantic? You could certainly work with that >:)))))) Face red now for a different reason after you decided to declare that yes, this was a romantic intervention, blubbering about how ‘certain courtship rituals had to be done’… cute. Secretly visiting the redhead at night like he was a princess locked away in a tower, always throwing pebbles to alert him of your presence, all the while actually doing the courtship ritual he’d seemed so insistent about… sliding in love letters(each of which he’d kept neatly tucked away in one of his many books), poetry(face burning red as he read your sonnets, so obviously full of romantic mush he didn’t know what to do other than to shove his flushed face onto his hands), and of course, small gifts(all of which he kept secretly underneath his bed). Poor Riddle Rosehearts, who’d been struck with an ailment of the heart, one that even the most skilled doctors couldn’t undo - love, with you as the main cause. Oh well, it wasn’t like you or him particularly minded anyways, no? ;)

Trey Clover! Who you’d always seen manning the cashier at his family’s bakery, flashing a smile whenever someone walked in or out - you’d know this by now, as a regular of theirs. He seemed to know you too, waving and greeting you with a particularly bright smile whenever you walked in, even if you came in during bustling rush hours - yeah, he wasn’t particularly shy with his affections, to the point that the entire Clover family were well aware of his not-so little affection for you. Mrs Clover dropping some not-subtle-at-all hints about what a great son-in-law Trey would be to your parents, Mr Clover oftentimes joking(lie) about how you hung around the bakery so much that you were practically family at this point, Trey’s younger siblings very loudly complaining about how Trey talked too much about you at home(before being swiftly repressed by the man himself, saying that they were just playing around). You’d have to be a fool to not notice the wistful sighs he’d emit in your direction, the too-long-to-be-platonic gazes across the bakery from him, the way his fingers brushed against yours for a bit too long when handing you your orders…and maybe you were a fool, because you hadn’t responded to his actions, not one bit - but it was fine. Trey was a patient man, and he wouldn’t mind playing the long game, as long as the final prize was your heart ;)

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theonlyonesora · 2 months ago

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The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Synopsis. “They were a pair—until we became a triangle.”

Chapter 01 – Pocket Boyfriend

The sun hit just the right angle on campus that day, golden and soft, like it had been filtered through a summer memory. I had collapsed onto the grass beside our little group, my backpack flung somewhere behind me and the weight of my finance finals finally peeling off my chest. I was free. My brain was still buzzing with formulas and late-night study sessions, but the only math I wanted to think about now was how many drinks I could responsibly down at tonight’s party.

“I swear if I failed macroeconomics I’m transferring to a cult in the woods,” Meg said, sipping iced coffee like it was the blood of her enemies.

“I’m going full wine aunt this holiday. Just me, my dog, a playlist called ‘crying at brunch,’ and no contact with reality,” Jessy declared, lying flat on her back with her sunglasses sliding down her nose.

And then there was Lily—perfect posture, hair somehow unbothered by the wind, scribbling something in her planner like we weren’t already mentally clocked out for the semester.

Lily and I had met in the first month of college. She was studying engineering, which meant she said things like “thermodynamics” and “fluid mechanics” and actually understood them. I was the finance girl with chaotic energy and a too-big planner filled with dreams and half-baked budgeting tips I never followed. We clicked instantly. She was the responsible one, I was the one doing tequila shots in the dorm hallway on a Tuesday. We balanced each other like opposite ends of a seesaw—somehow always meeting in the middle.

And yet, for all our closeness, there was always one ghost in the room: Oscar. Her long-term boyfriend. Formula 1 driver. Constantly flying. Constantly in another timezone. I hadn’t met him yet, not properly. He was always just on the other end of a FaceTime or in the stories she told, but never quite real.

“You should meet him,” she’d say. “You two are weirdly alike. It’s actually kinda scary.”

But the meeting never came. He was in Monaco. Or Melbourne. Or training. Or sleeping. But he never once seemed to mind that Lily and I were basically joined at the hip. And truthfully, I liked that. I liked that he trusted her. Trusted us. Because I loved her. Not in that way—not really. At least, I didn’t think so. Until that one day on the grass.

Jessy’s voice broke through the sleepy lull of our post-finals haze.

“So (Y/N),” she asked with a wicked glint in her eyes, “have you done it?”

“Done what?” I blinked, half-dozing.

“Ménage à trois.”

“Excuse me—what? It’s noon,” I groaned, sitting up. “It is way too early for this kind of scandal.”

“Just answer,” she pressed.

I laughed, brushing a blade of grass off my jeans. “No, I haven’t. Never done it.”

Jessy raised an eyebrow. “Not even curious?”

Before I could open my mouth, Lily’s voice slid in, soft and casual. “Are you curious?”

I turned to her. “Are you?”

She shrugged, playful, but something flickered in her expression—quiet, electric. “I don’t know… I think it can’t just be with anyone. But wouldn’t it be strange to do it with strangers?”

There was a pause. An almost imperceptible shift in the air. The kind of silence where a thousand things go unsaid but somehow still felt.

“I did it with a cousin once,” Jessy said, so casually she might as well have been talking about borrowing sugar.

“Oh my God,” Meg choked, nearly spitting her coffee.

“What?” Jessy blinked, genuinely confused.

“It’s family!” I said, horrified but laughing.

“It was high school!”

“Still!” I replied, shaking my head, half-disgusted, half-intrigued, and fully spiraling into the kind of laughter that makes your ribs ache.

Lily was laughing too, but something in her gaze lingered. She looked at me for a moment longer than usual, head tilted slightly, like she was filing something away in the corner of her mind for later. Like she was imagining something.

And I should have known then. I should have felt it—that thread pulling tighter, twisting quietly around us, waiting for the perfect night to snap.

Lily’s room smelled like coconut body lotion, hot flat iron, and vanilla perfume—basically the scent of girls getting ready to destroy lives

“You realize we’re just going to a bar, right?” I said, grinning. “Not the Oscars.”

“You can’t call it a ‘just a bar’ when it’s finals week and the entire city is out celebrating,” she replied, adjusting a gold hoop. “Besides, it’s been forever since we all went out.”

“We went out last week.”

“I said all

I rolled my eyes and stepped further into the bathroom, stealing a pump of her lotion while she was distracted. We'd been living together for four months now in a spacious apartment two blocks from campus—big enough for sleepovers in each other's rooms, dance parties in the living room, and nights spent sharing pizza and soft secrets. It was easy with Lily. Always had been.

And just as she picked up her phone to check the time, it started buzzing. Oscar.

“Speak of the devil and he FaceTimes,” I muttered, smirking.

Lily answered, holding the phone up to her face. Her voice instantly softened. “Hey, babe.”

I backed up a little to give them space but hovered just enough to be nosy.

“Are you with (Y/N)?” Oscar asked through the speaker.

I leaned into the frame dramatically, still in my towel. “Hello, pocket boyfriend.”

Oscar chuckled. “Hello, trouble.”

“Are you still calling him that?” Lily asked, amused but mock-exasperated.

“What? He’s always in your pocket! I’ve never seen him outside of a phone screen. Honestly, I’m starting to believe he’s AI.”

“Deeply hurt,” Oscar said with a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“But you're so polite about it,” I teased. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Our dynamic was weirdly natural for two people who’d never met in person. Friendly banter. Inside jokes. I’d always respected the space he and Lily shared, but I’d also never shied away from being me

“You two going out tonight?” he asked, brushing a lock of damp hair off his forehead.

Lily nodded, tilting the phone to show her outfit. “Yeah. The girls and I. Just bar hopping. (Y/N) made us promise we wouldn’t end up doing karaoke again.”

“That was one time!” I shouted from the bathroom.

Oscar grinned. “Just make sure she drinks water this time.”

“I always

Lily laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

Oscar’s eyes softened at that. “You always do.”

There was a little pause then. Just a second too long. Like the sentence sat there between us, warm and humming with something neither of us fully named. Because yeah—she always did. And sometimes, I worried I let her.

“I gotta get dressed,” I said, suddenly aware of the towel slipping a little too far down my chest. “Nice seeing you, Oscar.”

“Soon, I hope,” he replied. “In real life. Not just FaceTime.”

Lily smiled, eyes flicking between the two of us. “Maybe we’ll finally make it happen this summer.”

“Careful,” I said with a wink. “I might actually steal him.”

“She’d probably let you,” Oscar joked.

And Lily?

But she didn’t say no.

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