#staring at a notebook and wondering why you thought writing it would be a good idea in the first place

[ghostjelliess]

Incurred/acquired dyslexia (i.e. from trauma/concussion) isn't just spelling words wonky when you're tired and not being able to process an uninterrupted string of numbers that surpasses three digits. It's also regularly, and without realizing it, calling ramekins as macrames because the consonant weight feels like the same word in your brain-mouth until one day you can't think of either word and you ask your fiance and then both go look it up, only to realize your fiance now calls the ramekin a macrame. Now you have to explain how that's your bad, the plants hanging in the window things are macrame, sorry for being mean about it that one time.

[twistedchatterbox]

You feel a lot like love

summary: lovesick boys & living in their head rent-free... you have no idea what you do to them, or maybe you do. ft.Riddle, Leona, Azul, (Vil, Idia, and more later if this does well) tags: crushing, pre-established relationship & established relationship, off camera date/confessions, GN reader(you/your), lovesick boys 4 u, marriage mention, Azul gets insecure but the thought of you makes it better, no beta we overblot like men

wordcount: 1200+ | Masterlist & Taglist

• Riddle Roshearts

“Attention!” Riddle’s head snapped upwards, unaware that he had zoned out; thankfully so was the professor, who was calling out some other unfortunate student. As the red haired dormwarden went through the stages of shock, simply stunned and unable to process the realisation that he was not paying attention in class. However he quickly enough settled back into the regular plane of consciousness, taking note of his surroundings and re-checking his notes, eyes widening when he spots “[Name] Rosehearts”. Oh. Riddle gulped a silent, empty breath, staring at the string of words for what felt like the longest two seconds of his life. Oh, oh how was he supposed to confess to you? As his thoughts once again abandoned the class, deciding that you have become his favourite subject, Riddle silently agreed with his subconscious to give up on paying attention in class for one day; instead focusing on you. The smitten, heart adorned dormwarden slipped out a red notebook, a journal, opening an empty page, he started to write his heart and see if he could come up with a good confession, a well-phrased way to ask you out. He could beg his beating heart to stop running laps in his ribcage, yet his mind could not be further from it as he thought of you, his other half. The dorm of heartslabyul has never known greater paranoia. Ace was fully abiding by the rules, Cater has never been faster, Trey was mentally going through the list of possible scenarios. Why? It was quiet. Too quiet. Riddle was not around, he had ghosted Trey and Cater- even after they tried to report on rule breakers; something was clearly wrong, or at least upside down and slightly to the left. Deuce was studying diligently and holding his breath, almost as if Riddle was peering over his shoulder, hell that would at least prove the dormwarden was there! This, to the heartslabyul dorm, was the cruellest joke on earth. And then Riddle came back to the dorm, for the first time ever dressed in a more.. casual look. No way in hell was on campus, judging by the soft red cardigan and absence of the NRC uniform jacket, the button up replaced by a regular black shirt with a loose, circle collar that allowed his collarbone and neck to breathe. If anyone was to be honest, this did not look like Riddle at first glance. And then at second glance all hell silently broke loose, Trey’s glasses comically cracked, Cater dropped his phone, Deuce aced a test; Riddle was placing a kiss on your wrist, leading you slowly by the arm like a gentleman. He was on a date. Unmistakably so if the red roses you held as a bouquet were anything to go by. And once again, Riddle could not care or even try to pay attention to his surroundings; as if he would want to look elsewhere while he had you to focus on.

• Leona Kingscholar

“Wakey wa– Oh fuck n-o, never mind.” Ruggie closed the door back before he even properly opened it. Leona barely huffed, rolling over to better cover your body with his; like a weighted blanket, the rumbling in his chest far too relaxing for you to stir awake. ..And yet, he couldn’t fall back asleep. Far too awake to keep his eyes closed, yet not enough to get out of bed; alone with his thoughts as he idly held your sleeping form. Sometimes he wondered if these types of mornings would end, or if he could wake up with you for the rest of his days, and he wishes he could smack himself upside down on the head for these loud what-ifs. As if he could sleep it off, feelings like these never really worked like that; it only used to make him angry, frustrated and madly irritable in the past, but now he felt scared at the possibilities those thoughts encapsulated. The ones that were possible were worse, making him wish. Wish.. it felt ridiculous to say such a word for someone so seemingly void of even the faintest hint of sunshine, Leona was not cheerful, surely not. But he was hopeful, then not; it stayed like that for a long while, until you decided to take these matters into your own hands, your considerably smaller, slender hands, soft compared to his own. He, unaware of his own, took your hands in his idle ones, feeling your palms and fingers. Leona closed his eyes as he nuzzled onto the crown of your head, comforted by the scent of your hair. In the back of his mind, his hands memorised the feel of your fingers, wondering what kind of ring you’d like best. The grumpy lion beastman mentally laughed as his morning pondering comes full circle, thinking about how you had his heart in your gentle hands.He smiled at the thought. He could be hopeful.

• Azul Ashengrotto “Takoyaki!-” Azul’s eyes widened, looking at the idle pool of ink at the base of his quill. He clicked his tongue, expression shaping up to one of frustration, and near-disgust. Lifting up his hand, he made sure that the sleeves of his uniform were not ruined, carefully taking off the stained glove and leaving the office in oddly collected fashion. The feeling was.. off, making Floyd look down to try seeing his expression, albeit unsuccessful. Azul knew the eel twin would quickly put it together, putting more effort into his steps, walking faster with hopes of not running into you. He would cry if you discovered the power you held over him and his heart. The mere possibility had him gulp in hopes of swallowing his nerves, twisting the doorknob and locking himself in his room as the ever familiar and forever disgusting feeling of tears stung his eyes once again, and Azul half haphazardly hid himself under his blankets, ignoring all noise, blocking out his own thoughts, or at least trying to. And yet, the image of you in his mind is the exact thing that brings him comfort; he lays wondering what you’d think if he made a fool of himself in front of you, only to feel conflicted when he fails to imagine a negative reaction, he knows you wouldn’t berate him for a slip up. You never even call him out when he acts out of character, going as far as to cover up for him when he messes up big time, and you never ask for anything other than his time for it when you do. “Fair enough”, it was his response the first time, now he finds himself internally craving, damn-near begging for more; haa.. He would laugh had it been anyone else’s suffering, but he’s not sure if he can even feign dislike of the situation, only ever hoping for more chances to keep this silent arrangement going. He has always been quite greedy, capitalising your affection, time, attention. And forever caught off guard by you, it seems. He nearly jumps out of his own skin when his phone notifies him with a custom ring-tone, the one he set for you. Scrambling to grab his phone swiftly and reply fast, all he sees is “I’m going over to your dorm room. Floyd said something was up with you, are you ok?” -And before he can even start typing you send another; “I’m bringing some of your favourites do you want anything” Oh you really are simply wonderful. Azul knows he means every word, replying to your messages “Just you”.

[cr4yolaas]

the weight of words — alhaitham x mute! reader

notes: based off of this tiktok i found a long while ago featuring a poem that serves as the base for this fic <3 i feel like this is very poorly written / rushed and it lacks a good flow but i wanted to get it out asap bc i didn’t have any more energy to write it LOL

tags: italics represent handwritten notes, reader is implied to be rlly smart / top of the class, implied depressive episode (reader), self deprecation (reader), fluff → angst → fluff, may or may not be an inaccurate rep. of mute individuals, ooc alhaitham, not proofread

this was a little more irksome than he wanted to admit.

at the very top of the akademiya, far away from prying eyes, sat a student bathed in sunlight. from a distance, he observed. you held a book in one hand and an apple in the other, while your legs dangled off of the ledge. he couldn’t discern much from your backside.

but what bothered him the most was that you were seated in “his” spot. the spot he always crept away to during lunch, mainly for its isolation and breathtaking view.

without hesitation, alhaitham approached you. he tapped on your shoulder and stared with an intensity akin to the blazing sun in june. “excuse me,” he began. “i normally sit here. i would greatly appreciate it if you moved to another place, as i’m most accustomed to this spot.”

a silence washed over as you stared up at him. your lack of response left him annoyed — did you find this funny?

however, as you set down your book and snack gently, alhaitham found himself surprised for the first time in a while.

a notebook sat on your lap as you wrote rapidly. the man watched quietly.

i’m afraid not. there are countless other spots up here, and i just happened to get to this one first.

a sigh slipped from his lips. while he wasn’t unfamiliar with stubborn personalities around campus, this particular interaction seemed to interest him more than it irritated him. alhaitham nodded and sat beside you, much to your surprise.

he listened as you flipped your page and began writing again, this time taking up less space on the paper.

why do you like sitting here? you passed the notebook to him.

he wrote much slower in comparison to you, however, his handwriting bore an elegance you had not seen before, as if each letter carried a song in the ink. you found it beautiful.

the lack of noise.

his short response made you smile — simple and straight to the point. another thing you deemed wonderful.

he did not hand the notebook back to you, but instead, continued to write. i dislike unnecessary sounds. they serve as useless interruptions. up here, i find that in comparison to the chatter of students, the ambience is soothing. alhaitham placed the notebook in your lap gingerly and looked into the distance, his gaze absent yet his thoughts reverberating.

you continued this back and forth with him for the entirety of the lunch break. the lines engraved on your palms spilled over with ink smears, and you found your dominant arm growing weary. you did not write your goodbyes on the paper, therefore leaving your conversation unfinished. you left with a smidge of warmth in your heart and a smile on your face in hopes of meeting him again the next day.

from afar, you could see the way he sat leaning slightly more towards one side, and the occasional tapping of his fingers against the table as he wrote. he drank from a small mug of what you presumed to be coffee, but rather than holding the handle, he gripped the cup from its mouth. another intricacy that piqued your interest.

he noticed your stare after a few seconds, eyes of jade and clementine meeting yours. without a word, he relocated to your table, sitting directly across from you. “hello,” he greeted softly. “i didn’t know you frequented this place either.” his gaze flickered over to your notebook peeking out of your schoolbag, and when you pulled it out to respond to him, he found himself getting uncharacteristically excited.

i don’t, actually. i wanted a change of pace, but i’m not sure how much i’m enjoying it. you pushed the book across the table to him.

is it too loud to study? that’s surprising.

you looked up at him questioningly for a moment before jotting down your reply. i’m not studying. i’m just here to read. his lips upturned noticeably at your words, an expression you wished to carve into the crevices of your memory for eternity. he was painstakingly beautiful.

alhaitham didn’t respond for a handful of seconds, instead opting to look outside the window to his left. strands of sunlight draped themselves onto his perfectly crafted face and fell between each strand of hair. a view that compared to the one at the top of the akademiya.

a conversation of short responses — ranging from questions about your darshan, to your favorite season, to the books you enjoyed reading — ensued, the evidence splayed onto the paper. you appreciated his company, for it was rare that anyone sought to talk with you.

he asked another question, his curiosity seeping out endlessly. why do you communicate like this?

a thin-lipped smile etched itself onto your lips. the ink of your pen ghosted atop the paper, your hesitation evident. i was born mute. i have no voice, therefore i cannot communicate in a normal manner.

you grew increasingly anxious as he looked at you with an expression that was terrifyingly unreadable. your hands rested atop the notebook, keeping it away from him for reasons you didn’t understand quite yet.

“that’s okay,” he spoke, the baritone of his voice cutting through your shared silence. “i don’t mind it. actually, i think i prefer it. over the grating voices of the other scholars i know, at least.” he went on about his senior, a friend in kshahrewar who apparently could never keep his mouth shut in his presence. you merely listened, soaking in his words and absorbing each syllable that spilled out of the cracks between his teeth. your confession rendered you utterly silent, but seemingly, he paid no mind.

again, your conversation ended without a proper goodbye. your notebook sat still on the table. moments after his departure, you stayed in your seat, contemplating the complications of this newfound acquaintance.

alhaitham’s life revolved around routine and quiet. he needed both to go about his day in an efficient and satisfying manner; otherwise, he would end up feeling rather unfulfilled and bothered.

perhaps that is why he found himself so drawn to you. in comparison to many of his classmates, who were incessantly obnoxious and needlessly talkative, you were quiet, not just vocally, but in every other aspect. your handwriting was consistent and each letter looked just as neat as the other. your responses were similar to his in that they were direct and honest. and, oddly, you radiated a warmth that he could not see in anyone else.

his next encounter with you wouldn’t be for a handful of days. he knew you were a student, thus resulting in his confusion — he had never seen you around campus until that day.

he ran into you during one of his lectures. you sat right beside him in a seat that wasn’t usually occupied. he began to question you with pen and paper, as usual.

since when were you enrolled in this class?

i always have been. this isn’t a necessary class for my darshan, it’s just an extra period for me to increase my credits. i don’t come to class very often.

he quirked a brow up. you fiddled with your pen.

interesting how i haven’t heard of you until now. alhaitham smiled softly at your muffled giggle, one that he had not heard until then. the noise swarmed his chest with a lightness he could not replicate.

you might have fallen too soon.

alhaitham was a simple man, yet alluring all the same. you had snuck away his perfections and imperfections in a different notebook. for instance:

3 - straightforward and direct

21 - prefers tea over coffee

44 - can’t sleep without a weighted blanket

your ever-growing infatuation for him began to blossom in the cavities of your stomach, and soon, it would infect everything above. you could not bear it — nights spent in solitude, where he would discuss his interests (which were minimal) until you fell asleep; afternoons spent in comfort, where you would share a slice of cake to celebrating a particularly difficult exam. he consumed your very being, the neurons that invoked muscular response and the veins that carried your blood here and there; all of it was him. and yet, you could not meaningfully share this with him, your silence embedding your heart in a crevice far away.

it seemed that he got to it first, anyways.

alhaitham asked you a simple question — if you were capable of speaking for a day, what would you say? he had begun carrying his own memo book to conversate — another addition to the list.

you sat in silence for a brief period before writing, every thought and feeling and idea that has ever encountered my mind would leave my lips.

he wrote, then i will give you just that, and more.

when you began dating alhaitham, you found that he was much more eager to “speak” to you consistently. he would write in his same font and present to you a variety of inquiries, ranging from plans for the day to what you wanted for dinner. he was the epitome of a loving man, a far cry from the tales of coldheartedness and brutality you’ve heard of him. and yet, something began to gnaw at your lungs as he did so.

alhaitham was your voice to speak through — he was the monotonous ramblings, the heavy whispers, the gentle laughs; he held all of those for you. seemingly, life became far more breathable.

but your love was just as restricting as it was kind. to speak is to suffer, but to not speak at all is beyond that — it is torture. nights were spent staring at alhaitham’s sleeping figure, questioning whether he truly felt the affection you expressed. gifts, contact, quality time; what good was it if you could not do something as simple as converse with him? it extended beyond him, as well — for reasons unknown, it grew increasingly difficult to communicate with your new professors and classmates, the downturns of their lips as you pulled out a notebook gut-wrenching. you questioned if alhaitham felt the same.

you began to spiral.

a rapid set of knocks arrived at your door at a questionable hour. the sun hung high in the sky, albeit obscured by your curtains. a soft buzz rung in your room.

“i know you’re inside,” a voice spoke from the other side of the wood. he knocked again.

you made no move to open the door, nor to approach it, nor to get up from your bed. in response, the hinges creaked and heavy footsteps neared.

“why have you locked yourself in here?” alhaitham asked, his tone indiscernible. you didn’t see it, but you heard him shuffling around your bedroom. “where is your notebook?”

it was silly. he spoke as if you could respond, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to be sorrowful or upset.

he pulled the blanket from off of your head, his face indifferent as he witnessed your disheveled state. “i’m not sure what’s going on, but i can assure you i will wait until you’re well enough to speak to me again. i will always wait.” alhaitham set his own memo book and pen beside your pillow. a warm hand held yours, a signal of reassurance. “please get better as soon as you can.”

he turned around to leave, and you could not bring yourself to reach out for him. what would you do? would the words crawl out of your throat, akin to a miracle? or would you plead at him with desperate eyes in hopes he’d read your mind? you did not know. every instance would inconvenience him in some way — that you could not bear.

you did not step foot outside for another week. alhaitham (and kaveh, much to your surprise) had left meals and gifts next to your door, all of which remained untouched. you were in stasis.

each thought had been replaced by a fog so asphyxiating that it had drowned every word the moment it rose to the surface. a bubbling exhaustion boiled in you. you wished to speak, to express anything at all, to apologize for inconveniencing those around you, and to apologize to alhaitham for putting him through such an obstacle.

as if sensing this desire, he arrived at your dorm again, this time with a more gentle appearance and a large bag behind him.

you reached out for the notebook he placed beside you a week prior. why are you here?

he kneeled down beside you, paying no mind to your disheveled appearance, and spoke softly, “i’m sorry.” if it were fitting, he would have laughed at the instantaneous furrow of your brows. “i should’ve realized. and in failing to do so, i have failed you.” alhaitham took the notebook and pen from your grasp, and with an unrivaled delicacy, he held you.

“i would give up my own voice if it meant i could spend an eternity with you,” he began. “i do not care if you lack a voice of your own. you’re still embedded in my heart all the same.”

you had not written to him for days. and yet, he understood everything. he read the words displayed in your features with a familiarity no one had demonstrated.

758 - willing to help me heal.

alhaitham sat across from you, his back hunched over his work and his face framed with a mix of feather-gray hair and wispy sunlight. he wrote with an unmatched fluidity, as if time were escaping him.

he let out a sigh as he set down his pencil and sat up straight. “why must you sit with me if you’ve finished this assignment weeks ago? it’s as if you’re mocking me.”

it’s entertaining. he grabbed the notebook from your side of the table and wrote haphazardly, contrasting his smooth technique before.

it’s really not. i feel as if i’m being ridiculed and observed under a microscrope. it’s horrible, he teased.

you’re smart, anyways. you’ll survive.

afternoons in the akademiya’s library were once suffocating and exhausting. to be surrounded by peers who could only sneer and misjudge and question was unpleasant. now, as you sat with your lover in a soft silence, you felt at peace.

[haikyu-mp4]

Workplace romance

word count; 941 – f!reader, fluff

“The Schweiden Adlers ball is next weekend, I assume you know that,” you mumble to start off, already used to how Kageyama’s knee bounces repeatedly in what you could only assume was restlessness. “I just need to know who you will bring as a date. There will be paparazzi and I just want to make sure I have everything under control.” As you were speaking, you didn’t really look up at the man, simultaneously finishing off the notes from your previous meeting with Hoshiumi.

“A date?” Kageyama repeated back to you and you chuckled softly at his confusion, sparing him a glance.

You’re one of Schweiden Adlers’ PR managers, recently tasked with handling the three younger members, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hoshiumi Korai and Kageyama Tobio. They are all pretty sweet and you thanked the heavens every day that you didn’t end up as PR manager for the MSBY Black Jackals. “Yes, you get a plus one. You could also bring your mom or sister, that’s always good for your image. Alternatively, there’s no problem with going alone. Although that might call forth a different genre of headlines…” you rambled, doing your job and analysing the different options without even noticing how the young man was twiddling his thumbs in his lap nervously.

Kageyama was the one you spoke with the most from the team, as he was also the newest to this business. While the two of you would talk casually outside the four walls of your borrowed office all the time, you loved your job and preferred to stay stressed and professional while doing meetings. “But I could bring a date too? Someone I like?” he asked. For some annoying reason, his words made you stop writing and an icky feeling crept into your stomach.

“Of course, I just need to know who so that I can take the necessary precautions…” you answered, biting the inside of your cheek as if to force yourself to speak.

“Will you go with me?” he asked. Finally, ran through his mind as your eyes finally stilled where he could see them, staring right into his. Kageyama smiled nervously, hoping you would answer any second now. It’s a bit like the smile you finally coaxed out of him for those commercial photos. Oddly charming.

“You want to go with me?” you asked, wondering if you heard him correctly and straightening up in your seat. Hopefully, he couldn’t see your bright red ears.

“Yes,” he answered simply. No room for misunderstanding there, you suppose.

“That’s…” you couldn’t help the giddy chuckle you left in the air as you looked back down at all your messy notes. “Very unexpected.”

“Why? I thought I made it obvious that I like you,” he said, blunt as ever. Tobio felt like this should not be a surprise at all, as he made an effort to talk to you every time he saw you and even got you a box of milk on the days he knew you would be there in advance. Was his affection not obvious?

You’re full-on grinning like a madman now, burying your face in your hands to hide the blush on your cheeks. “I would love to go with you.” you finally declared, not responding to his blunt confession because you weren’t quite sure how to yet. “But I need to talk to some of our bosses and make sure it’s approved first. We wouldn’t want any scandals to plague your name,” you said, removing your hands from your face as you went halfway into work mode again. You flipped to a new page in your notebook and wrote down what information you needed. The smile was still stuck on your face and Tobio was happy to see it.

“Okay.” he agreed. There was still a sense of childish innocence to him that you really liked. “But I don’t want to go with anyone else,” he added as if that was just stuck in his mind.

“You should go back to practice, Tobio,” you said, using your softest voice to make sure he knew you weren’t trying to be dismissive. “If you stop by before you leave today, I will let you know how it’s looking after making some calls,” you told him, smiling as he got up.

“I will see you soon, then.” He bowed, about to leave when you spoke again.

“Tobio!” you called, pursing your lips and considering your next words before they just spilt from your lips. “I like you too.”

Kageyama walked back to practice with a happy smile, making Hoshiumi frown at him as if it was the creepiest thing he had ever seen. Meanwhile, you were in your office kicking your feet and punching the air in joy before taking a deep breath to start making those calls without giggling.

He stopped by after practice, like he promised, knocking on the door and walking in with a hopeful spark in his eyes. You told him how this might play out so he would be prepared for any potential consequences, but could still happily inform him that you would be going with him to the event.

And boy were your assumptions right. The headlines questioning whether or not this was appropriate were simply unavoidable. However, it only took one press conference to quiet it down.

“She’s very sweet, I really like her. It would make me sad if we could not be together just because she also works with keeping me and my teammates out of trouble,” he said softly, making the reporters coo and the headlines turn from Volleyball manager: Inappropriate moneygrabber to Living our fantasies: Kageyama’s workplace romance.

[ozzgin]

Hello again, are requests still open? If they are, can I request headcanons for Izuku, Shoto, and Tamaki with an artist reader? They stumble upon the reader's book full of art. The book also has drawings of them and the reader together.

Yes! I even have your previous ask halfway written in my drafts, which I might just conveniently incorporate it here haha. I'm just very slow to write everything. I do mark the request section as closed when it's the case., so no worries.

BNHA Characters x Artist! Reader Headcanons

Featuring Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shoto, Amajiki Tamaki and a reader whose doodles are rather obvious in meaning. More fluff!

Midoriya Izuku

Deku is not really one to pry. So it was absolutely not his intention to snoop. He'd just assumed that your notebook has generic scribbles made of class notes, facts and observations, similar to his. He didn't expect to find intricate sketches, and of such quality too!

Really, he's mesmerized. He has an eye for detail and will carefully scan every line and every brush stroke. Is this a portrait of your teacher? Fantastic angle you've chosen! The crosshatching adds a lot of depth. He slowly flips through the pages, wondering why you've never mentioned your hobby. He's even a little dejected, fearing you might not consider him as close a friend.

Then he reaches the doodles of him and you together. Oh. Ooooh. He has to look away for a moment, trying to contain his blush. Well, it certainly makes sense you'd keep it from him. He'd like to return the sketchbook and pretend he never saw anything, but...As much as he doesn't want to embarrass you, he can't get the idea out of his mind. To think you like him, too...Can he really hide how happy that makes him?

Todoroki Shoto

Opening your personal belongings was completely unintentional. Todoroki had accidentally included one of your notebooks among his own and swiftly left for his dorm room. As he clumsily dumped out the contents of his bag, he finally spotted the foreign item sprawled out on his desk.

Drawings? He can't think of anyone in class to ever mention such interest. Then he remembers he sat next to you, so it must be yours. He blushes slightly at the idea. It would be most terrible of him to snoop further, but he can't help his curiosity. He'd love to know more about you and a perfect opportunity is shining brightly before him. Just a quick peek...nothing more.

To think you were this skilled and he never noticed. He stumbles upon a portrait of himself. Unexpected. When did you even have the time to observe him so carefully? His lips purse in embarrassment. By the time he reaches the lovely couple doodles, his ears are bright red. Was his crush that obvious? He can hardly believe the coincidence of you liking him back and expressing it so clearly. Returning the sketchbook will certainly be interesting. It is the duty of a Prince, after all (If he is to refer to your little sketches).

Amajiki Tamaki

Tamaki has noticed how you often sneak away from the crowds and assumed you, too, are struggling with anxiety and awkwardness. Upon further inspection, however, it seems you just enjoy sketching by yourself. He feels a little ridiculous, hiding behind the wall and spying on an innocent hobby like this.

Then again, why the secrecy? He always thought you're good friends, yet you never mentioned anything about it. Combined with the fact you frequently praise him or gaze at him uncomfortably long...Are you planning on pranking him or something? No, no, that's just his paranoia talking. He reassures himself as he holds the little book you conveniently forgot behind. This is the perfect opportunity to prove to himself he's overthinking as usual.

Seeing the doodles of you and him together turns him into a fumbling, red-faced mess. His hands are trembling. The polite thing to do right now would be to close the notebook and promptly return it. Still, he's stuck in place, staring at the pages. Is this a joke? You can't possibly like him back. Someone like him. As much as he denies it, the longing won't leave his flustered heart. A man can dream...

[kjupchurch-xx]

Professor Jackman (WattPad request)

I tapped my pencil repeatedly on my essay as I tried to figure out how to write about our topic for the week. My college classroom was completely silent, besides the sounds of my mechanical pencil hitting my notebook. I mindlessly looked up, seeing my Professor, Professor Jackman staring at me almost amused at my disruption of the classroom, which caused me to blush nervously and quickly drop the pencil. 

Professor Jackman was a young, handsome Professor. He was around 27 years old and taught our English Literature college class. He joined our University this year, and this was his first time in America. This was my first year at University, also my first semester. I was attending college for a degree in business management, but had been required to take a college skilled English Lit class before I could proceed with a degree. I had turned 18 earlier this year, celebrating with my best friend, Bianca, who was also placed in the English Lit class. 

We'd spend hours after class discussing how hot we thought our professor was. The way he smiled, his accent, the way he smelled and the way he always showed up in a casual suit. Another fellow classmate attempted to flirt with him, other teachers would flirt with him, he'd always shrug them off in an effort to maintain professionalism. Not to mention, a student-teacher relationship is extremely forbidden and grounds for termination. 

I gave him a nervous smile as I quickly picked my pencil back up and went back to my essay. I was at a complete loss. Professor Jackman had assigned us to read a book about the life of Henrietta Lacks, which required an essay to be written for the exam. 

"Ms. Jordan?" I heard Professor Jackman's voice say, causing me to look up from the still blank paper. 

"Yes, Professor?" I asked anxiously. 

"Can we have a moment outside?" He asked, giving me firm look, which caused me to shutter. 

He was a no non-sense teacher. He did not put up with insubordination whatsoever. He was strict, but genuinely wanted his class to succeed. 

I nodded as I quickly got up from my desk and walked towards the classroom door, entering the empty hallway, he followed behind me, softly closing the door to avoid disrupting the other students. 

"Is everything okay, Ms. Jordan?" He asked me. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I looked at his beautiful face. "Yes, Professor. Everything's fine. I'm just having a difficult time with my essay." I said nervously. 

He gave me a slight nod, "Once we dismiss, I'd like to speak with you again." He said sternly. 

I nodded, "Yes, sir." I said as I walked back into the class and sat back at my desk. 

As I went back to my essay, I couldn't help but glance around the room. I kept noticing the professor stealing glances at me. Each time I'd lock eyes with him, he'd give me a small smile and look down at the stack of papers he was mindlessly grading on his desk. I couldn't help but let my mind run wild as I continued catching him stealing glances at me. I wondered what he was thinking about or why he kept continuing to look at me, not bothering to look at the other students. 

As our day came to an end, the Professor told the class to turn their papers in by placing them in a basket on his desk. Each student got up, but I stayed behind, waiting for everyone to clear the room. Bianca noticed and mouthed to me, 'what are you doing?', I sighed, mouthing back with a panicked expression on my face, 'I'm in trouble'. 

As everyone else exited the class, I made my way up to his desk, sitting my blank paper down. He got up and closed the door after the other students had left. He sat on top of his desk and looked at me curiously, a smile appearing on his lips. "What seems to be the problem?" He asked casually, as he grabbed my blank paper. 

I sighed, nervously running my fingers through my hair. "I'm not very good at essays...Unless it's a topic that I'm passionate about." I said honestly. 

He smirked at me, "So I have to give you a topic that fascinates you?" 

I chuckled softly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I'm just being honest. If I'm not invested in what I'm reading, it's hard for me to write about it." 

He shifted on his desk, looking at me with a playful smirk, "What would you say fascinates you?" He asks. 

I shrugged with a small giggle, "You really want to know what fascinates me?" 

He chuckled softly, "You're my star student. I'd love to know many things about you."

I gave him a look, furrowing my brow. "I'm your star student?" I asked in disbelief. 

He smirked, "Your grades are fairly decent. You're admired by your peers... I'm starting to get quite smitten with you myself."

I almost choked on my saliva as I widened my eyes, taking a deep breath. "You're smitten with me? What is going on right now?" I asked, chuckling. 

He chuckled at my reaction, "Ms. Jordan, you're a beautiful 18-year-old woman. I'm smitten with you. And I've also overheard you and your friend Bianca talk about me during class." 

I blushed instantly, feeling my cheeks becoming hot. Bianca and I had made comments recently about how unbelievably hot we found him. It was the day Bianca decided to "accidentally" drop her journal in front of him and slowly bend over to see if he would react to her. Which did not work out in her favor. 

He smiled, "I have to say, I'm flattered you find me...What was the word you used, Ms. Jordan? Dreamy?" He laughed softly. 

I laughed, "I did say that..." I said softly as I mentally face palmed myself.

He slid off the desk and got closer to my face, "I think you're dreamy too, love." He said flirtatiously. 

 I giggled, "Professor, I-" 

He quickly cut me off, "Class has been dismissed. You can call me Hugh. I don't expect you to call me Professor outside of class hours." He said sweetly, giving me a smile. 

This was starting to get less creepy. 

He chuckled, "I had you stay over because I was going to offer to help you with your essay." 

I gave him a look, raising my brow, "Isn't that against the rules?" I chuckled. 

He laughed softly, with a nod, "Well...There are a lot of things that are against the rules that I've said in this exchange, but me helping you with an essay would not be the worst one." 

I laughed as I sat back down at one of the desks. For the next hour, he sat at a nearby desk and helped me with my essay. Occasionally, he'd sneak his arm over my shoulder or steal a glance at me. Although I tried focusing on the essay, I couldn't help but think back to him telling me he was smitten with me. He'd noticed my mind was preoccupied, so he took it upon himself to write a majority of the essay himself. 

I looked at the perfectly written essay, "There we go. And you're done." He said with a smile as he placed the paper on his desk to grade with the others. 

I smiled, "I appreciate that...But you didn't have to write it for me. I don't want to get you in trouble." I said softly. 

He shook his head, placing his hand over the top of mine. "No worries, love. Just keep this between you and I." He said softly as his fingers caressed mine. 

I nodded, giving him a smile before quickly thanking him and skipping out of the classroom to head home. As I'd driven home, I felt my phone buzz.

Professor Jackman: You left your pencil.

The text read aloud through the bluetooth in my car. I giggled, realizing he used my pencil as an excuse to text me. I grabbed my phone, texting him back. 

Me: Did I? Thank you for reminding me. I was distracted by a dreamy professor and must've forgotten it.

Professor Jackman: Touche... I would've forgotten my pencil too. 

I chuckled at his response before pulling up at home. 

As the semester went on, the Professor and I had become a little too close. He spent the remainder of the semester writing my essays, coming over for late night 'study sessions' at my apartment to ensure that I'd pass his class. The study sessions were typically spent with maybe 30 minutes of actual studying, with the remainder of the night spent cuddling and making out on my couch. Other students had begun noticing him start to favor me, which had begun causing problems. 

The one person I didn't expect it to cause problems with, was Bianca. She'd become increasingly suspicious. I was never available after class to hang out, or on weekends anymore. She noticed how I'd started purposely wearing low cut tops to class and how the professor would always praise me a bit more than the others and use me as the example student for a majority of demonstrations. 

"Enjoy it while it lasts, he's a creep!" She spat at me. 

I rolled my eyes, "Why are you acting like this? Were you not literally bending over purposely to get him to look at your ass?" I yelled back. 

She chuckled, "I was, but I guess I just wasn't good enough! It's all good though boo, I'm sure Principle Ayers would love to hear this." She said as she hung up on me. 

As I paced my apartment on the verge of a panic attack for the next hour, there was a knock on my door. I quickly ran to the door and opened it, seeing him standing there. I looked at him frantically, which caused his expression to go from a smile to a look of concern. 

"Love, what's wrong?" He asked as he quickly walked in, closing the door behind him. 

I took a deep, trembling breath, "Bianca is telling Principle Ayers." I said shakily, avoiding eye contact with him. 

He pulled me into his arms, "Did you tell her about us?" He asked as he stroked my hair.

I shook my head, "No. She figured it out on her own. And I think the last time she was here, she went through my phone..." I said softly. 

He sighed as he held me tightly, "I asked you to delete those..." He said, softly scolding me. 

I sighed, "I know, I know. I just wasn't expecting this to happen." 

He looked down at me, pulling away slightly to see my face, "Everything will be fine, love... We're both consenting adults. Yes, it's forbidden but the worst that can happen would be I'd lose my job." He chuckled, "I can easily find another." 

I looked at him seriously, "You're not worried about losing your job?" 

He smiled at me, "You're worth the risk, love." He cheekily winked at me before softly kissing my lips, "I love you." He said suddenly with a smile. 

I looked at him for a minute before responding, "I... love you too." I said, gazing into his eyes.

He smiled at me, blushing slightly, "I brought your favorite - Reese's Cups and a Dr. Pepper." He said cheekily as he handed me a bag that contained a pack of Reese's and a drink. 

I smiled as I grabbed it, "Aww, you didn't have to do that." I said giggling as I sat the bag down and sat down on the couch. 

He smirked, "I know they're your favorite and I wanted to surprise you." He said as he sat down beside me on the couch, pulling me into his chest. 

His phone began ringing, he grabbed it noticing it was Principle Ayers calling. 

"Mrs. Ayers." He said as he answered the call and gave me a 'stay calm' look as he turned the phone on speaker. 

"Mr. Jackman." She said before continuing, "There has been a situation brought to my attention that I need to speak with you about."

He nodded at me, "Yes ma'am, go ahead." He said calmly. 

She sighed through the phone, "Mr. Jackman, I hate to have this conversation with you, but it has been brought to my attention that you're having an inappropriate relationship with a student." 

He took a deep breath, laughing softly, "Mrs. Ayers, I can assure you that is simply not the truth." 

She chuckled, "This particular student has a history of not performing well academically... I did not necessarily believe her story, but I do have to investigate all accusations. The only thing I will tell you, is if there is a particular student that you're interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with,  please wait until the end of the semester when the student is no longer in your class." She said, knowingly. 

He nodded, "Ah. I do appreciate you for calling and informing me of the matter." He said simply as they ended the call. He looked over at me and gave me a small smile, running his fingers through his dark colored hair, "All good, love." He said matter of factly. 

I giggled as I squeezed him tightly before pecking his lips. "So we have exactly two more weeks of being a secret." I mumbled against his lips. 

He giggled against my lips, "I can assure you that after your semester ends, I fully intend on you no longer being my dirty little secret, sweetheart." 

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 7

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers + hurt/comfort

Content Warnings - cursing, mentions of nightmares

Word Count - 3.0k

A/N: this one feels a bit rushed and all over the place, but hey there's some slight warming up heree

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navi

You already had a bad feeling about this year.

Firstly, you were late to the train, then you couldn’t find Cedric in any of the booths so you had to sit in one by yourself. Your arm was still sore if you put it in a certain position. You couldn’t get in a comfortable enough position to sleep in the booth.

So you just laid on your back on the cushion, your feet up on the wall next to the window. You stared at the ceiling of the train, tracing the patterns with your eyes.

The door of your booth slid open, you raised your head and looked up a bit too happily, hoping it would be Cedric.

All you got was a mop of ginger hair standing there.

“Mind if I take a seat?” Fred grinned.

You sighed and dropped your head back down on the seat. You didn’t want to talk to him, but you didn’t want to be alone the rest of the ride back to the school.

Not giving him a verbal response, you lazily gestured to the seat across from you, signaling for him to go ahead. It didn’t matter, he was going to sit down even if you said no.

He shut the door and sat happily.

“I was wondering why Cedric wasn't sitting with you.” He laid his back against the wall, putting his feet up on the seat.

“You saw him? Where?” You looked over.

“Sitting with Ms.Chang.” He said in a dramatically eloquent voice.

Great.

“He’s got a damn obsession with that girl.” You huffed as you rolled your eyes, looking back at the ceiling.

“How’s your arm?” Fred said awkwardly, picking at his nails.

“Better. I think.” You sighed, you were bored, you were tired, you didn’t want to deal with Fred, but you didn’t want to be alone.

“That’s good. How many more weeks til it’s off?”

“Fred.” You said flatly.

“Hm?” He turned his attention to you, brushing back some hair from his eyes.

“Why are you here?” You stared at him.

“Thought you’d like some company.” He shrugged. You only stared at him, knowing that was not the reason.

“Well, George is talking to Angelina, and I thought I’d at least bother you on our first day back.” He cracked.

“You’re doing a great job.” The annoyance in your tone was clear, yet that was probably the nicest thing you’ve said to him. Ever.

Fred let out a small hum as he sat up quickly, pulling his backpack from off the floor and taking something out of it.

“Well, I was thinking about your broken arm, and that gigantic cast must be no help with writing, so…” He presented a long, rectangular, orange box with a purple ribbon tied around it to you. “I made you something that might actually help you.”

You pulled yourself up, looking at the box and taking it from him slowly.

He nervously smiled as you unwrapped it and took the lid off.

Inside the box laid a quill, with several small bottles of different colored inks.

“It’s a self writing quill.” Fred beamed.

“What?”

“A self-writing quill.” He emphasized each word slowly. “You tell it what you want it to say and it’ll write it for you.” He shrugged, crossing his arms smugly.

“That’s…impressive.” You began to smile, biting it back once you realized it could just be another one of the twins' sick pranks. “Does it actually work? Or are you just tricking me?” You glared.

“It works. Just like the bruise cream did.” He smirked. He noticed, all your bruises were gone by now, thanks to the cream. “You can try it out right now if you want to.” So you did.

You took a piece of paper out of a notebook in your bag, carefully opened and dipped the quill in a bottle of ink and spoke aloud.

“Fred Weasley is an asshole.” You said happily, the quill floated up and began to write the same words all by itself, the handwriting was exactly the same as yours, creepy, but cool.

You hummed in satisfaction at the writing.

“Not bad, Weasley.” He shrugged and laid down on the seat. He placed his backpack under his head and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable.” He looked around, confused.

“You’re not staying in my booth! Go somewhere else!” You scoffed in disbelief, no way did he think you’d willingly let him stay with you.

“There is nowhere else.”

“Sit with George!” You cried.

“I don’t want to deal with him and Angelina flirting the entire ride.” He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want to deal with you the entire ride!”

“If you’re so bothered by it, why don’t you find someone else to sit with? What about Cedric?”

“I got here first, you’re not gonna kick me out of my own booth!” You said sternly, like an angry mother, “Plus, I don’t want to deal with Cedric and Cho flirting the entire ride!” The side of Fred’s mouth slightly curled up at your last sentence. It took you a second to realize.

You two were basically in the same situation.

“Fine. You can stay.” You muttered, sinking back against the cushion. Fred began to open his mouth, but you pointed a finger up and stopped him.

“But, you will not talk to me. You will not play any pranks on me. And you will not bother me.” You clenched your jaw, he just smiled.

“As you wish.” He nodded, pulling out his scarf and placing it over his eyes, starting to nap right there.

You decided to try and do the same. It was fine and peaceful, you were on the verge of knocking out until he started snoring.

He would snore for a little bit, then stop, then snore again, then stop, and the cycle repeated.

Godric, you tried to ignore it, you tried to block it out, but ignoring Fred Weasley is impossible.

You called out his name, trying to get him to wake up, but he was dead asleep. He looked peaceful, so comfortable you almost didn’t want to wake him, but he was pissing you off.

You huffed out before grabbing the piece of parchment you tested the quill on earlier, you crumpled it into a ball and threw it at him.

It hit him right in the nose then fell onto the side of his neck.

He groggily removed the scarf from his eyes and blinked a few times, sitting up slightly and looking around with squinted eyes.

“Are we there already?” He rubbed his eyes.

“No.”

“Then why’d you wake me?”

“You were snoring. Loudly.” You stared at him with a straight face.

“Oh come on, I was not.”

“Was so!” You called back.

“I do not snore, you liar!.” He grimaced.

“Yes you do! You had your mouth wide open and everything!” You chuckled a bit.

“You looked like a dead fish!” You copied his pose from a few minutes ago, you slumped your head on your backpack, hung your mouth open, closed your eyes, and mocked his snoring.

“Oh, you’re just being ridiculous.” He laughed and threw the crumpled paper ball back at you. “Always dramatizing everything I do.”

“I don’t dramatize it! You’re just dramatic.” You laughed in return, throwing the ball at him again.

“Always so criticizing!” It became a battle between you two, bantering and laughing while throwing the ball back and forth at each other.

Soon the both of you got tired of messing around, you both laid in the same position on the seats. Backpacks under your head, feet up on the seat, arms crossed comfortably.

You yawned. It was getting dark and there were still a few more hours before you arrived at Hogwarts.

“I’m going to sleep. No pranks.” You threatened him. He lifted up his hands in surrender.

“No pranks.” He repeated. “But, I’ll see if you snore.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side and closing your heavy eyelids.

The screech of the metal wheels hitting the train tracks made you slightly stir in your sleep.

Two hands roughly shaking you fully woke you up.

“Hey, hey!” Fred called out, his voice still quiet, trying not to yell. You groaned and muttered, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“We’re here. Get up, sleepyhead.” He patted your shoulder, his bag was already hanging off one shoulder, you could see the students shuffling through the aisles.

You sat up and stretched, Fred had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What are you smiling so hard about?” You muttered.

“You’re a snorer.” He pointed at you, trying to stifle his grin.

“Am not!” You denied, grabbing your bag and shoved yourself in between students trying to get off the train. Fred followed suit.

“Oh you absolutely are. You go out like an old man!” He chuckled, beginning to make loud and dramatic snoring sounds.

You elbowed him in the side, he let out a small yelp and laughed some more, you bit back your smile, moving in front of him to walk down the train steps.

You made your way to get your luggage, only turning once towards Fred to get a final bite back at him.

“You drool. Did you know that?” You let out a playful scoff at him, a smile on your face and turning back around to walk away.

⋆⋆⋆

You hurried up the marble staircase to the entrance of the school. You were starving, all you wanted was something to eat and somewhere comfortable to sit.

A call of your name slowed you down, you turned your head to find Cedric catching up next to you.

“Cedric! Where were you? I couldn’t find you on the train!” You tried to mask over the frustration in your voice with sweetness, damn well knowing

“Really? Cause’ I was looking for you and um- I couldn’t find you anywhere!” He acted surprised.

“Hm, you wanna know who I was stuck with on the train-“ Your incoming rant was cut off when a large water filled balloon came speeding your way, hitting the ground and bursting at your feet.

You gasped as a small wave of cold water splashed onto your shoes and into your socks. You groaned and cursed.

Malicious laughter appeared from above you. You looked up to see Peeves the Poltergeist taking aim again at another group of students, McGonagall's voice boomed as she screamed his name, commanding him to get down as she chased after the ghost.

“Aw that’s a shame! We just witnessed Ron get hit with one right on the head!” George’s voice appeared from the side of you, laughing with Fred next to him.

“Better your feet than face!” Fred added on before George and him hurried on, shuffling through the crowd. You just rolled your eyes and grimaced.

Cedric’s attention was already turned to someone farther up in the crowd, Cho. Of course. He pardoned himself and promised to catch up with you more later, pushing past the crowd and speeding up next to Cho.

You uncomfortably continued on through the torch lit halls, cringing at the way your shoes squeaked with every step you took, until you were finally able to drop into a seat at the large wooden table in the Great Hall.

You were welcomed to sit by Katie Bell, who was sitting by Angelina, who was sitting across from the twins.

You could never get away from those bastards, could you?

You accepted the spot anyways, you’d rather have some type of company than none. Katie had always been kind to you anyways.

Dinner went nicely, the first years were sorted, you ate, compared your course schedules with Katie, finding out you had Charms with her and unfortunately Potions with the twins. Again. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher was introduced and the Triwizard Tournament was announced.

You saw as the twins' faces lit up in awe as the winning prizes were announced.

“A thousand galleons! You realize what with a thousand galleons!” George said, nearly bouncing up and down in his seat.

“Oh I’m going for it! I’m going for it!” Fred whispered excitedly.

"Eager though I know all of you will be," Dumbledore continued on, "the heads of the participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are seventeen years or older will be allowed to put forward their names." His voice was soon wiped out by several students that had made groans and noises of outrage, especially the twins.

Their expressions of excitement had changed into fury. They began to shout.

“That’s rubbish!” The twins exclaimed in unison, the room was filled

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Fred booed.

Dumbledore's voice shouted for silence and continued on with his speech. You looked at the displeased faces of the twins, you almost wanted to laugh at their scowls.

"They can't do that!" muttered George, glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?" He groaned.

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also frowning.

After Dumbledore was finished with the announcement, he dismissed everyone to bed. You walked with Katie and Angelina, trailing behind the twins, who were already speaking in hushed tones of a plan to get in the tournament.

⋆⋆⋆

The next few days were tiring, you were stuck once again in Snape's class with the twins, and you already had a large load of work to do with other classes.

The twins seemed to be giving you a break from being a victim of their tricks, too busy with whatever their plan was to get their names in the cup.

The quill they gave you came surprisingly in handy. However, not wanting their help, you still attempted to write by yourself, though your writing would come out messy.

You were just counting down the days until you could get that stupid cast off.

You'd lost count of how long it’s been since you haven't had a nightmare about that night. It was constant. Being scared awake in the middle of the night by your own dreams.

Tonight you weren’t able to sleep at all, especially after the horrid dream you had. Instead of continuing to toss and turn in bed, you decided to go down into the common room, maybe the fireplace would provide some comfort.

You were met with a mop of ginger hair, one of the twins already sitting on the sofa, a sketchpad in front of him.

Dammit.

You didn’t mean to sigh out loud, grabbing the attention of Fred. Who stopped and whipped his head around. His expression was a mix of surprise and confusion.

“Trying to sneak out?” Fred asked.

“Had a bad dream. Can’t sleep.” You said flatly as you began walking over to the sofa. There was no point in going back upstairs. You’d be stuck awake either way.

You sunk down into the empty side, criss crossing your legs.

“What’re you doing awake? Planning your next horrific prank?”

“Coming up with a new idea.” Fred grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “See for yourself.” He handed his sketchpad to you.

You took it hesitantly, only to be surprised by the detailed potion bottle drawn on the parchment.

You were utterly shocked, this was like a renaissance painting compared to the shit he drew for Snape's homework.

"You made this?” Fred shrugged and nodded. “This is fantastic…" You trailed off, taking in the well put in effort.

“Was that a compliment I heard?” He sounded genuinely surprised as his face lit up into a mischievous grin.

“Oh shove it. You can draw this but not a cabbage?” You scoffed, tossing his sketchpad in his lap.

It felt wrong to be talking so casually with him. So nice. You should be spitting insults at him right now, you should be being meaner, maybe you’re just too sleepy to bother.

“You know, I’m surprised you weren’t sorted into Slytherin with how crude you are.”

“I’m not crude! You’re just bloody annoying.” You huffed.

“Cabbage are boring to draw anyways. It’s fun when it’s original and something fantastic.” He grinned, using your niceness against you.

“You just can’t help it, can you?” You shook your head as you gave him an unamused look.

“Help what?”

“Being full of yourself.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be full of me?” He smirked, a dramatic seductive tone in his voice.

“God, you’re gross!” You grimaced. “Merlin, do not make me stab you with a pencil again.” You muttered to yourself, you could feel your eyes drooping and your body felt heavier.

You yawned before shifting in your soft, curling up and resting your head on the leather armrest.

“How’s your arm?”

“Better.” You said flatly.

“What was your dream about?”

“Nothing good.” Fred let out a small hum, taking the hint that you weren’t up for talking anymore.

The room was silent except for the sounds of fire crackling and Fred shifting in his spot.

“I can leave you be if you’d-” Fred began as he sat up, gathering his sketchpad and pencils.

“No, you can stay!” You cringed at how your voice pipped as you lifted your head up, you sounded way too eager, too desperate. Fred must’ve noticed it too, he looked at you with complete confusion, shocked you weren’t trying to shoo him away for once.

“I just…I don't want to be alone tonight.“ You mumbled, it came out more depressing than you meant for it to sound. You cringed at how pathetic it sounded.

“Well, we can just sit here for a while, okay?” There was a change in his demeanor, one you’ve never seen before. Such a soft tone, a reassuring look in his eyes.

“Okay.” You agreed silently, laying your head back down. Fred eventually went back to sketching. You stared at the blooming fire as your eyelids fell heavier and heavier. Eventually drifting off to sleep.

You awoke a few hours later, it was early morning, the sun just above to make its first appearance for the day.

The spot on the couch next to you was empty. There was a blanket draped over your body and a few chocolates sitting at the small table right in front of you.

tell me what you thought!

[selyeji]

little changes

pablo gavi x reader

summary : exchanging of words, despite he’s an athlete and you’re more reserved. you interpret life similarly. (uni au)

warnings : none

neatly gathering your pens, slowly dropping them into your pencil case, zipping it. closing your neat, thin notebook, waiting for the professor to wrap up the lecture.

you scan the room, the light brown haired boy at the corner of your eye. he sat straight and proper, focusing on the board. he was indeed good-looking, curls perfectly combed, well dressed. it wasn’t a question why he was so well known. snapping from your thoughts when he turns his head around.

lecture was over, stacking your scattered notebooks on the table, slipping it onto your messenger bag. placing it over your shoulder but rested at your opposite hip. you walked around the campus, deciding what to do to pass the time.

it ends in the same destination, the library. it was your comfort space, everyone respected each others privacy, the air conditioning cools the entire place and it was quiet. sitting 2 seats away from the window, to avoid sunlight.

grabbing your notebooks, reviewing the lecture from earlier. your notes were neatly done, thin letters from the mechanical pencil you used, neutral color highlighters to bring attention to important details. spinning the pen your finger, rereading until an hour passed by. you could barely focus, you couldn’t point your finger on why. deciding to take a walk around, to refresh your mind.

the campus was big, greenery covered most of it. you continued to walk around, you were too familiar of the continuous routes you take everyday. until you were met with something unexpected, not in your routine.

there kneeled pablo gavi, on the grass, teeth gritting, brows furrowed. he had a scar on his shins, really bad, the blood gathered up, reddening the skin. the keychains on your bag stop while he continued to groan. walking up to him, pulling out your arm before doubting yourself whether to help directly him or not. pablo noticed you before you could even do anything.

“y/n… im glad you’re here. could you help me go to the clinic?” his expression immediately softened from his aching face when he faced you. “yes of course.” you said in a firm but soft voice, almost like writing with a pencil.

continuing the walk to the clinic, you pondered how he knew your name. you two never talked before, your lives never clashed together. pablo couldn’t talk much, he was still aching from the pain.

entering the door, the cool air hits your face, the smell of hospital alcohol filled your nostrils. the front desk was empty, deciding to leave pablo on the beds to find a staff. you look around, still no one to be found. slowly walking back to the bed where pablo sat at the edge at, showing clear discomfort in his face.

you knew the infection would get worse, staring at his wound. you had no choice but to help him yourself. grabbing the alcohol and cotton balls from a shelf, you sat on the sit next to the bed, facing him. “stay still, i’ll help cover it up. it will sting a bit.” you softly said, looking up at him. the window next to the bed reflected sunlight at his face.

his features became more defined. the properly combed curls from earlier was faded, strand of hair stuck to his face from sweat. the light glowed his eyes, brown hazel pearls gleaming through his dark long lashes. thick brows making his face more masculine.

you continued applying the alcohol, cleaning up the blood. he spoke up, asking about various things, whether they were related or not. it moved from how he got hurt, sports, activities, food, anything. no matter the topic was, it felt like it would never end, talking forever.

you wrapped up the wound tape around tightly. he smiled from above, thanking you. you packed up your things until pablo stopped you before leaving.

“wait y/n… i was wondering if… we could meetup again. tomorrow. just by the lake where you found me, on the benches.” his joy radiating through his words. you quietly agreed, smiling back at him. walking back to your dorm.

23 hours passed since the incident, you walk up to the meeting spot. pablo was already there, sitting one of the benches awaiting for your arrival. you quietly sat down next to him, turning his head to face yours and gave a soft smile. “why did you want to meet up?” you went straight to the point, “just wanted to be your friend, when we talked yesterday. the words spilled out my mouth, im usually cautious of what i spoke. but with you, i was comfortable. it’s like we can talk for hours without an end. despite us being opposites.” pablo said, hint of embarrassment from what he said.

from then on, you met up everyday, occasionally visiting the football practice with him. he was the universities star in football, he brought that title with him throughout the entire school. popularity was something he could not avoid. a boy approached you during the practices, it was one of pablos teammates.

fermin, one of the more popular players within the school. he was charming, smart, well known with the girls. you never exchanged words before until he often saw you in the field. approaching you mid practice, cleats still covered with cuts of grass. he was being flirtatious with you, but still soft.

feeling the gaze of gavi on the field. no matter the distance nor the height of grass, his eyes were on you, leaving a trail of touches even though he doesn’t use his hands. before you knew it training was over, helping pablo pack his things.

this was a daily routine now, walking alongside gavi back to dorms, talking about your day. “right, i forgot to mention. fermin asked to meet me tomorrow by the coffee shop down the street. you know why?” you ask pablo. the keychains hanging from your bag still jangling while walking. his heart mentally frozed but his feet still kept going forward, not stopping his steps. “i’m not sure… sorry…” his tone was quiet, gavi knew exactly what would happen.

fermin would confess his love to you, he unfortunate knew the result. you would say yes. who wouldn’t? he was a great friend and a guy. he reached your dorm as you went inside, thanking him for accompanying you. pablo went to his dorm, rushingly opening the lock. laying on the lower bunkbed, staring which was met with the mattress on top.

it was foolish he would’ve thought you two would be together. your dreams were widely different from his, but your soft personality was different from everyone else. gavi always offered a jacket when the rain splashes down from the ashy sky, carrying you back to your bed whenever you slept, always gentle to you. his spot in your life would be taken and replaced.

afternoon came around, everything was a haze. fermin just confessed feelings you cannot give back, your heart was set for someone else. he was disappointed indeed, but he respected you, your decision before leaving the cafe. you sat alone, chatter spilling out your ear to the other in the cafes busy hours. deciding to go to a nearby bridge.

the sound of footsteps of your leather shoes taps the ground, repetitively until you saw him. pablo with his navy blue hoodie, covering his brown hair. you continue going up to him, standing next to him to view the river. the sky was a gloomy but comfortable blue, insisting the rain about to pour.

you two both stare at each other for a while, takin in each others presence. “what happened back there?” gavi asked about fermin and you. he thought that only confirmation would help him let go of you. you folded your hands on the railing, using it as a pillow for your chin.

“he confessed his feelings to me, but i rejected him.” you said, more in a coldly tone. gavi was confused, why would you? “but why? he’s a great guy, smarter than me, better at football, a gentleman too. wouldn’t you want someone like that?” he asked, his brow curving.

“but i have you.” you say softly. silence, only the honking of cars could be heard behind you. your heart fluttered, there was nothing you could do to turn back. “i mean… sure you view him better than you, but i don’t love him like i do with you.” he couldn’t say anything, the words stuck to his chest, not even reaching his throat.

you never said anything out of impulse, always giving it a long thought but this one was different. your heart throbbing in your ears thinking you made him uncomfortable, unable to receive back those feelings. “im sorry, i don’t know how to keep silent, especially when my heart is speaking.” you said quietly, removing your head and hand from the railing. wanting to flee the scene before the tears catch up to the rain.

knuckles were softly held and pulled by pablo. not wanting for you to leave. the small drops of rain trickle down, felt by your hands. “y/n please stay.” he said hurriedly before words spilled out his tongue. “the day when we started talking, the memory stood by my chest even until now. i want to be a part of your life y/n. no matter what situation it is i will be there.” his voice was pleading.

the rain got heavier by the second, but it wasn’t as important than what stood in front of you. his hands gripped onto your shoulders to face him. slowly bringing your hand up to his flustered cheek, circling your thumb around. gazing into his eyes, almost seeing yourself in them.

his soft lips meet yours, wet from the rain. hugging your arms around his neck, not caring who would pass by. your lips separate from each other, you hid your head onto the crook of his neck. “let’s just go home.” you softly said, your lashes fluttering could be felt on his neck.

daily click to help palestine

a/n: got writing block while doing the reqs ermm sorry… that fermin or joao felix fic coming up though

[realisticjupiter]

Hiii I hope you're doing well this fine evening:) I was wondering if you can write chishiya that notice this one beach resident (reader) that keeps staring at him and at first he thinks that she's planning some evil schemes or something but no he just finds out with his super detective skills she's drawing him. Alot. And ends up confronting her about it. Thank you sooo much xoxo.

ꔫ ⸝⸝ summary: chishiya always seemed to catch you in the act. what was the act? he needed to know.

ꔫ ⸝⸝ pairing: chishiya x gn!reader

ꔫ ⸝⸝ genre: fluff

ꔫ ⸝⸝ warnings: none

ꔫ ⸝⸝ word count: 931

A/N: this was a little rushed but i hope you still like it!

It started off as what Chishiya hoped to be a coincidence. When he'd catch your gaze and you'd walk away; like a guilty dog.

He could tell you've gained more confidence when you'd stare right back at him and continue the soft movements of your wrist on the notebook you had laid on your lap.

Then it became more frequent, like you'd been following him and knew everywhere he'd be.

At some point he thought he was the one following you.

He couldn't pull away when he saw you again. Up on a balcony with the ability to look at every other beach resident, but every time you looked up--your eyes were on him.

He had given you the nickname 'Stalker' when talking to Kuina about it. And Kuina happened to be the one who put the paranoid thought that you were plotting an evil scheme against him.

Honestly, it could make sense. The constant writing, the more frequent encounters. What else would it be?

Chishiya, the curious cat. Far too curious for his own good the way he made his way back inside the Beach. Fast and large footsteps going towards where he saw you. Hoping he'd catch you before you'd disappear again.

But just with his luck, the chair you once sat in was empty. He took smaller steps to walk deeper inside the balcony, looking down to see your perspective.

Chishiya turned around, eyeing the chair that he wanted to stuff in an evidence bag and get it tested for anything and everything to figure out who you were.

He kneeled down, bringing his hand out to grab onto the black piece that felt like chalk on his fingers.

It was charcoal. Why did you have charcoal?

And as smart as Chishiya was. He now realized every theory he had, was now wrong just by this small piece in his hand.

He stood back up, studying the charcoal under his intimidating gaze as if it would talk to him with words.

You were an artist. At least, that's what it seemed like. Someone plotting on his demise wouldn't be writing a plan in charcoal. But rather draw a picture, like a face they could see daily.

That was his face.

Now he really wanted to find you; more than before. He wanted to ask you if he was right, and then maybe you'd show him your art with a smile.

He thought about that charcoal piece since he had woken up. And he realized maybe he could see the way other people viewed him, outside of his life and onto a piece of paper.

Catching you in the act seemed easy in his mind. He went to the same place every morning, and he'd see you there too. But instead of being on his side of the room, he'd sneak up behind you. Startle you, then help you up before taking that charcoal piece out of his pocket and into your view.

Sometimes he scared himself how easy it was to predict other people's moves, it felt like he had some sort of superpower.

Because that's exactly what happened.

You jumped to the sound of his voice, "Stalking again?" His voice husky, but soft as he spoke with a grin.

"Maybe?" You spoke as if it was question towards him, afraid you had made him uncomfortable.

"Maybe?" His grin grew larger when he quoted your words back to you, bringing out that charcoal piece you left behind.

You put on a shy smile when you saw it, reaching your hand out to grab it before he pulled away.

"It took me a while to find out what you were doing." Chishiya spoke, looking around your body to try and spot that notebook you carried around.

"It's only fair you show me what you were really doing." He cleared his throat after the words left his mouth, his eyes going back to yours to study your expression.

"That's true..." You chuckled, "I guess that is fair." You sighed, taking the notebook out of the satchel that rested on your body.

You handed it to him. You didn't need to show him a certain page, the entire notebook was just filled with him and maybe someone who was standing beside him if you got bored.

He noticed a few of him and Kuina, noticing the perfect strokes of led or charcoal that stained the white pages.

"These are better than I thought they would be." He hummed honestly, slowly flicking through the pages and taking in everything they offered.

"Thanks." You nodded, "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable... Or anything. I'm not good at talking to people. And you're quite satisfying to draw." You explained through a nervous lump in your throat. Your fingers fidgeting with each other as they rested above your thigh.

"I'm not uncomfortable." He shook his head, finally peeling his eyes away to look at yours. "I thought you were trying to kill me at first." He shrugged, looking back down.

"Oh," You nervously laughed, trying to wait patiently for him to hand it back.

"Where'd you learn how to draw?" He asked curiously, finally closing the notebook and handing it back to your shaking hands.

You shrugged, "Just something I taught myself over the years." You explained, stuffing the notebook into your bag.

"If you ever draw me again, you should show me." He wasn't suggesting it, he was hoping it.

You nodded before watching him walk away, only realizing he hadn't given the charcoal piece to you until he was out of sight.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[dorlilymylovesss]

James wanted to rip Regulus to pieces. The sight of his perfectly pressed clothes, the way he held himself with an untouchable air, as if the whole world was beneath him, made James's blood boil. But it wasn't just Regulus, it was the whole Black family. They treated Sirius like he was nothing, like he didn't matter.

The Blacks had nearly broken his best friend, twisted him to the point where he had almost stopped being himself. Sirius struggled to break free of his family's suffocating grip, and James had been there every step of the way, picking up the pieces they'd broken.

And now Regulus stood before him, the epitome of everything James despised. The same blood, the same name, the same privileges that had turned Sirius' life into a nightmare.

If James had the chance, he wouldn't even look at him or sit next to him. But today, unfortunately, he was forced to be alone with him in the same classroom.

He had two choices to ask for help in potions from Severus Snape or Regulus, both of this variants were terrible, but he had to choose Regulus because Snape would rather rip his head off then spent his time on him. But Regulus, to his surprise, had accepted his offer and agreed to help him.

James sat stiffly beside Regulus, every muscle in his body tense. He could barely believe he was in this situation, forced to rely on the one person he wanted nothing to do with. The classroom felt too small, the air too thick, and the silence between them was suffocating. Regulus, with his immaculate appearance and that infuriating calm, didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

"Do you understand this part?" Regulus asked, his voice as neutral as ever, pointing at a complicated section in their Potions book.

James gritted his teeth. He wanted to snap, to tell Regulus where he could shove the Potions textbook, but he needed to pass this class. And no matter how much he hated it, Regulus was good at this.

"Yeah," James muttered, not looking at him, though the truth was he didn’t understand a thing.

Why had Regulus agreed to help him in the first place? James couldn't understand it, and it was eating him. He wanted to believe it was some twisted game, Regulus's way of showing his superiority over him, of making him feel obligated and stupid. But as they sat in silence, Regulus didn't gloat or mock him. He simply explained the essence of the potion with a calmness that made James grit his teeth.

"You seem a little confused, but that's alright, this potion isn't as complicated as it seems. I have a book that should explain its nature perfectly. Wait here, I'll be right back to get it."

James nodded curtly, his eyes following Regulus as he walked away.

As Regulus disappeared through the door, James slammed the book shut and rubbed his temples.

And that's when he noticed the small notebook that Regulus usually always carried with him, on the table.

He had always wondered what he was writing in it. Perhaps he was describing some forbidden dark spell that could make a person suffer like crucio. Or something worse.

Curiosity took over. When Regulus was out of sight, he hesitated for only a moment before reaching for the notebook. It was small, bound in green leather, with a snake-shaped clasp that closed it securely. God, how corny. His fingers fumbled with the clasp, and he briefly considered the possible consequences of invading Regulus' private thoughts. But the curiosity was too strong.

He managed to open the notebook without a sound, and he stared at the pages in utter disbelief.

The first page had a drawing of Sirius sitting by the fireplace.

Next was a picture of a smiling Barty and Pandora, drawn with colored pencils.

Continuing to turn the pages, James saw more intimate drawings - scenes from different places, moments that seemed to have great meaning to Regulus. Notes were scribbled in the margins, observations about each person and snippets of thoughts.

When he reached a particular page, his eyes rounded. It contained a picture of James himself. He was standing in his Quidditch uniform, holding broom with his hand.

He flipped to the next page, hoping to find something to dismiss the drawing as just a picture with no deeper meaning, but instead he found something more. Regulus drew various moments that seemed to revolve around him - James' triumphant expression after winning a match, his laughter during a joke, even the quiet, pensive look he often wore when he thought no one was watching him.

His hands trembled slightly as he flipped to the last page of the notebook, which was different from all the others. It was completely filled with his name.

James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James

James's mind raced.

Was Regulus in love with him?

The door creaked open and Regulus appeared with the same neutral expression on his face that he always had. James, who only moments ago had slammed the notebook shut and thrown it back on the table, sat with a flushed face. Regulus didn't seem to notice the change in the surroundings on the table, he simply set the book aside and continued explaining the potion.

"Are you alright?" Regulus' voice was even, almost too calm, as if he didn't notice the storm raging inside James.

James answered as calmly as he could without giving away the chaos inside. "Yeah, just... just need to focus."

As the lesson dragged on, James couldn't escape the feeling that the dynamic between them had shifted irreversibly. The notebook had opened a door that James wasn't sure he wanted to walk through, but now that it was open, he couldn't ignore the new, uncomfortable reality.

"If you need any more help with Potions," Regulus said in a measured tone, "Just let me know.

Their lesson was already over, which made James sigh in satisfaction.

The moment he was outside the classroom, he leaned against the wall, trying to clear his head.

[veritas-scribblings]

more - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,260

[technically a follow-up from yesterday's 'safe', but can be read independently]

Regulus has taken to hiding in his bedroom, the smallest bedroom in the Potter house down the hall from James and Sirius. From the yard, where James will sit with Sirius on days when it is not cold and raining, James will often see Regulus sitting on his padded bench in the bay window of his bedroom reading some book or other. Writing some thing or other in his many notebooks. Sometimes just staring. Observing.

Plotting?

James worries about all of this, which is nothing new because he’s just prone to worry. He worries about Regulus isolating himself. He worries that Regulus is being deprived of sun, because Regulus inherited the Black Family affliction of pale skin and probably requires a significant dosing of Vitamin D.

And he worries that Regulus is ignoring him. Shutting him out. Though he will not say why.

Rationally, James knows that Regulus is concerned about Sirius’s reaction, given how over-bearing Sirius has been since they left Grimmauld Place. He’s not really ignoring James; he’s just being cautious.

But the memory of Regulus is seared into his brain. Regulus sneaking around the castle with him, kissing him in little nooks and hidden corridors. Regulus spending hours talking to James about nothing and everything, laughing, poking fun, insulting James, comparing notes on quidditch, telling James stories, telling James his hopes and dreams. 

He remembers Regulus’s warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin, the touch of his hands running over James’s body, the press of his lips on James’s neck doing wonderfully wicked things. The memory of Regulus’s body pressed against his, against places no one else has ever touched, making James feel in ways no one else has ever made him feel. Making James produce sounds he’s never produced for another person.

‘Oi!’ 

James jolts in alarm when Sirius elbows him hard in the side. Warmth flushes his cheeks, and James quickly looks away hoping that his embarrassment isn’t visible. He’s thought of Regulus many times over the days they’ve been home from Hogwarts. Sometimes late at night when he’s in bed and the thoughts turn into fantasies and he wonders, imagines, what it would it would feel like if…

No. Good Merlin, he can’t go there. Not right now. Not right now, when Sirius is right beside him and he can feel the heat rushing through his body to parts that are rapidly taking an interest. James cringes and turns away, trying to conjure disgusting images as quickly as he can, because this is all just going to get so damned awkward.

Snivellus naked. Snivellus naked. Snivellus naked.  

‘Prongs!’ When Sirius goes to whack him again (James remembers being whacked by Regulus, how wonderful that had been), James quickly shifts out of the way. 

‘Huh?’ Laying on the grass, propped up on his elbows, James looks back up at Regulus curled up in his bay window staring down at them. ‘What do you think he’s doing?’

Sirius shrugs. ‘Dunno. Writing love letters? Writing sad boy poems? Plotting to take over the wizarding world? Actually…!’ Sirius sits up, grinning like he’s suddenly found the secret to world peace. ‘Hey, you can ask him!’ At James’s confusion, he gesticulates wildly. ‘Who it is!’ he clarifies. 

‘Who what is?’

Sirius hunkers down and leans over so close to James, who is still laid back on his elbows, that it leaves weird, awkward, fluttering feelings in James’s stomach. Like drunken moths trying to find a light that just isn’t there.

‘The filthy, no good, two-bit rat who is sniffing around my brother. You can ask him, he’ll tell you. I hear he’s a real…what’s the word Marlene used…playboy. I think it means he’s a whore. Like, the local town broomstick. Everyone’s had a ride.’

Excuse me? James tries not to gawp, but he’s in no way ‘the local broomstick’. Sirius has slept with more people than James has, because James has slept with a great big whopping zero of people. That’s just not who James is. He wants it to be special. He wants it to be someone he loves. Call him a romantic or whatever; James knows that it’s not ‘cool’ of him, only he doesn’t care.

Maybe, just maybe, that special someone he loves will one day be Regulus.

‘I wouldn’t say he’s a broomstick,’ James mutters, ‘the person “sniffing around your brother”.’ 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow in a way that reminds James so much of Regulus. ‘You know who the dirty rat is?’

‘No, no. Just. It’s Regulus. Like Regulus is going to let a…filthy, no good, two-bit rat…around him. He has standards, doesn’t he? He’s too clever and proper and dignified for that.’

‘Right,’ Sirius says firmly. His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he leans back, stares up at Regulus in his window. ‘Well, they’d better not. Regulus is too innocent for any of that. He’s still a baby.’

James breaks out into a grin, unable to withhold the laughter that bursts free from his chest. ‘Regulus Black is in no way “innocent”, Pads. There is nothing innocent about your brother!’

’He is too, Prongs. What are you implying?’ Sirius shoves James hard, and James goes tumbling onto the grass heaving with laughter. ‘What are you calling my brother, you little shit.’

‘Not innocent, is what I’m calling him!’ James giggles. There had been no reservations in the way Regulus had manhandled James. James knows that Regulus has never had a relationship before. And as far as James knows, Regulus has never…’been with’…anyone before, or Sirius would have absolutely decimated the person who had dared to touch his little brother. 

But Regulus had been bold. He had been shameless. And had been certain in obtaining exactly what he wanted from James.

‘I’m just saying,’ Sirius hisses, standing firmly on the hill he is prepared to die upon. ‘I’m saying Regulus is sensitive. He has a gentle heart under all those thorns and prickles and shards of glass. He deserves someone who will handle him with care. He deserves someone good, someone who will be good to him. He can't afford to be hurt, Prongs.’

James nods vigorously in agreement. He knows this. He knows it because, he thinks, Regulus has started to show James his heart, and James feels blessed because Regulus does not trust easily.

But Regulus seems to trust James. So maybe James is enough?

‘Someone…you have to approve?’ James hedges.

‘Absolutely. My blessing is the number one requirement. I also expect applications in triplicate. Character references. Criminal history checks. 15-inch written essays on why they want to get within one kilometre of Regulus. They will be interrogated and reviewed by a jury of my peers.’ Sirius flops down onto the grass, his hair fanning beneath him. ‘So, you gonna talk to him for me?’

‘Sure,’ James says. 'I can talk to him for you.'

There’s a tiny spark of hope in his heart that maybe Sirius also thinks James is enough. That James is a good person who will take care of Regulus’s heart and handle Regulus with care. That Sirius will trust James with his little brother.

James will explain that he makes Regulus smile and Regulus makes him smile. He’ll explain that they laugh together and have fun together, that James listens to Regulus’s stories and his hopes and his dreams. That James thinks Regulus is brilliant and clever and cunning and sneaky and that this makes Regulus special. That James knows how brave Regulus is, and how bold, how kind Regulus can be.

And maybe Sirius will decide that James is enough. 

[swannieluv]

Help with studies

pairing: Platonic!Tighnari x GN!Reader – wc: 900 – tw: peeling the skin off your lips, academic pressure – a/n: This is more of a personal thing I wrote. But I hope it can comfort someone who goes through the same thing <3. Sorry for any grammar mistakes </3– likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!!

Studying is hard, and it gets even harder when you don't know how to study in the first place. Being a good student throughout your whole life was somewhat… easy? You thought it was just the fruits of you paying attention to classes, but it wasn't exactly like that. Sometimes you would write, read the contents before the lecture even started, doodle on the desk, or think of whatever scenarios appeared in your mind.

With the textbook, full of images and descriptions written in a bold black font, open in front of you, desperation started growing. Why wasn't your brain just understanding the texts previously highlighted during class? You were sure you had understood everything when learning, yet it was like knowledge had disappeared from your mind.

You just kept staring absentmindedly at the page, as if nothing around you was happening. It was just a few minutes later that your state was interrupted by a voice calling for you: the familiar voice of Tighnari, one of the few you can call friend — though you're both often mistaken for siblings, for being often seen together.

“[Name]?” He was holding a pot with a small plant. That's right, you had asked him for a decoration for your desk, perhaps a change of air would help.

There were not so rare occasions in which you had to ask for his help. Tighnari’s way of explaining stuff was direct and left no space left for doubts, plus he always added extra information you missed during study sessions.

He left the plant next to a pile of notebooks before opening your curtains. “Look. I'm not a specialist, but I can't help but notice your troubled expression these days.”

You lost track of how many hours had been spent doing absolutely nothing. But the sunset was enough to remind you of the fact that nothing productive had been done and you were doomed.

“I don't know anymore, everything feels so… strange. I'm intelligent, right?” Tears gathered in your eyes before you looked up at him. “Please tell me I am or else I don't know what to do?”

Intelligence had been associated with you ever since childhood. It started by wanting to show off, talking about complicated things such as atoms, stars, and every other information you could reach. Then, getting medals and certificates for getting good grades.

Everyone talked about how good of a child you were, about how far you would go in the future. It felt wonderful looking at your twisted reflection on the back of the medals, as your parents patted the top of your head and praised your achievements, hanging it on the wall to show.

But as you grew up, the compliments stopped. Your success was predicted and there wasn't anything new in the golden painted medals of cold iron, now forgotten in the back of the drawer. Before you knew it, the habit of peeling the skin off your lips and the twist of your stomach had become your companions during tests.

As you joined the Akademiya, things suddenly changed. It was during the first year when you got the first bad grade ever, nothing too low, but not enough to be the best. Then, you cheated on a test for the first time and felt terrible.

It was during that time that you met Tighnari. He was paying the Akademiya a small visit when his ears caught on the sound of muffled crying, leading him to your hiding spot.

That was how you met Tighnari, being comforted by him as you cried in front of someone else for the first time. And for some reason, the two of you started bumping into each other too often.

“I know you want to be the best. But remember, you're a human being and just like everyone, you're prone to making mistakes every now and then.” He had a gentle smile on his face, before asking for permission to pat your head, which you gave.

“It's just… it's not only because of what the others will think, but also because I don't want to disappoint myself.” Your answer made your eyes tear up a little, alongside the beginning of a running nose that made you try to suppress those feelings back.

Tighnari took your hand, preventing you from wiping away those tears. “It's not healthy to keep it to yourself so… cry if you feel like doing so. I don't see anyone here who would judge you.”

And so, you cried. There was no other way to show your feelings, as the words you wanted to say never made their way out of your chest. But Tighnari didn't care if you told him everything or not, just wanting to comfort someone he can relate to.

Perhaps Tighnari didn't get along with you only out of sympathy, but because he did see his younger, overachiever, self in you. He didn't want you to go through the many frustations reserved on your way alone. And he knew that it was difficult to open up for anyone when being smart was one of the best qualities someone could have. But everything had a downside.

“Tell me what you need to understand, and I'll help you.” He kneeled and picked up a book on the ground, opening its pages to take a look before handing it to you. “It may not be exactly my field of knowledge but—”

“Tighnari,” you interrupted him with a tired, yet grateful, grin on your face. “Thank you.”

A sigh escaped from his lips before he reciprocated your smile. Things were difficult, but Tighnari would help you to at least get a decent grade; and what if you didn't? After all, a number can't define who you are or your potential.

[haihaihaitani]

The Bucket List ~ *Manjiro Sano*

Summary: It's another late night without Mikey. It seems this keeps happening. After spending so many nights worrying, you finally decide to take action. All it takes is a notebook and a pen to try and fix your relationship.

Pairing: Manjiro Sano X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffyish Oneshot

Word Count: 2063

Warning: Mentions death, hurt to comfort

Masterlist

Taglist: @soulangel​

It was another late night and you were sick with worry. Mikey said he would be home at a decent time, but just like the last couple times he made that promise, he lied. So here you are, sitting at the kitchen table, wondering where he was. 

While you were panicking on the inside, you knew you needed to do something to take your mind off of things. That’s why you had a notebook and a pen before you. With a sigh, you picked up the pen and began to write. At first, your words were slow and unsure, but eventually you became more confident and sure with what you were writing. It was like the words were flowing out of you and you were determined to capture them all as quickly as they came into your head.

You were so absorbed in your little project that you didn’t hear the front door to your apartment open. You jumped when you felt Mikey gently put his hand on your shoulder. He gave you a small, yet sad smile. You returned the look before returning to your work.

He took the chair in front of you before softly saying, “I’m sorry.” When you didn’t answer, he spoke again. “How long have you been up?”

“I never went to sleep.”

“Oh, I see.” He mumbled, and you could sense him shifting in front of you as you worked. “What are you writing?”

With a sigh, you finally set the pen down, leaned back, and started to massage your hand that was beginning to ache. “I’m making a list, a bucket list to be exact.”

He looked at you suspiciously. “Can I ask why?”

“Well, I started thinking about the fact that you come home later and later each night.” You caught his wince at your words. “And as much as that bothers me, I know it’s who you are and I can’t ask you to give up your gang. So instead, I’m giving you an incentive to be careful and to always come home to me.”

Mikey’s eyebrows furrowed some more. “An incentive? What do you mean?”

You turned the list you were working on towards him. “These are all things I want to do with you before either of us die. I’ve already got a good start on the list, but I would love to hear your input as well.”

He took his time reading each item on the list. Occasionally he would ask clarifying questions, which you would answer, and he would return to reading. When he was done, he set the list down and stared at you for a long time. You weren’t uncomfortable under his gave. Instead of regarding you with contempt or sadness, he merely looked curious, almost as if he was thinking of what he would put on such a list. You gave him all the time he needed to make sure he had all of his thoughts in order.

“May I have the pen, please?” He asked quietly, holding out his hand to you.

You nodded and gave him the writing utensil. He stared at you again for a moment more before he began writing. You watched him write, unable to discern any of the words as he was hunched over the paper and it was upside down. Instead, you let out a slow, long breath from your nose and stood up.

This caught his attention and he gave an adorable, little pout. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to make us some coffee. Is that alright?”

“Oh.” He gave a sheepish nod before returning to his writing.

A small smile escaped you. Quietly, you slipped into the kitchen and started the coffee pot. As you reached for two mismatched mugs, you sighed. This isn't how you expected this night to go at all. You thought you would be curled up against Mikey as the two of you dreamed the night away in your warm and comfy bed. It made your heart hurt. You thought that you would be able to find a guy who would do normal, domestic things, like sleeping in the same bed or drinking coffee in the morning together. Normal things that normal couples do when they’ve been together for almost three years. 

But nothing was ever normal when it came to Mikey. You would never get to do normal, domestic things with him. You would never get to fall asleep together in the same bed. You would never get to enjoy a warm cup of coffee in the morning as you both sat in comfortable silence. He would always be away from home late, and come back with more wounds than you could count. You would always be terrified of whether or not he’d come back home alive, or if the police would finally arrest him.

As much as those thoughts scared you, you weren’t too upset with how tonight was going. Sure you didn’t think you’d be making a bucket list with your lover at the crack of dawn, but you were glad you were. With each item you put on the list, it was another reason for Mikey to come back to you, safe and sound. It was another day the two of you could be together, away from danger. And that made you feel a little better. At least you could try to work through this list together. Perhaps the more you completed, the more he’d want to spend time with you, away from his gang. Perhaps the two of you could be closer to what normal couples did.

Mikey tapped your shoulder again, causing you to jump. “The coffee’s done.”

“Oh, okay.” Carefully, you poured two cups and fixed your coffee to how you liked it, while Mikey drank his black.

“Are you done writing your list?” You asked as you sipped your coffee.

He nodded. “I have one more thing to write and then I’m done.”

“Alright.”

You followed him back into the dining area where you saw a long list of words. You weren’t ready to read what he wrote yet. You watched him write the last thing he wanted on the list before sliding it slowly over to you.

“There.” He mumbled. “It’s up to you what you want to keep or what you want to get rid of. I don’t care. I just kind of let it all out. None of anything I’ve written needs to be set in stone. I don’t mind.”

You nodded and gently picked up the notebook to read what was written. Nothing he asked for was super big and extravagant. If anything, it made you smile. He had simple wishes. Easy requests that you’d be more than happy to grant. It was a shame it took this long to figure that out. If you had known, then maybe you could have gotten to work on this list a lot sooner. Still, you were glad you were learning all of this now.

At the very bottom of the list, the smile you held inside broke to the surface. He had asked for more mornings enjoying coffee together. A normal, domestic couple moment. A moment that you wanted more than anything else in the world. He wanted it too. It made you so happy.

“Is it good?” Though Mikey’s voice was quiet, you could hear the eagerness of a child in it. “Do you like what I wrote?”

Looking up at him, you smiled and nodded. “Yes. I like what you wrote. All of this, we can do. We can work through this list with ease. I’m not worried about missing a single thing.”

“Yeah? That’s good.” He smiled a little and sat back in his seat. He finished his coffee before frowning at you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…”

“No, I need to say this.” He sat up again and took one of your hands in his. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. You don’t deserve any of it. You have always been there for me when I needed you most. But when you needed me, I was nowhere to be found. You didn’t ask for this life. You wanted me to be the perfect boyfriend and I’ve tried. But along the way, I stopped trying because things got too hard. You are worth trying for and I want to try again. That’s why I want to work on this bucket list with you. I want to do everything written here before we die with you. I want to try and be that perfect boyfriend again for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “Mikey, don’t. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I first started dating you, so don’t act like I didn’t know. I knew how much the gang and the boys mean to you. I wasn’t going to get in the way of that. But you are right. One day, I don’t know when, it felt like you didn’t care anymore. But I still cared, I still love you. That’s why I put up with it all this time. I won’t lie and say what you did didn’t hurt. It’s going to take some time to rebuild that trust and get back to where we once were. But if you want to stay and you want to try again, I will be right beside you as we work through this, okay?”

He nodded, eagerness in his actions as he squeezed your hand tightly. “Yes, I want to try! I want to be with you forever. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to be the man you need, no matter what I have to do to achieve it.”

You smiled and rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. “Thank you for the apology, Mikey. I really appreciate it.”

“Are you sure it was enough? I don’t think-”

“It was enough.” You assure him. “It was enough for now. As we progress, your apology can be in the form of you trying, proving that you want to be with me. Then it will all be enough.”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough. You’re too good for me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even worth everything you’ve done for me.”

“Hey…” You whisper, taking his face in your unoccupied hand. “Hey don’t say that! Don’t even think that! You’re more than enough, my love. Yes, you’ve dropped the ball on numerous occasions, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving you. I will always love you, no matter what you put us through.”

He gave a small chuckle. “You make it sound like I’m a bad boyfriend.”

You smile. “You have your moments. But you’re not the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends. You just need a little help from time to time. And I’m more than happy to be of assistance. I do it because I love you.”

“And I love you too.” He kissed the palm of the hand on his cheek.

You sighed before standing up and withdrawing your hands. “It’s late. We should go to bed. I’ll clean the mugs.”

“Just leave them in the sink, I’ll clean them in the morning.” Mikey took your hand gently. “Come to bed with me.”

You nodded and followed him into the bedroom. He changed into comfy clothes and you pulled back the covers for him to slide into bed. As soon as he was in bed, he wrapped his arms around you and cuddled you close. It had been so long since the two of you cuddled like this. Tears again appeared in your eyes and you blinked them away. You wouldn’t cry about how much you missed this. If you did, you would break his heart. Instead, you smiled and melted into his embrace. You wished that you could have more soft nights like this.

“What should we work on tomorrow?” Mikey mumbled, his voice thick with sleepiness.

“What?”

“On the list. What should be the first thing we do tomorrow?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle before shifting so you could kiss his nose. “How about I make coffee in the morning?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Don’t worry, we have the rest of our lives to finish this list together.”

He sighed and pulled you even closer. “That sounds absolutely wonderful.”

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Love me or hate me, both are in my favor. (Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader [HS Academic rivals AU])

Babe wake up, new series just dropped! This is not proofread btw

(Y/N)-Your name.

Cursing, Miguel being jealous? (If you squint), i am mexican but my Spanish sucks so apologies I’m advance, Phantom of the Opera spoilers (???? Through I’d throw it out there)

Word count: 3k

Series Masterlist Series playlist

Chapter 1:The world was on fire

—

“Love me or hate me, Both are in my favor. If you love me, I’ll always be in your heart. If you hate me, I’ll always be in your mind.”

The quote was etched into the front of your red hardcover notebook, with gold details covering the edges of the front. The black ink was oddly neat despite how deep you had to indent the words over and over on the cover. Miguel has noticed that you would always write a beautifully tragic quote on the front of all your English notebooks every year.

Last year, the quote was, “Love is blind, and lovers cannot see.”

For sophomore year, “She could have been a poet or she could have been a fool.”

And for freshman year it was, “‘I miss her.’ ‘You’re dead.’ ‘Even in death, I mourn her.’”

The first time Miguel saw it was when you both were in the 7th grade, being paired up to write a report about some random novel that Miguel couldn’t remember the name of. You had pulled out your notebook, that year it was a dark forest green, with the quote being, “But just because I’m not going to wish for it doesn't mean the moth can ignore the flame. It’s in the moth's blood.”

Miguel’s dark maroon eyes rolled to the back of his head, it was almost pretentious he thought, a way to show off how “artsy” you are. He allowed a scoff to escape his plump lips, you simply ignored him as you began to flip through your notes.

You were much more into history, the arts and most of all, Literature, while Miguel was more into science and math. Miguel didn’t understand why you loved it so much, he didn’t think your favorite subjects were nearly as important as his. Who cares what some dead poet wrote a thousand years ago, when he could be the next to make a big scientific discovery? Like time travel or curing cancer. Sure, Miguel still did the work in english and history, and for someone who didn't care for it, he would always do so well, and that drove you up the wall, but Miguel could say the same about you with math and science. Miguel would always tune you out when you would ramble on about some new book you were reading to your friends, or would ignore the way your eyebrow would furrow together and your teeth would bite down on your lips when you’d get to a particularly good spot in your novel, stopping every once and a while to annotate, would scoff at the the way your eyes would stare at piece of art with such fascination and wonder when the class would go to a field trip to an art museum, groan at how’d you always talk about the beauty of old gothic architecture, talking about how the beauty of the buildings was almost tragic.

The key word, would.

As you two grew older, and your competitiveness in your grades became more intense, Miguel couldn’t help but start to wonder what goes through that pretty little head of yours. He wanted to see how the deep corners of your mind worked. What made your brain tick, maybe if he saw the world through your perspective, he would understand you more.

Your manicured hand grabbed your notebook by the bloody red spine, gently gripping it before placing it into your bag, and zipping it up. Slinging it over your shoulder as you turn to talk to your friend who sat next to you, before you both made your way out of the AP English classroom.

You and Miguel had been attending the same classes since you transferred in the 6th grade, both of you attend one of Nueva York’s most prestigious and high-end boarding schools. At first, Miguel didn’t pay you any mind, figured you were just another spoiled brat with daddy’s money, and a trust fund big enough to last you until you find some poor unsuspecting fool to ask for your hand and make you into a trophy wife, like most of the girls who attend the school. But it wasn’t until you had beat his score later that year on the mid-year school wide testing did you get his attention. He could remember it like it was yesterday, he was sitting in class with a near perfect score of 97% written on top of his test answer sheet, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he slid the paper over to his left where Peter Parker had sat.

“I swear man, you’re like, a genius.” Peter grumbled to Miguel as he glanced at his friend’s paper, before at his own which had 78% written at the top. Peter’s hand went up to pat Miguel on the back, but before Miguel could reply, just bearly in earshot, he had heard an unfamiliar voice speak.

“Yeah I got a 99, I wasn’t expecting…” Miguel didn’t catch the rest, but the first part was enough for his whole body to feel hot all over, and make his stomach twist in discomfort. He felt like he was about to go into a state of shock, or rather he was already entering one. He’s never had someone top before, if felt like he was dreaming, well, maybe having a nightmare was a better way to describe it. He couldn’t remember how long he had sat at his desk afterwards, in a weird state of disassociation until Peter had pulled him back to reality. He swore to himself, after that moment he’d never let you top him again.

But that was a hard promise to keep. Because whether he'd like to admit it or not, you were good, always keeping him on his toes. You were almost like a breath of fresh air for him, albeit a painful one, like the first shallow breath after almost drowning. Before you , Miguel was growing content, growing bored, no other student was anywhere close to his GPA, even the second best at the time, he felt simply untouchable, but then you came along, and you changed everything for him.

At first, he saw you more as a pest, an annoying little fly that kept buzzing around no matter how many times he had tried to swat you away. Upon your first time formally meeting with Miguel, you were polite and civil, the kindest smile on your face as you stuck your hand out for him to shake as you introduced yourself to him. Miguel just glanced at your hand with a sour, unamused expression on his face, before his eyes wandered back up to your face and he just let out a noise that was a mix between a grunt and a scoff before turning and walking away, leaving you confused and a little bit hurt from his unfriendly and quite frankly rude actions, you decided to just brush it off, maybe he was having a bad day and wasn’t in a good mood. So a few days later you tried to approached him again in hopes for a better interaction, only for those hopes to get squashed when he basically told you to fuck off, rolling his eyes and ignoring your presence once again as he walked past you, “accidentally” shouldering you in the process. You decided to stop trying to be nice to him after that.

For about the first year since you transferred, you and Miguel simply pretended the other didn’t exist, neither would approach or interact with the other unless absolutely necessary, the only constant reminders of each other's presence was when one would beat the other during tests, report cards, etc. Eventually the plain out ignoring shifted to fleeting glares and glances, eye rolls and snarky remarks muttered under both of your breaths, both of yours already rocky relationship with each other becoming more and more intense and open as you both got older, neither finding the energy to even attempt to tolerate the others presence anymore. So now you and him were stuck in this repetitive circle with each other, but neither of you were doing anything to stop it.

—

“I’ve already told you Gabe, I’m not going to give you my notes from last year. Read the book like everyone else.” Miguel sighed, stuffing his free hand in his pocket, his other hand holding onto his backpack strap, walking to the housing building across the campus of Nueva York’s Preparatory Academy, where he and his younger brother shared a room.

“But Miggy!” Gabriel whined, his lips coming out in a pout, and Miguel’s nose scrunched in annoyance at both the nickname and the high-pitch tone of his brother's whine. “What’s the point of me being brothers with one of the top students at this school if I can’t steal your notes! Besides, I've tried and I just can’t get into it. Who would have thought that Frankenstein would be such a boring book, and don’t get me started on how the paragraphs are set up!”

“And that’s my problem because?” Miguel’s eyebrow quirked up, sending Gabriel an unamused look.

“Look Miguel, you might not get it from my point of view, but it’s very difficult for me, being your brother. From an academic standpoint I mean. The teachers expect me to have the same intelligence as you. I'm not stupid, don’t get me wrong, I’m just not on the same playing field as you. Also, I don’t like reading.” Gabriel shrugged.

“And what makes you think that I do?” Miguel retorted with an eyeroll, opening the glass doors to the housing building for his brother before stepping in himself and shutting the door behind him.

“Well didn't you get an A+ on your report about the book last year?”

“No. I got an A-.” Miguel grumbled, and after a moment, Gabriel’s expression perked up a bit, as if a light bulb had gone off in his head.

“Oh riiight, that one girl got an A+, what was her name again?” Gabriel said in an almost teasing tone, before throwing out various names at Miguel that were similar to yours, obvious bait to see if his brother would bite, and he did.

“It’s (Y/N).” Miguel corrected with a hash glare.

“Oh, right, right.” Gabriel’s lips went up in a slight smirk, his hands going into his pockets to fish out the keys to their shared dorm room. “Maybe I can ask her to help me, I mean she’s a bookworm, right?”

Miguel didn’t answer the question, not completely sure if it was rhetorical or not, choosing to stay silent as they finally stopped in front of their room.

“I could ask for her notes, maybe take her out for some coffee as a thank you.” Miguel’s face scrunched with annoyance at the implication, his brother knew how much you two disliked each other, and a more sound part of his mind was telling himself that his little brother was just pulling at his leg, but that didn’t stop him from the draggers he glared at Gabriel.

“Don’t even think about it. Hasta la mira mal a esa niña, y estás muerto. ¿Entiendes?” Miguel hissed, his voice dropping an octave with the threat. (If you even look at that girl wrong, you’re dead. Got it?”)

Despite his older brother’s threats, Gabriel’s smirk only turned into a wide grin, before he put his hands up as I sigh of surrender, his keys dangling with the motion before he unlocked the door, and walked into the room, Miguel following closing the door behind him.

—

“I don't understand anything about this, (Y/N).” Your friend, Mary Jane, or MJ for short, groaned as you both sat down in one of the school's many libraries, school supplies sprawled on top of the mahogany desk. It was fairly empty, today, but you both took space in one of the empty study rooms to keep from making too much of a disruption from anyone else who might go in, the repeated sound of rapid tapping of MJ’s mechanical pencil hitting the desk as you catch her biting her bottom lip in frustration.

“I know.” You giggled with a small smile, putting your hand on her forearm in an attempt to comfort her. You both have been at it for about 3 hours now, your English teacher had assigned everyone to write a 2,000 word essay about the book being read in class Romeo and Juliet. You’ve already read and watched the play a million times so you knew the back of your hand.

“Like I understand that, they fall and love and die and stuff, but all the jokes and the symbolism and stuff-“

“That’s why I’m here, MJ.” You grinned at your friend, and she just scoffed at you with a friendly smile, a smile you returned, before getting up from your seat with a small stretch. “I’ll be right back, I'm going to go stretch my legs.” You told her, which only got you a hum in response, before you slipped out of the small room. No matter how much time you’ve spent in this specific library, (it’s your favorite one) you’ll never get tired of the earth and wood-like tones that filled your senses whenever you would enter in the building, the four old walls always filled you with such warmth, they were like a second home for you. You let out a deep content exhale as your black Mary Jane heels tapping quietly against the old wooden tiles of the library floor. Mindlessly wandering with no real destination in mind, but making sure you don’t stray too far from the study room, it wasn’t difficult to lose your sense of direction in the make-shift corridors made from old bookshelves. You turn a corner without thinking, a hand goes up , gently brushing the spines of the books as you continue walking. What genre section were you in?

Your steps came to a halt, taking a step closer to the shelf as you grabbed the book your hand was resting on. Your lips came up in a soft small smile as you read the title of the book in your hands.

The phantom of the opera.

Oh how you loved the story, you’ve watched both the movie renditions and the stage version countless times, but you’ve read the novel more than you’ve watched all three combined, but your copy sadly got ruined when you dropped it in a puddle of water while on a walk, and haven’t had the time to get a new copy. Was it bad that if you were in Christine’s shoes, you would have picked Erik over Raoul?

Your fingertips opened the door, flipping the pages until you landed on the page you were looking for.

Hardly breathing, he went up to the dressing-room and, with his ear to the door to catch her reply, prepared to knock. But his hand dropped. He had heard a man's voice in the dressing-room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:

"Christine, you must love me!"

And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling, as though accompanied by tears, replied:

"How can you talk like that? When I sing only for you!"

Raoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain.

His heart, which had seemed gone-

“Why am I not surprised I’d find you here?” The sudden words interrupted your reading. You didn’t need to lift your eyes to know the source of the voice, the slight accent and the deadpan tone gave it away.

“Hello to you too, O’Hara.” You replied, your eyes not lifting, your hand flipping to the next page despite no longer reading the words on the pages anymore, you weren’t going to give Miguel the satisfaction of knowing he had your attention. The act didn’t last very long though when his finger went up to lift the book up to read the cover, your gaze going up to finally look up at him, a bored expression on your face, a tsk leaving his mouth when he realized what you were reading.

“What?” You question him, wanting to know what that reaction meant, you closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

His lips come up to a smug smirk.

“That you find that shit romantic.” He stated like he knew it was a fact, and you’d rather die than admit to him that you did, in fact, find it romantic. “Don’t act like you don’t, I can read you like a book. No pun intended.”

Your face came to a scowl, instead of entertaining him with a response, you crossed your arms and slightly leaned against the bookshelf behind you.

“What are you even doing here Miguel? You don’t even like reading.” He didn’t entertain your question with a response either, rather he just shrugged, and took a step closer, his hand going up to rest against the self, his hand was right next to your head.

“Do me a favor?” He asked, but his tone came out more like it was a suggestion rather than a request.

“Why would I do that?” You scoffed.

“Don’t make me beg, muñeca.” His tone dropped an octave. Despite the pet name, his voice was filled with nothing but coldness. (Doll)

“Don’t give me ideas.” You teased. Your lips twitched up slightly.

“If my brother comes to you and asks to take you out, go ahead and say no.” That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, but you slowly nodded your head regardless, deciding to not ask what his brother said to him that would make him come up to you about that. His hand came back down to his side as he took a step back “Good. How’s the essay coming?”

The sudden topic change you off guard a bit, but you quickly recovered, since it was something you’d both been more used to talking about, your studies.

“I’m almost done, I’ve mostly been just helping MJ with hers.” You explained, as you stood up straight again. “You?”

“Same, if it weren’t for Peter I probably would already be finished with it.”

“Don’t stress about it too much, O’Hara.”

“Oh, why not?”

You smiled.

“Because I'm gonna get a better grade on my paper anyways.”

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @oharasfilipinawife @mxltifxnd0m @loser-alert @homewreckingwreck @dumb-gemini12

[riality-check]

daisy jones-adjacent au. part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. tw substance abuse, ptsd, references to past torture (canon, the russians.) part 7.

ao3

Writing the album is, somehow, the easy part, even after Steve put his foot in his mouth.

He had his suspicions, but he shouldn't have asked that. It was a dick move, and he's been trying not to be a dick for the past few years. So, he apologized and didn't bring it up again.

Eddie softened after that. Like he wasn't expecting Steve to apologize. He accepted it, and things have been good since.

Well, more than good, if Steve's being honest. Things have gotten a lot better since.

He's noticed a few things, even after their permanently discontinued game of "truth or truth." Mostly, the things Steve has noticed have been about Eddie, like:

He laughs at the dumbest things.

He quotes books and movies constantly.

He has an accent that he masks unless he's tired.

He hates strong smells.

He deflects by becoming bigger.

There's more. A lot more that Steve has noticed, but listing everything about Eddie's brilliance and stubbornness, his courage and obnoxiousness, his gorgeous face and sharp tongue would take all day. Steve has noticed a lot over these few weeks spent hunched over instruments and notebooks at his house, and he thinks Eddie has noticed him in return.

He hopes so.

It's been a long time since Steve has wanted to be noticed beyond the superficial adoration of fans. It's been a long time since Steve has wanted to be known.

There are a plethora of reasons for why that's a bad idea. Steve is able to forget them momentarily when he sees Eddie smile.

All too soon, after far too long, they're done writing. They start recording, and that is the hard part.

It always is. There's always something wrong with the levels or slightly out of tune, or someone sneezes right into the mic on the first good take. There's things that work and things that don't, and, always, songs on paper that have to get fixed before they can be songs on the radio.

The album has good bones, though. It's angry and hopeful and scared and sad and triumphant. It's music, it's art, it's life.

And once they can make it work, it's going to be great.

That's what Steve is doing now. Making it work. He's awake at 4 AM on a Tuesday, sitting at a piano and trying to rework the bass line to stop it from clashing so much with the melody.

The only good thing about this situation is that he's made it to seventy three hours awake for the first time, courtesy of a well-timed line right before he got to work.

If it keeps working, he might trash the pills entirely.

He plays the introduction to the song again on his right hand and starts adding low notes on his left. As it is, it sounds empty. To much distance. But if he raises it a fourth-

"Steve?"

He freezes, fighting back against the instinct to jump away from the piano like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He forgot that the band has been crashing at his house - it's close to the studio and he has the rooms to spare - and because he forgot that he wasn't alone, he failed to remember that most people aren't awake at this hour, nevermind working.

So, he calmly turns around to see Eddie, in pajamas, standing in the doorway, blinking sleep out of his tired eyes.

Steve swallows and hopes that Eddie is too tired to catch him openly staring.

"What are you doing?" Eddie whispers.

"Reworking something," Steve says. "Trying out something different for the bass line in Envy, the one that's giving us trouble."

Eddie covers his mouth to yawn. "Couldn't sleep?"

Steve wonders when the last time he thought that was a bad thing was.

"I can be quieter," he says. "I was just trying to fix this. But that can wait until morning."

"Steve," Eddie says, and he's got that look on his face.

Steve hates that look.

Eddie looks at him like he can see inside his skull, inside his heart, and read his DNA letter by letter. He looks at him like he can see everything about Steve: past, present, and future.

And there's pity in every second of it.

Steve can't stand pity.

"I just- I gotta see the whole picture, you know?" he continues so Eddie doesn't get to voice that pity. "And you guys all have your instruments, but piano gives me everything. I can play the bass and the guitar and sing and- I'm just able to get it better that way. Where are you going?"

Eddie is almost out the door again. "I- I can't be here, Steve."

"Why? Are you tired? You can go-"

"You're high, and I know that if you offer me something, I won't say no."

Oh.

"Eddie, I wouldn't-"

"And even if you don't, if you take something in front of me, I know I'll ask for some," he says, like it's a fact, the same way the sky is blue.

"I'm not- I wouldn't do that to you," Steve says. No point in denying that he's high, not when they both know it. "I wasn't- I'll get off the piano. I'll read, or, well, reread something instead."

He gestures aimlessly at the bookshelf on the wall near the door. It's crammed full of recommendations from Dustin and Robin and Erica and Nancy. All of them have been read at least once, most of them twice.

"You like to read?" Eddie asks.

"No, I hate it," Steve says, completely genuinely.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh. "I will never understand you."

"I know."

Because that's the thing. No one can understand it, can understand him, unless they were in Hawkins, Indiana, too. Unless they saw what he did. Unless they signed the same NDAs. Unless they fought the same monsters and went to the same other world and endured the same things.

Eddie, like most other people, will never be able to understand.

So, his smile fades as he stands there in the doorway, confused.

"I like stories, but I hate reading," Steve explains. "I just do it to fill-"

"I can read to you."

Steve stops mid-word. "What?"

"If you want to hear the story without reading," Eddie says. "I like reading. I can read to you."

Steve has spent seventy four hours, at this point, awake. He is sitting at a piano bench at 4 AM on a Tuesday, high on cocaine, and is staring at a hot guy his age who, over the past few weeks, has alternated between seemingly hating him and smiling that smile.

Forgive him for making the stupid decision to say-

"Okay."

Eddie smiles, though it's tired. He takes a book from the shelf at random and walks out the door. Steve has no choice but to follow, back to the guest room Eddie has taken as his own.

Eddie turns on the bedside lamp and lays down underneath the rumpled sheets.

"Come on," he says, patting the space next to him. "I don't bite."

"You sure?" Steve jokes, but he climbs on alongside him, careful not to touch.

He really wants to touch.

He's not thinking straight.

Eddie cracks the book open and starts reading in a low whisper.

Steve can barely understand what he's saying, but that doesn't matter. What matters is Eddie's voice, quiet and rough and breathy. What matters is Eddie's voice, steady and soothing.

It's nice. It's really nice.

Steve finds himself curling up, closer and closer, until his head is on Eddie's chest.

His eyes slip closed at hour seventy-five.

And the next thing he knows, he's standing with his back to a corner, holding a metal, foldable music stand in front of him, with a voice hoarse from screaming.

Clearly, he fell asleep.

Fantastic.

Sometimes, he's able to tell what the nightmare was before he actually remembers it. It's all in the little habits he's developed.

When he finds himself checking to see if all his fingernails are still attached to his hands, blinking nonexistent blood out of his left eye, and still murmuring Robin's name, he knows that this one had to be about the Russians.

And then the memory of the bone saw, of the screaming, of taking hit after hit after hit crashes into him so hard he almost doubles over.

He reminds himself he's safe. That he's unharmed. That Robin is safe in her dorm at UCLA. That they never got Dustin or Erica.

That all of this is fucking useless.

He's gotten it all out. He's written song after song about all of it, all of the monsters and the fighting and the fear and the good in spite of it all. He writes and plays and sings close enough to all of it to almost break the NDAs.

And none of it is of any use at all because, years later, Steve still can't fucking sleep.

He swallows. Swallows again. Tries to breathe, even if it's in the form of great, heaving gasps.

And that's when he realizes that Eddie is standing right in front of him. Clearly confused, clearly terrified.

This is why, though he can never understand Steve, he shouldn't know him, either. This is why Steve can't reach out and touch.

Because even if he could explain it to Eddie, even if he would lie and say he believed him and understood, no one wants someone who can't make it through a night without waking up at least three times. No one wants to have to calm someone down from weekly screaming fits brought on by the back of their eyelids.

"Get out," he says.

"Steve," Eddie says, and there's that pity again.

Steve can't stand pity.

"Get out!" he shouts, heedless of the fact that he's probably waking everyone else up, that this is the room Eddie is staying in.

He can go to Steve's room. Everything in there is hidden, so he can't break his sobriety unless he snoops.

Steve hopes he doesn't snoop. He doesn't want to drag Eddie down to where he's at.

Eddie nods and makes his way to the door. Before he leaves, he stops and looks back.

"I don't know what you're running from," he whispers. "But when it catches you-"

"What?" Steve snaps.

"Let someone know."

If Steve were in a better state of mind, he'd ask what the hell that meant. But he's shaking and tired, so goddamn tired, that he watches Eddie go.

He sits on the floor, in the corner, still holding the music stand. The sun is up. It streams through the windows along with the sounds of birds chirping.

And Steve wonders how he's supposed to live the rest of his life like this.

He makes it an hour before he falls asleep sitting up on the floor. He makes it two more before he wakes himself up again, checking his fingernails.

[tanked-up]

Soap’s AO3 account

Spoiler “Ghost finds them

———————————————————————————

Soap’s on his way to his bunker, Price and Gaz catch how desperate and excited he is to leave meeting, so when it finishes, they circle Soap.

Price: “Why in a hurry, Soap?”

Soap quickly stops, and faces Price, who’s waiting for an answer, probably an honest one. Gaz as well, next to him.

Soap: “What makes you think I’m in a hurry…?”

Gaz and Price chuckle at the sudden response

Gaz: “C’mon Soap… we know”

Soap now runs off, leaving Price and Gaz staring at each other confused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soap arrives to his bunker, cursing himself as he almost got caught by his captain and Gaz.

He heads to the shower, puts on his most comfortable clothes and looks for his computer. Now comfortable he jumps on his bed and opens the site.

If you’d ask him, he’ll say he’s… ashamed? Well, we all now the truth. He can’t live without his writing. Which he considers to be sloppy, but yet good enough to be posted on a site like this.

He quickly gets comfortable and starts writing as if someone were waiting for it. It’s true, he had hundreds of people waiting for it, for an update. That’s one thing he hadn’t expected… his fic to go viral. Thank God they don’t know who’s behind all of it… right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been 5 hours since Soap started updating his fic. He’s been at it non stop. When he starts, he suddenly can’t stop himself. I mean, he wouldn’t call himself obsessed… but he wouldn’t correct anyone who called him that either.

He planned to update the fic with 4 more chapters. That’ll be enough. Considering how long those chapters were, plus a few water and bathroom breaks, it seemed to take him forever. He just had so many ideas and dialogues, he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t tell anyone… but every single conversations he had with him in real life, he quickly wrote them into a small “notebook ideas” he had specifically for this. Romanticizing every conversation, sudden glances or even touches they had. No wonder they called him obsessive… or, is it just him who calls himself that?

Starting to write the last chapter, there was a knock.

Soap hurried to close the laptop, turning on the main light and turning off the small lamp he had, that surprisingly helped him write better. Not knowing who to expect behind the door, he slowly opened it, and there he was.

Soap: “G-Ghost… what are you doing here at 2 in the morning”

Without saying a word, Ghost hurried inside. Soap would naturally yell or argue about it… but he had other stuff on his mind. Like, the damn laptop in his bed full of fics about Ghost and him.

Soap closed the door, and carefully glanced at Ghost who now sat on his bed, Somehow waiting for something. Fuck

Soap: “So… can I help you with something…?”

Ghost just stared at him and damn did he look intimidating with that mask. Soap’s thoughts quickly went to the small detail on his fic, he wasn’t scared of Ghost’s mask in his fic, in fact, he once ripped it… but that’s something between Soap and the readers…

In real life, man was he scared of it, and just having Ghost sitting on his bed, scared him. A lot. Soap walked small steps up to Ghost. Who seemed to somehow control him with just his gaze… like, mind controlled.

Ghost: “I need your computer”

Soap gulped, sweating internally. Ghost managed to sound demanding, like he needed that computer, not later, not tomorrow, he needed it NOW. Soap quickly glanced at the computer besides Ghost. Fuck, why did I do that.

Ghost: “Can I?”

Ghost sounded somehow calmer now. Soap, still nervous by what was unfolding in his bunker. Ghost stared at Soap, who seemed to be lost in a trance, but why did it have to be starring directly at Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost: “I would normally demolish the person who’s stared at me like that…”

That sentence kept ringing and passing through Soap’s mind. Now, out of his trance, he hurried to grab his computer before Ghost could. Soap whispered a small no, and walked to his closet, where he hid it. Ghost somehow confused, didn’t question him. How badly he wanted to. He remembered Soap’s acting in meeting today, he wanted to go up to him and ask him if everything was alright… but there was always something that stopped him.

Soap: “Why did you want my computer…”

Soap quickly asked Ghost, who still sat on his bed, staring at him.

Ghost, without a saying , took out his phone and showed it to Soap.

Soap: “What happened to it?”

Soap stared at the cracked phone now in front of him. Ghost quickly putting it away, sighed.

Ghost: “I had to send Price a report today, kinda got scolded for not doing it, but my phone was all fucked up and there was nothing I could do…”

A sudden rush of guilt got to Soap. How could he been so mean to Ghost, who was only trying to do his job. Contemplating whether he should go and look for his laptop again, or just send him away, he walked up to the closet and handed the laptop to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been two days since Ghost borrowed Soap’s laptop, and today was the day he was supposed to return it. Soap, sweating while waiting for Ghost in his bunker. Now sitting on his bed, staring at the roof.

Soap: “FUCK”

Soap’s sudden realization hit. He had left his tabs open. Did he even save his story? Did Ghost see it?

All these thoughts flooded Soap’s mind as he paced the room. A knock was heard. This can’t be happening

Soap took a hold of himself and walked up to the door. Fuck fuck fuck I can’t do this

Soap slowly opened the door, and there he was standing, with the laptop on his hand. Soap gulped and somehow managed to throw a small smile at him, a nervous one. He opened the door completely and motioned Ghost to enter. Hoping Ghost would just hand him the laptop and leave.

Ghost: “We have to talk”

Of course they do… they definitely had to talk. Soap, hesitating, sat on his bed and stared at Ghost, with a hint of guilt and embarrassment in his eyes. Ghost, surprisingly sat besides him.

Now both, shoulder to shoulder, sat in silence. A silence that filled the room, as if it were waiting for someone to take the fall.

Ghost: “So… you’re a writer”

Soap’s heart sanked as Ghost talked. He was dead. Soap, stuttering, didn’t know what to say. He wanted to sink in a hole and never come back.

Ghost: “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk.”

Somehow Soap felt the need to talk, but he just couldn’t.

Starring at Ghost who now stood up to leave, he stopped him. Gripping his arm, hard, he dragged him back to bed next to him, so he could sit.

Soap: I- I’m sorry… I really wasn’t thinking, and- I never knew you would find out like this. If you want… I could delete-”

Ghost: “Don’t. I actually forgot to do Price’s report thanks to it.”

Soap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Ghost not going to argue about it? Did he even get to that scene…?

Soap: “Well… I- um, im glad…”

An awkward silence filled the room again. Ghost nor Soap said a word, probably for about fifteen seconds when Ghost violently grabbed Soap by his collar and smashed his lips into his… I mean, who knows…?