#2024 has been hell but by god its turning me into a freak

[duskdragonxiii]

Beating the catholicism out of him [ft @marinehaddock ]

[skiyoosmi]

when the first snow falls | 01

💌 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚'𝐬 𝟐𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬. it took him four months to fall in love with you, four years to marry you and four seconds to realize that he has fallen out of love from you— so he asks for a divorce and you have no choice but to agree... on one condition: to give you four weeks more of his "love."

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. akaashi keiji x fem!kuroo!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. angst, fluff, college!au, friends-to-lovers!au, domestic!au

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. swearing (when will swearing be gone from my warnings tho), akaashi is a kind of an apathetic jerk in the end, mentions of divorce— if there is anything else i failed to mention, please let me know!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. please forgive my impulsiveness to write this and think of this little work as me celebrating because i hit 2k followers!!! 🥳💗 you're all so good to me and i can never thank you all enough ✨ ALL THE LOVEEEE!

It was spring when you first met him. It’s almost funny how you could remember every single detail of it as clear as the day but when you think about it once more, it’s also endearing and heart fluttering – you swore you saw sparks flying around the two of you the moment you touched his hand followed by the way your gaze shied away from him with flushing cheeks, as if you were first year high schools who confessed your little crush to him.

It was cliché, to be honest; the realization of falling in love at first sight for him dawning upon you as you watch him smile apologetically for bumping into you then him turning around and walking to god-knows-where with his odd companion. But then it felt metaphoric at the same time, euphoric even;

APRIL 2019, SPRING: FIRST YEAR

UNIVERSITY OF TOKYO, JAPAN

 “Excuse me… uhm… passing through… sorry!” a guilty voice resonated throughout the narrow hallways of the English department. Groans and yelps of annoyance followed the redundant statements, some even replying with ‘watch where you’re going!’ to which the voice replied with another apology. Your figure moved hastily among the crowd as you tried to get to your agenda as fast as you can. You almost cursed aloud, wondering why the hell are there so many students lounging around that freaking area?! Nonetheless, you opted to keeping your mouth shut and kept walking and shoving instead while of course, uttering what you felt like hundreds of apologies.

Your eyes soon lit up upon finding the exit of the hallway, the arch leading to an open area finally providing the light you were dramatically seeking for. As if your energy got boosted by the said brightness, you moved even faster, making other students look at you quizzically since you were practically yelling out your sorry’s a bit too happily.

A breath of fresh air welcomed you as soon as you got out of the hellhole and began skipping your way to your destination… or not because as soon as you began skipping, a much larger figure bumped right into you. Holy shit, can this day get any worse?! you internally screamed and closed your eyes, preparing yourself… or your butt, rather… for the impact to come; however, the only thing you felt was a hand wrapping itself around your wrist and tugging you, making you stumble into the stranger’s arms. Opening your eyes slowly, you found yourself face-to-face with the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes on.

“Uhm… uhh… t-thank you?” you stuttered, comically blinking your eyes quickly as you were trying to see if he was real because goddamn, he’s so beautiful. He scanned your overall, probably checking to see if you were alright before glaring at the two-tone haired lad behind you who only grinned at him sheepishly.

“You’re welcome, Kuroo-san. I apologize for the inconvenience Bokuto… my friend has brought you,” he gestured to Bokuto who bowed to you, eyes sparkling when she told him that it was fine. As if his statement only registered to you now, your head whipped towards the unknown man who tilted his head curiously at your actions.

“Wait… you know me? Am I supposed to know you two?” he only smiled and shook his head, making your wonder grow even more. How does this beautiful man know me?

“A lot of people know you more than you think, Kuroo-san. It’s not just your brother who is popular in terms of beauty and brains, you know? Anyways, we will be going now,” he bowed his head and began pulling Bokuto who was caught by surprise and began uttering incoherent words, leaving you as you processed his words and began blushing. Did this man just tell me I’m pretty and smart too?

“Wait!” you yelled after him, cheeks reddening even more when he turned around and smiled, “what’s your name?”

And as the pink petals of the cherry blossoms rained over the two of you, your love for Akaashi Keiji bloomed.

NOVEMBER 2024, WINTER

AKAASHI HOUSEHOLD, TOKYO

How did it get to this?

You kept on asking yourself as you sat right across your husband, the person who you thought would love you until the last breath he takes… well, at least that was what he vowed on your wedding day. But here you were, tears rushing down your cheeks like a waterfall as he pushed the brown envelope lying on the table towards you. No words escaped from him but you knew what it was. For some reason, a part of you already expected this to come. But that didn’t mean you were happy about it; if you were, you would’ve been laughing but no, you were sobbing and hiccupping as you watched him mercilessly crush your heart.

“Why?”  a broken whisper went out of your mouth as you gripped your skirt, so tight that your knuckles were becoming white already. He sighed and leaned back, watching you with eyes that had pity and guilt swimming in them. It stung because you can clearly remember the love that once resided in them, now gone and nowhere to be found.

“You know it’ll hurt you even more if I answer that,” he answered, eyes going downwards when you scoffed at his pathetic attempt of an excuse.

“Hypocrite,” you spat, “if you didn’t want to hurt me, you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t waste so many years with me then just leave me when you feel like it. You could’ve told me you’ll divorce me eventually so I wouldn’t have to fucking marry you, asshole.” You got up from your seat and began making your way upstairs and to the bedroom before his next words halted you from walking temporarily.

“You can take your time to think about it carefully. But even if you don’t agree to the divorce, that won’t stop me from leaving this house so I personally think it’s better if you free yourself from any connection with me……… Kuroo-san,” he said, not even flinching a bit when you glared back at him, “Damn you, Keiji.”

You stomped over to your bedroom and slammed the door, shoving your back against it before finally letting it all out, no longer caring if he heard your heartbroken wails and cries as you slid down the door.

As if the cherry blossoms tree that symbolized your story had met its death, on winter, Akaashi Keiji’s love for you has withered.

[swyllh]

[wonwoo] my mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun

title: my mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun [from sonnet 130]

pairing: wonwoo x reader 

word count: 3081

genre: fluff. just. fluff.

"leav me alone," you curse, catching a high-five from vernon. it's a good pun. you've been waiting to use it since thinking it up last sunday night when you were bitching with seungkwan. 

you: 192, wonwoo: 192. boom.

wonwoo rolls his eyes. "one measly poet doesn't diminish the value of page poetry."

you scoff, "yeah it just olib-obil- fucking- oblierated your argument on publishers being gatekeepers of page poetry."

"obliterated," wonwoo corrects scathingly. that despicable raccoon. "at least it's better than not having a gateway at all."

"no, because slam is fundamentally different," you say between gritted teeth. 

wonwoo starts packing his bag. "so it's not poetry, you admit?"

god. you raise your heads to the high heavens, and are met with the questionable, green remnants of that-incident-with-jeonghan-and-seokmin on the ceiling. the clatter of the ceiling fan offers no enlightenment. why do idiots roam freely among us, you ask. brr, brr, cries the fan. 

wonwoo: 193, you: 192.

"no!" you exclaim. 

wonwoo raises an eyebrow, shifting his bag strap on his bony shoulder. one day he'll fall onto his own shoulder and puncture his huge, inflated ego. one day. "no, it's not poetry?"

"i am not conceding," you snap back.

"so there is something to concede." 

wonwoo: 194, you: 192. 

you chase after him angrily. damn long legs. he'd have been executed in some ancient civilisation for being so freakishly tall. freaking slender man. 

"poems weren't written down at first - that's an eurocentric notion that dismisses other groups of people who didn't have written language," you pause to catch for breath. 

as you amble past jeonghan, he reaches out and ruffles your head without so much as a look in your direction; your rowdy garnish arguments are a common occurrence in the east wing now. at precisely 10:14am the sounds of heavy sarcasm and undiluted exasperation ring throughout the hallway like clockwork.

"poetry came from songs, odes," you wave your hand around to gesture other unnamed synonyms. "slam poetry represents a revolution - not just because it introduces newer concerns and techniques of rhyme and rhythm, but because it is a tribute to older times."

wonwoo holds up a hand. you shove it away. "don't interrupt me."

he quirks an eyebrow. you find you have nothing else to add. "okay, interrupt me."

"as poetic as your argument sounds," he says, slowing down as you near the corner before you part, "you do realise that nobody's consciously paying tribute to the ancient origins of poetry and hymns, right?"

you roll your eyes. "even if they don't have the intent, so what?"

"so what, indeed," wonwoo echoes softly. there's got to be menace lurking somewhere in his words. 

you puff your chest out, ready to defend slam poetry's honour to the very last. wonwoo stares at you. and then his watch. and then back at you again. 

"w-what?" you say, not stuttering. "well, if they don't have the intent then doesn't it also show like, a return to some common ground? of humanity or something."

"you mean to say that slam poetry is innate?" wonwoo deadpans. "like how newborn babies come out -"

you roll your eyes. "no! i mean the rhythm. the need to vocalise."

wonwoo crosses his arms. "interruption deduction."

wonwoo: 194, you: 191.

"hey! you interrupted me earlier!" you bite back.

"technically you had nothing left to say." and then, "what about babies born deaf or dumb?"

you hate how slimey his reasoning is. there's got to be some loophole. this guy's got the soul of a lawyer but the major of an english lit. what the heck.

you huff, squaring your shoulders. "that's because you interrupted my train of thought! and about disabled babies -"

"you need to think faster," he says quickly. "what was it about disabled babies?"

... wonwoo: 195, you: 191.

you settle for crossing your arms, leaning against the wall of the intersection. "well, i concede the point about disabled babies, but only because the nuance is controversial and cannot be covered in a fast-paced environment as such."

as you finish your sentence, the bell rings. wonwoo eyes you cautiously. the rush of students stampeding off to their next class breezes past the both of you, cocooning you in a whirl of noises and varying degrees of body odour or thickly-layered deodorant. 

wonwoo leans in, and repeats a set of numbers to you. 

"...380," you echo back. 

he nods, and turns to join the stream of migrating salmon towards their final destination. advanced calculus. what a nerd. you can't believe you actually know someone who takes that willingly in the arts stream.

"...380," you repeat, walking off to your own class.

-

"so you're telling me," kimmy says, placing a hand in front of you. 

"interruption deduction," you blurt out.

kimmy retracts her hand warily like you're a particularly grotesque descendant of some arachnid monstrosity. "you have jargons. ugh."

"kinky," chan says, tapping at his game.

kimmy shoves him out of the seat. chan winces, though his fingers never leave the screen.

"freaking hell, i almost died!"

kimmy snaps her fingers at you again. "you mean to say he gave you his number after that weird mating ritual you guys went through."

you hold up a finger. "first, yes, but only to continue the argument, and secondly, it's not a mating ritual. he's wrong about-"

"but it is weird," kimmy says. "you talk to the guy you claim to hate-"

"-he's misguided and-"

"-you claim to hate," kimmy emphasises, slamming your finger down, "every. single. lit class, and it's not even for class participation."

"that's a good idea," chan says, thumbs pummelling down on his phone. "two birds with one stone."

kimmy grabs your hands, beseeching. "please just use your head and think."

-

you [1902]: http://watchtube/video_knob_poetry_seventeen+right+here_11294

you [1902]: http://watchtube/video_knob_poetry_like+ocean+waves_11653

you [1902]: http://watchtube/video_knob_poetry_twenty+four+seven_12472

you [1902]: http://watchtube/video_knob_poetry_boom+boom_18273

you [1902]: http://watchtube/video_knob_poetry_gibun+gibun+gibun_17349

wonwoo [2024]: jesus christ.

wonwoo [2045]: alright, some of them are good.

you [2046]: see??????

wonwoo [2046]: always exceptions to the rule.

you [2046]: u g h

you [2046]: are you serious 

wonwoo [2047]: i did say some of them were good.

you [2047]:  h a 

wonwoo [2047]: i never said there weren't good ones. 

wonwoo [2047]: i just said that page poetry is generally of higher quality.

you [2048]: by what standards?

wonwoo [2048]: you haven't been able to prove the longevity of any particular slam poem.

wonwoo [2048]: wouldn't you say that's the problem?

wonwoo [2048]: its circulation isn't tied to any specific culture or reinforced thereafter. 

wonwoo [2049]: therefore: oral tradition doesn't apply here.

you [2050]: ..........

you [2050]: why longevity? why does it need to be tied to any culture? why rate slam according to the criteria of page poetry?

wonwoo [2050]: that's because you haven't set a criteria.

wonwoo [2051]: boom.

you [2051]: christ.

you [2051]: brb im going to work on history essay

you [2053]: this is n o t a cowardly retreat!!!!!!!!!!

wonwoo [2053]: you said it

you [2054]: i will be back!!!!!!!!!!

-

when you join her at lunch, kimmy gives you an odd look. you respond by pretending to change tables. she holds you down.

"where's wonwoo?" she says.

you roll your eyes. "join the club."

"no, seriously," she says, angling her head to glance behind you. "where is he?"

"how would i know?" you throw your hands up in the air, narrowly endangering your cutlery. "first vernon, then jeonghan, then professor lee, then this weird guy from whatever abstract math, then-"

kimmy pulls away. "from math?"

you fling your hands out at her, smiling widely at her scrunched up nose. "don't worry. i made sure to sanitise myself after contact."

kimmy groans. "not the point."

"then?" you wag an eyebrow. "you were spooked when he started joining our table."

"yeah," kimmy deadpans, picking up her chopsticks and pointing them at you. a dribble of soy sauce falls from it. "but since then he's been coming over every day without fail to bicker with you and so i got used to it."

you spread your arms out, appreciating the space and the rare stab of freedom and uncontested territory. "and now we are delivered from all our burdens."

kimmy pokes around at her noodles. "so you don't know where he is."

"lady!" you exclaim, jabbing your fork at her fishball. "no! i'm not a wonwoo-detector!"

she pauses, ignoring your heist. "you have his number."

"yeah?" 

kimmy gives you a meaningful look. "are you going to check if he's sick?"

"why?"

you've done it. kimmy's finally reached maximum-incredulity. for a moment you feel the urge to reach over your head to see if you've sprouted extra limbs or a third eye. with the way she's gawking at you, you think you might have regressed into a blobfish.

she presses a hand to her temples. sighs, and then steadies herself. "okay. at the very, very least, aren't you going to make sure he doesn't miss anything in class."

you think about it. "he's got other friends."

kimmy presses her fingers together like a steeple over her nose. BOI. "you are his friend."

"i wouldn't say friend," you say, shuddering at the word, even as you tug your phone out. "it's more, like-?"

you choke out a questionable, questioning sound. kimmy has a glimmer of hope in her eyes before sighing it away again. 

you [1236]: hey you sick?

wonwoo [1236]: yeah, a bit.

"yeah, he's sick," you report.

kimmy chews on her noodles. "tell him about class?"

you [1238]: so for lit today we went through freudian vs feminism, as well as why slam is better than page, and the homework is reading chapters 11-13

wonwoo [1238]: nice try.

you [1239]: you're not that sick then

wonwoo [1239]: i haven't moved an inch since freefalling onto my bed at 7 last night.

you [1240]: müde

wonwoo [1241]: is that german?

you [1241]: pun.

wonwoo [1242]: if you have to explain it it's not that good.

you [1242]: precautionary measures for a foolproof pun.

wonwoo [1243]: hey i'm sick remember

you [1243]: whats new

"it's cute and all," kimmy interrupts, drawing your attention back up to her, "to see you smile like a fool, but we got five more minutes and your food isn't gonna eat itself."

you frown, hard. "not smiling like a fool."

kimmy waves you away. "just eat."

when she rises to put away her tray, you turn back to your phone.

wonwoo [1244]: mean :(

wonwoo [1245]: ?

you [1247]: gtg class 

wonwoo [1247]: oh okay bye

you [1247]: ttyl

wonwoo [1250]: thanks, btw.

you[1251]: np

-

mingyu, from his other class, saddles you with a stack of math notes. holding them in your arms feels like an allergic reaction. you follow his haphazard instructions to get to wonwoo's room.  the security guard doesn't even blink when you walk into the building. so you do. 

the dorms are unexpectedly clean. doors are plain and apparently functional, the hallway is well lit, and noise isn't much of a concern. then again, it is a school day. 

you reach wonwoo's room. knock twice. the door opens to show a young lady with a dark red lip.

"is this wonwoo's room?"

she nods. "yeah, he's sleeping now."

you notice the way she's got on a too-large shirt. wonwoo's worn that in one of your lit classes. you hand her the stack of notes.

"these are from his math class."

she takes them. "ah, thank you! is there anything you want me to tell him when he wakes up?"

"no," you say. 

the door closes on you. you look down and see a pair of black strappy heels next to plain sneakers. 

-

wonwoo [2143]: did you come over?

you [2146]: yeah

wonwoo [2146]: thanks, for the notes.

you [2148]: np 

-

the reality of things don't sink in until you're stuck in a library cubicle, knees barely brushing against wonwoo's (that giant) and huddling over the table to doodle little devils on his side of the paper. you glance up, head almost bumping into wonwoo's, and then zip back down to jot another idea. 

come to college, they said. it would be intellectually stimulating, they said.

you can't believe you're prepping for a presentation by going through all of your arguments for and against slam poetry with him. it's all chan's fault, you think bitterly, watch as he separates argument from argument with careful underlines. suggesting to actually make this class participation.

talk about exploitation. something doesn't sit right with you.

"so when we debate," wonwoo whispers, focused and oblivious. "you'll bring up this point in rebuttal to this. see how that works?"

you hum. "yeah."

"right. then for closing-"

you crash your head into the table with an obnoxiously loud slam. wonwoo flinches in his seat. the librarian narrows her beady eyes on the both of you.

"i think we'll get an a for this," you mutter. 

wonwoo looks at you, caps his pen, and leans back in his seat. 

the debate goes well. everything happens as anticipated. you're able to uphold the integrity of academic investigation. whatever that means. wonwoo doesn't interrupt you. the nuances of your arguments are spared sufficient time before their expiration. 

(he looks bored.)

but that all goes to hell when you realise the class gets to vote. you turn on wonwoo: did you know this?

he averts his eyes. a sure sign of guilt.

something gnaws inside of you, worse than that time when you found kimmy's concoction of green onions, dr pepper and baking soda. it was an infusion alright. but the smell left you retching for days on end. 

the worst thing is, you don't know why you feel this way now.

you don't know who won. everything happened in a blur and now you're stomping out of the hallway, tugging the zip of your bag close. wonwoo catches up. you walk faster.

"well, congrats," he says.

"take your congratulations and shove it up your ass," you bite back.

wonwoo holds his hands up. "what's wrong?"

you swivel to a stop, fixing him with a shrivelling glare. "leave me alone."

wonwoo backs off. you turn the corner and run for class.

-

wonwoo [1225]: hey are you alright? wonwoo [1227]: what's wrong? wonwoo [1232]: is it something i did? wonwoo [1240]: ?? wonwoo [1255]: i'm sorry? - "you look like shit," is the first thing kimmy says to you. "is it wonwoo?"

you stab at her fishball. "no."

she rolls her eyes. "i didn't hear anything when i was walking over from the north wing, so something's up."

"nothing's up."

kimmy shakes her head, placing his chopsticks down. "when you come running to my class crying, i think something's up."

you scowl at her. she winks back. and then rearranges her face to something more sombre. 

"did you guys..." she leans in. "break up?"

you swat at her. "what?"

chan slides into the seat next to her. "i've been summoned by the allusions to love."

kimmy shoves him. "just because you play love live doesn't mean shit."

to you, she says, "look. you have his number-"

"i have your number too."

she pinches your lips together. "shut up. you walk each other to the next class faithfully without fail-"

you swat her hand away. "that's because he's being a prick-"

"you have inside jokes that nobody else gets."

"that's the point of inside jokes."

kimmy squeezes your cheeks together this time. god, those hand grips are working. "when he's gone, people ask you where he is. after that debate, you came to me crying. and the best part is you let him steal your fries."

she releases her hold on you, allowing you the chance to breathe. and then immediately choke.

kimmy, satisfied, returns to eating.

"oh my god," you say, eyes wide. "oh."

"yeah," kimmy echoes, "oh."

the realisation does you no favours. "...he's off-limits. he's got a girlfriend."

chan finally detaches from his game. the whimsical sounds of squeaky little gems fade away as

he lets his character die. "what?"

"there was a girl in his room," you say.

kimmy rounds up on chan. "you never said anything."

"i didn't know!" chan protests, "i thought-"

he falls silent. you stuff your face with fries.

-

the rest of the week is horrible. you can't help but notice how wonwoo pulls out his phone, sighs, and replaces it in his pocket before shooting you looks. it sucks, really, to be so aware and want to not be. 

before you can pack up and leave, though, wonwoo strides over with his freakishly long legs. "saturday night."

you look at the pamphlet he's offering you. slam night. 

"please come," he says, exhaling slowly. "at least - consider it."

he leaves it in your hands, and bolts out of class. 

-

you hate that you're considering it. you hate that you're already here. you hate that you're still hoping. there's no reading between the lines because everything is so blurred and reckless and there is no way out of this. so here you are, sitting at the side, going to this slam because you've gone to all the other slams anyway.

"hey, you're wonwoo's friend," a girl says.

you look up. it's the girl with the red lip. "yeah."

she smiles, sitting down gracefully next to you. "that idiot said he'd be slamming."

maybe you should have gone home. out of all you'd expected from this evening, you didn't think sitting with your crush's girlfriend is one of them.

"maybe he's trying to impress someone," she continues, winking at you. "my brother can be so thick."

before you can ask her what she means, the emcee starts to welcome everyone to the event. you sit patiently, trying not to bounce your knee when the epitome of grace is right beside you.  the first few acts pass by without much enthusiasm. you shuffle in your seat. 

and then wonwoo comes up. there's polite applause as he scans the darkened crowd. he pauses in your direction, and smiles. you turn to his sister(?). she spares you an undecipherable look. 

"hello," he says into the microphone. "i'm wonwoo, and up till recently i was sceptical towards the fine art of slam poetry."

you snort. 

he continues, "but i've been converted, maybe, to see the beauty of paying tribute to the ancient origins of poetry. i'm not a poet, but shakespeare is, and he's pretty ancient as far as i know.

"so here's sonnet 130."