Helloo!! Congrats On 2k! Could I Request Meteor + Cyno For The Event? Possibly Some Forbidden Love Stuff…

"Are you in love with me?" (Albedo's version)

Albedo pauses, but only for a mere moment. You couldn't tell if he had paused because of the question, or if he had found something wrong with the vial in his hand. 

"Curious," he states. 

"Curious?" You parrot, "What is?" A deep pit is now forming in your stomach. Perhaps this was not your smartest idea, attempting to probe into his mind to find out if he held similar feelings as your own. 

"Your question," he replies, "I'm pondering over what exactly provoked it." 

"Uh," you mumble, the air around your face suddenly becoming warmer, "Just wondering." 

He only replies with a hum, seemingly returning to his research as if you had never asked anything to begin with. The pit in your stomach from earlier proceeds to become worse, beginning to gnaw at you like a savage animal. 

"What would happen if I said yes to your question?" 

You don't automatically process his inquiry. "Huh?" 

Albedo turns around to face you, the vial is no longer in his possession. "What if I told you I was in love with you? What would you do then?" 

"I-uhm," you cannot find the words, they fail you. "That's a difficult question to answer, because I don't think you actually are." 

"Curious," he says again. "I don't fully understand the word 'love', as I have previously stated before. However…" 

However? 

"To say I'm not quite fond of you, would be incorrect." His index finger and thumb cradle his chin.

"You…" 

"Actually, would you be kind enough to help me with another experiment?" 

"Huh?" You say again, "What type of experiment?" Your tone is hesitant, giving away your nervousness. He shows you a small smile, but says nothing; it only adds to your confusion. 

It happens in the blink of an eye: the space between the two of you is now nonexistent. Albedo is close enough to you now, you can make observations you wouldn't normally be able to from afar. His eyes twitch, glancing from your own eyes to your lips. Observing. 

"Albedo?" You don't mean to squeak out his name, but he had never been this close before. So intimate.

His fingers hook your chin, lightly tugging your head upwards. Your eyes lock, and you stay in that pose for a few seconds. 

His lips touch your own, brush up against them with curiosity. You don't have time to put the puzzle pieces together; his lips are already claiming yours. 

He pulls away after what feels like a few good seconds. 

"Interesting."

--

|Tags:|

@sierrascribbles , @dulcesiabits , @lesbianrumi , @tater-tati , @paperbagpetrichor , @halcyon-writings , @yandere-romanticaa , @josuke8 , @phen0l , @yearning-moon , @universal-imagines , @yuezhong , @wangshengs , @fugufishie , @acxciia , @with-the-ink-of-a-ghost , @wisteria-blooms ,

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Shoot sorry- for my request it was akaashi- for some reason i cant find your marsterlist, or if you have one but the event said any character? Either way if you do any character i wont mind :)

yaho darling! 💕 sorry this is really late! been busy with work and hit a writer's block for a while! 🙇🏻‍♀️ but here's your request and i hope you like it 😘 i thought it came out pretty cute 😗

“Keiji! We gotta leave soon!” you rush your fiancé even though it’s you who needs to hurry; dress only zipped halfway up your back, earring missing its twin, and you’re still shaking the setting spray as you check your purse for anything missing. Akaashi is leaning against the doorway between the bedroom and the connecting bathroom, a fond smile spread on his face. He’s all dressed up and ready, but he can’t help observing you go to and fro in your shared bedroom. He finds it adorable with the way you scrunch up your face in concentration as you search for the other pair to your earring set then the way you chirp in triumph when you find it. He loves watching you get ready for dates. Actually, he loves every little thing that you do; it’s why he’s marrying you. Akaashi’s heart swells with adoration and pride as he sees the engagement ring twinkle due to your vanity lights as you put on your setting spray. Memories of mere hours ago when he finally proposed to you replaying in his mind. He still feels floaty from when you had cried out “Yes!” as he asked you to marry him. Sensing his eyes on you, you peek at him from the reflection of the vanity mirror then give him a coy smile when your eyes meet his. Something tickles up your spine as you see the smile on his face grow and you duck your head when you see him leave the doorway to walk over to you. You’re not sure why you feel so shy all of a sudden, you’ve been with this man for years now. The ring around your finger knowingly winks up at you so you busy yourself with putting the other earring on while ignoring the fluttering in your chest and stomach. You bristle a bit when you feel Akaashi right behind you, the tickle in your spine increasing. A quiet gasp escapes you as he tenderly brushes your hair out of the way then helps you zip the rest of your dress up. He does it slowly and the air between you two gets tense. Before he zips your dress close, Akaashi presses his lips against the back of your neck. “Keiji...” You call to him softly and your eyes search his when they meet again in the mirror’s reflection. “I know you said you didn’t want to be late, but you look amazing, and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now,” he confesses to you. That has you turning around to face him, and you snake your hands to rest them on his chest. “Kiss me... Please?” You ask him with eyes shining and cheeks heated. Your fiancé lets himself drown in your dazzling orbs before leaning down to give you a gentle kiss. When Akaashi pulls back, he almost laughs at how cute you’re disappointingly pouting up at him. “Kiss me again, like you mean it,” you huff at him to which he nods, an amused chuckle falling from his lips. His hands on your hips pull you flushed against him and that has you wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips are over yours in flash, kissing you as if he’s starved. Tongues dance and moans are swallowed. When you two part, both of you are panting to catch a breath but lovestruck smiles set on your faces. He sighs happily and rests his forehead against yours,

“Maybe we can be a few minutes late...”

HoneyBunny's 400 Event: Closed

annotations of love

summary: although you're always looking out for any mistakes he makes, you think you've found the perfect rival in kazuha. but when you begin to spend more time with him, you begin to realize he's also the perfect love interest... after all, why else would someone lend you an personally annotated book?

pairings: kaedehara kazuha x gn!reader

tags: enemiestolovers!au, modern!au

genre: fluff, humor, slight angst

a/n: i've been having something of an obsession with sylvia plath even tho we finished reading her work last november. i love it and i will not stop talking about her potrayal of women and will include it in a fic about kazuha. god, i just want to have an academic rival who will convince me to read an annotated book so that i can fall in love with them. okay, enjoy this brainrot <3 also ps: i enjoyed writing this kazuha a lot so if you have any requests i will be more than happy to cater to them :)

🍁

“So, class how did we like reading Sylvia Plath?” Miss Aranaki, your Literature teacher, crosses her arms across her chest as she regards the twenty or so of you sitting in front of you, “Any thoughts?”

“I didn’t like it much, actually,” a voice pipes up and without seeing, you know who it is, a groan escaping your lips. Aranaki gives an amused laugh, “Kazuha. Please do elaborate on why you dislike Plath so much.”

Unwillingly, your eyes travel until they come to rest on the mostly-platinum-blonde-headed boy who has his copy of The Bell Jar dismissed on its back by his elbow. “Well, to start with, her poetry is too easily interpretable once you know everything about her enough and the themes are usually just the same old feminist, complaining about privilege and children. Although I must say the touch with the cheating husband in The Rival was interesting, but that was as good as it got.”

Before Kaedehara Kazuha can continue, you, who’s had Plath’s novel clutched tightly in your hands, interrupt him. “Excuse me, to me it sounds like you’re complaining about having to read about a complex female experience. It’s a shame to see men like you roaming around in the campus’ feminist activism clubs when in class you cannot tolerate the slightest shred of powerful women in action.”

Kazuha meets your eyes in a flash, a familiar smile in place - one that is almost friendly, but at the last moment, turns smug. “I’m sorry if I came across as discarding Plath’s unique persona - but I just refuse to credit her writing simply because she’s a woman. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise, don’t you think, Y/N?”

“Please,” you scoff, ears a little red from exasperation, “Her poems are not easily interpreted, Kazuha, you’re just overly entrenching them in context. You can’t make Plath’s poems all about her factual life if you want to take anything from them. The Rival is not definitely about her bastard husband’s mistress - it could just as easily be about her mother if you try to keep your mind open.”

Kazuha opens his mouth to speak but Aranaki cuts him off, “Alright, alright, the two of you. Always a pleasure to hear you go back and forth. Some very valid points have been made. But remember, this class consists of 18 other students. Let’s give allow everyone to speak.”

“Either you really were not paying attention to what we’ve been saying in class, or your brain is simply broken,” you stand up, following her out of the class.

“I don’t know about that, Y/N. You both seemed like you were having a lot of fun-”

“I don’t know about that, Y/N. You both seemed like you were having a lot of fun-”

“Fun? Hu Tao, that man is borderline misogynistic and you think-”

“I think I deserve a little more credit than a borderline misogynist, my dear Y/N.”

You stop in your tracks with a sigh when you spot Kazuha behind you, bag slung lazily over his back. He’s holding his copy of The Bell Jar by the very edge, you notice much to your dismay. “You’re going to have to work harder if you want to seem like you actually care about reading feminist work from writers who are actual women. Not just old horny men—”

“Please don’t tell me you’re still holding that time I praised Murakami against me?” Kazuha’s brows furrow, looking almost genuinely concerned about what you think of him. You roll your eyes, catching the ill-covered laugh that leaves Hu Tao, who has been observing the two of you silently.

“No, but you really don’t think Murakami’s flat female characters, who by the way only function to serve the lonely loser men, are anywhere near the same kind of writing as Plath’s honest depiction—” You cut yourself off when you catch Hu Tao throwing you a suggestive look and scoff, “Never mind, I don’t have time to have this conversation. Let’s just go, Hu Tao.”

“But—” You promptly block Kazuha’s attempt to probably retort by taking Hu Tao’s arm and marching off, carrying a growing a feeling of doubt in your chest.

🍁

“That will be $15, please.” You nod at the cashier, internally crying at how expensive a single coffee was. You feel yourself cry even louder when you rummage through your wallet to only find a total of $10.

“Um, sorry, just a moment,” you feel yourself beginning to panic, ready to just about be hit by lightning, “I couldv’e sworn I saw another—”

“Here, I’m paying for them.” You jump up at the voice beside you and you swear to God if this morning could get any worse, it’d have to be because Kazuha stepped in to save you from some kind of financial crisis that would’ve inevitably lead into a public mental breakdown.

“W-What? No, I can pay for myself— ”Thank you for buying from us. We hope to see you again.”

You’d rather not the hold up the rest of the line any longer so you step away, pulling Kazuha with you, with a scowl on your face. You shove the $10 you’d been holding into his palm which he looks at in confusion, “I’ll pay you back the rest of it later, I—”

“No, you really don’t need to do that, Y/N,” the boy smiles, a soft comforting look in his eyes that you’ve never encountered before. It annoys you.

“Honestly, would you stop cutting me off all the time?” Kazuha shuts up with a serious raise of the brown, “I was very much capable of paying for myself back there but thanks. Bye.”

You intend to distance yourself from him as much just because you’re equally embarrassed and confused by his presence, especially at having been caught in a moment of somewhat vulnerability by him of all people. You take a seat in the cafe by the window, hoping to ease your worries with a productive rush.

Of course, the universe, and specifically, one crimson-streaked head, has other plans. “What the fuck are you doing?” you question as Kazuha settles into the seat across from you, resting his bag beside him, hands coming to drum against the table - the table that you’d taken to get away from specifically him.

“I’m doing what you’re doing. Studying,” he says, pulling out his laptop, nonchalant as if the two of you aren’t after each other’s throats in class all the time. You’re actually speechless as he actually starts typing away, eyes on the screen. You let out a frustrated sigh at his behavior, unable to just ignore his presence, a weakness of yours you absolutely despise.

“Kazuha, I think you’ve asserted your compassion enough for a day. You don’t have to continue acting like you don’t actually hate me,” your voice threatens to falter when Kazuha looks up with wide eyes.

“What do you— But I don’t hate you,” Kazuha replies, not losing a second of time after you’ve spoken. You shake your head at him, a headache imminent, as you stand up. “Wait- where are you going?”

“Somewhere else. See you in class, Kazuha. Leave me alone or I’ll report you.”

🍁

You suppose you feel kind of bad about the recent encounters you’ve had with Kazuha. You only met him in class, first in a course called The Graphic Novel where you had your first argument with him (you wanted to focus on the postmodern themes of V for Vendetta, while Kazuha was overly obsessed with the art and a specific sequence of events). From there, it just seemed like the two of you couldn’t get away from each other - next it was a creative course about nonfiction where you found yourself competing with him to see who could impress the famously cold teacher.

Before you’d known, you’d settled into a sort of rhythm with Kazuha where you’d each challenge and infuriate each other, always ready to pounce. It was surprisingly an interesting part of your education - maybe even the most interesting, since you hardly were able to spend a lot of time doing anything other than work on essays and study for the next thing. But recently, you were feeling more... bitter? around him. It was unsettling, especially when suddenly it seemed like Kazuha was capable of more emotions outside of disdain for you. You weren’t stupid enough to not realize you were having fun but when Hu Tao had so explicitly pointed it out... it almost felt wrong. Like you’d been lying to yourself somehow.

You groan as you zone back into reality, coming to terms with the fact that you had made no progress with the last assignment of the Plath course. It has been a few weeks since the course ended but Aranaki had sent out a final feedback-slash-evaluative essay question asking you to talk about a favorite text from Plath. It is optional, you recall, but you physically cannot forgo the opportunity to do extra work. You hit your head in thought, wondering what you are to do with yourself.

“Having trouble picking a favorite?”

You are not proud of the squeak that leaves you in surprise as you jump around in your seat. “Kazuha! You fucking— Stop sneaking up on people in the library! I swear that’s so insensitive.”

Kazuha, clad in a red sweatshirt that matches the red streak in his hair, sits down besides you with an amused laugh. You’re met with a sweet almond scent as he shifts closer to peek at your screen. “Sorry,” he whispers, “You’re writing about Ariel? I’m surprised.”

“Why? Don’t want me writing about the same thing as you?” You gesture toward his bag, which reveals the corner of a sheet with the essay question, “I’m sure you wrote a whole pretentious thing about how shallow and trite Plath’s poetry is.” The boy pins you with an unreadable look as he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you.

What is he so serious about?

“You don’t actually think I’m a woman-hater, do you?” You are tempted to retaliate with a compilation of all the times he was even remotely dismissive of a female author, but you cannot bring yourself to the longer you look at Kazuha. His eyes are downcast and don’t meet yours when you give a preliminary laugh of ridicule, which greatly worries you. Though you find it hard to believe, Kazuha seems genuinely hurt at the idea of you perceiving him as someone against women.

“Oh, well, not really. But you did seem slightly on the wrong side when you dismissed Plath’s experiences like that. And then, making her seem like she was entirely about her hatred for her husband wasn’t a very good look, either.” You try to stay in character without actually hurting Kazuha’s feelings but he seems crestfallen either way. You begin to feel bad for some reason when he pulls out a few sheets of paper from his bag, before handing you one.

“And what is this?” You raise your brow questioningly and all Kazuha replies with is, “Read this.” You look down at the sheet and find that it is a print-out of Plath’s poem, The Munich Mannequins. Your course on Plath didn’t include this particular poem because there wasn’t much time but regardless, you’ve read the poem enough times to not have to go through it again. What catches your attention is the little scribbles in green around the printed text.

It’s Kazuha’s annotations of the poem, you realize, and already find yourself somewhat moved. You know for a fact that Kazuha does not annotate something he doesn’t find truly meaningful. “Hmm,” you look back at Kazuha with a smile that is completely unlike you. But you can hardly help it, “Your analysis of the metaphor of the mannequins is... insightful, although I don’t agree with it.”

Kazuha’s dullness suddenly melts away when you speak, a bright grin in its place. “I’m glad you think so. I realized I was spending so much effort in trying to find out what Plath actually wanted to convey that in the end, I didn’t even have my own interpretations. And looking back at it, her work is actually pretty cool.”

This time you laugh, teasingly nudging Kazuha’s shoulder, “Way to go with the academic language, Kazuha.” Your laughter only grows louder when the boy’s cheeks color slightly pink. “But I’m really happy that you were able to appreciate Plath. I think maybe we found something we agree on.”

He nods, his usual easy smile returning, “I have to admit that I only gave Plath another chance because I couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking I was a borderline misogynist.” You feel yourself flush and you cough to cover it up, “Still can’t believe you were so bothered by that comment.”

“Of course, I was,” Kazuha says matter-of-factly, “You said it so seriously. And then that day in the cafe, you seemed to truly hate me. You even accused me of hating you. I felt like I’d done something unforgivable.”

You grimace in guilt. “Sorry about that,” you pat his back hesitantly, “I was just a bit in my head back then. I don’t actually hate you. Or think that you hate me.”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want to have you stop talking to me, I think some life-giving part of me would die.”

🍁

Here’s the thing: you know how you’ve hardly been able to do anything outside of worry about your grades and keep track of your deadlines? Yes, that meant you hadn’t even enough time to have crushes, or even think about who you’re attracted. Which is why you’re caught in some real fucking trouble when you realize you like Kazuha.

Since your conversation with him in the library, something had changed between the two of you. You still made sure to battle each other fiercely in class, no doubt, but when you weren’t in class, you were actually able to hold a civil conversation. In fact, sometimes your conversations outside of class were more enjoyable than your arguments and disagreements, given that those same dissents would often turn into inside jokes outside of class.

It started with Kazuha asking you to peer-review an essay for another class (he wouldn’t dare to ask your help with a common assignment, that meant war) and you getting impressed again by his ability to analyze and argue. Slowly, it became a ritual for you to meet Kazuha after classes to work on something together, which took more time than required because you’d be bothering each other the whole time, chattering away loud enough that the librarian had banned your entrance in the library. So now you met him on the college lawn where your time together almost felt romantic.

“God, I hate myself,” you mumble into your hands as you cringe at your internal monologue. Hu Tao who’s keeping you company while you wait for Kazuha, laughs knowingly, “Stop hating on yourself for having feelings, Y/N. Believe it or not, it’s normal.”

“I know, but not for me! I’ve had like one romantic experience before and it involved hand-holding.”

“Hey, hand-holding can be pretty intimate, too,” she retorts, frowning, “I’m sure if you tried it with Kazuha, you’d actually combust on the spot.”

“Keep it down, Hu Tao, this is not exactly something I’m proud of—”

“What are you not proud of?” You freeze as Kazuha comes into sight from behind you but relax when you examine his expression and see nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nothing, just her usual spiel about hating life,” Hu Tao covers for you as she rises from next to you, smirking as she pushes Kazuha in her spot. He falls all too close to you, head hitting your shoulder.

“Careful!” You scowl at Hu Tao as you steady Kazuha with a hand on his back. She winks at you as she turns to leave, “See ya for dinner tomorrow, stupid.”

Kazuha chuckles beside you and you can feel the sound vibrate through your hand, still warm against his back, “You must be really close to her if she can walk away alive after calling you stupid.”

You cough a little as you are suddenly reminded of the proximity, thanks to how Kazuha has made no move to remove his head from against your shoulder, even though you’d retracted your hand from his back long ago. “I’m not that easily offended, you know.”

Kazuha looks amused as he shifts to look at you, much to your chagrin because fuck! you’re still way too close to him so now you’re basically sharing the same air. “So if I called you stupid—?”

“Don’t even dream of it,” you push his head off and he pulls away, laughing lowly. You sigh in relief now that you’re at a distance that won’t kill you as Kazuha pulls out a red book from inside his jacket pocket.

“What book is that?”

Kazuha holds it for you with a hesitant smile, “It’s for you, actually.” You hum questioningly as you take it and scoff when you see the title. Sputnik Sweetheart. By Haruki Murakami.

“Before you chase me away for bringing Murakami in your sights, listen to me, okay?” he says, with a hand on your elbow and you fall silent, a little nervous. “I think you should read it because this book actually has complex female characters, unlike all his other work. There’s a lesbian relationship in there and a very unexpected plot twist, too. You might like it... I think.”

The amount of effort it takes to not scream on the top of your lungs because Kazuha’s cheeks are dusted adorably red as he rants to you about the book, his eyes not meeting you and you can’t take it because he’s so shy about it all. You silently open to a random page and you swear you die right there when you see notes in pencil along the margin.

“You’ve annotated this?” you ask through a small smile. Kazuha rubs the back of his neck, “Well, yes. I usually annotate my novels. I hope you don’t mind. Think of it as having a really long conversation with me?”

You chuckle as hit Kazuha’s forehead with the book lightly, “Why the fuck would I want to have a conversation with you about a book? I’m bound to give myself a migraine.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning as you continue, “But oh, well. Since you went back to Plath for me, I think I’ll give Murakami a chance.”

Kazuha pumps a fist in the air, beyond delighted, “Yes! I promise you’re going to love me after this.”

🍁

“Kazuha, I have to something to tell you,” you say, hands clutched behind your back. Kazuha turns away from the conversation he’d just been having with Aether to give you a warm look.

“What is it?” He waves goodbye to Aether, grinning when you reveal the red book he’d lent you a few weeks ago. Kazuha jumps up and down as his hands cup to hold yours and you can’t help but jump excitedly with him. “Did you finish? What did you think of it? How was his description of Miu and Sumiere? Oh, what was your reaction to Miu’s backstory?”

You laugh as you pause to form your response. “Well, I actually did not hate it. I actually enjoyed his descriptions of the women—” Kazuha squeals in excitement as you continue, “But! There was man still, you know. And his presence as the narrator of everything was a bit suffocating. So, not perfect. But dammit, the parts about Miu watching herself that night in the park and everything Sumiere writes in her letters - Ahhh, that was just amazingly disorienting.”

“So?” Kazuha grins at you, shaking you by the shoulders, “You don’t hate Murakami anymore? I succeed in convincing you that he wrote one decent novel? You love me?”

You successfully ignore the last question he asks as you reply, “I guess I don’t hate him but I can’t say he’s a good writer still. He’s definitely got some dimension but he needs to stop putting men at the center of his universes.”

Kazuha nods as he takes back the book from you, “That’s fair enough, I suppose. I didn’t expect to—” he pauses, a new kind of smile blossoming on his face as he fans through the pages, “Oh, what’s this? Did you make notes on the book?”

Shit, you’d nearly forgotten about that. “Oh, right. I thought it would be funny to respond to some of your annotations. You like some really strange paragraphs, you know.” You quickly take away the book from him before he can grin at anymore of your notes, “I made them on sticky notes so that I can remove them. I just forgot.” You begin removing the loosely glued pieces of paper when Kazuha snatches away the novel back, holding it away from your grasp.

“No! Don’t do that. I want to read them. I can’t lose this opportunity to actually get to read your annotations,” he says, a full-fledged blush on his cheeks for some reason.

You laugh awkwardly, “F-fine, weirdo. Just remove them after you read them.”

“Why would I do that?” Kazuha hugs the book protectively with an annoyingly smug smile on his face, “I’m cherishing this for the rest of eternity.”

You turn around at that, clutching at your chest as if in pain, heart racing, “W-Whatever. I’m going to study. Come if you want.”

An hour later, you fall back into the grass with a whine because you really cannot get your mind off of Kazuha, which was not exactly aided by the fact that the boy was right next to you, opting to bump knees with you as he managed to concentrate with no issues.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” You open your eyes to find Kazuha leaning over you, arm placed next to your head. You watch as his forehead is curtained by his hair and you pout as you silently flick at a chunk of his hair. “I don’t know why you even bother to tie your hair if it’s all over the place anyway.”

Kazuha shrugs with a playful smile and is about to reply before he cuts himself off, “Oh, there’s something in hair, I think.” You reach for your hair but Kazuha beats you to it, leaning closer to your face as he gently plucks off the said something off your hair, holding it up so you can see. “It was a leaf. Heh.”

You reach for your hair self-consciously and are surprised when you find Kazuha’s fingers through the strands. You pull away just as quick you touched him but his hand chases after you, coming to capture it in his, his fingers resting through yours.

“Mhmm,” Kazuha hums delicately, face hovering dangerously close to yours, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You make an embarrassing choking sound before you place a hand against his chest, pushing with little effort. You avert your gaze as you speak, “S-Stop doing that.”

You can’t see it but Kazuha’s smile weakens as he asks, “Stop doing what?”

“Stuff like this. Like what you did back there with my annotations and- and- right now, this hand-holding stuff. It’s not funny, you know.”

“I don’t think it’s funny either, Y/N,” he says, “I’m always serious about you. So would you please look at me?” Your hand twitches in Kazuha’s as you glance at him and instantly turn away when you see him gazing at you. He does look serious, intense in fact as he looks at you.

His fingers tighten around yours when you suddenly feel a cold pressure against your ear. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when you realize it’s Kazuha’s nose pressed up against your neck. “K-Kazuha, cut it out—”

“I like you, Y/N,” he whispers softly, “Actually, that’s an understatement. I really, really like you. I’ve never been so excited to have arguments with someone and I’ve never cared so much about what someone else thought about a book. You’re the smartest person I’ve met.”

You can’t believe your ears, though they turn red anyway as Kazuha pulls away to look at you. “I think you’re so beautiful. I can hardly think right when I’m around you.”

You feel breathless when Kazuha looks at you like that, with an intimacy of a lover and fumble to reply, “I- I like you, too, Kazuha. You’re cool, I guess. And ridiculously handsome.” You mumble the last part but he seems to hear it, probably because you’re so close.

“Would you go out with me?” His eyes are swimming with adoration when you finally meet them. When you nod, a gasp falls from your lips at the feeling of Kazuha’s lips against your cheek. “Kiss me already, would you?” This time, you feel his laughter through your own bones, strong and loving.

🍁

Bonus:

“I really wish you would go easy on me in class, dove,” Kazuha complains against your lips and you pull away to laugh at the slight pout in his features. You run a hand through his open hair, arranging the red strands together, “No way, babe. Sorry but sometimes, you’re just wrong.”

He deflates against your neck and you pull him inside the blankets with you with a chortle, “But if you want, we can read Mrs Dalloway together for class?” He instantly perks up, arms coming to hugging you tight, “I would love that. I want to hear your reading voice. We can even play the parts to make it more realistic.”

You groan, “No, we’re not doing that, Kazu. Please don’t make me regret this.” Regret it you do later that week, when Kazuha proudly declares to the whole class, including Miss Aranaki, that the two of you had read the assigned reading together.

sincerely,

yours truly (part one). / sincerely (part two).

premise: your diligent efforts to uncover the identity of your secret admirer had ultimately amounted to nothing. in fact, your investigations only raised more questions — your companions' strange behaviors and shifty-eyed gazes hadn't completely escaped from your awareness, not to mention you've become... privy to some of their affections...

and what is the last thing you need while trying to search for one person who liked you? more people to like you, of course!

but that is exactly what you receive. (goddamn it all.)

includes: zhongli, kaeya, scaramouche, itto & the real secret admirer !

note: oh god i have done it. it's even longer than the other one but since this is the 10k celebration fic, it's only rightfully so! i hope you enjoy this... likes and reblogs are appreciated <33 please read the first part if you haven't already!

zhongli:

all things considered, zhongli is an unrelated figure to your personal issues, not particularly concerned with such trifling matters. you lived worlds apart, and he's generally preoccupied by his own studies anyway, too absorbed in his thesis to mind who has a crush on who and whatnot.

yet it seems as if fate is intent on pulling you two together whether you like it or not.

you belong in different majors, your lecture halls on opposite sides of campus, and he's an upperclassman. not to mention the upperclassman everyone looks up to, the senior equivalent of albedo. though he holds an air of benevolence and warmth, he's unapproachable in the way nobody would dare impose themselves in fear of bothering him with their presence.

professors only speak of his name in accordance with endless words of praise, and legend has it that any paper he proofreads is guaranteed to receive a high grade... not that anyone could confirm it, since nobody has been gifted that luxury.

except for you, of course, living the y/n life — you'd been slaving away on your assignments per usual at diluc's cafe when, in a moment of misfortune, zhongli had crashed into a waiter and spilled his coffee on your papers, soaking pale sheets in brown splatters and smudging the inked sentences you'd painstakingly written for the past hour.

if only your laptop hadn't run out of battery, you wouldn't have resorted to drafting with pen and paper. or you could have done your work in a later date instead of being productive for nothing. fuck.

witnessing your expression crumpled to disbelief and misery, zhongli apologized through offering his assistance in doing your assignment with you. and oh boy, he did it well. it was better than what you could've ever done, the insight he provided beyond profound. he was humble even as you showered him with compliments, still looking quite apologetic for the fiasco he caused.

and. right. it could've ended there. after that occasion, you would wave at him if you passed by each other at the hallways, but that's where the extent of your relationship ended, a pair of underclassman and upperclassman who'd known each other once.

but of course it's never that easy.

he pops up when you least expect it, running into you frequently even though the rumors articulated “you'd hardly get a glimpse of him since he's busy all the time” clearly. and he's acquainted with people you know well, just that you never paid attention to it; keqing seems to respect him a lot, so does xiao, ganyu perks up whenever he's brought up in conversations, and childe sticks to him when given the opportunity. perhaps it was only a matter of time that you begin a friendship with him as well...

but what's up with these horribly timed drama tropes you keep experiencing with him?!

bumping into him and dropping your books to the floor so he offers to walk you to the library, locked into a room when a professor asks you to collect materials for class with him and the door has a faulty knob, getting photographed by a student while you study in the same table and everyone assumes you're dating,,

you've been seeing far too much of him.

everyone's patience has been wearing thin. xiao tries his best to keep his annoyance at bay but fails. childe has resorted to bribing zhongli for free lunch to lead him away from you. albedo straight up drags you to the opposite direction whenever he spots zhongli within vicinity.

but it's like there's a force of nature compelling you to stick right back to him.

hosting events for college fests had never been your kind of thing, but attention follows you if you're acquainted with famous people, and keqing was unwilling to be an emcee if she didn't have a friend alongside her to act as a second host. of course, that meant everyone was deadset on dragging you with her.

you're not very keen on standing on a stage to face the whole school like a kid participating in a talent show, but you've never been good at saying “no” to your friends.

hence why you find yourself clutching on a microphone now, blinded by bright stage lights. you would much prefer if you were part of the audience. or if you were in ayaka's place instead, holding up cue cards behind the curtains.

there's some kind of beauty pageant going on, a popularity contest for the prettiest people in uni. votes are collected via online polls, and you're tasked to reveal the top 10. you don't doubt for a second your friends will all join you on stage eventually, and you've already asked ganyu to drag xiao up the platform if he tries to escape. sweeping off a piece of confetti by your shoulder, you flip open the folden paper in your hand and announce the winning names.

zhongli steps up as one of the candidates for first place and you faintly hear gasps of awe and high pitched squeals.

you nod at him in acknowledgement, and he returns the gesture in kind. you head on over to hand him a mic of his own, keqing busying herself by doing the same job for other contestants, and...

in your carelessness, distracted by fumbling with the paper in your hand to hide it back inside your pocket, you trip over an electrical cord.

you've been waiting the entire night for the time where you'll eventually embarrass yourself in front of a crowd. perhaps a voice crack in what's supposed to be a tense situation, a stutter in your words, falling off a stage even, but here it is, even more horrifying than what you could've imagined.

squeezing your eyes shut instinctively, you brace yourself for the hard surface to tumble onto. instead, what meets you is something squishy, someone's hands gripping around your shoulders, and-

FUCK. you banged your knees on the ground.

the first thing to pop in your mind is a myriad of swears that could stun a sailor.

the second is the oddly plush surface your lips had landed on.

the third is the sight of widened golden eyes. they look very familiar. but you'd rather not think about who they belong to.

the ugly screech of the microphone dropping to the floor is drowned out by gasps, yelling, and the scandalized choke of keqing behind you. xiao — who did end up being a contender for the stupid popularity contest and is standing only a few meters away, makes an alarming noise that could trigger a person's fight or flight reaction.

you hastily attempt to rise to your feet, but the floor is slippery what the actual fuck, and zhongli, oh for fuck's sake, innocent and oblivious zhongli grabs your hips to keep you steady.

.....of course the accidental kiss and caught in a compromising position tropes were going to happen eventually.

kaeya:

“it's from me.”

your gaze travels from the fresh, new bouquet of flowers emitting a sweet fragrance lying in your arms, and the face of the man currently standing before you, lips curled in what seems to be a supposedly reassuring smile.

“you mean... this and the carnations last time?”

his lips are still firmly quirking upwards, admirably patient in spite of reiterating the same phrase over and over again whenever probed with your repetitive questions.

still, he doesn't quite give off the impression of someone deeply infatuated.

and okay, not to be narcissistic, but you expected a secret admirer to... well, admire you more, yet this person looks as nonchalant as ever.

and he doesn't look like the type to profess love through subtle means. at all.

you'll be blunt. you've heard of kaeya. who hasn't? whether it be of mischief, or something more scandalous in nature, he's more or less always involved with trouble, gossip about him traveling fast. it may be an insane prank in the boys' dormitory or someone he bedded (who's supposedly out of everyone's league, yet fell for his charms so easily), you hear of his name quite often.

it's just that you didn't expect you'd associate yourself with him...

and if you have at least two brain cells to rub together, you can easily piece together the conclusion: this guy is definitely talking out of his ass.

nobody has ever heard of kaeya pining over someone so badly that he personally sent bouquets and other small gifts to appease them, admiring them from the shadows. it's so clearly not his style. if he likes someone, he'd flirt with them a bit and cleverly worm his way into their heart, and absolutely not give away presents expecting nothing in return.

but if he's not your secret admirer, then for what reason is he pretending like he is?

you want to seek the truth, and playing along for the meantime sounds like the best option. and this may draw out the real secret admirer, the sly part of you voices internally.

thinking it'll be rude to turn him down publicly (since of course he initiated this exchange in the middle of a crowd, and that only gives you more reason to doubt him), you decide to see how things go first.

if anything, this whole “wooing” business with kaeya seems like it's done out of spite. does he have a bone to pick with you? or he made one of those stupid “it'll only take a week for you to fall for me” bets with his friends? hopefully not, because that's terribly out of trend.

your indifferent responses do nothing to deter him from sticking to you like glue though, doing this and that to earn your favor. he's... not doing anything wrong, actually. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he's like any other eager guy who wants to receive your love.

he does a great job of remembering what things you like and dislike, making a habit of inviting you out for a meal in your favorite restaurants every now and then or taking note of what movies you're looking forward to so you could watch it in the cinema together.

... it feels more like hanging out with normal friends now.

kaeya eases into the idea of that notion, too, insisting on meeting you outside of his shady “i'm your secret admirer” business. it doesn't take too long until you begin to reach out to him as well, inviting him to go shopping with you to look at jewelry together (and dear lord, does kaeya know how to accessorize) or giving him a ticket to the amusement park when kokomi bails on you. (“so i' m just a rebound? a back-up plan?” kaeya arches a questioning brow, acting deeply hurt to provoke a reaction. you smack his shoulder and he laughs in mirth.)

(he definitely tries for the “let's go to the haunted house so you can cling to me when you're scared” cliche but fails. why does he feel disappointed though...)

if given more time, maybe the time would come where you'll both just shrug off the secret admirer thing and continue on normally as friends. it'll be the last thing on your minds, a joke that never had a punchline. just some prank kaeya didn't see through the end.

but then it resurfaces when kaeya had already given you your daily dose of coffee — yes, he somehow knows the secret recipe you like, something you plan to ask him about later — but another cup is waiting at your desk, its once warm temperature turning lukewarm.

you inspect it, judging for yourself, and you confirm it's the same recipe you like.

so this one is from the real secret admirer then, the one who's still hiding in the shadows. that, or this recipe is just popular.

the people residing in the same room as you observe the scene with interest, because apparently your romance drama became a spectator sport, stares pinned in kaeya's direction.

you knew he was a fraud from the very start, but others do not, and he's not sure what to say.

someone else makes the excuse for him. “do you have another person who likes you, [name]?” amber asks innocently, essentially saving kaeya's ass without her realizing it. you let your gaze shift from her to kaeya.

“...maybe.” you place the two cups of coffee side-by-side, feigning nonchalance.

if the real secret admirer found out that someone's pretending to be him, this must be his way of saying kaeya's a fraud in front of everyone. after all, if he was actually the secret admirer, there'd be no need for kaeya to give you another cup when he'd already placed one on top of your desk.

and a couple of people already know who the real one is, anyway. xiao just doesn't want to tell you.

kaeya sends what seems to be a longing gaze your way but ends up turning away to head to his own classroom. he'd only offered to walk you towards yours, and you didn't share classes. it gives you more time to ponder how to confront him.

you didn't have to. he explained things himself.

it comes in the time you least expect, a peaceful lunch like any other. he suddenly arrived at your table, tray in hand, and sat opposite of you. “it's not me,” is the first thing he says, no context at all. he admits the obvious truth and you shovel more food in your mouth in your hopes of hiding how curious you are for what else he has to say.

“but i know who's been giving you flowers... and the coffee. also the chocolate the other day. i helped him pick out the presents, actually.” and that's where you choke because that's not what you were expecting at all.

“he was considering sending a love letter, but i told him you'd recognize his handwriting because you know him very well. and he refused to give a printed letter because he thought it was 'lacking' and you deserved better than that.” he scoffed at the thought. “and that's cute of him. endearing, if you will. but he seriously pissed me off last month and i wanted to mess with him a bit.”

“so you... tried to date the person he likes?” your expression sours. that's a dick move. he immediately shakes his head, as if to say perish the thought.

“not that. i knew for a fact you wouldn't like me anyway. i was just teasing him,” kaeya huffs. “and he got angry at me. well, it's a justified reaction. but i didn't plan on keeping up the charade for long. i only wanted to fool around for a few days.”

“and then?”

“...i missed the timing to pass it off as a joke. then we started to hang out like friends. but i assured him that you didn't actually think i was the real secret admirer, so he forgave me as long as i... do some work for him.”

oh. he's right about that though. and that also explains why kaeya looked so tired recently, helping out a friend with his project as a sincere apology.

“does he plan on revealing his identity anytime soon?” you can't help but ask, your eager eyes betraying the nonchalance in your voice. kaeya sighs at that, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms.

“i've been trying to convince him to. it's exhausting to look at him flailing about like an idiot. he talks about you all the time.” he frowns at the way your cheeks color. “you should try luring him out.”

you tilt your head in question. to show his point, he reaches out his arm, grabbing your hand. you let him do as he pleases, even as he brings the spoonful of your meal to his lips, and takes a bite out of it.

distantly, you hear a metal clatter against the floor and a voice cry out in surprise. you turn your head towards the noise, and you see—

the hell. it's just bennett tripping.

... but it's not like bennett dropped a metal utensil or anything. he is the one who cried out, though.

“wrong direction, sweetheart. you were supposed to look at the right. what a shame, you didn't see him picking up his fork like a fool.” kaeya laughs, releasing your hand from his grip.

he seems strangely reluctant in doing so, but you decide not to look further into it.

scaramouche:

at best, he is an unwilling spectator.

emphasis on “unwilling” because he truly does not wish to see you. like at all. you're pretty sure he hates your guts, but he'd amassed a lifetime's worth of misfortune and keeps seeing you... and the guys around you.

it's safe to say if your love life was turned into a k-drama, he'd probably seen the entire series.

he'd walked in on you when childe confessed he likes you, purple eyes narrowed into a sharp glare before he turned on his heel and left the room. he'd seen the way xiao looks at you, starstruck and excruciatingly fond, because of course scaramouche sat beside him in class (long, long ago they settled a mutual agreement to not speak to each other unless necessary, even if they hadn't verbally discussed it). he'd seen you at diluc's cafe, too, when diluc poured coffee at the angry customer. scaramouche's clothes were stained, as he was the customer sitting beside your table.

he'd seen you with kazuha when kazuha came to pick you up in the rain. he'd seen albedo draw sketches of you in the corner of his notes. he'd seen thoma with you while out for grocery shopping. he'd seen gorou follow after you not unlike a loyal puppy.

he's, reasonably, tired of seeing your stupid face and your stupid harem and he hates you.

by the looks of it, none of your friends like him. especially mona. she had a few arguments with him already. they didn't mix well, and scaramouche liked poking fun of the astrology she loved, a firm disbeliever of such things. “how is my birthday supposed to dictate my personality? or my relationship status? is this fortune-telling? tell me, then. what's my lucky color for the day-” and he only shut up when mona landed a clean kick to his shin.

...yeah. he's kind of an asshole. the type to scowl 24/7, glare at you for no reason, and bump into you without apologizing. then when you do try to make small talk to alleviate the awkward atmosphere, he scoffs and pointedly ignores you.

but you can't blame him for finding you and... the guys following you irritating. you imagine it must be an eyesore for outsiders. there's already quite a bit of rumors about you going around seducing men (and women, you add, because apparently you can't be friends with pretty girls without having those kinds of intentions... and yoimiya and ayaka could be somewhat touchy) and rumors are almost always wildly changed with each pass of gossip from one person to another.

of course your friends don't believe it one bit and are ready 24/7 to defend your honor, but scaramouche is very obviously not your friend, and he may regard you with something less than pleasing.

it's only understandable you're caught by surprise when you chance upon him picking a fight with people badmouthing you, shoving a boy to the wall with brute force you wouldn't expect from someone his size. (you berate yourself for making fun of his height in this kind of situation.)

“shut the fuck up,” scaramouche drawls out, fisting the boy's shirt collar. “your voice is grating to the ears. surely, you have better things to do than yap nonsensical bullshit out in the open?”

“what's your fucking problem?!” the guy responds, panicking within his grip. “it's not like we were talking about you! don't think so highly of yourself!”

that prompts a scoff from him, and he tightens his hold on the boy's collar. he immediately shuts his mouth, thinking it better not to retaliate. scaramouche's glare promises something beyond simple violence if he continued to act prideful.

somwhat satisfied by the fear glistening in the guy's eyes, scaramouche finally releases him. “scram.”

the group runs off, and you quickly duck behind a wall to hide from his sight as he walks away. you're not sure what to feel, conflicted by his usual prick demeanor and shockingly kind(?) actions behind the scenes.

unfortunately, your confusion reflects directly on your face. after a handful of times catching you staring at him, he finally snaps, “what do you want.”

your expression twists into something complex, and scaramouche's frown deepens. “uh... no, it's nothing, really...”

“you've been looking at me all day. do you take me for a fool?”

your face sours. so much for planning to thank him. maybe he didn't stand up for you and actually just found the noisy gossiping annoying enough to choke a guy and pin him to the wall. if it's scaramouche, it isn't too far-fetched at all.

and what were you going to say to him, anyway? it's not like he explicitly stated he did it for you. it would be beyond mortifying if you thanked him for it and he clarified that little detail, thinking you were stuck-up enough to assume the world revolves around you.

... no, that's too much overthinking, isn't it...

“well?” scaramouche impatiently taps his foot, raising an eyebrow expectantly. you hold back a defeated sigh and decide to stay put.

“sorry if i made you uncomfortable. i was, um, looking at...” who does he sit with again? “xiao!” you mentally apologize to your friend, using his name as an excuse.

impossibly, he becomes more irate than before, his taps ceasing into a calm quiet. the silence pierces more than the tense conversation prior.

without another word, he walks away.

...well. okay. that was safely evaded.

life continues on per usual. you don't interact for the next week, and you want to leave it at that.

except your life is a joke. a romantic comedy you never wanted to be a part of.

...you're assigned to a group project. with him. with childe too, no less. the childe who confessed his love to you not too long ago and you still have problems wrapping your head around it, not sure how to talk with him like you did before.

amidst this drama, scaramouche is stuck smack dab between you. he's unquestionably furious.

he's present when childe looks at you in the same excruciating way xiao does. he's present when childe tries to make jokes to ease off the tension, and it doesn't work in the slightest. he's present in the lingering gazes, awkward pauses when you graze fingers as you hand materials to each other, and reluctant conversations that never last any longer than seven clipped sentences.

scaramouche feels wronged. had he committed a war crime in his past life to deserve this despair?

and you. you just want to get this over with. collect information, make a powerpoint, and present in front of the whole class. easier said than done.

the three of you together doesn't sit right with you, but left with only two isn't any better either. childe and scaramouche don't get along if you leave them long enough for an argument to brew. scaramouche hates you and doesn't fill the silence when childe leaves for a bathroom break. childe tries too hard to talk when scaramouche leaves for a coffee break.

when the first day of working together ends, you nearly cry tears of joy.

“i can walk you home,” childe offers out of goodwill. it's certainly not because he has other intentions in mind, he's just concerned since it is pretty late.

“we take the same bus,” scaramouche speaks, for the first time joining your conversation. “we can go together.”

childe smiles in relief, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. then he stills. old habits die hard. damn.

for his sake, you don't comment on it. you walk out of the library, scaramouche in tow.

the stroll to the empty bus stop isn't a comfortable one, but at the very least, you're accompanied by an acquaintance and you don't have to feel anxious being alone. you take a seat as you wait but scaramouche chooses to remain standing, placing a fair amount of distance between you.

“...you haven't made up?”

his voice is small, almost swallowed by the howling winds. you're surprised he wants to talk about it, but you laugh. “we didn't fight or anything.”

“fighting would've been better,” he replies. “an apology could still repair your relationship. but there's nothing you can do if you don't see him that way, and he can't see you as a friend.”

you look down at your feet, heels resting firmly against the pavement. “yes... it's tricky. i don't know how to act around him. i don't want to hurt him, but... maybe not rejecting him is painful, too.”

“then turn him down properly.”

“it's not that easy...”

“would you rather him still have hopes for a chance with you and eventually get disappointed instead of dealing with it once and for all?”

he makes an excellent point. it's reasonable enough... but you don't know how to bring it up with childe. not now. not yet. you'll have to think about it properly, the way to reject him with the least amount of discomfort from his side.

“receiving relationship advice from you... if someone told me this would happen today, i'd think they've gone mad.” you chuckle. “do you deal with friends whining about hardships like these often?”

“apparently, they think of me — someone who has no interest in dating — as the perfect person to consult for relationship problems.”

“hm? you don't date? do you like anyone, at least?”

he gives you a look. it's perfectly blank, devoid of his usual arrogance or irritation. you blink at him, the pause in the conversation stretching too long to be comfortable.

“you could say that. but i don't... try things i know won't work out.”

“...like?”

he rolls his eyes. “think about it this way.” he removes his hands from his pockets, approaching your seated figure. he comes startlingly close, mere centimeters away, and his fingers curl around your wrist. your lips part and close, and you wonder if he's trying to kiss your knuckles-

“if i told you now that i like you, with this many people who like you too, there's no way i'd win, is there?”

it's an example, you tell yourself. you asked him a question and he answered it.

“...so the one you like is popular...”

but his gaze looking directly into your eyes is too earnest, too honest. sincere. light reflects against the violet pools, a turbulent storm clouding within.

you neither nod nor shake your head. the bus arrives and you scramble to get on it.

scaramouche pulls you by the wrist when you nearly trip over the small set of stairs, leading you to a pair of seats. if you have something to be grateful for, it's that he doesn't try to talk anymore, using the pair of headphones resting by his neck for the rest of the ride.

itto:

itto barges into your life in a whirlwind of chaos.

it comes in the form of a stray volleyball plummeting towards your back, and the sheer force behind it knocks the wind out of your lungs. your knees buckle and you kneel on the floor, heaving violent gasps of air. the searing pain makes you wonder if you broke your spine.

distantly, a screech bellows from the court. a figure almost flies past the gymnasium's doors to check on your condition. “are you okay?!” it's gorou, you realize, his eyes blown wide with panic.

you don't want to worry him and say you feel as if you've permanently shattered a bone, but your back hurts like a bitch and you tell him so, “fuck me with a hammer, did a bowling ball crash into me or something?”

he ignores your interesting choice of words and answers, “my friends and i were playing volleyball, i'm so sorry! we didn't see you there at all!”

you steer your sight to the gymnasium entrance and oh my god. the doors aren't especially massive, and one of them is even closed, so what are the chances you walk past the small space and precisely get slammed by a stray ball? it's gotta be lower than a five star drop in gacha.

“can you stand?” gorou holds up a hand for you to take but you really can't move away from your fetal position without an explosion of ache jolting through your body. he's three seconds away from offering to carry you when someone else beats him to it.

“did you get hurt?!” a blur of white hair passes through your eyes, and you blink up at an unfamiliar man. gorou's friend, you're guessing, most likely the one who injured you too — that powerful force from the volleyball could only come from someone like him. tall, athletic, muscular. he's ripped. shredded. probably tore your muscle fibers too.

you don't let the pain cloud your mind. he didn't mean to kill you, you remind yourself. you stretch your lips into a smile, but it may just look like a grimace.

however, with a gentleness you didn't expect from him, he carefully hoists you on his back. oh. he's strong. and really warm.

...sticky with sweat too, but you'll try not to mind it too much...

“i'll carry you to the infirmary!”

your brain clears up from the haze of agony. “...wait, you don't have to-” before you get another word in, he rushes to the clinic, and you bypass many, many people. you settle for hiding your face as best as you can.

after proper treatment, he gives you a serious apology. you learn his name is itto, and you instantly recognize him. you've heard of the name itto before, that one popular student on a sports scholarship for basketball, but he's known more for goofing off with other sports teams. he's broken a lot of windows when he played baseball... and probably also broke bones of other people when he roughhoused too much on the soccer field. it's just that he's insanely talented, enough for most people to overlook his troublesome tendencies.

anyhow, famous or infamous, you can't tell yet. but he's very much willing to make up for your injury.

a free meal would honestly suffice just fine, but even after that, he insists on following you around, offering his assistance whenever needed. and, well. you have no problems with having an extra hand to help when you need to carry heavy equipment.

then he learns about the whole secret admirer thing and he proposes he'll help you lure him out.

“and how do you intend to do that...?” you inquire just as you enter the lecture hall, itto trailing after you and setting your bag on the table. his face splits into a grin and you have a vague idea of what he plans on doing.

he wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you close to his chest.

several things happen at once. a huff leaves xiao's mouth involuntarily. the crack of pencil lead breaking into pieces sounds from beside him, scaramouche holding the pen in his hand with too much force. the laughter ringing seconds prior comes to a halt, childe's face no longer displaying a bright smile.

itto blinks, retracting his arm. he didn't expect this outcome. “you have really overprotective friends, [name].”

as one would expect, you never got the results you want because too much people react to his provocations. it's tricky to pinpoint which one of them exactly is your secret admirer when they all like you the same. (this whole situation is truly absurd. it's not that you fed all these guys love potions by accident, right?)

itto doesn't dare upsetting gorou with this though, but with anyone else, it's free game. he begins calling you the most ridiculous pet names he could come up with, in the wrong place and in the wrong time.

my precious cupcake. my sweetest honeybun. little ducky. snugglepuff. they send shivers down your spine. (albedo is noted to be most affected when itto does this. it's not hard to imagine his brain cells frying when itto shamelessly calls you by such awful names.)

but then it becomes a habit. he's not doing it ironically anymore. his mouth had become accustomed to addressing you in manners only lovers do. more often than not, your friends would be caught by surprise when he wholeheartedly calls out “babe” to earn your attention and you turn towards him as if it's like the most natural thing in the world.

the cherry on top is when you attend one of his games for the basketball team.

it's not like you wore his varsity jacket to rub into everyone's faces the fact that you're dating. nor did you wear a cheerleader outfit of some sorts to show your passionate support as his significant other. you'd only come with gorou and kokomi, waving the banner the three of you made into the air as you were seated in the stands along the sides of the court.

when they won the finals, people on your side all rejoiced, flocking over to the team to praise them and offer their congratulations. thinking it would be better to stand by instead of joining the sweaty crowd, you stood aside with kokomi while gorou insisted on diving headfirst to the sea of people.

then a tall head approaches from afar. white hair, bright eyes, and a similarly blinding smile. “[name]!”

you didn't expect him to come to you. well. spares you the effort then. you throw a towel around his neck. “you're drenched in sweat. please don't touch me.”

he frowns. “not even a congratulatory hug?”

“not when you're this gross.”

at least that wasn't a stern no. itto grins. “wasn't i great out there?” he cards his fingers into his hair, fishing for compliments. you thought he had enough of those from the crowd currently swarming him. “i did a ton of 3 pointers. you saw me, right?”

“would you be disappointed if i said i was on my phone the whole time?”

immediately, his face twists into an offended look. of course that was a lie. you laugh and lean on the tips of your toes to reach his hair, ruffling it into a mess. “kidding. you were amazing, babe.”

that moment, you hadn't seen his expression clearly, occupied with patting his head. perhaps you hadn't even realized what you called him.

but to everyone around you, they could see it, plain to the eye — the shock in his gaze, the small twitch of his lips, the rise of his brows. then his cheeks flush a lovely color as he stares at you under his lashes with a hesitance as one would look at the sun, longing to admire its radiance yet afraid to be scorched by its brilliant rays.

he takes the leap anyways, staring at you as long as he wanted.

a lovestruck fool, keen to your touch.

your secret admirer.

relatively speaking, it's an ordinary day so far.

or as ordinary as it can be with a life as silly as yours. the past few weeks didn't feel real. you wish they weren't. everything has become too complicated. everyone kept on acting suspiciously and skirting around you, avoiding eye contact only to observe you from behind.

your day starts out seeing thoma when you open your front door, both of you telling each other good morning. you pass by kazuha having breakfast at a fast food joint. then you run into itto first thing in the morning, where he gladly helps in carrying a 3d model of your project into class. kaeya swings by to bring you coffee since you didn't get a chance to visit diluc's cafe, not having the extra hand to carry among the pile you already have. you make your daily greetings, saying hi to your friends and annoying xiao, as you always do. you nod towards scaramouche, and you even had enough courage to say hi first to childe too. when walking to another lecture hall, you happen to meet albedo, gorou and zhongli in separate times.

then at lunch time, when you briefly leave your belongings alone for a moment, someone leaves a packet of candies stuffed into your bag.

a sticky note is stuck on the surface, “please meet me at the physics classroom at 6 p.m.” scrawled in black ink.

the penmanship is good. it twists in elegant curls at the edges, brush strokes light and even.

you're able to recognize it at first glance, just as kaeya has told you.

you've seen it enough times to burn it in your brain. you've rigorously studied notes with that same handwriting, after all.

at 5:56, you stand in front of the classroom doors. in different circumstances, you'd have second thoughts before blindly following somebody's orders but you know who it's from, and it is decidedly not a murderer out to get you.

you collect an intake of breath, and twist the doorknob.

the last traces of sunlight bathe the room in a heavenly glow, a haze of aureate like shimmering flecks of gold. the billowing curtains hide the figure standing by the windowsill, the gentle breeze caressing your cheeks as you squint in its direction.

the figure moves of their accord, the sound of a book snapping shut following their actions.

albedo walks out, a serene smile displaying on his sun-kissed face.

“...hey.”

your heartbeat pounds in your ears. though you expected his appearance, it does nothing to dull your surprise.

“it's you.”

albedo had always admired you in quiet adoration.

he can't provide a clear explanation why his gaze is naturally drawn to you, turquoise eyes sweeping by your countenance before he realizes it. but it started out simple, as everything does: a curiosity piqued, when he heard of a person tagging along the supposedly unapproachable girls in school.

gossip comes and goes every season, and albedo knew it will pass soon. it's only a matter of time before they cling to another topic to babble about. most likely something kaeya did again, because he chases after trouble like a dog with a bone.

rumors are nasty. they paint you in malicious light, a person seeking attention among the most eye-catching lot. you wished you were on the same league as them, they said. you were only after the benefits of acquainting with those girls, they said.

but you were special on your own.

the way you carried yourself with confidence, against the judgmental stares and muddled opinions. the way you hadn't cared about what other people said, because you knew best about the situation and you were different from what they made you out to be. the way you genuinely loved your friends, sincerely wishing them happiness and doing everything you can to put a smile on their faces.

you were dazzling.

your laughter rang like bells in his ears, your grin a delight to see. your voice was melodious as you prattled on about the latest film you watched, or as you hummed a song with headphones covering your ears. your colorful expressions were amusing, a reflection of the feelings in your heart.

as the professor drones out during lessons, albedo finds himself distracted by his daydreams. what if he stood beside you? what if he could partake in conversations, not only able to hear your voice but you'd also hear his? what if he was the one faced with your smile, the reason of your smile, the one who made you feel such joy?

what if you permitted him to go further? to brush hands with you, to intertwine your fingers in simple intimacy, to curl his arms around your waist in a loose embrace, to press a kiss on the corner of your lips-

his ears burned in humiliation. what on earth was he thinking?

but forget “seeking attention from others,” it didn't even seem like you were interested in dating.

you showed indifference towards the idea, avoiding mixers and drinking parties. you also turned down quite a few dates. not to mention albedo wasn't even friends with you. he wasn't even sure if you knew of his name.

then you showed up at the library, and for the first time, albedo was thankful for the privilege nobody bothered his table, so you could sit alone together.

you became friends after his (despairingly embarrassing) insistent attempts to acquaint himself with you.

and he files away the little details, storing the small things about you in the corner of his mind. what you like, what you dislike. what days were you free, what things you prefer over the other.

it's a happiness he relishes in, the comfort of your friendship. but his greedy little heart yearns for more, for what you cannot give.

he tries anyway.

he's running out of time. you're always surrounded by people, whether you realize it or not. but he considers himself a selfish person. he doesn't want you to be taken away.

he may lose you entirely if he does it wrong.

but you're already here, eyes gleaming, lips pressed in a nervous tight line. the red dusting your cheeks leaves some hope for him, so he musters up his courage and simplifies the storm of feelings that eats away his heart each day:

“i like you, [name].”

synopsis. shy akaashi and a lot of making out

pairing. akaashi x gender neutral! reader

genre. established relationship, fluff

warning. this is making out and grinding so it’s kind of suggestive! nsfw(?), it doesn’t go any further but it’s implied :]

akaashi is so kissable.

with the red tint on his cheeks, and the way his hair is looking so disheveled. with his shy smile, and the way his fingers are buried into the dip of your hips. you’d give anything to continue pressing your lips into his for the entirety of your life.

and if not for the rest of your life, then at least for a couple more hours while the sun is still up - and while akaashi’s roommate is very much not in their dorm yet.

your mouths are still parted, from the slow and shy kissing that had taken place mere seconds ago. you think it also might be because you can no longer control your breath, evident in your heavy exhales as akaashi moves to caress your bare skin under your shirt.

you wonder how he does it, keeping his breath for that long in comparison to you who’s so very clearly trying to recompose yourself. you think it might be because he’s an athlete — it’s most definitely because he is, and you don’t complain.

he’s patient, lips moving to whisper sweet words of ‘i love you’ and ‘i want to spend my whole life with you’, and the way he’s looking at you with his doe eyes is enough to send you back into his lips.

he doesn’t mind, almost immediately returning it with the same amount of passion, and yet the same shyness.

akaashi keiji, your damn kissable boyfriend, still gets shy around you.

“my pretty baby.” he’s unrestrained with his words. he’s like that when you manage to catch him deep into his feelings, which happens more often than not.

“you make me so happy.” and it’s so hard not to strip him off his clothes when quiet groans and whines are leaving his lips from the simple gesture of you shifting on his lap.

he thinks he’s a goner when you pull at the tips of his hair, and especially when you’re shyly rolling your hips against his. and he doesn’t remember how your shirt’s discarded by the end of his bed, but he’s got a slight clue it might’ve happened when you moaned into his lips the moment he bucked his hips up to match with your pace.

on most days, he’d be embarrassed by how quick he got hard when he pulled you on his lap, but he’s too distracted by the way you’re trailing kisses down his neck to even think about it. he didn’t know you were so talented with your mouth, the same way you’ve praised his fingers before.

“darling, you’re so good to me.” his eyes are shut close, and he’s squeezing your hips to slow down your movements because he’s afraid he might come already, because he doesn’t want to quite yet. he wants the moment to go on longer, nevermind the fact that his face is beet red and he’s desperately tugging you even closer than you already were.

“love it when you do that.” he enjoys the way you tug at his hair, or the way you’re biting down on his neck, or the way you’re guiding his hands to rest on your ass. but he doesn’t allow himself to have all the fun so he hooks your chin with his fingers to bring your face in front of his.

and you could’ve sworn you saw the slight hint of mischief in his gaze before he’s nipping at your neck, tongue running over the visible marks that are forming.

“wanna return the favor, my love.”

akaashi keiji is kissable. he’s always so meticulous with his mouth, and he knows just how to use them.

note. this is all i’ll ever think about 😄

did you think i wouldn't notice?

prompt: coming to school while sick + "i like you, like, like you."

STARRING. cyno ♡ gn!reader | COLLEGE AU |

warnings: house-husband cyno (metaphorically), lovesick cyno, not proofread, written at 2am on a school night, written before cyno's release

cyno never took you one for a fool; at least, not that much of a fool.

you have always had a knack for proving him wrong, though, because archon, who do you think you are? who are you to make him—cyno, number one apathetic-scary-man among many—worry?

well, clearly, you have a very high impression of yourself.

it all started when you didn't show up to your usual meeting spot on campus—cyno noticed, of course he did, it's you, after all. he noticed the way you didn't respond to his texts, followed by your absence and lack of notice.

it's fine, he thought, strolling to class. one hand carries a bottle of water—for him—while the other carries an uncharacteristically flavorful drink that cyno would never buy.

but he did. he did it because it's your favorite; he did it because he knows you love this particular brand, because you just love.

cyno supposes he'll just save this for when he sees you next.

to no one's surprise, he doesn't. during lunch, once again, you're gone. now, cyno is one to embrace the solitude—dare he say, he likes it. alone, the boy is able to clear his mind and fully organize his thoughts.

he likes the silence, but not as much as he likes you.

still, no reply, cyno muses, checking his phone. he's about to give in and call you, but—as stated before—you always have a way of proving him wrong.

because archons, why did you think it was okay to pass by your "usual meeting spot?" to cyno, you are the sun and he, the earth. to cyno, his entire being, his life, revolves around your warmth and comfort—with you, he flourishes in the pits of the abyss, the endless void of nothingness.

to cyno, you are as conspicuous as red laid against green or green laid against red. you are complementary among a thousand, a color so vibrant, you light up that abyss of his, that vacuum of space.

(and when he sees you, he becomes a part of that vacuum, that void; he becomes color.)

there you are. cyno stands up immediately, following you into the crowds of lunch hour. oh, there you go again—tugging him along the strings of life for he is at your disposal, your call. cyno is yours, dammit. he is yours, all yours.

you do not have to be his, though. cyno doesn't want you to be "his," because you are nobody's. what a contradiction—what a fool he has become, because who in the right mind gives themselves up for nothing in return?

cyno does. certified "don't-mess-with-me" boy has also become a lovesick fool in the face of "you."

archons, how he's ashamed to admit that... not out loud, though, celestia, never out loud.

he admits his adoration in a subtler, calmer way. cyno portrays love through widened eyes at your staggering steps, quiet curses under his breath as he quickens his pace to catch up to you.

you're sick, he deduces simply by your gait.

oh, why are you sick? what stress must your body be under? why is it you that has to suffer?

cyno's rationality flies out the window as the sun swallows him whole. he basks in the warmth that flutters through his chest, calming his stomach. oh, why you? it should never be you, the one who suffers.

"and who are you hiding from?" cyno asks, catching up to you. his breath fans your earlobe and you nearly flinch, eyes widened as you turn towards him.

a regret on your half, maybe—because the way cyno stares at you, gaze piercing your soul... it may have been a better idea to stay home, yeah?

"oh, cyno!" you wince at the sound of your own voice, tone sounding a little... dead. "what brings you here?"

cyno merely blinks, and a cough you've been trying to suppress ends up making itself known as the boy's disappointed expression wounds you fatally.

without another word, cyno's palm comes up to your forehead. lips forming a thin line at the contact, his hand leaves your face and interlaces with your fingers. tugging you back to your dorm, your complaints merely fall on deaf ears.

"wait, i have a class!"

"skip it," cyno replies monotonously, not even batting an eye. you nearly choke, because is that really cyno? straight-a student, (sort of) teacher's pet—he prefers to be called an assistant—and infamous among his department as the one person you should never ask stupid questions to... and he told you to skip?!

"close your mouth," cyno says. "a fly will come in."

"you can't even see me," you retort.

then, cyno pauses. he stops walking, craning his head over his shoulder as he merely offers you a gentle—almost uncharacteristic—smile.

"i don't need to."

it's uncharacteristic, actually. if anyone were to see that tender expression on his face, they'd start running for the hills because no way cyno is capable of looking like that.

no way cyno's usually-steeled eyes can melt, no way cyno is capable of revealing a smile so lovely, so kind, in the face of a burden (you being sick.)

but ah, yes way. yes way, cyno can gaze at you like you've stolen the world he once was. yes way, cyno can follow you like you're the lover he's sworn to keep in his past life, and the life before that, and the life before that...

cyno pulls out the copy of your dorm key, unlocking it in your stead. during the trek back to your home, your steps gradually became more and more erratic, thus heightening his worry.

why would you try and learn like this? cyno thinks with a sigh, ushering you inside. his movements are adept, as if he's done this a thousand times—and you know what? maybe he has. maybe in those past lives of his, he has nursed you, he has loved you all the same.

"don't move," he commands, tucking you into bed. "i'll make you some porridge."

hm, you think groggily, mind hazed with sleep and sickness. cyno would make a good house-husband.

you'd never tell him that, though.

cyno merely grimaces once you ask him to feed you.

"seriously?" he asks, holding the bowl of porridge in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"yes, i'm sick... can't you see?" you cough heavily afterwards, emphasizing your point.

cyno, on the other hand, wishes he couldn't see.

"fine."

no more words are exchanged as he begins to feed you slowly. before offering you each bite of porridge, cyno makes sure to lightly blow on the food so it doesn't burn your tongue.

it's subtle, that love of his. it emanates in every touch and spoonful of porridge he gives you, but to the naked eye, cyno's affection is inconspicuous.

after you're done eating, the boy lightly brushes your head before finding a cool towel to rest atop your forehead.

"sleep," he says, barely above a whisper.

your eyes are already shut, and cyno waits patiently for your breaths to even out. once they do, he leaves to do the dishes—slightly scowling at the array of instant foods on your countertop.

he ought to cook you some real meals later.

long ago, cyno heard a tale that said to kiss someone in order to steal their sickness away. it's a stupid thing, that tale, but ah, for childhood dreams and tiny aspirations, it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot, yeah?

a queasy feeling takes over his stomach as the boy stares at you. your eyebrows are furrowed in your sleep, beads of sweat sliding down the side of your face. don't do that, cyno thinks. don't look like that.

he doesn't like it, your uncomfortable expression. stop it, will you? cyno hates how you make him feel in moments like these—how every little flutter of your eyelash and frown of your lips make his heart ache because oh, please, don't be sad.

quietly, the boy presses his index finger to your chapped lips. his eyes trace over your face, an action he'd never dare to even perceive usually—but ah, how he wishes he could take that expression of yours away.

why does it have to be you that is sick? why not him, why not him?

"i like you,"—do you know that?—"like, like you," he says to no one. he says it now, while you're asleep and unable to hear, because cyno's too afraid to do it when you can. what will you think, knowing that he loves you? what will you do, knowing that he'd rather tell the abyss than the sun?

and then, he gets up and leaves your dorm. locking the door behind him, cyno leans his back against the frame before grazing his index finger against his bottom lip.

cyno's taken. so, so taken.

being you -

warnings | none. not spell checked

category | fluff, friends to lovers

wc | 2.3k+

pairing | megumi fushiguro & reader

synopsis |  “i associate happiness with the color of your eyes.” you look at him in surprise, and when you see a hint of a smile on his lips, your breath is taken away from your lungs.

what megumi likes about you: you. your name. your smile. your eyes.

megumi watches as gojo approaches with someone in the same jujutsu tech uniform, and he raises an eyebrow at the surprise visitor. of course, he didn’t mention anything beforehand about someone new.

“hey! crazy hair, this is the new first-year!” gojo lightly pushes you forward, but lightly still has a lot of power, and you let out a noise of surprise and stumble over your steps into something that feels hard, but soft, and a force on your shoulders holding you in place.

megumi glares at gojo standing in front of him for the use of the nickname ‘crazy hair’, said man with a shit-eating grin on his face causing him to roll his eyes, before looking down at the person in his arms. his large hands are situated firmly on your shoulders, stopping you from completely colliding into him and taking the both of you down to the ground.

he sighs, taking a step back to give you some needed space. “are you okay?” his voice is gruff, and it comes out a little less friendly than he meant it to, but you still look up at the sound of his voice, meeting his eyes.

and when you do, your mouth parts in surprise, a breath flowing through the open gap just because as soon as you lay your eyes on him you think — wow. he’s beautiful.

and you let yourself stare for as long as your heart wants because if you take your eyes off of him for a moment, you think the world might end because you won’t see this new person’s face again.

but unfortunately, you realize that you have been openly gawking at him when the boy lets out an awkward cough, shifting his weight on each foot as he avoids your strong gaze, and you fight a wince when you hear the teacher laughing at the interaction in the background.

megumi doesn’t know why you are staring at him when you both just met. maybe it’s his unruly hair — that always makes a strong first impression on other people. or maybe it’s his facial expression — he doesn’t really know what type of face he is making right now, just the fact that his face feels hot, and he knows he is definitely blushing like an idiot because of how intently you’re staring at him.

he lets out a breath of air, glancing back at you. “um... everything okay?”

you blink. and then blink again. cursing under your breath, you immediately move away from him, and he lets his arms fall back to his sides.

“yes! yes. i’m fine, great! perfect…” you rub the back of your neck, focusing your gaze on what’s behind the boy instead. “sorry about that. thanks for making sure i didn’t fall.”

if megumi wasn’t so confused, he would probably laugh at how flustered you’re acting. “no problem.” he’s about to say something else when he’s interrupted by a familiar obnoxious voice and someone clapping their hands together annoyingly loud.

“well then! if you guys are done being awkward teenagers, let’s go get some food to welcome the new student.” gojo stretches his hands to the sky, doing who knows what. “i’m starving!” he sings out, turning around dramatically and walking away, completely ignoring the other two left behind him.

you chuckle, watching as the dark-haired boy turns up at your side, hands stuffed in his pockets. you glance up at him, silently admiring his beautiful side profile. gosh, everything about him is so…

“sorry about him. gojo-sensei can be quite a handful sometimes.” the boy begins, meeting your eyes.

“ah. it’s okay.” you begin following the teacher so you don’t get lost, him following right beside you. “he doesn’t seem that bad.”

he scoffs, a frown falling on his face. “you’d be surprised. but he is okay…” he shrugs, “sometimes.”

“i’m looking forward to seeing more.” you smile at him, and you miss the way the tips of his ears turn pink. “what’s your name?”

“fushiguro megumi. yours?”

you think his name is fitting for someone as beautiful as him.

you tell him your name, and megumi repeats it softly in his mouth, trying the feel of it. megumi decides that as bad as first interactions could go, this one wasn’t so bad.

megumi likes your name.

he turns his face fully to you. “i think your name is cool.”

you honestly didn’t think so, but the compliment coming from him, makes you believe it, even just for the time being. “thank you.”

“what’s your favorite color?”

megumi doesn’t know why you’re asking him what his favorite color is, and he thinks that it’s a pretty out of the blue question to ask. but compared to the other questions you usually ask, this one isn’t the strangest. you guys have been friends for a while now, since the day gojo introduced the both of you and up to today as you guys are always on missions together. he likes it. he likes you.

“i don’t really have one.”

“really?”

you guys are walking back from a mission just completed — thankfully no injuries, the sky a dark shade of blue, the sun already set. you’re both on the sidewalk, you on the inside, him on the outside.

he glances at you from the corner of his eye, noting the confusion on your face. “really.”

“hmm.” you have a small pep in your step, even despite just exercising curses. “yellow?”

“too bright.”

“orange?”

“too obnoxious.”

“white?”

“no.”

you laugh. “then what color do you associate happiness with?”

huh? now megumi is actually taken back. associating happiness with a color? simple, he doesn’t do that. he associates death with black, blood with red, and the specific shade of gojo’s eyes with ‘he should get away immediately’. but not really happiness with anything. maybe not a color. “nothing.”

you look at him. “interesting...”

you suddenly stop, turning to face him and he raises an eyebrow at your actions but does the same. “what’s interesting about it?”

“i’d say my favorite color is dark blue,” you say, disregarding his question.

he tilts his head. “why dark blue?”

“because of your eyes.”

oh. megumi doesn’t even know how to react to the sentence you said too easily for it to mean anymore, but his face immediately goes hot, and he silently thanks everything that it’s too dark for you to see him flustered.

he’s about to say something back, but then you continue. “your eyes are beautiful, fushiguro. i thought you should know.”

and his brain goes haywire. his face gets even hotter, and he doesn’t even know what to do anymore but he looks away from you, attempting to cover his face to hide his raging blush. and to make things even worse, when he glances back at you, you’re smiling — smiling like an idiot with your eyes as crescents, cheeks puffed up, and megumi thinks he feels his stomach do a somersault. he shouldn’t be reacting like this, but you’re doing everything that forces him to, and he doesn’t even know what it means.

you stretch your arms over your head, letting out a yawn as you hear a few muscles you don’t think you should hear pop. “agh. let’s get back, i desperately need to sleep.”

megumi watches you continue walking again, completely leaving him in the dust like you didn’t just say all those words. he stands there like an idiot thinking about how amazing your smile was to see at the end of his day before catching up and falling into step next to you.

megumi likes your smile.

the night that megumi returns to the school all battered and bruised, you swear that your heart drops in your chest at the broken sight.

you had done everything; lead him to your room since he insisted he was fine and that he didn’t want to wake shoko up, scolded him for letting himself get so beat up for the millionth time, and sat him on your bed and forced him to stay there despite his protests as you gathered your medical supplies.

and then here you were, standing between his legs and dabbing a cotton ball dipped in alcohol across his deep wounds, frowning every time he lets out a low hiss at the pain.

“ow.”

“sorryyy.” you pull away, looking down at the dark-haired boy. “megumi…you have to stop getting hurt like this.” you feel your resolve falter, a tear gathering in your eye, but you stop yourself from crying, so you can stay strong. for him. “please…”

when the last word falls from your lips, he looks up at your face, immediately taking note of the single trail of liquid streaming down your cheek that you don’t seem to notice. absentmindedly, he reaches up for your face and wipes the tear with a swipe of his calloused thumb, letting his hand linger for a little longer than necessary on your skin before pulling away.

“i can’t promise that.” you frown, but he continues. “but i can promise that i’ll try to always come back.” his heart hurts. why does he, barely an actual adult, have to say those words? why couldn’t he just promise that he will buy that new video game like a regular teenager? why?

but as if you could read his thoughts, you place your hands on his face, cupping his cheeks, and he’s almost embarrassed at how he immediately leans into your touch, letting you take him over wholly.

“it’s okay.” you caress his face with your thumb, smoother than his, and he can feel his eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion finally weighs in. “it’s okay…” you whisper. “as long as you come back.”

your voice is almost broken, and megumi feels his heart threatening to break at the sad sound. his mind is in scrambles, and he tries to think of something — anything that could possibly take the sorrowful expression off your face.

“would…” he clears his throat, looking up at you. “would you like to watch that movie you were talking about earlier together? once we’re all done here?” a light pink blush adjourns his scarred cheeks.

he watches your expression carefully, and he feels himself let out a breath of air that he didn’t even know he was holding in when your eyes light up.

“really!? the zombie one?”

“the zombie one.”

“ah! yes! of course, i didn’t think you were going to agree, megumi!” you smile brightly at him, and only when you do this megumi finally notices exactly how close the two of you are; you are in between his legs, your face just so close to his, and his breath hitches in his throat as his eyes land on your eyes.

you’re still babbling about how good the movie is going to be, your hands still cupping his face, your thumb mindlessly caressing his skin, and your eyes… your eyes are beautiful.

you always talk about ‘how amazing his eyes are’, ‘how full of life they are’. and then you talk about how much you don’t like your own, and how they are so bland, but if he has anything to say about it, your eyes definitely trump his.

your eyes are filled with happiness, and only because he had said he would watch a movie with you. he thinks he could get lost in them, and that he never, ever wants to look away now.

suddenly, your question from a few weeks back pops back into his mind. ‘what color do you associate with happiness?”

“your eyes.”

you pause in the middle of your sentence, attempting to take your hands off his face only for him to grab them and place them back, causing your face to grow a little hot. you tilt your head to the side in a questioning manner, raising an eyebrow. “huh?”

“i associate happiness with the color of your eyes.” you look at him in surprise, and when you see a hint of a smile on his lips, your breath is taken away from your lungs.

what megumi likes about you:

you.

your name.

your smile.

your eyes.

the sun is setting, and the breeze messes up megumi’s already unruly hair, blowing the fabric of your uniform. you guys are walking down the path by the water, side by side, his steps a little wider than yours.

“i have a question.” megumi’s voice rings into the air, disrupting the peaceful silence. he halts his steps, turning to look at you and you do the same, tilting your head at him.

that’s odd. you’re usually the one to ask random questions from out of nowhere. “okay.” you smile softly, “what is it?”

megumi curses himself for getting distracted by your smile, focusing his gaze at something behind you and tugging on his collar. “i - um...”

you giggle, stepping to the side into his line of vision and waving your hand in front of his face. “any day now.”

“you’re always asking me about all these different things, so i wanted to ask you one thing in return.” he starts, blue eyes finally landing on yours.

he feels his face getting hotter, and he knows he can’t say this to your face without chickening out, so instead on a whim, he places his large hands on your shoulders, causing you to raise an eyebrow in question but then he pulls you to his body, wrapping his strong arms around you. your eyes widen, and you feel like your heart is melting when you realize that his face is buried in your neck, his soft dark hair tickling your skin.

“thank you…” he mumbles, and he’s thankful that his face is hidden from your view, or everything would be ten times more embarrassing.

you blink, your nose picking up his sweet scent, and you feel yourself snuggle into his arms even more. “for what?”

he sighs, deciding to take the risk and kiss the skin of your neck, letting himself bask in your touch before answering. “for being you.”

what megumi likes about you:

everything.

Holy fuck this is so pretty 🥺

awkward - a. keiji

(a/n): small self indulgent drabble, lowkey wish my first kiss was like this instead wtf i got

warnings: none

loosely based on awkward by tyler the creator

during your afternoon class when the sunlight would drift through the windows onto akaashi’s face, you couldn’t help but be enamored by his beauty.

his long lashes, slightly messy hair, and soft lips would be something you looked forward to during your morning class. and when the afternoon would finally come, you would be enamored all over again. and sometimes he would spare you a glance while you quickly looked away.

so when he finally asked you out, of course you obliged.

Keep reading

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this new event hazel omg!!! you always have such an interesting ideas i love you and your brain :((( it's so hard to choose... will it be okay to ask for the lovers (the fluff one), the tower and the fool for the scara? please <33

The Lovers (true love), The Fool (fear of losing something), The Tower (ruin) :: scaramouche x gn reader | tarnished fate 

warning: angst, scaramouche’s perspective* (scara watches reader sleep (wholesomely) 

Scaramouche sat up in bed. His eyes clouded with sleep, body moving slowly as he worked himself into alertness. Turning to the window he could see the day was going to be a dreary one; somehow it was perfect for what was meant to happen. With a sigh, he rubbed his face and turned to look at the figure who slept peacefully beside him. 

Safe and sound as he intended, you rested comfortably. The courage anyone would have to sneak in and disturb you would have impressed him, if he’d known anyone to be that bravely stupid. To harm what was his, to threaten their life, he wouldn’t forgive them. 

Scara watched you far longer than he intended. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft humming that vibrated in your throat, the relaxed facial expression tempting him to change its shape. He was transfixed by you, obsessed with you. It wasn’t something he ever expected to experience but, as it turned out, you were rather hard to vacate from his mind. Even in his dreams, and the moments he awoke, the first thing he thought of was you. 

His fingers brushed across your brow and you shifted onto your back. Your hand slipping under the pillow as you adjusted. Cool, unloving fingers trailed down your neck until they crossed your collarbone, drifted to your partially exposed sternum before finding their way to your neck again. Conflicted, he continued to caress your skin. It wasn’t his intention to wake you up but he wouldn’t have cared if you did. 

Though it would certainly make this morning more difficult. 

“You swore yourself to me,” he whispered into your hair, nose disappearing slightly in the uncombed locks. “do not break your fealty.” 

Scara moved away from you but, in his weakness, he lingered. You were everything to him. The morning, the evening, you were the air in his lungs and the pounding of his heart. He wasn’t sure why since no single thing brought him so much life than his own, but you changed him, altered his resolve.

This life he led was not meant for you. The orange haired harbinger warned him of such. Signora grew bitter at the idea. For a while he tried to ignore it until it consumed him. Filled him with a desire he couldn’t shake. Even if it meant destroying you, he had to know what it felt like to hold you close, to touch the skin that made him insatiable, to feel your lips against him. He had to know.

Now, he had to break all his bones in order to keep you safe from the monster he was and the evil which stood at his back.  

He reminisced while his thumb ran across your bottom lip. How sinful it was to desire this luxury. “I will never love another,” Scara swore as he closed his eyes, removed himself from the bed and slipped onto the cold floor. 

--

The birds were the first thing to wake you. Their lively chatter a humorous alarm to your long rest. It wasn’t new for you to sleep in, nor was it unusual for Scaramouche to allow you this sin. You didn’t understand why other thought he was so cruel. 

Sitting up, you stretched in the late morning sunlight. Your shirt fell down your arm but you did nothing to fix it. Instead, you looked around the room only to have a strange unease settle in the pit of your stomach. Something was amiss, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. 

Concerned, you pulled the covers away but before your feet touched the ground, you noticed a letter sitting on the bedside table. It was sealed by none-other than your love. Eagerly you reached for it, the seal snapping free of the parchment with ease, fingers slipping under the paper to unfold what secrets he left inside.

When it was fully opened, a golden band fell onto your lap. Shocked, confused, you reached for it but as you came to understand what it was your heart sunk and your trembling hands held the letter for your watering eyes. 

You read it again and again, over and over, flipped it on it’s back, turned it upside down. This wasn’t true, this couldn’t be true. Standing suddenly, you turned toward the door but the sound of ringing metal caught your attention as you watched the wedding band Scara wore spin until it came to a stop in front of you. 

Crumbling to the floor, you became entangled in the sheets while your outstretched hand covered the abandoned ring, and through your wretched sobbing, you closed your eyes against the glinting promise tainted with lies that  wrapped around your ring finger. 

“y/n ... 

It is a terrible thing to be blinded by ignorance, and yet, the both of us found ourselves living it every day. I’ve let it consume me no longer.

I’ve taken leave and shall not return. Forget every notion you once had. Laughably, It was your mistake to have fallen into this a ridiculous idea of love. A Harbinger cannot be possessed by the feeling and yet you let yourself be swayed by the lie. 

You were nothing more than a passing moment, albeit a forgotten one. Do not come crawling back to me. 

I never loved you 

Sc--

-- 

Scara turned away from the shrinking shoreline, face scrunching against the soft rain that fell against his cheeks. Every inch of himself suffered; twisted, pained, rattled. He seethed, rolled in fury as he walked across the main deck. The crewmembers hid from his view and he admired their intelligence. 

“How long?” Scara asked behind the helmsman, his sudden question causing them to jump. 

“At this pace sir, less than a weak.” 

“Excellent,” he turned and headed down the steps and toward the captains quarters, arms hanging dead at his side. “Let’s kill an Archon, shall we.” 

Fate Made Event (May8-31) | Anthology

irresistible

✧ genre: xiao, albedo, childe, zhongli, and diluc x gn! reader fluff

✧ warnings: none

✧ summary: what the genshin men simply cannot resist about you

✧ note: this is basically genshin men being simps for you (as inspired by one direction's song), as they should be <33 this is a little break from some of the angst that has been appearing in my posts for a while now so yes take some of this simple fluff and i hope you guys enjoy ^^

XIAO

the adeptus finds that your touches spark a longing in him that has him wanting more every time.

he always indulges in your sweet touches, whether they are biref or lingering on his skin.

during the times he's still a bit hesitant to intiate physical affection, he relishes in the way you'd slowly take his hand in yours.

he absolutely loves it when you lean your head onto his shoulder whenever you two are sat beside each other.

his face flushes a deep shade of red everytime and you can tell he's flustered by the way he clears his throat but even then, he'd never shrug you off or ask you to lean away.

he may be rendered a little speechless but he secretly loves any sort of affection you give him.

when he gets more open in your relationship, he'll start to initiate smaller acts of affection.

he'll get close enough to brush his hand over yours, glancing at you birefly as if to silently ask whether you were fine with him taking you hand.

or when you both are spending a night at the balcony of wangshuu inn, he'll stand close enough for your shoulders to touch.

his touches aren't that big and showy, but xiao doesn't ask for much. even the smallest contact with you sends his heart soaring and pounding loudly in his chest anyways.

ALBEDO

your local alchemist cannot get enough of your eyes.

the way they glimmer and shine with joy, or the way they look at new things with such wonder and curiosity, he just loves them.

as a scientist, he likes to observe things and take little mental notes in his head. that's why he always stares at your eyes whenever you're doing anything.

whenever you're talking to him about anything your passionate about, unlike most people who stare at lips, albedo would intently look you in the eyes.

he enjoys watching how your eyes sparkle with so much passion and love, is so absorbed in the way they widen slightly when you realize he's staring at them.

he'd do nothing but smile at you softly and tell you, "do you know your eyes glitter like the stars when you talk like this, love?"

even when you're focused on something, sometimes he'll tear hus attention away from his work to look at how concentrated your eyes are on your work.

whenever you two are in the opposite corner of a room for some reason, your eyes will always catch albedo's

his heart breaks when you cry though because your eyes only shimmer with tears and pain.

would definitely wipe your tears away and ask you to close your eyes, planting sweet kisses on your eyelids in hopes that it would make you feel better.

CHILDE

this man finds your lips completely irresistible and he will never get enough of them.

unlike albedo, he's the type of person who would stare at your lips when you talk enthusiastically about something.

he'd interupt your speech with a quick peck to the lips. it stuns you for a bit when he says, "sorry, baby. you looked adorable talking like that i couldn't resist."

childe would definitely ask you for some type of kiss every single day you live.

his day instantly brightens whenever you greet him with a peck to the cheeks, hair, forehead, etc.

kiss him anywhere and his lips will begin to turn up to form a thankful smile.

he'd always reciprocate with a kiss of his own to your lips, basking in the warmth and love they provide him.

he seems a bit clingy because of this, but you can't blame him when your lips are just that soft and addicting.

on days when he's tired and worn out, your kisses act like a little energy recharge for him. kiss him once and he feels like he could defeat the entirety of teyvat.

he always feels reassured and comforted when you give him a kiss. that's something he rarely feels as a harbinger, so whenever you kiss him he makes sure to treasure it and of course, reciprocate it.

ZHONGLI

zhongli cannot get enough of your words, the way you talk.

we all know he's around 6,000 years old so he knows millions of stories and has an endless amount of knowledge and wisdom.

still, he listens intently to any stories you have for him.

it doesn't even need to be stories, you can tell him about anything and he'd still look at you with such fondness and affection.

he absolutely loves it when you ramble on and on to him. he thinks it's adorable how much you know about a certain topic.

zhongli also lives for your little praises, thanks, and "i love you"s.

whenever you compliment him about anything, pride and love makes his heart swell, a small smile adorning his features.

mutters a little, "thank you, my dearest," before placing a small kiss to the top of your head.

bottom line, he will never get tired of hearing talk about absolutely everything and anything. even on days when you don't have much to say, he loves to hear your voice.

this man trusts you immensely and he holds your words to the highest regard so anything that comes from your mouth is precious to him.

DILUC

your smile is something that will always make diluc's day a lot better.

he just finds your smile so contagious and comforting. he is unable to stop a smile of his own from making its way onto his features whenever he sees it.

he would give anything to see any type of smile grace your beautiful features.

he takes mental notes on what you love just so he could brighten both your day as well as his.

in the mornings, when your both in the comfort of your own home, he'd always peck your cheek.

as a bonus, he'd wrap his arms around your smaller figure too.

he basks in the warmth you give when you lean into his chest, adoring the way a smile automatically comes to form on your lips.

often times he would get you some of your favorite snacks or flowers before heading home as well.

his heart completely melts when your eyes widen with surprise. he definitely pecks your forehead when you smile and tell him, "oh, diluc... you didn't need to, but thank you so much. i love them."

your smile heals him and dispels all the fear, sadness, and frustration he holds. he would do everything in his power to make sure you never lose such a beautiful thing.

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