#i hate everything they stand for. and despite the fact they /can/ be colored its a bit of a fucking tiffany problem

[medouse]

playing touys is all fun and games until you remember the ruffs. this man. you. bane of my existence. completely frilly starched nonsense. excess of luxury. easily dirtied. bitch. you horrible.

(medouse you dont have to make it if its not fun) but. i'll know its wrong and then its not fun

[mikareo]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 

contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him. 

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before. 

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that. 

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes. 

“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail. 

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired. 

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does. 

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’? 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize. 

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality. 

God, he’s so bad at flirting. 

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time. 

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense. 

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too. 

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together. 

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin). 

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind. 

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will. 

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. 

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear. 

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect. 

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan. 

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this. 

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so. 

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often). 

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again. 

“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?” 

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution. 

Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years. 

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his. 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world. 

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings -  to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color. 

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of. 

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his. 

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand… 

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand. 

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same. 

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions. 

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this. 

“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?” 

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.” 

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence. 

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.” 

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now. 

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea. 

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. 

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything. 

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one. 

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.” 

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?” 

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands. 

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces. 

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared. 

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger. 

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?” 

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in. 

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression. 

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free. 

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Suguru hates him.

“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know. 

It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 

Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 

“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls. 

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue. 

Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it. 

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster. 

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are. 

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching. 

“She’s talented isn’t she?” 

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.

“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”

Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”

Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was. 

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs. 

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room. 

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking. 

Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates). 

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him. 

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it. 

He sees himself. 

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life. 

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular. 

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much. 

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

[allthatisleftinthedark]

"Mai?"

Creed finds herself looking at her old friend, and she doesn't know how long it's been since she's actually seen hide or hair of the gnome. Let alone received any letters about her. It's been so long and she has to stop herself from running over to hug the other. How long had it been since Aimon had seen or heard from her? Despite everything, the two did keep in contact, no matter how much her brother might've hated the fact she was friends with an Elrose.

"Where have you been? Why haven't you reached out to anyone? I thought about going to your place, because I figured that would be the place where I could find you, but...I don't think you ever told me where you live."

Now she's actually taking the other's appearance into account...

"What happened to your eye?! C'mon, we gotta catch up and talk, I got nothing to do, so..."

unprompted asks | always accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

When you, Il'Surrish's devoted, glance towards the horizon line, the skyline is star-dusted. Instead of the usual pinpricks of the night, distant celestial bodies glitter brighter and slightly more larger than before. Such purity of the sky might be captured by humans using telescopes and waterfronts, but you manage yourself in a space where the humanly feasible is the least expected.

As you regain consciousness, a knot forms in your throat while you struggle to maintain your footing. Instinct almost throws you to the side, sparing you a sure and abrupt death. With one hoof before the other, you kick back. Panic engulfs you when you realize every direction leads to peril. It was an absolute dark well below, and no sensible person could stare down without thinking of taking flight or starting a fight.

And yet, here you are, pushing yourself up from your back.

The knowledge that you are not a hapless victim of gravity and space dissipates some of the terror. Though not wholly relieved, a considerable amount mitigates the rising bile in your throat. You take a deep breath, inhaling the much-needed air. When suspended in the cosmos, air appears improbable, but you manage your hold well. 

Intuition compels you to stay vigilant, whether or not it's an optical illusion, with your breath caught in your throat.

Querying where the horizon meets the ground causes a headache; the two merge in the abyss, and its reflection is inky black and blue. To which one ends and begins is a question of an ouroboros, an unending cycle that turns without change.

As your eyes scan the horizon once more, you pick up on the implications of a ceiling; the curvature is undeniable as the light traces over the perceived dome. The flat of your palms press against the ground again, feeling another unmistakable texture of a room—a cold and smooth floor like glass. 

Nebulae and stardust surround you; the blue and purples of the cosmos paint the ceilings and walls, and the abyss is the foundation you stand on. 

Lowering your head, you push yourself upright and return to your feet. 

{perception =>12}

You reach full height and are taken aback. The light must've allowed you to see your surroundings completely. Or you might've completely shifted through unknown means. 

The walls and ceiling, previously an elusive dome, now materialize around you. Mimicking the night sky, the walls are now matte blue and purple. There are even purposeful little silver dots along the wall, and when you look at them, you notice texture—a peculiar velvety kind. 

Curved bookshelves line up against the furthest "walls" to your left and right in the same white as the molding. Thick tomes and books of various sizes and colors fill the shelves, their spines displaying titles in elegant fonts. Some books are so old that their pages have yellowed with time, while others appear brand new. 

A large table with a deep mahogany finish is also close, a meter from the room's center. On top of the table, you can see a collection of glass shards and portable mirrors, primarily green or white. Sheets of paper are heaped in the furthest corner while the tip of a quill drips ink back into its pot. There are scratches and etches on the top page, but none look slightly like the characters you know or have seen glimpses of. 

This is where you pay more attention to the ceiling. You find the glass dome at its widest in the center of the room. The ceiling surrounding it is dark black. Underneath the glass is the room's centerpiece: an elevated structure that you concur as a table. The structure is wood with a golden sheen over the worn material. The odd decision is that the table was built into the room rather than furniture brought in. 

Why does the scent of evergreen trees come to you with a soft inhale? Your eyes flit around. There was not a plant in sight. Even if a potted plant or two would deodorize the room, the quantity wouldn't explain the entire room smelling like a forest. A faint, trickling sound catches your attention as you ponder this mystery. Turning your gaze toward the built-in table, you notice small crevices and cracks in the wooden support. Could the table be constructed from reclaimed wood, infused with the essence of the forest it once belonged to? 

When you drink more of the chamber, you notice corked potion bottles dangling in midair, their stems knotted. Light specters ranging from sparkling and soft purples to melancholic and fading blues illuminate the path. Here and then, one can even find an uncommon, vivid pink.

Stepping forward, your brows scrunch. Your hooves click on a cracked and dully white surface. As you could expect, it's still cold, but the sound isn't as crisp or clear as one hitting glass. You look down. Instead, there's a fractured limestone floor, the color of which has faded to a drab brownish finish due to age, contrasting the more modern aspects of the furnishings and area.

More investigation showed limestone pillars and fractured stone scattered throughout the room. The pillars are uniform, with two lining the way, signifying a corridor leading to the large table. The broken stones are scattered around the area. It is difficult to determine the origin of the debris because neither the ceiling nor the surrounding structures are damaged.

With contemporary design and ancient fragments—even the scent of a forest—in the same area, another piece of the puzzle comes along, and you're far more bewildered by what the image could be.

Anachronistic, that's the word. An unusually familiar voice rings in your mind; your consciousness always plays with you, taking on the voices of people. Age changes the cast that talks, belittles, or encourages you. At your age, it seems that it consists of family—unfortunately, Ariortos included—your mentor, Ramona, and even your longtime friend, Juniper. 

Once upon a time, in the cloud-splitting city, the cast was merrier and larger. What a time that was! Has twenty years already passed since you've heard from old academy friends? Perhaps this was a voice of the past. Your ambitiously intentive tendencies did draw people in. especially your girlish former colleagues. Instructors were included, too, but that was undoubtedly due to the "trouble magnet" that you were. 

Ah...that phrasing. Your nose wrinkles. It's that same voice again, but no face comes to mind. Muddled and bleary, all that comes is a black cloud. What an irritatingly elusive thing! 

Trepidation aside, the unsettling feeling courses beneath the skin, chilling the fiery veins gifted by nephilim heritage. Unease has never been a feeling you could escape from. Not even from the fortress of a home in the red dunes, the trodden footsteps of caravans in the sand, the sun-blazed Mduara Kuona, or even in the unfamiliar terrains of Tahrea. Invisible needles prick at your shoulders and the vein between your chests. Your forearms and down your leg—that numbing tingle is the foremost feeling besides that frigid bite in your body. 

The weight of malaise on your shoulders already compromises your strong facade. Yet there was something heavier on the back of your head. The back of your neck crawls with a slow, humid feeling. Nothing audible accompanies it, but by the gods, it feels alive. Every step you take feels like you are sinking deeper into a treacherous abyss, as if the ground beneath your feet is conspiring against you. 

Instead of being prey to your anxieties, you bear your teeth and defy them. You turn around, going to disprove your imagination and its paranoia. 

As you turn, that pestering smell is there again. Enveloped again are you in the thick brush of a dark, ancient forest. The air is heavy with the scent of old wood, earthy and resinous, mixed with the clean, crisp notes of a late night after a heavy rainstorm. Tranquility and respite—it is a place not haunted and eccentric like the place before you. Implied in the scent is a hidden grove with rugged and tall trees encircling you, protecting you. 

In the riptides of dreams, where the shore of the psyche meets the sea of the unconscious, the currents bring us memories. That growing temerity dissipates; your shoulders are slacking. In this illusion of sleep, there is a reunion.

And it starts with gazing upon an eye as bright as the sun, more brilliant than any star. 

Remember, the sun is still a star. That voice again...

"Mai?" you ask, disbelief and hope mingling in your voice.

Behold the form you called! Her very lips are the ones caught in glimpses of awakened memories. Looking no older than before, a gnomish woman in her late twenties is in a simple black collared dress before you. Timeless in appearance, it is as if you were thirteen again and back in the labs of the academy. Back when she would tuck on your shirt and adjust your goggles, asking you to be mindful of your environment.

She appears almost cut out of a portrait and pasted into this dreamscape.

Almost is the best word for it. 

However, incredulity takes over. You speak, brows raised, holding out hands to a long-forgotten and now-remembered friend. "Where have you been?" Your voice falters, staring at the ground, collecting what little exists about your knowledge of her fate. "Why haven't you reached out to anyone? I thought about going to your place because that would be where I could find you, but...I don't think you ever told me where you live."

Yet, you take in her view. 

Again, it is almost like she was there.

Two fringes, part by a front cowlick, frame her face and brush against her cheeks. Although her front hair is delicately cropped, the remainder of her scalp is strikingly contrasted. Her hair has short, jagged locks that resemble pixie cuts and is trimmed short in the back—almost in a military fashion. It retains the same bright plum-purple color as the base, and its natural carnation pink highlights are scattered throughout. But that was the extent of the familiarity. There are narrower black and white streaks amid that bouquet of pink highlights, most of which bloomed from the front of her head.

The most concerning thing is—"What happened to your eye?!"—the scar marking her upper right face, and her eyelid was perpetually closed. Mottled flesh, the discoloration is much lighter than her deep complexion. It starts on her right forehead, across her right eye, down her cheek, and stops at her jawline. The flesh is warped, but the tissue and bone beneath aren't visible. 

Seeing a chance to connect, you propose, "C'mon, we gotta catch up and talk. I have nothing to do, so..."

Maisie's expression remains flat, with a hint of docility in her naturally disarming eyes. However, the sharp black of her iris seems dulled, as if it had faded. She regards your extended hand with detached curiosity, her lips parting ever so slightly into an impression of a smile. But there's a discord in her eyes and mouth. It does not match what you recall; it betrays the Maisie you remember. 

"It's you," she says, her voice imbued with an intrusive intimacy, lacking her accent. In its place is, instead, a whispery, throaty sound. "And where do I come from? Right here," she says, her wrist executing an airy twirl, gesturing to the peculiar pocket of reality she claims as home.

As she moves, though, there's an uncanny quality. Her raised hand doesn't gesture; the fingers relax forward, but her hand hovers and twitches as if on some mechanism. "People don't usually visit me; finding this place is hard," she hums. Each movement seems slightly delayed, with her limbs following a fraction of a second behind. "Stranger that they manage to find their way," she sighs, "but it's always welcomed. Loneliness is curable." 

"But it's even harder to leave."

Something heavy balls in your throat, breath shallowing at the playfulness, almost cajoling your senses. Deceptively welcoming, you brace yourself with only a question, leaving, "Maise, are you..."

"Oh no, no," she waves off and disrupts your question. "Forgotten queries never happen here. Let me answer you before your next one, or we'll be caught in a loop of questions. Never had I enjoyed things being unanswered; it's a dangerous thing." 

Tapping her marred flesh with her index finger, she bobs her head, her head slightly disjointed. "Well, it's right here!" Once the eyelids peel back, your stomach knots.

Nothing stares back at you. As Maisie's left eye warmly regards you, the other is a deep black. Nothing is there. An empty socket regards you as apathetically as the dark. 

"You seemed a bit taken aback. Were you always so outwardly cowardly and squeamish?" That person speaks, tapping Maisie's finger against her chin. Part of you seems ready to counter that, but they wave their hand around, answering for you, "Yes, you were! You don't even have a stomach for dead bodies! Funny that." 

How in the hells does she know about that? Ariortos' trade is no secret.. Uck, thinking about it still gets under my skin. But she doesn't know my feelings about it. 

"Being honest with yourself isn't helpful if you keep it to yourself." That finger that once tapped is now pointing at you. 'Maisie' smirks. "It reeks off of you quite well. What we try the hardest to hide is the easiest to uncover! And you are," her eye flits to the ground, slowly trailing up your form, "quite a textbook example." 

"Though most people are unaware of it, knowledge is tangible; it's currency. Your mind of a wallet has some gaps where things fall out. Careful, or you'll end up broke." That inquisitive smirk, revealing the white of her teeth, turns insidious as it widens. "Or broken! The mortal psyche can withstand so little. Once someone gets a little too greedy with what they take, that's it! You're a husk, but even worse, a useless one. But the farmer has to pick their harvest one day. " 

Meandering in the air is the purpose and question of this dream. You've worn a brave face before, but the bewilderment you feel is more complicated to contain. What has been this awful, repeating nightmare of things wearing the skins of your loved ones? Had the past chased you this time, manifesting as terrors of the unknown? Is this some form of midlife crisis that no one talks about!? 

Crisis undergoing, you do not realize Maisie's body slumping, head drooping forward. As lifeless as she appears in a second, like a marionette without strings, life surges through her. A low, groggy groan leaves her, the bottom of her palm resting on her forehead. Her head slowly lifts. Returning to her bright yellow iris is a black pupil.

"Nelly...?" She murmurs, standing up to her complete height. She watches you in disbelief and skepticism, drenched in her quick eye movements over your form. Another blink comes as her breath catches in her voice. With more recognition and joyous throe, she cries out, "Nelia!"

Labored and slow, the gnome slowly regains the fluidity in her body. The noticeable delay from before is one she tries fighting with as if fighting through a thick fog in her mind. Shaking off a strange slumber, she already frets. "What have I done?" She shakes her head. "You should've never been brought here; it's my fault that you are." She pinches the bridge of her nose, cursing in her native tongue. 

As much as you'd argue, "Why shouldn't I be here? I haven't seen you in twenty years," Maisie manages to be several steps ahead. In this case, it is her talking without a sense of breadth. Thankfully, this is still the one you recognize. Age has made you keen on her habits. She was a far too responsible woman for things she couldn't be. 

"Time of the essence!" The woman is already wringing her hands together; faint purple magic streams from her joined hands, those familiar twinkles as bright as ever. She looks down at her hands. "Blasted," she huffed, wiping her hands down the curves of her dress. 

However, she isn't short on making you feel welcomed and acknowledged. "You've grown so much, Nelly! I remember when you could barely reach the top of the doors in the academy. I never would, but your horns might now put a dent in them!" Her laughter is as airy as ever. 

"No, no," she stammers as she turns her heel, rushing towards the center table. Breathless, she frowns, watching you again. "I'm sorry," before looking at the reflective top. "You shouldn't be here, Nelia. How do you get here..." her voice trails, squinting at the glass. "It was my fault. My melancholy shouldn't be drawing things here, especially souls." 

With her index finger, Maisie daps the top of the table; its glass top ripples as the cosmic reflection fades into very familiar skies with a black and green accentuated maelstrom above. Her brows furrow, stroking her digit against the dissipating waves. "It must've been from that cosmic distortion in Tahrea," she murmurs. 

Her eyes lock with yours. She rolls her wrist, briefing you on matters you're more than intimately acquainted with. "Across the planes, there was a great bell's ring and a woman's cry. The magick on the continent is acting up; the elemental planes are bleeding over to your world; the Between is compromised." Pushing her fringes from her face, Maisie's eyes dart. "These are things that neither you nor I can understand; they happened suddenly. I'm only aware that it happened and that there may be danger to the continent."

Bum, bum, bum. Your heart is drumming from your chest, and your ears resonate with that deep brass sound of knowing. Restraining from reaction or lack of expression only draws the woman's attention back to you again. 

A blonde boy bereft of control, isolated from comfort, wields his dagger in a shaking hand, his eyes dried and stinging from shedding his last tears in the world. His crimson robes draped down to his elbows, the arms so thin you dared think he was emaciated. At the epicenter of the calamity, he plunged the dagger into its heart. In the expanse of nothing, he splits and scatters. No boy is there; only three remain to mourn a life too soon gone. 

Amid the madness, a gentle voice inquires, "Nelly?"

Regaining your senses, you focus back on the magus. 

But before you could respond, something overcomes Maisie. The right side of her face slackens, her features losing any emotion. On the left side, her brow raises, and dread widens her eye. Within the abyss of her right eye socket, something glows. A gray wisp slips through the entry before a black flame is outlined in white. Like before, that person's smile grows, but Maisie's frown deepens. 

What is this?!

{perception = 27 - natural twenty 20}

For as little time as possible before the gnome conducted her plan, your unwavering brilliance rests in your mind. You are not helpless, and you were never lost. Since you were a child, you have always thought outside the box, and it was finally time you stepped out of it. 

Who before you is answered simply. Anyone else could consider this an elaborate ruse to gain your trust. However, you cannot deny the woman before you. Conversing with you is Maisie, and yet not Maisie. 

This is her, but something else. Another resides there, not coexisting but clinging to her in a parasitic union. 

Grasping at the enormity of the situation only makes the room spin. As you focus more, you realize that the starry walls of the room ripple like water disturbed by stones. A second later, the place constricts around you before expanding. While your feet stand in place, your vision is drawing further away.

Maisie's form begins distorting, her features oscillating between the friend you remember and a formless shadow. Her singular voice now quiets to a chorus of whispers echoing across the room. "I'm sorry, Nelia. I should've never brought you here." 

As she speaks, you feel the room beginning to shrink and the walls closing in. The sensation is disorienting, like being pulled through a narrow tunnel at an incredible speed. 

Why do I have to go now?! Will I ever see you again?!

The same voice before you snakes into your mind as the woman to whom that voice belongs keeps her lips tightly sealed. Maybe in another dream, and always in your memories. But, in reality...

You lock eyes with Maisie once more in the last moments before you're pulled away. What echoes behind is a solemn note of laughter—one resigned and alone. One hand folds above the other, bidding you farewell with a soft nod. 

Never return, Nelia Zarin. No one was ever intended for the darkness.

Evergreen forest overwhelms the scents, now a strong wind of hurricane enveloping you—blowing you away from the room to safety.

You finally glimpse Maisie Doscedar—a shadowy silhouette against the flickering stars, a loner in a stone prison. Star-studded in one eye, blazed in the other, it was her, not her, you forcibly say goodbye to her. 

Ejected from subspace, the room fades into an inky abyss, and you are only surrounded by the starry heavens you see every night. The world finally dissolves into nothingness.

With a loud gasp, you awaken, throwing your body forward. Heavy precipitation makes the sheets cling to your burning body. You push your tangled red hair with black nails, almost scraping your scalp. Rattling your body is a haggard breath, a result of another bizarre nightmare. 

Alone again, are you? Another restless night leaves even more questions. This time, it isn't of the future with Estranha or even Cassius' recovery. It returns to the past—the very thing you fear. 

What happened twenty years ago? 

[treesspeaklatin]

Trektober day 1 - AOS Spirk, post-apocalyptic

prompt: post-apocalyptic

relationship: aos spirk

rating: M

warnings: choose not to apply

tags: zombie AU, post-apocalyptic, ambiguous ending, horror elements, symbolic cannibalism (or maybe not)

No one really remembers the day ShiKahr fell. 

The refugees who populate the tunnels under the mountains murmur of a green mist that descended on the sun, covering it like a shiny cloth. Everyone stood watching, admiring that unusual event. Until the beauty turned to horror, and people began to change. 

It sounds like a myth, a cruel fairy tale to warn children to go home before darkness falls. Nevertheless, by now the difference between myth and reality is so blurred that that remains the most reliable account of the facts. As such, as well as every other kind of information and knowledge that can be found, it's jealously guarded by Spock. 

Despite countless efforts and appeals to scientific curiosity, it's almost impossible for Spock to wrest a more articulate confession than that from the survivors of the fall of ShiKahr. There is little beyond rarefied images of animal howls, of brothers turning on brothers, of acts of unprecedented violence, of torn flesh and scrambled brains.

Many of the remaining witnesses are not speaking, unwilling inheritors of the ancient Vulcan reluctance to share grief. The others, those who do speak and who represent the juiciest prey because of it, are all dying. Gradually, what once was the glory of Vulcan will lead it to its doom: pulsing memories, active brains, fresh thoughts, curiosity and inventive spirit, logical planning and judicious preservation of the past... those who are slaves to the green mist feed on it. 

Vulcan is a planet skinned like a fruit whose peel has been sliced off by a knife. It has lost its protection to the mysteries of the passionate violence of ancient Vulcans: Vulcan has lost its memory. 

Spock hates that it is a foreigner who will restore it to him. 

That is not his land, that is not his horror. The pride of having survived that misery is not his to take. He's just a soldier, Kirk, sent by the Federation to show the Vulcans that they haven't been forgotten. 

But what are people like him doing there, what are they there for if not to be cannon fodder? Why don't they fight to get Vulcans away to safe shores?

"The Federation forbids any departure from the planet," Kirk says, kicking a rock and letting it roll across the sand. Before them, only the ruins of an old city reduced to the skeleton of itself. "It'd be too dangerous to allow the spread of..."

"Of this virus? Of this infesting species?" hisses Spock. "Or of your helplessness in the face of our annihilation?" 

"Bingo," says Jim, pointing his finger at his face like a phaser. "Besides, would you guys ever really leave Vulcan?" 

"No," Spock admits through gritted teeth. 

Jim's laughter soars high, bouncing off the spiky rooftops. "Everything may fall apart, but your millennial pride'll remain a constant, I'm sure of it. You know, at the Academy there was this course on ancient Vulcan where they told us about the warrior origins of your people..."

Spock can't stand it. He's annoying and full of himself and always smiling in a world where there is no reason to smile. But Kirk is knowledge, and Spock is hungry and will take all he can from him.

Sometimes when they are together in the most perfect silence, when night falls and the temperatures drop and they sit in front of a fire, or when the dawn rises through the shattered window of an abandoned mansion, or when they travel side by side trudging through the sand--sometimes it seems to him that Kirk is all he has. 

And that is wrong, because Spock has nothing. 

No one on Vulcan has anything anymore. Except Kirk, who is foreign, and who has the colors of a world Spock has never known. His hair speaks of a lush sun-kissed land where things feed themselves and grow. His eyes gently promise cool waters and clear skies. His mouth insolently sews story upon story. Only after several months does Spock understand that Kirk uses it constantly because otherwise he too would only think of hunger. Kirk is very hungry, too. He is hopelessly, desperately hungry - just like Spock.

"Why did you come here?" Spock tells him as he bandages Kirk's hand. 

The last confrontation against two Vulcans driven mad by desperation was a tough one. Kirk protected their water ration, but not himself. Even Spock can't take it anymore. He had never come so close to death. For a moment, he thought he could feel his own katra being sucked away, devoured by the emptiness of his attacker. He thought all was lost--then Kirk wrenched the Vulcan away from him and was wounded. Nothing is supposed to happen to him. He is human, and the madness of the green veil only takes Vulcans with it. Nothing is supposed to happen to him. 

Spock tightens the bandages around his palm and Kirk spreads his fingers until Spock's thumb ends up in the hollow between his ring finger and middle finger. 

"Why did you choose to come here to die, Kirk?"

Nothing is supposed to happen to him. 

Kirk hunches in his shoulders. "One place is as good as another," he says with a beaming, horrible smile--and Spock hates it, he does, "Thought maybe I could do something good here."

It's too much. Spock abruptly releases his hand. A red flame explodes inside him. He gets up and goes to sit resting his back on a crumbling wall, away from Kirk. He would like to ignore him, to pretend to be alone as he has always been since he saw his father's body hunch and lurch over his mother's, and her white arm fall to the floor, and the blood flow away. He would like to be alone with his ever steaming, angry thoughts, more and more agitated since Kirk came in like a hurricane in his life, tearing apart what little control Spock could exercise over himself. Yes, Spock would like to be alone until the sun rises. 

But the sun is already here beside him, warm and golden and impossible to ignore, and Spock is cold and has a chasm inside.

Kirk spreads and clenches his wounded fist. "Do you think I have a katra?" 

"I do not know." 

Spock doesn't say, I hope not, because without a katra you would be safer from the devourers. 

"Then what's inside me?" 

Spock doesn't say, I want to know I want to know I'm going crazy.

"Whatever our souls are made of," Jim recites, a sweet smile in his voice, but he stops there.

"Go on."

Kirk slowly lifts his gaze to him. His eyes are deep and stern, shining like two blue stones cast into the ocean. He lingers on the palm that Spock is pressing convulsively against his own temple. There where Spock's flesh was torn by the bite of the Vulcan who had begun to feed on him.

"Whatever our souls are made of," Kirk recites, his voice serious and intense, "whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the-- Spock." He jerks up, staggering on unsteady feet.

Spock curls in on himself violently. He has begun to tremble. "Teach me," he growls, burying his face in his sweaty palms.

"What?" whispers Kirk.

"Everything." 

He needs everything. Kirk is everything. Spock needs him. 

A dry sob is wrenched from his lips as a sliver of clarity sweeps the green fog from his mind for a moment. "Oh, Jim. No. You must get out of here."

Kirk, ever foolishly rash, never obedient, takes another step toward him. "No."

Spock presses himself against the wall. He is angry, he is afraid. Centuries of bestiality pulse through his veins. He crawls the heels of his worn boots to the ground like a hunted animal. "Go away!" he begs.

Kirk slowly crouches before him. His expression is patient and steady. "Never." A promise. 

Spock groans. Fingers creep into the gaps between his, making him whimper. Kirk gently brings Spock's hands to his face, presses Spock's fingertips to his forehead, to the tender flesh of his cheekbone, to the shockingly sweet spot beneath his lip. 

"You always wanted to take from me," Kirk says, with something akin to stupefied pride. "Then take."

"No, please," shakes his head Spock. 

In his memories flashes the face of his father emerging from his mother's head and staring back at him. He seems to have merely deposited a kiss on her temple. Amanda's lips are parted and she gasps softly, her expression drained in ecstasy.

"No, please," Spock says again, but his nerves sing and his consciousness presses and Jim may not have a katra but he has a sun inside him, and Spock craves it. 

As in a dream, Jim sits on top of him. In the unsettling intimacy of that position, their bodies pulsing, breaths quivering, Jim says softly, "Do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you..." 

When Spock's fingers press against his skin, Jim's voice is lost. His face relaxes in serene enjoyment. His chest is against Spock's, his head falls back, and with one last moan Spock succumbs to Jim's hot mouth, and devours it. 

Perhaps Spock was not infected. 

Perhaps he was starving for Kirk from the moment his eyes first landed upon him. 

The doors open. 

Spock enters and knows.

(also on ao3)

[horror-vampire]

why is the fact that transandrophobia can and does exist still a controversial topic? transphobia, transmisogyny, transmysoginoir, sexism, racism, they're all linked together. some of u still need to recognize that the patriarchy and things like colonization, istitutional racism and cultural hegemony they all contribute to a system that finds everything "out of the ordinary" extremely dangerous, offensive, or pityful. while transfems may be considered dangerous, which puts them in danger btw, transmascs may be considered incapable of making their own decisions (leading to a deep lack of medical care, harassment etc), BECAUSE everyone still thinks of us - all trans people - as our assigned gender, BECAUSE of these societal rules that oppress everyone, AND with that comes specific sets of discriminatory acts towards the specific groups it targets. black people, people of color, transfems and trans women, they all suffer the most. they've been on the front lines since forever and they're considered expendable. that doesnt exclude other groups from facing different kinds of oppression. even if they're not worse as a whole, they're still oppressions and they coexist. if people dont want to believe im a man and try to convince me im quote unquote a stupid little girl, there's layers and layers of where that comes from: they dont think im trans, being transphobic and violating my bodily autonomy <- they think I'm a woman <- they think (even if it's subconscious) that women aren't capable of deciding for themselves. ive also heard so many times "eww men are so gross" and "they suck" and everyone hates men (its not true and that's abundantly clear by the privilege men, white men in particular, hold) but the fact still stands: i want to be a good man, and i never fucking know where to look because so many are shit and im so tired. despite it all im aware its a phenomenon that goes with the societal structures we still hold, and the blame to the individual can and should coexist with that underlying notion.

[opinated-user]

Lily is so weird to me because she just insists on deep throatng ceos and corporations and throwing regular workers under the bus for poor decisions. Like it's the reporters fault that Disney is always claiming to have their first gay character, even though the company could easily make their own media posts correcting them. It's the designers who released the new pokemon game early despite that not ever being their call, but instead the higher ups in the company. She never brings up how the ceo of blizzard is one of the worse out there, or the real sexual predators that worked in the company, but instead wants to beat the lady who wrote her fictional wifu wrong with a rock. Its Suagers fault for SUs shitty realse schedule not the network. Like it's really weird to me that this woman who prides themselves on being super progressive apparently hates workers and either straight up defends or ignores the real people in power.

All I can think is that, remembering her posts about other breadtubers, and complaining that instead of blaming everything bad on racism they blamed things on class struggles, she somehow came to the conclusion that corporations really aren't that bad and people are just lying about how little say they have when working for them. It's also easy to see that her lack of ever having a job outside YouTube has severely impacted what she feels workers can get away with. Like she believes if they get told do something they don't agree with they can/should just say no, as if that's a thing they can do. So instead of it being the higher ups fault, it's the lower ranking people's fault for not standing up to them. It's really a gross mindset, kinda victim blaming mindset.

i have been informed in the past that apparently she worked on a fast food restaurant some time ago, but otherwise you're right on point, anon. there's only one thing i want to remark and is this: "Like it's the reporters fault that Disney is always claiming to have their first gay character, even though the company could easily make their own media posts correcting them." if someone out there believes that the reporters just made those articles without any input from the company or their marketing team then they don't understand what marketing is. companies hire those writers to write about their movies, products, etc. if you have ever been on youtube and see an ad break of the youtuber suddenly explaining all about a new service or product they want you to try out, it's basically the same thing. they could not write anything that Disney doesn't want them to say, it would literally be impossible without there being some big consequences for whoever it was responsible for the mistake. the publisher gets paid by the company, the company recieves more potential costumers, the website where the article is written gets clics. it's a perfect arrengement for everyone. the only outlayers are indie publications and random reviewers just talking about the media, but if the article was on any kind of official publication then it was most certainly agreed upon before hand. someone had to approve that, just like sponsors have to approve the ads youtubers do before the video is published. this is already a known fact when it comes to most movies of big companies or trendy products, but when it comes to disney it's absolutely absurd to suggest that they wouldn't do this. disney as a company has spend 5.5 million dollars on advertisement last year alone. they had the resources, the time and the people to make Strange World into a success and they didn't because they didn't want to. when the movie with a main queer character of color fails they get to say "well, at least we tried!" and move on to keep making cisheteronormative movies that they'll promote to ensure that those are wins for the company. meanwhile LO'll either completely ignore the movie ever existed or insist that the movie was bad by itself so of course nobody cared for it. she's a capitalist at heart so when she sees a big company like Disney of course her first instinct is to praise it first, because something right and smart they must be doing to be on the position they're in. workers, on the other hand, don't have that power so that must mean they're doing something wrong and it's actually their fault.

[rjalker]

Giving my response its own post since the OP turned off reblogs, but still hasn't apologized or deleted the post. Here's an archived link of the post on my blog with this response below it.

This is also so people can just reblog my response without the transphobia included.

Also, again, fuck every single person that reblogged that original post for the sole purpose of sexually harassing the OP. You're all also terrible fucking people.

I cannot stress enough how literally every single thing about the original post is transphobic as fucking shit. There is not a single piece of that post that's salvageable. It's literally all transphobia.

====

Okay assuming it’s not still 3am for you, re-read your post and realize how transphobic it is and then delete it. Because it’s literally just pure unfiltered transphobia.

Neopronouns are not, despite having the prefix “neo”, brand new. They’ve literally existed for decades, some of them are literally even older than your “10 to 20 years”.

This post and everything you say in it is literally transphobic. Just because you’re dressing it up in intellectual sounding crap doesn’t mean it’s not literally transphobia.

Just because you, personally, have trouble using neopronouns does not mean neopronouns “don’t work”. You’re literally just being transphobic.

I do not have the spoons to explain to you why every single thing you said in this post is transphobic in one way or another, but literally everything you say here is transphobic.

“But i dont feel like its possible to brain-off speak using some random words you told me 30 minutes ago without being halted by the foreign language calculation taking too long.”

Okay well I hate to break it to you but I am literally in the process of writing a story using MULTIPLE sets of neopronouns I literally just made up specifically for this fic, which I have literally no fucking practice using, and it literally takes no more effort than scrolling up to double check which word I should be using.

You cannot claim to be a fucking linguistics nerd and then make a post like this where you claim it’s impossible to use new pronouns.

No, you literally do not have to learn a whole new form of grammar.

I am literally just going to copy and past an entire other post I made about this exact thing into this post so you don’t have to go find it. You’re welcome.

–

"if your first language is English (I can’t speak for other languages) and you think you’re “bad at using neopronouns”, might I suggest that you are, in, fact, just bad at grammar?

Neopronouns are just making you think about rules you’ve never actually thought about before.

It’s not that neopronouns are especially difficult to use, it’s that your understanding of grammar has been limited to the pronouns “she/her” “he/him” and “they/them” for so long that you don’t even think about how to use them.

You already know them.

You don’t have to think about the different rules that applies to each of these pronoun sets–and yes! She/her, he/him, and they/them all have different rules! They aren’t interchangeable! You can’t just CTRL+F and replace them and have the sentence still work normally!–so now that neopronouns are forcing you to actually think about the way the rules work for pronouns, it seems a lot more complicated than it really is.

Neopronouns aren’t really going to violate any of the rules that already exist, it’s just that you’ve never consciously thought about the rules, so it seems confusing and new when it’s actually not.

Like, here is an example sentence to show off the rules that already exist, that you use every day without thinking about them:

“She is standing in line, that’s her over there, she’s looking for her favorite color, she’s going to paint her new room by herself!”

Now if we just open a word processing program and literally find and replace the she/her pronouns with he/him and they/them, here’s what you get:

“He is standing in line, that’s him over there, he’s looking for him favorite color, he’s going to paint him new room by himself!”

and

“They is standing in line, that’s them over there, they’s looking for them favorite color, they’s going to paint them new room by themself!”

 Yeah, doesn’t look or sound right, does it? That’s because she/her pronouns follow different rules than he/him pronouns do, and they both follow different rules from they/them.

“Her” is used for saying both “That’s her over there” and “That’s her room” 

For he/him pronouns, though, you should say, “That’s him over there” and “That’s his room”

For they/them, it would be “That’s them over there” and “That’s their room”.

As complicated as you might think neopronouns are just because they’re new to you, they aren’t going to be any more complicated than the rules that already exist.

If you write a sentence, and then later decide to change the pronouns you used, you can’t just find and replace them. You have to rewrite the entire sentence.

Neopronouns aren’t going to be any more complicated than using she/her, he/him, or they/them. You just have to get used to the new sounds and figure out which rules they follow. Practice makes perfect."

–

Neopronouns in English literally follow the exact same three sets of grammar that he/him, she/her, and they/them follow, with the only difference being replacing the other pronouns with new words. That’s literally it. It’s literally not fucking difficult.

How can you claim to care about linguistics if you literally don’t even understand this, and decide to make a transphobic post like this to make your lack of understanding everyone else’s problem???

The only reason I found this post was because you fucking tagged it as neopronouns, so that it shows up in the tag.

This entire post is literally just transphobic, and you’re literally a transphobe trying to hide behind correct grammar as an excuse for your bigotry.

No, fucking trans people do not need to wait 10 to fucking 20 years more for people to respect us. People have been using neopronouns for longer than you’ve probably been fucking alive. Holy fucking shit. Just because you don’t know how to use them and think they were invented in the year 2022 does not mean it’s true.

How fucking dare you be this fucking blatantly transphobic and then try to hide it behind fucking intellectual sounding shit about linguistics, when you clearly have no fucking clue how grammar and pronouns actually work.

Your whole fucking post is transphobic as fuck, and you should fucking feel bad about it. This is fucking absurd.

Stop making your own unwillingless to learn how to use people’s fucking pronouns everyone else’s problem. Just admit you’re a fucking transphobe instead of trying to pretend you’re just concerned about grammar.

Neopronouns are not fucking inventing a whole new form of grammar in the English language, they literally all follow the same rules as she/her, he/him, and they/them, which you’d have fucking realized by now if you actually gave a shit about trans people and the fucking linguistics you claim to know so much about instead of being a fucking bigot trying to make excuses for your bigotry.

[valaruakars]

Let’s Get Physical (Part 2)

Viktor/F!Reader || 4.6k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW (for now!)

A beefy gal looking for a better place to workout, your friend Jayce invites you over to his home gym. He offers you everything you could ever want: great equipment, great company, and a ridiculously hot roommate who might just hate you. 

Part 1 

The next morning finds you sore from the waist down. That sensational burn in your thighs has you hissing as you fold yourself onto the couch, banana in hand and a protein shake tucked into your elbow. With a lid, of course, given your penchant for clumsiness.

In your groggy state, you’ve taken to mindlessly scrolling through your socials, trying to wake up. Kitten reels of the cutest order, vacation pictures from people you hadn’t spoken to in years, and far too many targeted ads pass by in colorful flashes beneath your thumb, yet nothing piques the interest of your fickle brain. Nothing could be that engaging when it’s dawn and your heavy body craves oblivion.

Maybe the couch is too comfortable, or the morning sky is too drowsily overcast, your living room washed in cozy shades of gray.

Your eyes feel heavier and heavier. You slouch lower into the cushions and tuck a plush blanket into your lap, poised to fall asleep again.

A mealy bite of your breakfast helps just a little. But a reel of Jayce showing off his push-up form? That helps a lot.

It gets your mind firing on at least half its cylinders. Reminds you of something you’d meant to do last night, except that Jayce had run you so ragged that the moment your head hit the pillow, you went out like light.

Just some light social media stalking. Everyone does it.

You tap through Jayce’s story first on the off chance your curiosity can be sated quickly. But it’s all fitness infographics, a cute little flexing boomerang time-stamped right before you arrived yesterday, and a shared picture from late last night captioned with three huge heart emojis. Of the most stunning woman, a serene smile on her lips, sitting on a yoga mat in lotus position.

In tiny white letters under the picture: Mel.Medarda.

You click through to her profile. Find yourself looking at a collage of beautiful pictures that raise the age old question: Do I want to be her, or do I want to bang her?

Plenty of them feature Jayce, standing close or with a massive arm slung around her waist. That and the way he looks at her, with the dopiest puppy eyes you’d ever seen? Definitely his girlfriend. 

Toned and lithe to his broad-shouldered brawn, they make a gorgeous couple.

But you were getting distracted.

Navigating back to Jayce’s profile, a quick glance over the rows and rows of tiles reveals nothing eye-catching. Mostly him solo, or with familiar faces. The sane thing is clearly to start scrolling through them one by one, reading the captions as you try to scratch that itch in your brain. 

You just like to know things. Totally normal.

You scroll and scroll and scroll, skimming over comments from your mutual friends too, until you find a piece of what you’re looking for.

It’s a caption beneath a black and white picture of Jayce in the garage, dimly lit at night, squatting low with a barbell spanning his shoulders. Probably around two hundred pounds loaded onto the bar, but he’s clearly trying to look cool by graduating the stack of plates instead of using two fifties on each side. “Very cool,” you snort, delving past the part where he waxes poetic about ‘dedication to the grind.’

What you care about is just below that, right at the end.

‘Shoutout to the best roommate/photographer a guy could ask for!’

And below it, a comment chain between Jayce and Vi.

knockoutVI: how can i book viktor for my next meathead photoshoot?

j_talis: He’s pretty busy and probably going to say no since you called me a meathead. Very rude :(

Roommate.

Viktor.

Got it.

You tap on the picture to see if he’s tagged, but nothing pops up despite the fact that technically he’s in it too. The faintest blip, you notice, pinching your screen to zoom it in. He’s hidden almost entirely by the reflection of the flash, and what little of him is visible has been distorted by his poor positioning on the seam of the mirror. Makes it look like he has three tiny legs. 

It tells you nothing about him, besides that he likely isn’t a boulder of a man like Jayce.

Ten more minutes of digging, and you find nothing else telling; nothing to link you to this mysterious roommate’s page. You scroll up and consider looking through Jayce’s following list, but the number is four digits and you don’t actually care enough to waste that much time.

Sure, you want to know who’d been watching you last night, but you’ve mostly gotten over it. If you were Viktor, you’d probably be curious about a stranger at your house too. 

No harm done. You’re not ready to make assumptions about him quite yet.

You’d have to meet him first.

—-

Over the span of two busy weeks, you head to Jayce’s three more times. Once in the morning, twice in the evening, and still you never encounter his illusive roommate. Always there, never seen. Jayce hadn’t said much about him either aside from an initial, offhanded warning to be mindful of Viktor if you ever came alone, but you hadn’t yet.

You’re with Jayce again that weekend.

Eight AM, Sunday morning. Overcast again and finally a bit chilly, but that hasn’t deterred him from a crop top. You could’ve slept in, stayed in the warm cocoon of your duvet, but show up anyways. What was that about dedication to the grind?

But, to be fair, it has nothing to do with that.

No, it has much more to do with the invitation to an early brunch afterward at a spot you’ve always wanted to try, to meet up with Mel after her yoga class. Intimidating, but at least there’s going to be bottomless mimosas for your nerves. You’ll submit to an hour of core torture for that, easily. 

Jayce has you listening to his eighties hits playlist, set to a considerate volume, from the moment you step into the garage. Not that you have a complaint about today’s choice. They’re fun classics to sing along to when you can actually breathe, and the energetic synth is exactly what you need to wake up and get into gear.

That, and the body-weight exercise circuit you’re thrown into after your bag gets properly put up and you’ve finished chatting about your week—alternatively known as stretching out together. The sluggish feeling dissipates quickly as a blissful mix of adrenaline and endorphins flood your system lunge after lunge, into the weighted portion of your workout.

Just over halfway through, you take a quick sip from your water and notice there’s a timer pulled up on Jayce's phone. You’re in for it then. 

“Alright—hold a plank. Ninety seconds or longer. I’ll time you first, then we’ll switch. Easy right?”

“Pfft, yeah.”

Well, okay, maybe two thirds of that increment is easy, but you’re not about to share that secret. 

“Great, then I’m sure you can do it with a weight on your back! Ten or fifteen?”

“Neither.” You scowl at his wicked grin just to be contrarian and squat down on your haunches. “I’d like to live to see a stack of pancakes, thanks. Maybe even be able to laugh at your lame jokes too, unless you’re really out to murder my abs.”

“Ouch, someone’s mean this morning,” he pouts. “Now we’re doing it again at the end, just because you said that.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, dreading it privately, dropping onto your forearms to bear your weight into the gritty, rubber floor tiles. “Let’s go.”

“Starting… Now!”

The full body tremors come on quickly as you dig the balls of your feet into the floor, trying to compensate for the worn treads of your shoes, with your back parallel to the ground and your head down. 

Funny, how time only seems to slow when you’re doing something as miserable as this. 

You resort to tapping your fist against the ground to the beat of Sweet Dreams, trying to distract from that deep burn rapidly building in your abs. 

Jayce distracts you, instead.

“Hey! You leaving?” he suddenly shouts.

Your instinct is to ask him, breathlessly: “What?” Especially since you hear no other response over the music and the throbbing rush of blood in your ears, and see nothing but the floor in front of you, facing the wrong direction. 

“Not you,” Jayce laughs, brushing you off. “Focus. Twenty seconds in.”

But you can’t

With sudden clarity, you know who he’s talking to.

Certainly not you as he raises his voice again, a little distracted by having two conversations and watching the time creep by. “Wait—You are?!” 

Again, no response, but Jayce says, “Okay! Drive safe!”

And then, to you, as you contort your body to hold the plank and look behind you down the driveway: “Hey! No cheating! Get your ass out of the air.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss, and Jayce, the cruel bastard, only chuckles at your suffering.

You fight to control your breathing as the burn escalates and you genuinely think about being a quitter. Talking has done you no favors.

Instead you listen. To Jayce, counting down in fifteen second increments. To the music, its steady beat keeping you grounded. To the sound of an engine sputtering to life, and tires grinding against the concrete.

“Ten more seconds, unless you want to try and hold it longer?”

You can only shake your head pathetically as a hefty bead of sweat slides down your temple.

“And… Done!”

Typically you’d just collapse into a gelatinous pile, face down on the floor. But you were just so curious. 

With deep, heaving breaths, you push up to your feet. Steadily, so you don’t stagger with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. Slowly, so that you don’t look overly enthusiastic to get a glimpse of his roommate.

You’re too late, though.

All you see is his car backing down the end of the driveway, a glare on the windshield. 

And then he’s gone.

You’re staring. Too concentrated, until you’re aware of the tension in your face enough to release the little furrow from your brow. Too long, and Jayce notices.

He’s already looking at you with a smile when you pivot toward him, ready to get back to work. Typical of him, sure, but the arch of his scar slashed brow turns it quizzical and expecting. You get the sense he knows something you don’t.

More like he knows someone you don’t and frankly? It’s started to bother you.

“Aw, he doesn’t want to work out with us?” you pout, casual and flippant, teasing your way around the question you really want to ask.

That is: Is your roommate a total weirdo or what?

You worry briefly that he can read your mind, the way he cringes at your question, grits his teeth and sucks in a breath right through them. But he recovers quickly and stutters out an awkward laugh, scratching at the stubble on his cheek. Looking distantly down the driveway, he says, “He um… He really can’t. It’s not his thing.”

“Oh…” you mutter, at a loss for words with the distinct, shameful impression that you’ve said the wrong thing. Not sure how to interpret Jayce’s response, you try, neutrally enough, “I get that, it’s not for everybody.”

He shrugs it off in that easy manner. “Y��know, I’ve really been meaning to introduce you, but—” Jayce looks down at his phone in hand, its screen thoroughly shattered despite the bulky, black case. Then to you again, brighter than before. “Wait, why didn’t I think of this before? Hang on just a second.”

He starts tapping at it. 

A text? 

But as soon as the music cuts off, right at the chorus of ABBA’s Lay all Your Love on Me— which, great song, that’s a shame—you realize exactly what he’s up to.

It rings twice over the bluetooth speakers before Viktor picks up.

“Yes, Jayce?”

There’s a weary quality to his voice. He sounds put upon, the sigh implied, as if Jayce has been petulant, blowing up his phone all morning. 

Jayce isn’t phased by that. Not in the slightest.

He does take Viktor off the speakers though, holding the phone to his ear and gesturing for you to wait just a minute with the flat of his calloused palm. All before you can hear enough to decipher that curious accent, which is disappointing. 

“—Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Listen, what are you doing…” 

Jayce wanders out of earshot, just out of the garage. If you strain to listen—which you, nosy thing, absolutely did—you can pick up a few words and phrases.

“…hour…” 

Yes, brunch is in an hour. 

“…want you to…” 

Meet me? Pretty likely. 

“…being difficult…” 

Oh interesting, is he now?

You hear nothing more after that.

But you can guess the outcome by Jayce’s final stance after a few minutes of failed negotiations. Phone to his ear, fist on his cocked hip—very pissed off suburban dad of him, standing in the front yard like that.

He mashes the end call button with a meaty thumb. Heaves a sigh that’s all shoulders before he turns and hustles back toward you, looking overly cheerful about whatever just transpired.

“Everything alright?” you ask gently.

“Yup, great! All good!” he says with a smile that heralds an eye twitch, though it never comes. “I couldn’t get Viktor to come with us. Full schedule, apparently.”

“It is short notice, Jayce.”

“Yeah… I know,” he says, fraught with an unfamiliar tension. Like there’s a lot he isn’t saying, and it weighs on him. “It’s just disappointing. I think you’d get along great if I could get you two in the same room.”

“What makes you think that?” 

“Just a feeling,” he shrugs. “Or wishful thinking, maybe. I always want my friends to be friends with each other too. Easier to get everyone together that way. Speaking of which…” He hands you his phone, timer pulled up again. “Last thing before we get back to it: I’m throwing a Halloweeen party at the end of the month. Low key, costumes optional—it’s gonna be fun and I think you should come.”

“Big party?”

“Medium party, if I have anything to say about it. But hey, no pressure. Think about it.”

“I’ll let you know for sure, but it’s probably a yes.” 

It’s definitely a yes, let’s be honest. You have no other invitations to consider. 

Back on task and keen to see him suffer, you taunt him with a shake of his phone. “Now, if you’re ready?”

“Definitely am,” he says, and proceeds to put your sweaty struggle of a plank to shame.

—-

The week blows by after that. You blink and it’s Friday again. Though, with nothing better to start the weekend with, you pull out your phone and fire off a quick text to Jayce.

[3:58pm] Headed over after work to squeeze in some cardio. You in?

He’s assured you that you can use the gym whenever, but it feels right to get his blessing. Better to ask first than find out the hard or even embarrassing way that there might be an exception to the rule.

But… No response. 

Just radio silence from Jayce until an hour later and you’re sprinting to your car in the pouring rain. Then, of course, it vibrates in your pocket. Damp and chilly, clothes soaked through as you clamor inside, you still check your phone before you crank the ignition and turn on a little heat. 

Priorities.

[Jayce Talis, 5:12pm]: Gonna be out with Mel, sorry! Have fun :)

He gets a simple smiley face and a thumbs up in return. 

Prepared with an extra pair of leggings and sneakers in your car, you head straight over after that.  

Alone today, you’ll be brave too. You’ll wear the cute, translucent crop top that has, up until now, been shoved deep into your closet for fear of drawing attention to parts of your body that could stand to be more refined. Like you aren’t good enough, toned enough, shredded enough to wear it yet; like confidence is something to earn and the finish line keeps shifting farther away. But if Jayce can do it?

So can you.

He’s a lesson in self-confidence, and you’re an eager student.

When you pull up, you see immediately that you’ll be well and truly alone today. There’s no cars in the driveway, no lights on in the house.

You do another soggy sprint through the rain and wind up wetter on your left side as you punch in a garage code you’re still trying to memorize and mess it up a good three times before it takes. You have to shut it promptly behind you to keep the water from seeping beneath the floor tiles, but with the summer humidity now past, the garage is pleasantly cool. And as it heated up—or, well, you heated up—there’s always the fan.

But first things first, you let yourself into the house.

You’ve never been inside before. And it feels odd that the first time is in dead silence, without Jayce, like you’re an intruder in his home. 

Their home, you keep having to remind yourself, because stranger or not, Viktor lives there too.

It occurs to you, then, that it might be inconsiderate not to let him know that you’re coming too. Something to bring up to Jayce next time you’re together—it doesn’t sit well with you that his roommate might think you’re rude. 

At least this time, if Viktor comes home first, he’ll know you ‘re here by your car in the driveway. He has to know it at this point, even if he knows nothing else about you.

You hurry down the short hallway into the first door on your left, wet shoes squeaking comically on the hardwood floors as you go to change in the tiny powder room off the garage. 

Nothing fancy, but it’s probably the most boring room in the house. Clean and simple and tidy, but is it all this way? You have to ignore that shameful urge to explore further. It feels like a betrayal of trust, though you’ve been explicitly permitted as far as the kitchen to get water or a snack.

If you ever want to be righteously nosy, you really need to stop coming so prepared.

Back in the cool sanctity of the garage, you plop onto the padded floor to do a few simple stretches and meditate briefly on your plan for the next hour, give or take. Cardio, for sure, but the sweet, sweaty temptation of upper body work calls out to you from the weight racks. A few rounds of chest presses, bicep curls, and tricep extensions with mid-range dumbbells should make a great addition to the evening, nothing too taxing or dangerous. You’ll probably add more to that circuit after time to consider it on the treadmill, knowing yourself a glutton for punishment of your own creation.

You hop on the treadmill, setting the speed to a crawl to walk and tap away at your phone; to connect it to the sound system, as Jayce has shown you how, to play your favorite workout playlist.

It’s not noticeable at first. 

The volume is considerably lower to start, even as you up the speed from a snail’s pace to a healthy powerwalk, warming up your joints for the impact to come. 

But after you press 6, the belt moving faster, your feet slamming down on it, your heart beating harder and your breath coming quicker, you have to make it louder. And you can tell, then, that someone had changed the ratios to boost the base.

It was fucking fantastic.

You feel it in your bones, feel it hammering in time with your heart. It makes you feel like you can sprint faster, push harder; do more and more and more until you’re gasping for breath and loving every second of it. But you aren’t there yet.

In short little bursts—sprint to walk, walk to sprint— you keep upping the speed and the volume in increments as you fight to hit your top mileage, even for a second. That’s the goal before you can allow yourself a long recovery lap.

You finally, finally reach for that number on the control panel.

And then you’re catching yourself on the handrails instead.

Stumbling bodily.

Scared shitless.

Because out of the corner of your eye, you see the door to the house wrench open. You hear your name over the music, shouted like you’ve never heard it shouted before.

It’s the accent, laced with frustration, curling hatefully the vowels of your name.

It’s Viktor.

You fumble in quick succession to turn the treadmill off, then the song. It leaves the sound of your heavy, labored breathing and rain pelting the metal garage door echoing through the space. It’s a strange, awkward ambiance made worse by your gasping inability to speak.

You try to mitigate it, lifting your arms and lacing your fingers behind your head. Your shoulders, your biceps ache with lingering soreness, and your shirt rides up far too high, but your lungs have more room to expand within the vice tightness of your ribcage. 

It helps, just not fast enough.  

You feel strikingly uneasy beneath his stare and more than a little embarrassed. So you say—or rather, try to say: “I’m—! I’m so sorry…” Do you look like a fish out of water, sucking in air through its mouth? You feel like it. Your lungs burn. “I…um, I just…”

“Catch your breath,” he says. His voice is even and merciful, but it doesn’t disguise the displeasure simmering just below the surface. It’s all in his eyes and the heavy, low set of his brow. A look that pins you in place, heavier than any weight in that gym, even if it doesn’t settle on you for long. 

He waits—patiently or not, you can’t tell—and comes no further past the threshold.

Staring is rude, but try as you might, it’s hard not to look at him overmuch. He’s the embodiment of that voice on the phone. 

Put simply: He looks like shit. 

He’s got eyes rimmed with sleepless purple, like he’s never seen more than three hours of rest in a night. Painfully thin through a graceful face, framed by dark hair that could stand to be washed. Probably skeletal under that sweater, too. He’s not three legged either, as it turns out; it was his cane distorted in the picture that he both was and wasn’t in. 

Yeah, he’s not anyone you’d expect to hang around literal health nut Jayce Talis. 

Let alone live with him.

But he’s… attractive beyond the physical neglect, if wispy nerd is your type. 

Which it is. 

You sigh—because you can breathe again, of course.

“Okay… Okay, I’m good,” you finally tell him, hands dropping down, useless at your sides, as self-consciousness creeps up. It whispers a reminder of what you’re wearing; of how flushed your face usually gets when you run; of how disgusting you feel drenched in sweat. Suboptimal conditions for meeting someone new, but you muster up a pathetic, “Hi,” and wave with a wiggle of your stupid little fingers.

He looks so unimpressed, leaning heavily against his cane. Worse, he hardly even looks at you, like you’re the least interesting thing in the room. 

You want to wither and die on the spot.

“If you could keep the volume down?” he says without preamble—not hello or nice to meet you, not even his name. It’s phrased like a question, but it’s certainly a demand that he has every right to—you can’t deny that. He adds a clipped, “Please,” as an afterthought, but it comes too late to soften his blunt approach.

“Oh, yeah, I’m really sorry about that…” You laugh nervously in the way Jayce often does to diffuse tension, but with none of his success. It’s probably a mistake to try a conversational approach, knowing nothing about him other than he’s cute and very unhappy with you, but your mouth just moves since it can’t seem to shut up. “When did you get back?”

“What?”

“I just didn’t know you were back from… Um, y’know, wherever it was,” you gesture vaguely, feeling more helpless by the second. 

“I never left,” he says, matter-of-factly, like you should’ve already known. Makes you feel entirely to blame for your ignorance, though you aren’t—just very out of your depth. “I doubt you would’ve heard anything, regardless.”

“Not unless you walked straight through here. I just… I get so into it sometimes that I can’t tell how loud it is. Especially when I’m alone.”

He shrugs, carefully neutral, “Jayce is the same.” 

Does that translate to I understand? Or is he calling you both inconsiderate in a two birds, one stone sort of way?

You aren’t sure. But you offer him an olive branch anyways.

“Would it help if I brought headphones next time?”

“If you’re that inclined toward hearing damage, then yes,” he says, dry but not devoid of humor if you catch his tone correctly. “Otherwise, I don’t mind the sound system. Use it if you like, I just prefer not to hear it across the house.”

You feel lighter, reaching a tentative understanding. It was only a poorly timed accident, you hadn’t meant to disturb the peace. No harm done. Not a damnable offense. 

“Fair enough,” you nod, smiling at him, small and convincing and giddy, deep down. “I’ll do better.” 

But adrenaline and that jittery thrum of anxiety made for a bad mix—made you do odd, unthinking, impulsive things. 

You set the speed to low again, sensing the natural end of the conversation. And you—why, idiot? Why?— throw him a goofy, thoughtless little wink as you say, “Promise not to bother you again tonight.”

He nods curtly to that, and you could swear the thinnest wisp of a smile twitches his lips.

But you have to be mistaken. Surely you saw it wrong, because then he says, “Not at all would be ideal, but thank you,” with the audacity to sound good-natured about it. 

You, blinking mute with shock, can only stare as though he’d come close and slapped you. He might as well have. That stings, and if you hadn’t felt self-conscious before, you surely feel it now—that overwhelming urge to curl into yourself.

You finally can read him then, for the shame on his face. Like he’s accidentally said out loud what he’s been thinking; like he’s accidentally revealed his budding dislike of you, to your face instead of behind your back. Privately to Jayce, you can only assume.

He can’t look at you again after that.

It pretty much proves your assumption, the way he turns and wordlessly skulks back into the house. 

Leaves you standing there, berating yourself for fucking it all up. For not saying the right things. For, despite it all, feeling that familiar, constricting ache in your chest, though you haven't felt that sensation in a long time. Not looking at another person. 

This has to be salvageable. It just has to be.

And it can't get worse than that, right?

…Right?

[gingeraleluke]

hi idk if you are taking requests or not but can you do when vinnie y/n and their friends are skating and y/n got hurt and he takes care of her yk

𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗰𝗲

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: vinnie hacker x fem!influencer!reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: vinnie secretly has a crush on y/n and when she gets hurt, he has a hard time keeping it together.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: swearing, blood/injury, fluff

𝗔/𝗡: sorry this took so long!! i’ve been so busy omg hopefully you like this ❦

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“wow, this is crazy!”

you admired the party setup around the skating rink, the green, blue, and purple lights tainting everything with its color. it was your best friend alessia’s birthday, and the theme was everything mermaids. she had been working at disneyland for over a year now, portraying ariel, and her fellow castmates threw her a huge party— three tiered cake and everything.

she told you to bring whoever you want and that once everyone from disney left, you guys could come and have the rink to yourself, knowing how much you hated crowds.

so you asked your two best friends, vinnie and chase, if they wanted to come with you. vinnie had already met alessia and she had always wanted to meet chase, her being a fan and all, so it seemed like the perfect people to come. vinnie asked if jett could come along and you of course said sure.

the four of you walked in and saw alessia stacking paper plates at the party table, wearing an ariel two-piece with a jacket on top. “there you guys are!”

“yeah, sorry about huddy, he wouldn’t leave us alone.” vinnie joked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his winter coat.

alessia’s eyes widened as she took in chase’s presence, “oh, trust me, i’m honored to have him.” she smiled and greeted him with a hug.

“you saved us cake, right?” you skipped over to the counter to see one half eaten cake and a brand new one.”

“yup.”

“holy shit, you got two?!” you grabbed a plastic fork and sat on the edge of the counter, vinnie standing behind you and jett and chase sitting across.

“yeah, one was from disney and the other one my sister made.” you heard her say as you dug into the corner of the cake. it was a printed picture of the little mermaid with frosting ribbons on the boarder.

“this is good…vin try it.”

what you didn’t know, is that vinnie was in love with you. he’d go out of his way to make it seem like he thought of you as a sister to hide the fact. no one else knew of his feelings, not even jett. he just didn’t want to admit it incase it destroyed your friendship.

you spun the cake around so vinnie could eat the other corner. “this whole cake is ours right?” you asked, watching alessia nod.

“hell yes— hey!”

“what?” vinnie asked, his mouth full of cake.

“you just ate flounder!”

“what, the fish? my bad..” he raised his eyebrows and smiled before continuing to eat his corner. “this is really good alessia, your sister did a good job.”

“thank you, vincent.” vinnie rolled his eyes at the mention of his full name.

“hey, can we go use the rink?” chase asked, excited.

“yeah! just go get the skates, there’s a bunch in the bin over there.” alessia pointed as she continued to wipe down the table. jett and chase ran off, vinnie still eating the cake as an excuse to stay with you.

“you’re gonna go skate, right?” you looked over at alessia.

“of course i am!”

“have you skated before?” she asked.

“no, i haven’t, but it can’t be that hard.”

“i don’t know, y/n, you’re pretty clumsy…” vinnie warned.

“oh, shut up.” you scoffed.

“i’m serious! you’ve gotta be careful.”

“yes sir, now will you come help me lace up my skates?”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

skating was a lot harder than you expected it to be.

it was almost as if everything was wired oppositely, when she wanted to go forwards, the skates would take her backwards. despite being in a hoodie, she was underdressed for the cold and chills ran up her back. her fingers were numb and frozen-like as she gripped on the railing.

“hey, y/l/n! you frozen over there?!” chase shouted from the middle of the rink. jett must of fell because he was sitting on the ice and vinnie was standing a few feet away from them, all three of them focused on you while alessia was lacing her skates.

“pretty much!” you yelled back, seeing your breath when you spoke.

vinnie skated over to you, stumbling slightly. “hey, you okay?”

“yeah, i’m just fucking freezing..”

“here.” he unzipped his coat and put it over your shoulders. “stick your hands out.”

once he got his jacket on you, he was left in a hoodie. “are you sure you aren’t cold?”

“no, i’m fine. is that better though?”

“yeah, thank you.” your fingers were no longer stuck to the railings and you kept your hands in the jackets pockets for warmth, feeling the fuzzy fabric inside.

“you coming?” vinnie called out, skating towards the center.

“yep!”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

once you got the hang of it, you all were skating around the rink. music played through the speakers and alessia changed the lights so that they changed colors.

chase and alessia really hit it off and were skating, holding hands with one another, while you, jeff, and vinnie were all just doing your own thing.

the feeling was euphoric, the thumping bass of the music and the fluorescent lights made you feel like you were in a coming of age film.

you didn’t notice everyone else start a conversation, jett and vinnie sat on the ice speaking to chase and alessia. you were too into the moment and let your skates take you across the rink, staying by the sides so you wouldn’t crash into anyone.

all of a sudden, you did the wrong motion and your skates were out of your control as you crashed on the ground, using your hands to try and save your fall. you couldn’t comprehend what just happened, but when the wetness from the ice had come into contact with your pants, you felt a strong stinging in your fingers.

you couldn’t contain the gasp that left your lips.

you had accidentally ran over your fingers.

the pain took over and your eyes began to water as you silently cried, holding your fingers and staring at the wound.

vinnie was laughing at something chase had said, when he noticed you sitting in the corner of the rink, staring at the back of your hand. when he noticed how shaky your hand was and how scared you looked, he knew something was wrong. his stomach dropped.

“y/n?” he called, just loud enough for you to hear it over the music. everyone watched as he stood up and skated towards you.

“hey! hey, are you okay?!” you looked up at him, his face hard to see as he towered over you before dropping down on his knees to see your hand. as soon as he saw the blood, his patience shortened.

“hey, HEY! SHE’S HURT, STOP THE MUSIC!” he called out, making everyone frantically skate over while alessia stopped the music.

“can i see your hand?” he asked, his voice was endearing and worried.

you just nodded, pressing both of your lips between your teeth and biting, making them disappear.

there was blood everywhere and vinnie couldn’t tell if she had sliced her fingers off or not. “hey, can you feel this?”

he poked on the tip of your pointer finger and you nodded, causing him to continue with the rest of your finger’s. you broke out sobbing and invulnerability let your head drop against vinnie’s chest. he kept your hand in his, while he used his other hand to sit at the back of your head, letting you cry into him.

“holy shit.” jett muttered.

“go get her some water and towels!” vinnie demanded, watching jett skate off as fast as he could, which wasn’t fast enough.

“should we call an ambulance?!” chase asked.

“no! no, i’m..im fine, it just hurts.” you looked up from vinnie’s chest, his arm still around you.

“i don’t know, love. it looks pretty bad.” vinnie’s tone of voice was so foreign to you. you’d never heard him sound so nervous and the pet name he gave you, brought butterflies to fade quickly into your stomach.

“call 911 just in case!” vinnie answered, looking down at you as you glared at him.

“i’m scared..”

“i know, it’s okay.”

“this is so embarrassing.” you whined.

“y/n it’s fine, i promise. just wait for the medics to come, okay?”

“i got blood all over your hoodie.” you looked over the blotches of blood that covered the grey fabric, matching the blood on your skates and your pants.

“that’s okay, y/n.”

“you’re not gonna leave me right?”

“no. of course not, i’ll stay right here with you, okay? JETT, WHERE IS HER FUCKING WATER AND TOWELS?!” vinnie snapped, leaning forward, away from your ears so he didn’t startle you.

“i’m sorry, i’m coming!” jett called, putting skates on. when vinnie saw that he wasn’t even in skates yet, he huffed.

“fuck it..” he muttered, ripping off his hoodie to use as a towel for you. he had never seen so much blood before.

once the paramedics arrived, they made their way across the ice to see you. a lady was inspecting your hand while a man asked you and vinnie questions relating to your personal health background and the incident.

alessia was leaning against the railing beside the lady, comforting you as you continued to apologize for ruining her birthday.

“y/n, it’s fine! my birthday was yesterday and you didn’t ruin anything!”

“are my fingers gone? i can’t feel anything anymore.”

“don’t worry, sweetheart. your fingers are still here, i think you’ll be just fine.” the lady smiled, trying her best to comfort you.

“here, drink.” vinnie handed you your water and you took a few sips.

“i don’t even know how this happened, i don’t know how i managed to hurt myself..”

“it’s okay,” vinnie stopped you, “it was an accident.” he rubbed your shoulder and kissed the side of your head. “is she gonna need stitches?”

“most definitely. we’ve got to get you off the ice and into the emergency room, okay?” the lady began to help you off of the ground.

“wait! can vinnie and alessia come with me?”

“only one will fit in the ambulance, the other can follow us if they want.”

you saw vinnie and alessia look down at you, waiting for you to decide. you held an arm out at vinnie, “i want you with me.”

“that’s fine.” he put his hand on your shoulder and gave you rub on your back.

“will you be okay, alessia?”

“yeah, me and the guys will follow you to make sure you’re okay.

“can your boyfriend carry you off the ice or do you need me to get a stretcher?” the lady asked.

boyfriend, vinnie thought. the word sending swirls of lovesick throughout the both of your stomachs.

“yeah, i’ve got her.”

when vinnie didn’t correct her, your face heated up. he squared to pick you up, carrying you bridal style across the ice.

throughout the ride to the hospital, his hand never left yours and he was by your side until you were ready to go, stitches through your fingers.

and that is how you realized you loved him.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

@radioblah-blah @sofslander

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Karma.

Pairing: Yandere!Xiao/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count:  2.1k.

TW: Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, Codependence, Possessive Mindsets, Non-Consensual Touching, Physical Abuse, Slight Victim-Blaming.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Xiao knew that this was what he deserved.

This, all of it, everything. Whatever the world had to throw at him, all the things he’d earned over centuries of bloodshed and death and guilt that grew more crippling with each passing day. He’d come to terms with that, and if he was being honest with himself, he might admit that he was growing numb to the pain, that despite his distaste, violence didn’t seem as utterly unpalatable as it used to. He wasn’t thankful for it, he didn’t want it, but he was resigned, apathetic, too used to it to care the way he used to, when fighting left him as battered as his enemies. He'd grown accustomed to it. He’d adapted.

He just wasn’t used to this. A new sort of discomfort. A different kind of pain.

He just wasn’t used to you being the source of his karmic suffering, whether or not you realized it was quite that poetic.

He’d earned it. He knew that. He’d earned every part of his current punishment – your glare, your locked jaw, the unadulterated loathing that emanated off of you in waves, unignorable from the moment he shrugged open the heavy, wooden door to his crowded room on the inn’s top floor. He’d managed to stave off the urge to use chains, ropes, anything more solid and more restraining than an idle threat and a locked door, but you were smart enough to stay balled up in the furthest corner, your knees pulled into your chest and your eyes on the floor, narrowed with an intensity he’d only ever seen in demons, moments before their deaths. It hurt him to see, the stance too defensive not to be learned, but it was better than the alternative. He’d caught you on the balcony, once or twice, leaning over the railing or admiring the view, and…

You could’ve slipped. You could’ve tried to jump. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, but you shouldn’t have been so reckless. It’d been dangerous, even you were still too naïve to see that.

Xiao grit his teeth, shaking his head as he forced himself to focus on the matter at-hand. You didn’t move as he approached, only shrinking further into yourself, becoming something small, something timid, a form of passive resistance you’ve perfected, in the weeks since you last put up a real fight. If he was feeling any less patient, he might’ve resorted to less honorable methods, throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you through his routine of self-indulgence despite your attempts to struggle against him. He’d tried it before, broken his own promises countless times, but it was almost never worth the way you’d cry afterwards, like he’d hurt you, like he’d done anything wrong. Like you could expect him to do anything less, when you were determined to be so stubborn.

So, instead, he tried talking. Talking was more peaceful. He didn’t like talking, but you did, and he was trying to be more considerate of what you liked. “I’m back.”

He waited, but there was no response. That was fine. He was fine. He couldn’t say he’d never given you a reason to ignore him. “You’re not reading,” He tried, again, fighting to keep his voice even. You tended to flinch, whenever he got too loud. “It’d be a better use of your time than sulking around, like this.”

You didn’t look at him, your voice muffled by your self-made haven. “You keep burning my books.”

Burning? That sounded like something he would do, as an act of precaution or anger or the same petty vengeance creatures so far beneath him were so prone to. It’d probably been one of the anthologies you were so fond of – folklore hiding under the guise of real history. Usually, he didn’t pay it much mind, the liberal retellings of events no living mortal could possibly be old enough to have witnessed, but he didn’t care for it when you found value in such trash. Stories about the Adepti were far too common in Liyue literature, and you’d always been the type to ask questions, to try to pry your way into subjects you could never hope to comprehend. It was better to eliminate the problem entirely. That was how he’d survived for so long, among humans -- terminating issues before they could arise.

But, you wouldn’t understand that. And even if you did, it wouldn’t do anything to heal the wound he’d already created.

He was beginning to think nothing he tried would ever be enough to mend your anger, not when you were so content to tear at the stitching yourself.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” He wasn’t sure if he had, but you didn’t correct him, only squaring your shoulders, digging your nails into your legs, going even further to block him out, push him away, isolate yourself and leave him to suffer for your insubordination. Xiao rolled his eyes, scowling to himself, but whatever irritation he could summon was quickly replaced by his exhaustion, that perpetual desire to fall into your arms and have you welcome him willingly, lovingly, the way you used to before he decided he had to ruin it. He was tempted to touch you, to reach out, to cup your cheek or wrap an arm around you or draw you close by force, rather than natural attraction, but he thought better of it, crouching by your side, instead, letting his back hit the wall with a heavy thud.

When he opened his mouth, his tongue felt heavier, his throat hoarse. Like the weight of his conscious had found yet another way to make itself known. “You hate me.”

It was a fact, like the color of the sky or the scent of the air before a storm. It was true, both of you already knew that, but you were kind enough to hesitate, lifting you head just high enough to see him. For him to see you, tiny and terrified. A trembling rabbit that knew better than to hope for mercy from a hawk. “I do.”

It stung more than it had any right to. “And there’s nothing I can do make you stop hating me.”

You laughed, at that, the sound breathy and sardonic, melodic and unabashed, akin to bird songs and wind chimes and every other beautiful thing Xiao could think of, even in its most beaten down state. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to deafen himself because he knew nothing would ever be half as lovely as that laugh, but you were talking before he could act on the impulse. That was for the best, really. Acting on impulse was what got him into this, and he wasn’t eager to drive you away any further. “I don’t have any other choice,” You started, your tone light, your anger softened into something playful. The kind of tender rage only you were capable of. “If I could choose not to hate you, I would. You were my friend, and if I could find any way to justify your actions, you’d still be my friend. I don’t want to think of you as anything else.” You paused, letting out a deep breath, relaxing slightly. Xiao couldn’t bring himself to celebrate the small victory. “I don’t want to hate you, but I have to. You see that, right? After everything you’ve done to me, I have to hate you.”

He deserved this, and you deserved to say it. He deserved to have his heart broken, crushed and shattered in his chest, and you deserved to be the one to break it. “I don’t want you to hate me, either.” It felt more intimate than it should’ve, a confession rather than common knowledge. You might’ve teased him for it, months ago, smiled and said something about softening him up. Now, your frown only deepened. “But, I need to do this. Your safety comes first. If something ever happened to you, I’d—”

Even in his own mind, his logic faltered. ‘If something ever happened to you’, like he hadn’t already done more damage than any monster ever could. It might’ve been more redeemable if he was honest, if he admitted he was doing this for himself, because he wanted to, because just for an hour, a minute, a few key seconds, he was idiotic enough to think he deserved to have you, permanently, whether or not you wanted to have him.

But, he couldn’t say that. He didn’t know how. His mouth wouldn’t form the right words, so he was left to say the wrong ones, his tone taking a sharp turn towards hostile as he spoke. “The door isn’t locked. I’m not keeping you here. You can leave, if you’re really that miserable.”

You shifted, and Xiao’s throat went dry. He knew the answer, and yet, it still hurt to hear it in your voice, to know you were capable of inflicting such insufferable pain. “If I try to, will you let me?”

He wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t even tell himself he’d try. He’d hunt you down to the ends of Teyvat if he had to, spend the rest of his immortality finding you and making sure you never had the chance to do something so short-sighted again. He could make the guilt more bearable, promising himself he’d take care of you, that since he couldn’t do away with the cage entirely, he’d do his best to make your prison a comfortable one, but you’d still be unhappy, you’d still hate him. He’d hate himself, too, but that might be the one aspect of your relationship he thought he could stand. If nothing else, Xiao didn’t make himself a stranger to self-loathing.

“I love you,” He mumbled, as if that counted for anything. “So much. More than you could possibly understand.”

“I know.” You were the one to bridge the gap, this time, a hesitant hand coming to rest over his. Something in his chest tightened, and for a moment, Xiao had to wonder if it was possible for a mortal to be so cruel. “But, I don’t love you. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You moved to pull away, fear fading into sympathetic pity, but Xiao didn’t want your pity, he didn’t want you to go back to hiding from him, trembling and screaming and treating him like some monster, a beast waiting to lash out. That’s what he was, really, but he didn’t have to admit it. He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to let himself believe he’d fallen that far, and he didn’t want to let you treat him as if he had.

His grip was too tight, a whimper escaping your parted lips as he caught you by the wrist, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when it was so easy to jerk you towards him, forcing you out of your pathetic, laughable shelter and into his lap, his free arm latching onto your waist before you had a chance to pull away. The remorse was reflexive, immediate and instinctual, but for the first time, he allowed himself to ignore it, to bury it underneath the pleasant warmth of your skin against his and the bliss that came with being so close to you, with burying his face in your shoulder, with indulging every necessity he’d denied himself in the name of your comfort. Your hands were already on his chest, your entire body shaking as you made a weak attempt to push him away, but Xiao was stronger than you, and he loved you so much more than you could ever hate him. This was fair. That had to be enough to make it fair.

You shifted, the air catching in your lungs, but Xiao only bared his teeth, letting pointed fangs ghost over the side of your neck before he could regret scaring you. Maybe he wanted to scare you. Maybe it’d be better, if you were scared of him. At least then, he wouldn’t have to keep playing dutiful lover. 

“Don’t move,” He snarled, and instantly, you went still. He could feel your heart racing in your chest, hear the cracked sob you failed to swallow, but he wanted this, he needed this. You’d get used to it, with time. You might even begin to appreciate the weeks he spent coddling you, once you were exposed to the alternative. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need this. I need you to let me have this.” He paused, giving you just enough to time to stiffen, to realize he wasn’t letting go. To realize he was never letting go, even if that meant you only grew to hate him more. “I don’t care if you love me. I need you.” 

Because he’d already gotten what he deserved. He’d already suffered, anguished, submitted himself fully to karma and reaped the consequences. The lesson had been drilled into him a thousand times, by his own hand another hundred. He already knew pain.

He’d already gotten what he deserved.

For once, he wanted to know what it would be like to get what he wanted, instead.

[saeyoungchoismaid]

in all honesty, i don't know how this would work, but it intrigued me.

24 + diavolo, maybe? if you can find inspiration for it :)

You did it perfectly anon!! FINALLY an ask for hubby Diavolo <3 Lmao this was just supposed to be a little drabble like the rest of them but nO I just hAd to go overboard. So now I have to add all this mess:

Pairing: Lord Diavolo x gn!reader Genre: angst, fluff, fake dating au Warnings: uh his dad hates you??? Summary: With the Demon King wanting Diavolo to find someone to rule with him, it’s only natural that he lies and says he’s already found someone(you), right?  Word Count: 2k words (so much for this being a drabble lmao)

24. kisses for a cover (I’m assuming this means like a cover up like a lie)

Being the prince of The Devildom comes with many responsibilities, including but not limited to: running The Devildom since his father has no interest in The Devildom’s affairs, hosting events and gatherings to strengthen his bonds with other lords and the other rulers of the three worlds, keeping an eye on the student council (which is mostly composed of meddlesome brothers that he cares for deeply), and the list goes on. 

Oh, can’t forget the fact that he is required to marry and have someone to rule by his side. Yeah, that’s apparently an important one. He’s always realized his responsibility and has accepted all parts of his life as fact, but when you come down from the human world to participate in his program, his solid plans suddenly all come to a screeching halt. 

It becomes clear to him that he can’t go and marry someone just for the sake of The Devildom. I mean, he’s been ruling The Devildom for most of his life just fine without someone else! He decided he wasn’t going to do it. He doesn’t want to marry anyone except for you and when he does, it’ll be because you two are ready for marriage, not because it’s his duty as prince. 

His father didn’t like that though. 

Despite Diavolo being the ruler of The Devildom, he is not yet the Demon King. That title still belongs to his father, who always has the final say. And in this case, his final say is that Diavolo cannot rule the kingdom on his own any longer. 

Diavolo sees red when he hears this news. 

It isn’t until his father decides to host a party to introduce him to possible suitors that Diavolo lies and says he’s already found someone to rule by his side. When asked who, Diavolo says your name, and, of course, his father wants to meet you right away. 

The only thing is, Diavolo hasn’t told you of his true feelings, meaning you are oblivious to how he truly feels about you. His father cannot know of this though. So, with Diavolo on his knees before you, he begs you to pretend to be his lover. He promises that he’ll do whatever you ask of him, as long as you do him this favor. 

Unbeknownst to Diavolo though, you’re just as crazy about him as he is about you. So of course you agree to his plan. 

Asmo helps you with your appearance, Satan teaches you some big words to use in front of the Demon King to impress him, Lucifer teaches you the proper mannerism to use in front of him, Mammon lets you wear his most expensive jewelry, Beel shows you the correct silverware to use during the dinner and in what order to eat it in, plus what to avoid, Levi gives you history facts about The Devildom and what the Demon King has done for it before Diavolo took over, and Belphie reminds you to flatter the Demon King as much as possible to please him. Barbatos, of course, goes over everything with you again to make sure your success is definite. 

When you’re finally ready, Diavolo picks you up at six o’clock sharp to bring you back to his father’s mansion for dinner. He smiles when he sees you, though his smile shrinks a bit when he notices how stiff and nervous you are. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to you when you reach him, gently taking a hold of your hand to kiss the back of it. His smile returns to its original state when you smile at him, your cheeks gaining heat to them at the compliment. 

“Thank you. You look quite dapper yourself,” you reply softly, admiring him in his fancy suit. His smile turns into a grin, happy to hear that you like his suit. His tie is your favorite color and everything. 

“Well, let’s get going,” he says as he leads you to the car and helps you get in. He talks to you about every and anything on the way there, trying to distract you and calm you down before you arrive. It works up until the car pulls up in front of his father’s mansion, your throat suddenly going dry. “You’ll do great,” he promises. 

He helps you out just like how he had helped you in before assisting you up the grand steps. When you reach the door, he gives a single powerful knock before waiting. You two aren’t waiting long before the door is flying open and a small woman is standing there. “Good evening. Please come in,” she greets meekly, pulling the grand door open for you two to walk inside. 

You two are then led to the dining room, where your chairs are pulled out for you two to sit. Within the next minute, the Demon King is walking in. “Welcome, welcome! I’m glad you two made it here okay!” he greets, surprising you with how chipper he seems. He takes a seat at the head of the grand table, your hands starting to shake a bit in his presence despite how friendly he seems. During Levi’s history lesson, he told you about all the scary things he’s done in his time. 

As soon as he’s taken his seat, servants are flocking in with trays of drinks and appetizers. You all wait until they’re gone before beginning to eat. You stare down at your plate, trying to remember everything Beel and Lucifer taught you. Why are there three spoons and three forks? Surely you don’t need that many. You glance at Diavolo and pick up the same fork as him, taking a deep breath to help relax your nerves. 

You glance at the Demon King to find that he looks satisfied with your silverware choice. Was this a test? You don’t have time to ponder it before he’s firing into questions about you. The first one being: “So, you’re...human?” How are you supposed to answer that? Of course you are, and he obviously knows this. 

“Um, yes,” you stutter out, feeling your cheeks flush when you realize your mistake. “Yes, your highness!”  He lets out a small hum, seeming to make a mental note of your mistake. From there, things seem to only get worse. It’s like you suddenly forgot how to speak like a normal person and things you’d never say are flying out of your mouth. You’re just trying to impress him and make him approve of you but you’re doing the exact opposite. 

It isn’t until the end of dinner that he announces this. 

“You know, son, I’m not sure this one is the best idea,” he starts, frowning at you as he gives you a once over. Before he can even continue though, Diavolo is standing up and glaring down at his father with a look of pure anger. You’ve never seen him so worked up before.

“I don’t care what you think about them! You told me to find someone to rule with and that’s what I’ve done. I love them and they will be by my side as I rule over The Devildom!” he announces, making your jaw drop as you stare up at him. You close your mouth and clench your jaw though when you remember what you’re here for. He doesn’t actually love you. He’s saying all of this to convince his father that he’s found someone who will rule with him. 

You apparently tuned out of the conversation at the wrong time because the next thing you know, you’re being tugged up by Diavolo and his lips are finding yours. Your eyes go wide in shock despite your brain trying to yell at your body not to show any signs of surprise. It’s easier said than done though. 

All too soon for your liking, Diavolo is pulling away from your lips. Something flashes in his eyes—hope or love maybe? Eh, who are you kidding—before he’s turning to look at his father again. “You see? I don’t want anyone else; I want them! They’re mine and I’m theirs!” he shouts at his father. Before he can reply to his son, Diavolo is dragging you out of the room and to the front of the house where the car is awaiting you both. 

Diavolo is silent for a long time while you two drive back home, a heavy frown on his face and his knuckles white with how tight he’s clenching his fists. “I’m sorry for all of that,” he apologizes softly, bringing your eyes away from his hands to his face. He’s not looking at you though, simply staring out his window at the scenery passing him by. 

“It’s okay. I understand. Barbatos informed me of your relationship with your father,” you say softly. They get along and all, but they more often than not end up in some sort of disagreement. It’s normally about how things are being done in The Devildom though. 

He sighs and reaches over to take your hand in his, staring down at the small hand in his big one. “I hope you’ll still consider my proposal,” he says softly, making your brows furrow. 

“What proposal?” you ask. His eyes finally meet yours and your heart skips a beat at how expressive his eyes are. 

“To rule The Devildom with me, of course,” he replies like it’s obvious. Your brows shoot up to your hairline at this news though. 

“What? I thought that was just something you were telling your father, so he wouldn’t force you to marry some rando,” you rush out, trying to wrap your mind around his words. There’s no way he actually wants you to rule The Devildom with him. You wouldn’t know the first thing about ruling over thousands of other people—er, demons.  

His brows knit together at your response, his other hand moving to grab your free one. “(Y/n), I’m sorry. I...I should’ve said something sooner,” he whispers, staring down at your hands now. This only confuses you more though. 

“Tell me what sooner?” 

He’s silent for a long moment, trying to gather the right words he wants to say. “I love you. What I said back there, it’s true. I want you to be by my side and help me to run The Devildom. You have so many good ideas and suggestions, I just know you’ll make a wonderful leader.” 

Now you’re just gaping at him like a fish. 

“What? No. No, I...I can’t,” you mumble, pulling your hands out of his. He just pulls them right back to him though. 

“You can’t? Can’t what? Be with me?” he asks softly, his voice sounding close to breaking, just like his heart. 

“No! No, I...I want to be with you. I love you too. I just...I don’t know the first thing when it comes to ruling over demons, most of which want to eat me,” you reply, trying to sound playful and joking but failing, your words being too true and hitting too close to home.

That didn’t stop Diavolo from smashing his lips to yours for a passionate kiss though. “That doesn’t matter. None of it does as long as I get to be with you. I’ll even step down from being King for you,” he mumbles against your lips after you two pull back for air. 

“No, don’t do that. These people need you just as much as I do. I’ll learn how to rule with time. Just stay by my side, okay?” you whisper back, pulling away from his face enough to look up into his eyes. 

He smiles brighter than The Devildom’s moon as he nods his head rapidly. “I swear I will. I’ll help you every step of the way.” He seals his promise with another kiss...and then another...and then just one more to be sure.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

MASTERLISTS

More with Lord Diavolo

Join my discord: https://discord.gg/qnDxJ6rr67 

Tag List: @katelynwithpaint, @buzzybeebee, @stressylexy, @jungialo, @fanfictwarrior, @ohbbobeyme, @zeldan7, & @otome-otakuwu ✦ if you would like to be added or removed, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

[uwuwriting]

Denki, Dabi and Bakugou in a secret relationship

Request: hii!! i loved your post about the secret relationship being exposed and i was wondering if you could do the same for dabi bakugo and denki - anonymous

Um this was supposed to go up yesterday, I had queued it but tumblr decided to just deleted. Oh well. I hope you like it you guys even though its a day late. This was fun to write. Love ya. 💖💖💖

rules

warnings: some sexy times mentions, fluff

Kaminari Denki

-Kaminari is an idiot.

-I don’t even know who you’ve managed to keep your relationship a secret.

-90% sure the whole school knows and just pretends to be oblivious. 

-Anyways.

-It kinda bothers him that he has to keep it a secret. 

-He wants to scoop you up and spin you around in the hallways, hug you after a really rough training session with Bakubro, kiss you when you are being extra extra cute. 

-Plus he wants to brag to the other idiots for getting a girlfriend first. 

-But alas he respects your wishes and tries to keep it all under wraps. 

-Your parents are pro heroes and have warned you about the dangers of dating since you are their kid. 

-Villains wouldn’t hesitate to threaten you with your significant other if it means they’ll get to your parents. 

-So now Kaminari is stuck sneaking in your dorm late at night only to spend a few hours with you and give you as much kisses as he can fit in the little time you have. 

-Surprisingly he has kept it a secret for almost a year now. 

-No slip ups, no marks on his skin after a spice night, none of your clothes could be found in his room whatsoever.

-Apart from his usual flirty nature towards you, there was nothing that could indicate that you two were an item. 

-Now being in your third year, things had gotten rather serious with your hero works.

-Most of you if not all had been working along side a pro hero for the last year or two but that didn’t mean they would take you in after high school. 

-Every student had to wait for the acceptance letter from the agency or an agency in general and they would be set for their hero work after school. 

-You had been working with a hero agency since your first year and you were pretty happy. 

-But the pro hero you had been with decided that after you were done with your hero studies, he would retire leaving you with no agency to boost your career after school. 

-Kaminari was as devastated as you were.

-He tried comforting you as much as he could, extra hugs and kisses, more snacks and movie nights, anything to help you cope with the fact that you would be back to the starting line once school was over. 

-He hated seeing you cry. 

-Then the unthinkable happened. 

-Mt.Lady was a well known hero and one with a desired sidekick position that no one seemed to really fill. 

-You had just helped her stop a major villain attack tricking the villain and capturing him before he could do any real damage in the area. 

-To say that Mt.Lady was impressed was an understatement. 

-She contacted your hero agency and asked if you had already signed a deal with them.

-You can see where this is going.

-When you got the notice from Mt. Lady’s agency you were over the moon and so was Kaminari. 

-He was so happy that the person he loved the most was finally getting what she deserved. 

-He had dragged you to the janitor’s closet to give you his personal congratulations, catching the attention of a certain red head.

-He kissed you like there was no tomorrow, his arms keeping you as close as possible, flush to his chest as he peppered your face and neck with feather light kisses. 

- “I’m so proud of you babe!”

-You tried to keep your giggles on the down low to no avail since Kaminari’s goal was to make you laugh. 

-For a long moment you didn’t care if someone found you, you were so happy and so comfortable in Denki’s arms that you didn’t want to leave the closet and go back to your hidden lives. 

-Then you saw the light coming from the door, getting ready to lightly scold Kaminari for leaving the door open when you made eye contact with Kirishima......and Mina ..... and Sero..... and somewhere in the far back with a pair of ruby red eyes.

- “Babygirl is everything alright?”

-He hadn’t seen them yet, then he followed your line of vision and the man has never yeeted you out of his arms faster in his life.

-Your friends just stared at you in complete shock for a full minute before Bakugou broke the silence. 

- “Oi you own me ramen Kirishima.”

Dabi

-With this guy I’m not surprised that you managed to keep it a secret. 

-Oh no no no.

-I’m surprised you managed to get him into a relationship.

-It wasn’t easy though you would give him that. 

-You were part of the LoV of course and well you didn’t really take any of their shit. 

-The only person you respected was Kurogiri and that was borderline pity. 

-He had to babysit a 20 year old killing machine with issues, many issues, many many issues. 

-When Dabi approached you with his signature flirty and I-only-do-one-night-stands-babygirl attitude, you being the idiot that you are took the bait.

-The LoV knows of yalls nights together but they only thought that that was it.

-Dabi slept around and you were a really attractive person. 

-Plus they knew you both were bored so sex was, to their eyes, the only solution. 

-What they didn’t know though was that Dabi was starting to catch feelings and soon enough he hated seeing you remotely talking with another human being. 

-Then that fateful mission happened and the deal was sealed. 

-You were spying on Overhaul and his lackeys, hidden in his underground lab watching as they went around doing stuff.

-Then you heard a childish scream and it was the first time Dabi saw fear flash in your eyes. 

-You turned around following the source of the screams absolutely ignoring Dabi’s protests and threats. 

-It was like you were in a daze and Dabi felt the terror sink his claws in his throat as you passed by so many of Overhaul’s members nearly getting caught. 

-When you reached the glass door that led into Eri’s experiment lab, he saw the color drain from your face and your knees buckling. 

-He caught you before you hit the floor dragging you away from the lab door despite the fact that you clawed at his coat to put you down. 

-He felt his shoulder getting wet and that’s when he saw the tears that were falling freely down your cheeks. 

-He had managed to calm you down long enough to convince you to leave before you got caught but luck wasn’t on your side when one of the lackeys spotted you. 

-Dabi was a few feet away from the exit, becoming reckless at the sight of freedom not noticing the masked individual pointing his gun at him. 

-You noticed though. 

-And you got in the way, pushing Dabi to the ground as the quirk cancelling bullet pierced your side leaving you to fall to the floor with a grunt and a strangled pained moan.

-The next few minutes were a blur.

-Dabi didn’t remember how he got you out of there or how he was now on a rooftop with you pressed flush against his chest as the affects of the bullet made you tremble. 

- “Shh doll, shhh. I’m here I got you.”

-He knew your trembling was not entirely because of the bullet, he saw how your eyes glassed over at the sight of Eri back in the lab and he knew that this had something to do with your past. 

-He used to get the same glassy eyed look on his face when he would see Endeavour on the news shortly after his “death”.

-Things changed after that. 

-He didn’t take you to the hideout that night, he brought you to his apartment where he helped you clean up your wound and calm down. 

- “I know it’s not my place to ask but what the hell to you happened back there?”

-When you explained what you’ve been through and how those screams brought back things you thought you had long ago buried, he was left gawking at you. 

-For some weird reason he believed that you were just a brat who ran away from home on some rebellious whim. 

- “Ugh what am I saying? You don’t give a damn! Why did I even-”

- “Touya.”

- “What?”

- “My real name is Touya, I-I wanted you to know.”

-Sharing a heart felt night analyzing your past trauma with someone you sleep with is one way to get yourself into a relationship.

-You both agreed to keep it secret and you did keep it like that for a long time, a very long time. 

-The LoV never truly found out. 

-Some had their suspicions sure, Mister Compress had even made a bet with Toga but you two never gave them any further hints apart from the constant paired up missions you went on. 

-The only one who knew was Kurogiri. 

-He had caught you two spending the night together on a rooftop, all cuddled up together your hands intertwined as you looked up at the stars. 

-He was getting back from an emergency snack run when he saw the familiar glow of Dabi’s blue flames and your characteristic giggles. 

-He never said anything and when Dabi came to him to ask for some pregnancy facts, he knew that he truly loved you. 

-No one ever knew and no one will ever know. 

-Unless the run into you two in five years while you’re out for a walk with your son. 

Bakugou Katsuki

-Sparky sparky boom boom man is a lil bitch.

-Don’t try to argue you know that too. 

-You just need to accept it.

-His way to approach you was by insulting the living shit out of you before making you reach the tip of an anger fit. 

-He knew how to press your buttons and it made you fume. 

-You had to give it to him he was hella attractive and his true personality shined through his faced at times. 

-And so did his worry for you.

-You got together after his kidnapping. 

-He suffered from nightmares after the incident and one night he came to your dorm, trembling and cold sweat running down his spine. 

-He had no idea why his feet led him to your room, he just knew that you were now wrapping him in a fluffy blanket and putting on a Disney movie as you hugged him so so tightly. 

-He slept over and the next morning he confessed. 

-Actually you both confessed but those are useless details. 

-In reality it wasn’t even a confession with words. 

-You both woke up facing each other, your noses touching and I don’t know who leaned in first but next thing you knew you were kissing his hand cupping you cheek while the other intertwined with yours. 

-Keeping your relationship a secret with this one is easy. 

-He is still being a lil bitch to you and you are still sassing him back.

-Behind closed doors he is kinda sweet and caring not a lot though because even with you he has to uphold his reputation. 

-After some time though he calms down and is a cuddle bug. 

-Like he will tackle you on the bed the moment you close the door to his dorm, restricting any movement until he is satisfied with the cuddles. 

-Baby even said ‘I love you’ first awwww!!

-He was so shy about it. 

-Anyways.

-That’s a story for another time. 

-He doesn’t really care about keeping it a secret anymore. 

-He’s low key tired of hiding. 

-Much like Kaminari he wants to kiss you whenever he wants, hold you and hug you till you can’t breathe after he gets back to the dorms after a rough patrol with his hero study. 

-But oh well the cat isn’t out of the bag yet and you being third years now you couldn’t really do something about it. 

-You spend so much time with him that you would think that some of your classmates would like sniff you out. 

-But no.

-They all dumb af.

-You would spend a lot of time with him and the Bakusquad since your first year so they just think you’re really good friends. 

-Todoroki kinda knows but he doesn’t at the same time. 

-Some mannerisms remind him while he was in a secret relationship before Momo found out but then he sees how Bakugou treats you just like any other person so he is really confused. 

-More confused than usual. 

-Now you got outed by the man himself. 

-Bakugou is not good with jealousy. 

-Jealousy and Bakugou should never go hand in hand.

-You were talking to Mina in class, leaning on the desk behind you. 

-Your skirt had ridden up show casing your thighs making Bakugou think back to some noises you made a few nights ago. 

-If he got hard he would blame you and he would be extra pissy. 

-He was enjoying the show though. 

-He watched you like a hawk.

-The way your body leaned back making your legs straighten and flex slightly or how he could see the hickey he had left right at the base of your neck the other night that you’ve tried to cover with make up. 

-He could see it because he knew it was there, to an outsider everything was normal. 

-He was jolted out of his daze by Mineta’s voice. 

-And the sound of your name on his lips. 

- “Look at Y/N’s thighs! She could suffocate me with those legs and I would thank her!”

-Kirishima smacked him upside the head trying to shut him up. 

-Kaminari was slowly escaping the scene because he saw the small sparks in his friend’s hand at the comment. 

-He chose life. 

-Mineta though didn’t stop. 

- “I could lose myself between those legs. Oh the noises she must make.”

-Now what happened next is a huge question mark. 

-The end result however was Mineta almost being blasted out the window and into space and Bakugou almost popping the vein on his forehead. 

-You had to get in between them and try to calm down your boyfriend. 

-Most of your classmates had long forgotten Mineta and his whining and had zoned in on your hands on Bakugou’s chest or on his arm that had wrapped around your waist in an attempt to push you behind him. 

- “You ever dare speak my girlfriend’s name I’m blasting you to the next dimension.”

- “Katsuki please calm down it’s fine.”

-Legit you both forgot that your relationship had been a secret for the past three years. 

-You floated back into reality when Present Mic himself asked. 

- “YOu TWo aRe aN iTeM?????”

-Chaos ensued and a crap ton of explanations. 

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan​ @the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​

[mikareo]

⌗ RATIONALISM ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (6.6k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, rin's world has been in black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin's mom is reader’s art mentor, rin hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn (like a nice simmering burn), swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, rin sucks at flirting (very canon of him...) author's note; there'll be a part two titled "romanticism" eventually. idk when tho asjkl (i’m a slow writer XD)

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Rin knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Rin, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Rin hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Rin is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Rin purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Rin’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him. 

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Rin is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Itoshi's son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Rin doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before. 

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Rin feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that. 

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Rin doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Rin recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Rin can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Itoshi!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes. 

“Oh, Rin! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Sae decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Rin is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail. 

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired. 

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Rin, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does. 

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea, ______.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Rin’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’? 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Itoshi. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Rin is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize. 

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality. 

God, he’s so bad at flirting. 

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time. 

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense. 

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Rin is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too. 

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together. 

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin). 

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind. 

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will. 

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. 

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear. 

‘Hello, ______. You know me.’

Perfect. 

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Ring can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Sae still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Rin. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Rin is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan. 

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this. 

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so. 

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Rin’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often). 

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again. 

“Shit!” Rin hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?” 

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Rin hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution. 

Rin is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years. 

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Rin finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his. 

“Thanks, ______, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world. 

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings -  to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color. 

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of. 

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his. 

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand… 

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand. 

Rin doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same. 

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions. 

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Rin happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Rin despite this. 

“Really?” Rin dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?” 

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.” 

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence. 

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Rin - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.” 

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now. 

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea. 

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. 

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything. 

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one. 

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.” 

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Rin tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?” 

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Rin, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands. 

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Rin flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces. 

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Rin actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared. 

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Rin been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger. 

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Rin, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Rin can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?” 

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Rin doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in. 

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression. 

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Rin, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free. 

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

part two is ready!!!!! read romanticism here

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[avnkin]

Shake On It [ 2 ]

Author’s note: I was really in my harry feels whilst writing this so sorry about that lmao also I proofread this so many times and it still SUCKS ASS. I posted this entire thing earlier from my phone but tumblr deleted everything except the title so yeah I’m sorry if there aren’t italics and bolds on some of the words where they should be but i’m just to lazy to go through the entire thing and find them all again, maybe i’ll do it later but who knows. I do not own harry potter or the storyline/characters they are the intellectual property of J.K Rowling. (not my gif)

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: There’s little to nothing Draco values more than his reputation so when he sees it slipping, he’ll do anything in his power to catch it.

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader / Platonic!Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, foul language, asshole!draco and daddy issues lol

This is an AU so all the information doesn’t exactly line up with the HP storyline for example Voldemort hasn’t returned but still exists so little from Harry’s history changes but Dumbledore’s still alive.

After yours and Draco’s interaction the other night you’d strongly begun reconsidering his offer to accompany him to the ball, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought, I mean what’s the worst that could happen? So many things your anxiety was quick to answer, the most important one being that Harry and Ron would probably never speak to you again.

“Y/N are you even listening to me?” Hermione’s voice snapped you out of your trance, her blurry hand waving in front of your face, you quickly began blinking in an attempt to bring your surroundings back into focus, “sorry” you then muttered sending her an apologetic smile before gesturing for her to continue with whatever she’d been talking about.

“As I was saying, I need a cute date for the ball, who do you think will annoy Ron the most?” you were about to answer when a voice from behind you beat you to it.

“Annoy who the most?”

You rolled your eyes having a pretty clear idea of who it was, you reluctantly turned around your eyes immediately locking onto Draco’s who stood there in all his glory a smug smile plastered onto his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me who invited you to this conversation?” you retorted before turning back to Hermione who had an amused grin on her face causing you to lightly kick her from underneath the table, you didn’t want Draco putting two and two together and realizing you’d talked about him with Hermione.

“I was just wondering if you’d changed your mind about going with me to the ball” Draco cajoled causing your eyes to widen realizing you still hadn’t told Hermione about the fact he’d asked you in the first place.

You sent Hermione an an ‘i’ll tell you later’ look before twisting your body to face Draco’s who now had his hands placed in his robe pockets, his self assurance radiating off of him despite the fact you’d rejected him only days before, the boy had clearly never been told ‘no’ his entire life.

“No and I won’t be, so run along” you stated before making a shooing gesture with your hand which only seemed to have the opposite effect you’d intended it too, since he began to take a few steps forward, licking his lips as he looked you up and down.

“Yes you will” he stated matter of factly and it took all self control you had not to smack him right across the face, who did he think he was?

“Is it really that hard to get it into that tiny little brain of yours that there are girls alive who don’t like you” you practically growled missing how Hermione’s attention had drifted away from the scene unfolding before her and to the two figures who had begun making their way towards you.

“Yes because there aren’t an-”

“Malfoy find someone else to bother can’t you see she’s not interested” Harry cut him off as him and Ron now fully came into view, the two of them standing tall behind Draco whose attention had now shifted from you to them.

“Oh look who it is, dumb and dumber” chortles could be heard from the Slytherin table at Draco’s words causing you to roll your eyes, it was pathetic how they would lick up every single thing he did.

“Offers still there Y/L/N” Draco turned to you before he slowly started to ascend back towards the Slytherin table where he was greeted with numerous pats on the back as he squeezed himself in between Crabbe and Goyle.

“What a slimy git” Ron huffed as he took the seat next to yours, immediately beginning to scoop all the food in view onto his plate.

“What did he want anyways?” Harry asked resting his elbows on the wooden house table as he sat down opposite you.

“He asked if I wanted to go to the ball with him” you feigned disgust as you shook your head, hoping he would drop the subject, you’d never been a good liar and if anyone could see through you it would surely be your best friend.

“Just tell him you’re going with me if he asks again, then he’ll leave you alone” Harry suggested, Ron nodding along with him as he stuffed a chicken wing into his mouth.

“Yeah- yeah ‘course thank you Harry” you scratched the back of your head cringing at the obvious hint of disappointment lingering in your words which thankfully no one but Hermione seemed to notice since she reached her hand out across the table and laid it gently atop of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You gave her a small smile before your eyes began dancing around the Great Hall somehow coming to a halt on Draco’s figure, he had his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he engaged in conversation with Blaise.

No one could say that Draco Malfoy wasn’t handsome, rude and a prat? Sure, but unattractive no. He was the only boy you’d ever seen who was able to pull of such a hair color and as your eyes travelled along his sharp jawline up to his chiseled cheekbones you felt the uncontrollable feeling of heat rush up to your face as his eyes met yours.

He sent you a wink before turning back around, you mirroring his actions the feeling of butterflies swarming your stomach slowly melting away as you pushed any remaining thoughts of him aside.

-

The ball was only a few days from now and you and Hermione had decided to take a trip down to Hogsmeade in an attempt to shop for dresses, not wanting to repeat what had happened last year when you both had made the mistake of trusting your parents with your attires, the dresses they’d choosen had arrived the same night as the ball and you had been forced to show up in matching bright pink gowns since it had been too late to go and buy new ones. You’d been the laughing stocks off the school for a couple months after that, never again.

You cringed at the memory that would surely be edged into your mind forever but as you pushed open the wooden door that led into Gladrags Wizardwear you found yourself entranced with all the beautiful dresses littered around the shop.

“Have you decided who you’re gonna go to the ball with?” Hermione hummed as her fingers trailed over a blue gown that hung along with hundreds of others at the front of the store.

“Yeah I think I’m just gonna go with Harry, I don’t want to risk my friendship with either him or Ron by going with Draco” you sighed not feeling the need to hide your disappointment in front of her.

“I get that but if you really do like Malfoy you should just ease Harry and Ron into the idea of you two being together” Hermione shrugged in response before removing the dress she’d been looking at from its hanger and placing it into her arms as you continued browsing.

“How am I supposed to do that you know how much they hate him” you sighed as you lightly dragged your hand over the multiple fabrics that hung on the clothing rag next to you.

“You could dance with him at the ball” Hermione suggested, you nodded silently in agreement before coming to an abrupt halt as a certain dress caught your eye. It was champagne colored and made out of silk with a thigh high split running down the side of it, not the type of dress you’d usually go for but nevertheless you carefully placed it into your arms deciding their was no harm in seeing how it looked on you.

“Who are you going with?” you changed the subject not feeling like talking about Draco anymore, it was really killing your mood.

“Hero Finnigan asked me” your eyes widened at Hermione’s words. Hero Finnigan was in the year above you and was quite the heartthrob around school, he’d been known for having a new girl underneath his arm every week and it seemed that this time around it was going to be Hermione, much to your surprise.

“Please tell me you said yes, if anyone’s going to make Ron jealous it’s definitely him” you assured her, looping your arm with hers as you continued skimming through the store.

“Of course I said yes, I’m not that daft” she shook her head before continuing, “I don’t know though I-I guess I was just hoping that in the end Ron would ask me, but apparently he’s going with Lavender” her nose scrunched up at the mere mention of her name as she let out a heavy sigh.

Your heart ached for your best friend as you put an arm around her shoulder giving her a tight side hug, a subtle way of letting her know you were there for her no matter what.

“Enough about that let’s go try on our dresses and we can tell each other what we think” Hermione was obviously trying to distract herself but you didn’t feel like pressing the subject any further so you only nodded in agreement as you started searching for the changing rooms, it was a surprisingly big shop compared to how small it had appeared from the outside.

Once you’d finally found them at the far end of the shop you both entered separate rooms, simultaneously pulling the curtains shut shielding you from the watchful eyes of the other customers, although there weren’t that many.

You took one last look at the dress letting your fingers wander down the silky fabric before carefully removing it from its hanger and slipping your legs in between the opening.

Once you got it on, you weren’t able to reach the zipper on the back, no matter how hard you tried so you stealthily peeked your head out behind the curtain and seeing no one you began to make your way towards Hermione’s changing room hoping she could be of some assistance.

“Need some help with that?” a voice stopped you dead in your tracks, swiftly turning to see Draco standing there, a mischievous smirk resting on his lips as he took a step closer to you.

“Are you stalking me or something?” you shook your head, furrowing your brows once you noticed how his eyes weren’t meeting yours, instead they were trailing up and down your body, devouring every inch of you.

“Eyes up here Malfoy” you teased which made him finally look up at you, but instead of replying with a snide comment of his own he threw the suit he’d been holding onto a clothing rag nearby and slowly began to stride towards you.

You weren’t able to get a word out as he tenderly placed his ring clad fingers on top of your bare shoulders scanning your face for approval witch you granted by carefully nodding your head taking in a deep breath as you felt him begin to slowly turn you around.

You shivered once the cold metal wrapped around his fingers began to run down your arms, his fingertips then gently dancing down the small of your back in a painfully teasing manner.

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy sigh as he took a step closer to you his lips ghosting over your ear as he began to pull the zipper upwards causing you to almost involuntarily lean into him. As soon as you did his scent consumed you, he smelled of expensive cologne and spearmint, even better than you could have ever imagined.

He stopped as the zip reached the bottom strands of your hair, he thought for a moment before he carefully wrapped his hand around your h/c locks, twisting them gently around his fingers before letting them fall over the side of your shoulder, the tips of his fingers ever so slightly running across the side of your neck as he moved them back down to where he’d stopped.

You gently tilted your head, closing your eyes in content once you felt his hot breath fan over your neck, you leaned your head back at the sensation resting it atop of Draco’s shoulder, shivering once you felt his lips ghost over the sweet spot just behind your ear, one of his arms finding your waist as the other continued to work its way up your back.

Once you heard the faint sound of the zipper click as it reached its closing you slowly opened your eyes feeling him take an impossible step closer to you, your behind now pressed into his front as he trailed his hands down to your hips.

“You clean up quite nice Y/L/N” he breathed out as he began running his hands up to your stomach before finally reaching your waist where they abruptly stopped so that he could turn you back around, you let out a gasp at the sudden forced movement your hands clinging onto his shoulders to prevent you from falling.

You opened your mouth but no words came out as you were consumed by the feeling of his fingers digging into your sides, his lips mere centimeters from yours you almost unknowingly began to lean in.

He mirrored your movements but just before your lips could meet someone cleared their throat from behind you causing you to jump away from him, frowning at the sudden loss of contact.

Once your eyes met Hermione’s you quickly cleared your throat acting as if nothing had (almost) happened, she raised an eyebrow obviously confused at the scene unfolding before her.

You turned back towards Draco who was looking at you almost expectantly, “I’m going with Harry to the ball” you suddenly felt the need to tell him, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea from the little moment you had just shared.

“Potter seriously?” Draco scoffed in return before making his way around you and Hermione, your eyes following his figure and as soon as he was completely out of sight you finally felt like you could breath again, staggering backwards into Hermione who quickly put her arms up to catch you.

“Oh I’m in trouble”

-

You’d decided to buy the dress you’d tried on in the store, even though every time you put it on you couldn’t shake away the feeling of Draco being pressed against you as his lips hovered dangerously close to your neck.... You shook your head in hopes that it would toss the memory out of your mind, you couldn’t be thinking about Draco right now, not when Harry was standing just outside the Gryffindor common room patiently waiting for you to get ready.

“Can you zip me up?” you turned your back to Hermione who quickly rushed to your side swiftly beginning to pull the zipper on the back of your dress upwards. As you closed your eyes you got momentary flashes off Draco’s ring clad fingers wrapped around your body and you tried with all your might to shake the tingling feeling you got away, but nothing seemed to be working.

“Okay do a little spin for me” you let out a laugh at Hermione’s words but nevertheless you began spinning around your dorm playfully, letting your hair fall across your shoulders as Hermione threw her head back in laughter.

“You look incredible” she complemented as you engulfed each other in tight hugs mentally preparing yourselves for the night ahead.

“Oh please, I’m nothing compared to you” you stated linking your arms together before the two of you began to make your way to your awaiting dates.

Once the door to the Gryffindor common room opened the first thing you saw was Harry engaged in conversation with Hero, you could tell by his uncomfortable shuffling that the exchange had been awkward causing you to let out a small giggle which captured the attention of the two boys.

Harry’s mouth hung open as he let his eyes wander all over you, from the thigh-high front split on the front of your dress to your flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair, he was speechless, if you two weren’t best friends he’d probably be tripping over his own two feet by now.

“Well this is certainly an upgrade from last year” Harry let out a teasing laugh as he bowed down to take your hand in his.

“Oh shut up” you feigned annoyance as you stood beside him, feeling goosebumps run up your arms as his hand came to rest on your lower back, leading the two of you towards the Great Hall.

“In all seriousness Y/N, you look amazing” Harry gushed as he pulled you into his side. An uncontrollable blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words as you let your head fall on his shoulder.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Potter” you teased, the two of you letting out simultaneous fits of laughter as you followed closely behind Hero and Hermione.

After a moment of silence Harry suddenly spoke out, “Ron was going to ask her you know” the two of you shared knowing glances at his words, it was so painfully obvious that your other two best friends were head over heels in love with each other but neither of them dared to make the first move, either to scared of being rejected or ruining their many years worth of friendship.

“Figures” you shrugged a comfortable silence overtaking you as you walked over to one of the many rows of couples stood in front of the entrance leading into the Great Hall.

As the doors begun to open you excitedly smiled up at Harry but before you were able to move forward another couple had harshly pushed their way in front of you and you were immediately able to identify the mob of platinum blond hair.

“Excuse me” you rolled your eyes causing the two of them to turn their heads towards you, you couldn’t hold in your scoff once you saw who he’d decided to bring, Pansy Parkinson of all the people in this bloody school.

“Don’t start anything Malfoy” Harry warned before either of them were able to get a word out, it looked like Pansy was going to throw a snide comment your way but stopped as soon as her eyes met Draco’s, she let out a huff before reluctantly turning back around.

“You look dashing” Draco complimented, you could feel Harry tense up beside you and you snaked an arm around his waist in an attempt to calm him down, the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

“Shouldn’t you be telling that to your date?” you retorted gesturing towards Pansy who seemed to be strangely quiet, usually she couldn’t keep her mouth shut no matter the circumstance, but you weren’t complaining.

Draco didn’t respond instead he just shrugged his shoulders before turning back around his arm slipping down towards Pansy’s lower back, you felt the inkling feeling of jealousy begin to form inside you but you forced yourself to push it away giving Harry’s bicep a reassuring squeeze knowing it had taken all his might not to hex Draco then and there.

As soon as Draco and Pansy had left you two be you quickly pulled Harry along with you into the hall so you wouldn’t get trampled by the entourage of students crowded behind you who were also squeezing their way through the double doors.

You intertwined your fingers with Harry’s as you took in your surroundings. It looked even better than last year, snow was falling from the starry black ceiling stopping just a few feet above you, mistletoe’s and every traditional Christmas decoration you could think of were littered all across the hall and instead of the usual house tables there were hundreds of smaller silver ones, each having it’s own floating candle above them.

Once you spotted a decent place to sit you tugged onto Harry’s arm gesturing for him to follow you towards the table your eyes were set on, somehow along the way you managed to spot Hermione and you threw your arm up gesturing for her hand Hero to come sit with you and Harry.

It wasn’t long until the chair beside you was being pulled from underneath the table and Hermione placed her self atop of it along with Hero, you happily greeted both of them but all joy inside you seemed to fade away once you noticed Ron and Lavender heading your way.

Oh please no

Ron placed a chaste kiss on Lavender’s cheek as he pointed towards your table.

Don’t sit here

Lavender eagerly began to nod following behind Ron as they inched closer and closer.

Anywhere but here

Despite your silent praying Ron was now pulling a chair out for Lavender before taking a seat himself and as soon as he did an awkward tension filled the air. You grabbed Hermione’s hand from underneath the table giving it a reassuring squeeze noticing how she’d tensed up once Lavender had bitterly greeted her.

“Whose this then?” Ron could be heard from the other end of the table, you rolled your eyes at his tone, how did Hermione not realize he was jealous hell even Hero seemed to notice it as his eyes uncomfortably shifted between Hermione’s angered expression and Ron’s annoyed one.

“Hero Finnigan, and you?” he reached his hand out over the table and for a split moment your eyes had widened thinking Ron was actually going to sit there and ignore him but thankfully the ginger haired boy reluctantly reached over the table and connected his hand with Hero’s.

“Ron, Ron Weasely”

“Weasely, eh? could have guessed, I’m good friends with your brothers” Hero attempted to make conversation but Ron didn’t seem all to keen on it only muttering a “whatever” underneath his breath causing you to kick him from underneath the table, you gave him a warning glance to which he replied by throwing a small ‘piss off’ in your direction.

Before you could begin to scold him for his rude behaviour Dumbledore’s voice tore throughout the Great Hall preventing you from doing so although you had a feeling that if it hadn’t had been him it probably would have been Harry.

“Welcome students to our annual Jingle Ball, may I say you all look wonderful tonight” Dumbledore gingerly smiled, his wand lightly pressed against the side of his neck as he gestured towards the numerous students all dressed in their finest attires.

“We’ll start the evening with a three course meal prepared by our lovely house elves” claps begun to sound around the Great Hall which you quickly joined in on, smiling brightly once you noticed the numerous elves clumsily standing up from their seats and waving at the students.

“Once you’ve finished eating a band will be preforming for us and I hope that you and your dates will be joining me and McGonagall on the dance floor” laughter sounded around the hall at the last part of his sentence but instead of joining in like you usually would you found yourself draining out all noise as your eyes met Draco’s.

He’d already been looking your way and you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips as his icy grey eyes burned through yours, you felt like there was some type of force drawing you to him and you couldn’t do anything about it, even though your head was screaming at you that shouldn’t be developing feelings for someone as arrogant and cruel as Draco Malfoy your heart seemed to be having trouble following.

-

Once everyone had finished eating you were eager to get away from your table, somehow Hero and Ron had begun a full blown argument which you and Hermione had to quickly shut down by asking Lavender to take Ron somewhere else until he’d calm down, that boy could not control his temper if his life depended on it.

You’d managed to cheer Hermione up after the entire ordeal telling her that she should focus on herself for once and have fun, thankfully she’d listened and you couldn’t help the giddy expression overtaking your facial features as you watched her and Hero sway together on the dance floor.

“Care to dance M’ lady” Harry merrily bowed down in front of you reaching his hand out towards yours, you placed a hand on your chest in feigned surprise before gently laying your hand in Harry’s palm.

“Why, I would be delighted to” you attempted a posh accent unable to contain the giggle that fell past your lips as you let Harry lead you to the dance floor.

As soon as his arm had wrapped around your waist and the other intertwined with your hand another slow song began playing, most of the students were still digesting their food so their weren’t many on the dance floor, it was only you and Harry, Hero and Hermione and about six other couples.

You leaned your head on Harry’s chest letting him slowly sway you to the soothing melody of the song. “You know I love you right?” Harry mumbled as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

“I love you too, silly” you brightly smiled up at him, you both knew there weren’t harbored feelings for the other hidden behind those three words so you had no trouble voicing it to each other.

You tightly wrapped your arms around his waist continuing to slowly move around the dance floor. You knew how hard his life had been leading up to this point, losing his family, Sirius, and then Cedric he always had the inkling fear that one day he’d lose you or Ron or Hermione so you wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

Sometimes silence speaks louder than words and you knew you were saying everything you needed just by being there with him, it felt like hours that you’d stayed that way wrapped in each others arms but soon students begun to make their way to the dance floor so you and Harry decided to take a short break, heading hand in hand back towards your table.

-

Unbeknownst to you whilst you and Harry had been in your own world gently dancing with each other for all eyes to see, Draco had been enduring pure torture over at his table.

“I can’t believe she choose Potter over you”

“That’s gotta sting”

“How’s it feel being the second choice”

“Hope you’re ready to do my homework for the rest of the year”

Was all he had heard for the last hour as he’d watched you and Harry dance with one another. No matter the threats he threw their way and menacing looks they just wouldn’t stop, he felt as if his power of being crowned the Slytherin prince was slipping away from him, since in his world losing to someone like Harry Potter was as low as you could get.

Then and there Draco decided he wasn’t going to endure it anymore he was making his move tonight no matter the circumstance.

-

“You know Ginny’s been eyeing you all night” you wiggled your eyebrows nudging Harry’s shoulder who awkwardly began shifting in his seat as he mumbled a ‘really’ in response to which you nodded.

“Go ask her too dance!” you stood up so you could force him out of his seat along with you, you subtly pointed towards Ginny’s direction who had swiftly looked away as soon as her eyes had met Harry’s.

“But what about you?” Harry frowned realizing you didn’t have anyone to spend time with if he’d leave since both Hermione and Ron seemed to be preoccupied with their dates.

“Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine! now go” you ushered him forward giving him a reassuring thumbs up as he began to walk towards her.

“You’re quite the matchmaker aren’t you?” Hermione had suddenly walked up behind you and you both watched in amusement as Harry almost fell over twice before he was able to reach Ginny who had happily agreed to dance with him.

“Where’s Hero?” you asked as you turned to face Hermione eyes wandering around the hall in an attempt to spot her date, “oh he’s just gone to get us some drinks, you’re welcome to join us if you’d like” Hermione offered but you shook your head.

“No its okay honestly I’m fine” you assured her, you did not want to spend the evening third wheeling your best friend and her date.

Hermione began opening her mouth surely to convince you to join them but stopped once her eyes landed on something behind you or rather someone behind you.

“Care to dance?”

You swiftly turned around to see Draco with his hand reaching out towards you, you tried your best to contain the smile that was so desperately gnawing at the sides of your mouth as you turned back to Hermione who was giving you knowing smile.

“Find me if you need anything alright?” you eagerly nodded at her words only turning back to Draco once Hermione had fully vanished into the crowd.

“One dance, that’s it” you attempted to sound serious but it came off in a more teasing manner as you let your hand fall into Draco’s.

“Agreed”

As soon as you’d reached the middle of the dance floor, Draco’s arm had snaked around your waist pulling you into him whilst the other intertwined your fingers. You let out a giggle as he began twirling you around, gracefully catching you back in his arms as both his hands moved to rest on your lower back.

“You’re quite the dancer” you complimented, without a doubt boosting Draco’s already large ego, “I know” he had replied with a knowing smirk, twirling you around one last time before pulling you flush up against him your noses bumping together since you’d already been looking up at him. You’d held the eye contact for a minute as you brightly smiled at each other before you gently let your chin rest on his shoulder as he slowly began swaying you from side to side.

As your eyes began dancing over the students you didn’t think anything could burst your happy bubble until your eyes found Harry’s who had a look of disappointment edged onto his features as he pulled away from Ginny who had frowned at his sudden dismissal as she watched him begin to make his way out of the Great Hall.

You cleared your throat as you uncomfortably began shuffling away from Draco who gave you a look of confusion as he watched you pull your hand out of his and back away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do this” you muttered before hurriedly turning around and squeezing your way through the crowd of students all huddled together on the dance floor, most of them giving you annoyed glances as you pushed them out of the way but you didn’t care all you wanted to do was find Harry. You couldn’t imagine how he’d felt once he saw you his best friend, dancing with someone who’d made his life a living hell ever since the first year.

Once you’d exited the Great Hall you frantically began looking around the empty corridors in an attempt to find Harry who’d stormed out here only moments ago.

“Y/N!” you heard Draco call from behind you but you ignored him, picking up your pace once you heard his nearing footsteps echoing around the empty hallways.

“Y/N please wait” you felt him grab ahold of your wrist swiftly turning you back to face him, his grip only tightening as you began attempting to pull your hand away.

“No! You can’t treat my friends like shit and then expect me to give in on whatever the hell you’re trying to do” you finally managed to rip your hand out of his grasp as you turned back around but he quickly ran in front of you placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place.

“Listen I’m sorry alright, bloody hell I just- I can’t stop thinking about you I don’t know how to explain it but I think I might-” he cut himself off hesitating to speak his next words unsure of how you’d react since he didn’t want to return to his friends with yet another failed attempt.

“You think you might what?” you crossed your arms over your chest glaring up at him as you watched his mouth open and close again.

“Fancy you” he finally let out, your eyes widening as you let your hands fall down to your hips. You took a few steps back until you couldn’t move any further the tall walls of the castle preventing you from doing so.

“You what?” you barely whispered and Draco took that as his chance to walk towards you placing both his hands on the wall next to you.

As you looked back up at him he slowly started to remove one hand from the wall so he could place it onto your cheek and just like he’d done in the store, he began leaning in until his lips were barely hovering above yours, you so desperately wanted to close the gap between you but a part of you was screaming to push him away and never look back, but as your eyes met his once more you couldn’t bring yourself to do it your heart taking control as he pressed his lips against your own.

Your lips continued dancing with each other at a normal pace until he’d moved to deepen the kiss swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist so you were able to loop yours around his neck, he pushed you even tighter up against the wall causing you to let out a gasp allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You ran your fingers through his hair gently pulling on the strands on the back of his head before letting your head fall to the side as he began leaving kisses down your neck his hands trailing down your sides until they wrapped around your hips pulling you even further into him.

You gently blinked your eyes open as you pulled away from him, your lips undoubtedly swollen and your lipstick smeared but you didn’t care.

“No one can know about this, not until I talk to Harry” you breathed out leaning your forehead against his as you attempted to slow your heart rate by taking deep breaths in and out.

“Of course I won’t tell anyone” he lied, he’d gotten quite good at that after having to continuously lie to his father ever since he was a child, one particular incident that he would never forget was when he’d accidentally let one of the house elves go because he didn’t know that to free them they had to be granted an item of clothing and on a particularly cold night he saw no harm in granting the elf his jacket since it had been shivering beside him and when his father had barged into his room later in the night furious at his son’s stupidity Draco had lied and told him that the elf had tricked him into doing so and upon hearing this his father had tracked the elf down and casted the unforgivable curse onto him, after that Draco lied to his father about almost everything he did to ensure something like that would never happen again.

Amongst his peers he was powerful and feared but when it came to his father he was nothing, never good enough and always in the way. School was the only place he felt he was more than his father’s words so he knew that as soon as he would make his way into the Slytherin common room the first thing he was going to do was tell his friends that he’d done it, that you were slowly but surely beginning to fall for him, which put him right back on top. 

TAGLIST:

@itzsoff @multiversegalaxygirl @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @awkwardnesshabitat @tiredplier @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @macheregrace @dobreesersei @voidmalfoy @lana-isabelle @fangirlyah @dracomalfoyswifey @lonely-kermit @mrsmyamalfoy @fuzzy-panda @sluthug @urbankaite2 @chickeebabe @classygirlything @dark-night-sky-99 @ranialih @pillowjj @im-a-stranger-thing @christinechickiee @imstillhere-butallislost @spencerreidisbootiful @hip-hopphile @justmesadgirl @gia-kerks @lilxnvm @kelly182001 @moonbug26 @gabiconstellation @sleepinmoonbean @mautand @oldschoolkiddo @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @dreams-in-blxck @stalker83005 @criesinlies @sxlted-carxrmel @moonjooniee @maskd-hearts @little-honey-bear @dobreesersei 

Let me know in my inbox or asks if you’d liked to be added, much love <333

[youryanderedaddy]

Caged bird

Summary: When your prince finally catches you, you are forced to see things his way.

Tw: female reader, kidnapping, abuse of power, slight violence, slight non-con, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior

Locked in (pt. 1)

You, the little concubine, who had managed to so quickly and mercilessly steal his heart, were standing in the corridor – delicate wrists in heavy silver handcuffs, face dirty and dusty, clothes all messy. Your eyes were shining brightly despite the heavy air and your lips were softly mumbling, whispering silent pleads and prayers. Your whole body was shaking with fear, shock and misery. The prince slowly walked towards you, only stopping when the distance between you was nonexistent. You could feel his minty breath tickling the hairs on your exposed neck and it made you shiver like a million of ice-cold arrows trough your heart.

‘’My love, I can finally see your beautiful face again.’’ The man spoke quietly, bordering on a whisper. His fingers were stroking your hair gently, yet still pulling at the ends every time he got to them. “I showed you nothing, but pure kindness and adoration, and what did you do in return?” Suddenly William tugged at your silky locks and dragged you to the wall, finally slamming your frail, tired body roughly against it. He captured your wrists with his own and suppressed the need to devour you right then and there.

“You ran away, my love.” The prince purred in your ear and it made your blood run cold. “You toyed with my endless trust, you broke my heart and left me to suffer all on my own.” He clenched his teeth in an angry fashion. ‘’Damn traitor.’’ Will cursed under his breath, but that did little to stop the tears of raw emotion streaming down his cheeks. He felt so hurt and betrayed by you it was hard to even think about it. “Why? Why did you do it? ” The rage – filled man pushed you further into the stone-cold wall. You looked up at him, almost apathetic towards the fucked up situation. You couldn’t find enough strength in your heart to fill sorry for the pitiful ruler.

“My lord, please excuse my stupid, impulsive behavior. I was unhappy at your palace. The golden walls and honey – colored collars feel like a cage when you are miserable. ” You admitted after a while, staring deep into the prince’s cold eyes. Some pathetic, forgotten part of you still believed that he would realize his faults and the pain he had caused you. “I wish for nothing more than freedom - to be able to travel around the world and explore its secrets, it’s my only desire.” You continued carefully. Every word felt as if you were dancing on thin ice, applying more pressure could result in a big crash of suffocation, drowning and agony. “I also wish to see my family at least once. I beg you, Sir, let me go.” You knew your cheeks were rosy now due to the humiliating nature of your dolorous pleading but you had no other choice. Will looked at you for a second before smashing his cold blue lips into your soft warm ones, in a mockery of the sweet gesture, shared between lovers. His kiss was harsh and desperate, violent, without a trace of passion or consideration. It conveyed all his scattered emotions – sadness, hurt, anger, all mixed together in a sloppy wet mess of tongue and salty tears. By now the prince wasn’t sure who they belonged to.

‘’Dearest, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Will muttered darkly, while holding you close. “But you will. I will make sure of it.”

Three hours later you were still crying on the floor. Your wrists were covered in bruises from the handcuffs and your weak bare feet felt numb to the heavy metal around your ankles. Your pearly white tears were falling to the ground. You were inside a small pitch black room all alone again. Sickening, terrifying and empty, this was your punishment. No amount of tears could change your fate – owned by a cruel master and away from everyone you truly loved.

You were nothing but a beautiful caged bird singing a sad, lonely song.

Caged bird (pt. 2)

The prince sat down right next to you and ran his hand gently across your face. He started humming a sappy song about the kingdom you two had grown up in, about the good old days when everything felt way sweeter and warmer like an endless summer.

“How are feeling today, my love?” Will asked, suddenly concerned about your well – being. But you learned the hard way to never trust a word coming out of his lips. You decided to be honest anyways.

“Sad and perhaps even a bit lost. In fact I think I lose a part of myself every day that I wake up locked in here. ” You answered in a broken voice. All of it was true, you weren't yourself anymore – you refused to eat, sleep or even talk to anyone besides your master and you were getting weaker by the day.

“And why is that, dearest?” The prince replied quickly, his tone on the line between calm and threatening. He tried to control his nerves only this time, since you already looked low in spirits.

“I miss my parents and my friends. But most of all I miss my older sibling, Your Majesty. I really want to see them.” You took a deep breath as you realized how daring and rash your words were. “Sir, excuse my boldness.”

“You are not excused, dearest.” William snapped bitterly and grabbed your wrist in a tight, punishing grip. “Do you know what happened to the person you hold oh-so-dear?” The prince whispered into your ear, enjoying the way it made your whole body still. You shook your head and the man had to fight off the urge to give you a sly laugh as a hint of what you were to hear next. He pulled your beautiful hair up in order for your eyes to be on the same level. “I killed them. I tortured them for hours until they lost all of their energy, body and soul.” The prince pronounced every word slowly and sharply, using it as a poisonous weapon against you. “That stupid punk.” He continued, pleased as he watched you struggle to get out of his grasp, but to no avail. He had you trapped in place and you weren’t going away until you have heard each and every painful bit of truth. “I hated him with a burning passion, you know? He was constantly trying to take you away from me and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.” William smirked viciously. He had officially won. “But don’t worry, my love. He can’t get in the way of our love ever again. No one can, not even you. Even If you try to run away again, I will simply drag you back and chain you up down here until you finally realize there is no way out. Loving me is your best chance and you better use it.”

You couldn’t hear the madman’s ramblings anymore. The big salty tears were suffocating you, you were drowning in them, swimming around helplessly, only to be met with an even bigger wave. All you could do was suffer silently and pray that one day you would learn to love him.

[jadeofblades]

saigokumota for the character bingo :3

Sorryyy this took a while, but anyways prepare for Brain Rot

First things first, Shuichi. Oh my God this man,, he is my everything. I want him and I want to be him at the same time. It gets lowkey so annoying when ppl (mainly ppl who hate him) reduce him to just this emo waawaa boy who should've went instead of Kaede. Sure its sad to not have gotten a female protag but I think to throw away his growth (that wasn't Just from that) because of it,, sucks.

I put a /j for the ship thing because I think most shuichi ships are quite good.... minus Saiouma. God. Sorry to my followers/moots that like them but to put lightly I cannot stand that pairing it makes my ass itch.

Ignore my ugly stars </3 anyways, Kaito!! He is such a bright guy oh my goshhh, and you know me when I see a character with a color palette thats made up of my fave colors (in this case, purple) I go go nuts. He's a goofy funky man and the autism rays are Beaming from him, its unreal.

I need. People. To stop. Calling him dumb!!! I'm sick of it!! He may be loud, he may be impulsive, and he may not think things through a lot. But that does NOT make one stupid. He's still an astronaut (a damn good one at that, even if at times it doesn't always shine through when it should) and he is not a completely oblivious dude, sheesh. Also like,,,, could we stop with the whole homophobic comment thing? Yes we shouldn't just gloss over it but idk, to immediately jump to a character being So Horrible due to saying one thing like that is kinda shit.

Last, but certainly not least, GONTAAA. Fuck man he is so wonderful and nice and gorgeous looking I want to cry and die for him. It sucks so so bad he didn't get more moments to shine because I truly think he could've grown so well if he got to live even just a lil longer. Also like his story is so?? Tragic?? He may not show much sadness for being shunned by his rich family due to being raised and cared for by his forest family but Boy,

...... Sighhhhhh, can we stop babying this man so much, fandom? Gonta is a grown ass man who studies living creatures as his talent. HE KNOWS WHAT SEX IS!!! HE KNOWS HOW TO READ, AND WRITE, AND DRAW GOOD ASS DIAGRAMS OF BUGS!!! I am so tired of the fact that just because he talks a certain way or thinks a certain way (and is quite ND coded, cough) Gonta gets put down like he's a child when he Isn't. Biting and killing!

So yeah, it's funny how these three are kinda similar with how my opinions are laid out, but it's kinda cool how different they are despite so if that makes sense.