#what if i painted a wall with white chalkboard paint

[caxde]

roses and dandelions | steve harrington x reader

summary you're Hopper's daughter as soon as you could you moved fram from Hawkins, some years later you come back to teach at the High School, and you find Steve Harrington has become the new History teacher.

word count: 5.4k

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it), comfort, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!. teacher!steve AU!!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!!

    Steve loved his job. 

And for once he was actually proud of what he was doing, and what he had become. He had managed to get into collage, and worked his way through it, managing to get the top marks in his degree, turns out that if he was actually passionate in what was thought, he had no problem in keeping attention. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that his end goal was not where he was, but it turns out he was content with it. A quiet life, back in Hawkins, in a house of his own, teaching History to high schoolers. They weren’t the little nuggets that he had aimed for, but regardless, he enjoyed the occasional connection with an abnormally curious mind. 

He liked it. The quiet, the normalness, the stillness almost. 

It also made him giggle, being called Mr.Harrington. It seems like the walls of the Hawkins’ High School had seen the evolution, from posh-boy Stevie, King-Steve, loverboy-Steve, nice-Steve to finally years later, Mr.Harrington. He remembers writing it on his first day on the chalkboard and not being able to stop smiling to himself. He had made it, it wasn’t inherited, it wasn’t gifted, he had accomplished it himself. 

So on days like this, early January, where the coldness seemed to drain the morale, he stuck into that thought. 

He taught his classes for today, and was hanging back in his classroom for a bit, grading some work from his senior class. His radio hummed soft music as he concentrated, hand on his chin that played absentmindedly with his short 3 day beard. He was interrupted as he heard a loud thump on the other side of the wall. 

Funny enough, you were there. 

Surrounded by empty canvases, you were struggling to make the room feel better. You had worked in so many artists' workshops that you had certain habits that were hard to break. You needed a space dedicated in its entirety to paint, and you had spent the last hour organizing it. Half empty bottles were up to the front, the first three always had to be the three primary colours, yellow, blue and red. Followed by white and black. Then came the secondary ones, and the tertiary colours. The paintbrushes that could be saved and weren’t to badly beat layed bristles up in a jar. You only had acrylics and you had made a mental note to ask permission to get some oils next. However, the canvases couldn’t stop hitting the floor every time you tried to reorganize them. So you were exhausted and piled them on the ground by shape. Deciding to reorganize the high tables. You knocked one of the stools into the ground. 

A loud thump.

“You okay?” Even if his tone of voice didn’t make it obvious the fact that he had rushed over, seeing his glasses sliding down his nose did. Once you turned around and actually connected the voice to his face a little upside down smile appeared in his lips, while you nodded and looked at the ground. A faint blush appears on your cheeks. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Harrington.” You scoffed as you bent down again to pick the fallen piece of furniture. 

“I didn’t know you were back in town…” He whispered as he came closer to you, standing in front of you, watching you closely as you relocated the stool. 

“Well, I got maybe a little too many calls from Principal Higgins, about how they had nobody to come and ‘save the arts’ and bla bla bla… So… yeah.” You tried to explain without getting into too much detail, eyeing the classroom that was in truely a deprovable state. “And I don’t know where to actually put the tables so it makes sense.” He hides a smile as he scratches the back of his neck, looking around. 

“I’ll help.” He says as he starts heading into one of the high tables. 

“You don’t have to.” You tell him as you grab a sheet of paper and start sketching a quick idea of the distribution, the pencil always rests on your right ear. 

“I know. But if you actually give me an excuse to stop grading papers, you would actually be doing me a favour.” He says in a happy tone, as he rests his forearms on top of the table where your paper rested, his eyes looking deep into yours as you concentrated. His face relaxed as he watched you, and if he was being sincere, it didn’t surprise him. 

“Okay, if I’m your excuse… Guess you can.” You answered absentmindedly, as your whole focus was on making sure that the little game of tetris made sense on the paper.

As you started moving boxes around, Steve’s head had a million questions that he couldn’t help but ask. He was shocked to see you again, and if you’re honest, you were quite embarrassed to be back here again. 

“So what about New York?” He asked cheerfully, and regretted it when he saw how your mouth slightly opened and your eyes flinched at that. 

“Well, New York will wait… I hope.” You whisper the final part, but he hears it nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” You had to interrupt him. You could tell he was about to rumble away as he always did when he tried to fix things that remained unfixable. 

“It’s alright Harrington. It’s just, that way” You point before getting more in depth,  your voice rising above the squeals the tables make. “I’ve worked so hard, y’know? And I finally had, like my own space at a gallery and even if my work wasn't gonna be there, MoMa called back about the job interview and… I don’t know. I’ve still got the place in the gallery but now they won’t actually give me a space until late May…” You rumble away as the table is finally in its right place. “I just thought I had finally made it, I think…” 

“You have. You’ve just got to wait now.” He reassures as he starts pushing the next table, his eyes had not left your face while you rumbled away, his full attention laid on you. 

“I hate waiting.” You replay as the room finally is in shape. He pulls up the canvases and gives you a questioning look. “Between the cabinet and the wall there.” You point out, eyeing the whole room. 

“I remember. You were always so…” 

“Careful now.” You tease him as he tries to find a word to end his sentence. 

“Impulsive?” You laughed as you crossed your arms, and he gave you a soft smile. You looked at him for once. It had been about five years since you left for New York, and yet he still looked the same. His hair had grown a bit, but it remained as messy as it always did. The glasses and bear were a new addition, one that made you get lost in him for a bit longer than you did before. You smile softly as you remember how many times you told him how good he’d look with a beard and he proves you right. 

“Hey!” You scream back at him, as you both giggle and laugh. “You did overthink a lot.” That makes him chuckle as his arms crossed in front of his chest, and your eyes inevitably focus on his upper arms a bit. 

“Still do, H '' He says, using the old nickname he once gave you. “You still make people call you that?” 

“Miss.H?” You ask him, as you clean your things up, putting them neatly into your backpack so you can head back home. “Yeah, Hopper is way too close to dad.” 

“Figured.” He smiles, an upside down smile that makes something deep inside you flutter ever so slightly. “You still in the cabin?” 

“Yeah, he left for Cali with Joyce, and I just sorta bought it from him, you know… A big atelier…” He laughed softly with you, his face softening as he fixated on your movements. 

“See, you might like being back.” He teases as he fixes his eyeglasses. 

“Don’t push it Harrington.” 

“Mr.Harrington now.” He finishes, making you both laugh. 

-

January flew by. 

And with it, your new routine settled quickly. You woke up with not that much time to spare before having to get the car to get in actual time to your first class. Funny enough, teaching wasn’t as bad as you remembered. Granted, the last time you taught you had spoiled upper-east side kids that thought that making an abstract painting was simply spilling paint into a big canvas, devoid of meaning. It deeply infuriated you. 

Thankfully, this time around the kids seemed to actually be interested, and to actually want to learn what you tried to convey. 

However, on this February morning, everything was going exactly as it wasn’t supposed to. To make matters worse, your car had given up and was now refusing to turn on. Frustrated and about to give up, you decide to call for help. 

You were whispering to yourself, pickuppickuppickup, as the tones of the phone answered you.

“Good morning.” You struggled to hide a groan at his happy tone. 

“Help?” You asked as your voice croaked, it being your first word of the day, besides a series of curses dedicated to your car. 

“What do you need, H?” Steve's voice sounded worried now, and you scoffed in an attempt to make him relax. 

“My stupid car has died. Can you come pick me up? Please? I’ll buy you dinner if you wanna, as a thank you.” You explain yourself as you hit the floor with your heavy boots. He could hear  you doing so, just as you could hear him smile. 

“Are you bribing me, bub?” He asks. You can feel your face warming up as you register the stupid pet name. 

“Only if it is working.” You declare, receiving nothing but silence. “Is it working?” 

“On my way.” He says before he hangs up. 

Truth be told, you didn’t have to wait that long, but still, you managed to get lost in some sketches as you waited. So, when Steve found you, curled up on your house steps, head focused on whatever you were doodling, he could help but smile at you. Soft, kind and adoring smile. He stopped the car, and opened the door for you, a smirk on his face as you told him good morning stevie. 

“You know, you’re the only one allowed to call me that.” He teases as he starts the car back up. 

“Course I am.” You tease him back, slapping your thigh as a distraction from your yawning. 

“Did you eat?” He asks, his eyes didn’t leave the road often, but he couldn’t help himself. You were on the passenger seat, hair falling in a calculated mess, and you scratching your eye made him melt a bit on the inside. So as soon as you shake your head no, he reaches on the center console, and gives you a little mug. You chuckle at that. “It’s coffee.” He explains. “I’ve got a croissant in my bag, you can have it.” He tells you, as your cheeks warm up, a pinkish tone invading them. 

“You take your mugs into school?” You tease him as a way to say thank you. Taking it to your lips, leaning your head back as soon as you drink it. 

“Yeah, you know… trying to take the plastic use down.” He explains, as he reaches for the same mug, your hands touching for a second. An electric feeling invading your skin for a moment. You watch him closely as his lips hit the white porcelain, you feel your lips tingle a bit. He looks closely at you as he hits a red light, handing the mug back at you. “Seriously, eat the croissant.” He insists, as you can’t hide your blushing skin anymore, and this time he does notice it, a smile appearing on his face. 

“O-kay, but you’ll eat half of it, ‘kay?” You try to reason with him, as he tilts your head at you, a mocking stare. “C’mon, you know I don’t eat that much.” He nodded as his left hand changed the car gear. 

“You’ll have to feed me though” He teased as his hands were now occupied, his face concentrated once again, as he closed distance with the school. He thinks you won’t, because if he’s honest, it will make him just as nervous as it will make you, having your hand that close to his lips. Not really sure what was going on, but you were in no rush to find out, you just enjoyed it. So his eyes opened a bit as he heard the cracking of the baked pastry on your hand. His head slightly turned to you as his eyes don’t leave the road. Your heart beating a bit harder as you closed distance, his lips kissing your fingers as he bites down. 

When the car stops you share a look. An intimate moment while you too share the improvised breakfast, enjoying the stillness of this moment, the quiet and the sense of familiarity it itself held. You knew as much as he did, that you wished you could just stay there. 

-

Two weeks had passed, and it became a routine. 

He’d come and pick you up, he’ll bring two mugs of coffee, and you’d have some sort of quick breakfast for you both to eat on your way. You’d do your classes, he’d do his, and at the end of the day, he’d let you home and wish you a good night with a soft blink. 

And with it, came two things. 

Feelings that were left in the unknown, and a swarm of students that had seen you come together and started speculating about your relationship. That last part made you smile to yourself every time you overheard them speculate. 

“Bethany saw them arriving together” “Trevor said he saw miss.H give mr.Harrington a kiss on the cheek.” “They left together yesterday”.

You told Steve about it as soon as you heard, and he laughed as hard as you did. So you did some pantomimes in front of some students, like a little inside joke. But if he was to be honest with himself, he liked messing with you. He likes spending time with you, and if it served him as an excuse to touch your hand, or let his hand rest on the small of your back more often, he was more than happy to do so. And then again, the same could be said by you. You probably didn’t need to touch his upper arm as often as you did, or tease him as much as you did, but still, you did because you liked his presence.  

The last Period of the week came around, senior class. You knew you weren’t supposed to have favourites, but then again, you liked that they actually were curious about the world and asked all the right things. 

You had some objects in each table and a simple phrase written on the blackboard. choose one.

They slowly did, as they came in, the usual hello miss.h! was followed by a chorus of what is this? that made you giggle inside. In one of the tables were some postcards, the following one had a collection of letters (with the signature hidden), the other one had some pictures of landscapes, and the final one had a lot of pictures that you had taken. 

As all of your students had one in each hand, you placed yourself in the middle, all eyes on you, and a murmuring silence with unparalleled attention. 

“Hello” You chirped happily, this might be your favourite assignment to date. “So, I’ll go straight to it, that okay?” You asked as you watched for your students to nod or say something, which they did. “Alright, so. You have different objects in your hands, and I’ll give you a month where you can work in this classroom and at your houses, okay? You’ll need to come up with a painting, sculpture, drawing… I don't care as long as it is original, inspired by what you are holding. I don’t care if the only thing that you produce is as big as a pencil sharpener, or as big as you are. I want you to actually be moved by what you produced, and to register the process. In other words, don’t get too stressed by the ending product, and just enjoy the process. Okay? We’ll work here and I’ll be here for any questions or anything you need, but, if you could actually you know, work? That would be lovely.” You heard your students giggle at that, and you smiled proudly at them, clapping your hands as you finished explaining the assignment. “Okay, let’s put on some music, yeah?” They all cheered happily as they headed for the stereo. 

You truly didn’t need to stress with them. You knew what they were about to do, so you went back to the tables and gathered what they hadn’t selected, handling it all with care. And your heart stopped when you reached the letters and found the old post.it that Steve had once wrote. “I know I won’t remember in the morning, but I also know I won’t even shut up about that kiss” Embarrassed with that memory you held it in your hand as some of your students huddled to you. 

“Miss.H?” The shortest of the three asked for your attention, and your slightly blushed cheeks looked up rapidly at them. 

“Ye- Yes?” You muttered as you composed yourself. 

“Will you do the assignment with us, like last time?” She asked again, and you smiled at them, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. 

“Do you guys want me to?” You asked, honesty evident in your voice. 

“We love seeing your art, Miss.H.” The taller one now spoke. 

“Ah, flattery.” You teased, as they giggled at your answer. “That will take you anywhere with me. Sure.” 

“Great!” They cheered as they went back to their table, stopping suddenly when the door opened and Steve stood there. 

You looked at him, forgetting for a second how good he looked today. That stupid blue shirt hugged his arms a bit too well, and the maroon pants complimented his thighs in a way that made your blood rush a bit too much. He had his 3 day beard again, and he just stood there, reclining his body onto your classroom threshold, asking with his look for a quick conversation. You walked over as you heard the girls chattering amongst themselves. 

“What do you need?” You asked, a bit too casually, forgetting that you were actually the teachers and not just some friends in a bar. 

“I told you this morning that my class had a test last period.” He sounded a little pissed off. And his eyebrow furrowed, as your hand reached your forehead, an apologetic look on your eyes. 

“Shit, I forgot.” You whispered. Steve seemed to forget about it for a second, as he saw the little post-it in your hand. Grabbing your hand in a swift motion and opening it up. Your face was now as red as the new paint you bought. 

You could see him reading the note and a smile appeared as he looked you up and down. He did remember writing it, years ago, on the night you left to New York. On the night he had been brave and told you everything he meant to tell you before. He had forgotten all about the test for a second. 

“You still have this?” He asks, not really believing that you would still save such a silly bit of paper. Waving it in front of your face, his eyes seemed brighter all of a sudden

“Yeah…” You were in a loss for words, too embarrassed to actually say anything. He forgot for a moment that you were not alone, as he placed it back on the palm of your hand, and tucked a flock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slightly caressing your cheek, carefully, leaving a tray of warmth and goosebumps, in both your face and his fingers. “I’ll turn the music off.” You whisper, as your eyes get lost in his, momentarily getting lost on his pinkish lips. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah…” He whispered, lost on you. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” He had decided to be brave again. 

“No.” 

“Wanna get dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, his eyes shine at you, as you smile brighter. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, then it's a date…” He said as he left, his eyes had shined as he looked back at your lips, and you didn’t quite believe it. A stupid daze evident on your face. 

-

Robin had just got off the phone with Steve when you called, so her immediate reaction was to laugh when she saw your number, and you were left shocked about her laughing. 

“What are you laughing for?” You demanded, a hint of anxiety evident in your voice. 

“Loverboy just called me.” She laughed as she spoke. 

“Steve?” 

“Mmh.” She affirmed. 

“Shit.” You both laughed at that, your hand reaching your forehead. “He told you already?” She made the same sound again, and you sighed as a response. “What did he say?” 

“Oh, you know, that he had finally asked you out. And I just scolded him for not doing it sooner… I mean, I love you, but hearing you wailing about him for the last five years…” 

“I didn’t wail…” You try to no avail to convince her, but she just scoffs at you. “Maybe a little.” 

“Come on, you both have been in love with each other for so long… Just get on your nice dress, the black one, get a good coat and be ready, it’ll go fine.” She calmed you down, knowing exactly that that’s why you called, she wasted no time. 

“I love you Robs.” You told her, with a wide smile on your face.

“I know, now, go. Don’t use me as an excuse.” 

“Kay, bye.”

“Bye, lovergirl.” She giggles as she hangs up. Leaving you in the quiet of the cabin. 

You did enjoy the silence, the quiet of the woods that surrendered you, but still, you opted to put on some music, just something to ease your brain from overrunning. Once again, Bowie’s voice filled the space, making it all easier, from dressing yourself up, to doing your hair, applying some makeup, and yes, taking a shot of your fathers hidden whiskey to ease the nerves. 

He told you he’d pick you up, so the only thing left to do was wait. 

You didn’t have to wait long anyway. 

Though he wasn’t used to the feeling, he could recognise the nervousness energy that his body emanated. 

Which is why he had called Robin in the first place, he wasn’t sure if he should wear the button down, the sweater… He was in a crisis, and obviously Robin had laughed her ass off. The only thing she had told him was to not shave, and he didn’t quite believe her when she told him that you had always liked how he looked with one. 

So with five minutes to spare, he was in his backyard, well, not technically, he was invading Mss.Jackson’s so he could steal your favourite flower. Stupid as it may be, he’d known that it would make you smile, and Steve would make anything to see you smile again. 

And he knew it was cheesy and a cliché, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, his heart seemed to skip a beat. Your body looked splendid with that little black dress, your legs covered with warm tights, and a coat that kept you warm. The thing that drove him crazier, was how your lips were now blood red, curling upwards as you locked eyes with him. 

Then again, yours did the same. 

You couldn’t help but take a second, just a moment to memorize him. Standing against his car, face slightly buried inside a small bouquet of wild flowers. Roses and dandelions. As stupid as it was, it made you feel heard and seen, him remembering that this combination was your favourite, not only that but, his white knit jumper made him look softer, it seemed to be a gateway to the old Steve. The one that had been in love with you and told you so before you left, the one you kissed as a final goodbye, the same one that left the note that you still carried on your wallet. 

-

The date had passed by too fast. A conversation that didn’t ever end, not really, not even now, when the slight buzz of the wine was beginning to wear off, and you were standing up, outside your little house, smoking as you avoided saying goodbye.  

“I truely can’t believe you smoke that crap.” He teases again, smiling down at you. 

“Hey, sue me, I like them better than Newport’s.” You tease back, your eyes looking at the flowers that were still on his hand. He laughs at that, and a wisp of courage invades you for a second. “Do you want to come in? Put the flowers away?” You ask, softly, embarrassed about the fact that your skin is bright pink as you ask that, your hand scratching your upper arm. But the smile on his face relaxes you. 

“I’d love to.” He admits, as he follows you inside. He watches you closely as the familiarity invades you. As soon as you open the door, you hang your coat on the hanger on the wall. Letting your cigarette rest softly in between your darken lips, he is mesmerized by you, and the easiness that you seem to radiate as you put your hair up. He chuckles as he sees you move so gracefully. 

“What?” You ask, a soft tone accompanied by a shy smile comes out, looking up to his eyes, he seems to melt away once again. 

“Nothing.” He laughs at your raised eyebrows. “You smoke inside now?” He teases, as he finally takes a look around. 

“Steve, honey… I’m an artist and now a teacher… Yeah, I smoke inside.” You mock him a bit, and it makes the both of you try to stifle a chuckle to no success. The way your voice had said honey rings in his ears for a while.

He looks lost at the little cabin, afraid to even ask, he decides to just follow you around. You head into the little kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a half empty bottle of white wine, a soft questioning look that is answered by a nod from him, you reach for two glasses, and you can’t help your lips from curling upwards as you see him getting a little empty glass jar and fills it up with water, letting the roses and dandelions rest there. You clink your glasses together before taking a sip, a stupid grin in both your faces. He looks around, the question evident in his expression. 

“You wanna see the um… atelier?” You asks as you take another sip. He has become lost in you, and just nods as he follows you. 

He’s mesmerized as soon as the light comes on. A neat mess in front of him, and your moving in the space with such grace he can’t tell what he likes better. You spinning around in your short dress or the colorfull paintings behind you.

He steps closer to you, your head slightly rested against your glass as you eye a canvas that hasn’t been finished yet, the one he presume you’ve been woring on before he came. He wasn’t wrong in that, just as he isn’t wrong in assuming that you’ve just had a revelation about it. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He asks, a whisper of a voice escaping his lips as he reclains against a wooden panel that was set up by two very unstable stools. 

“S’nothing.” You mumbels as your eyebrows furrows a bit more, his silence lets you know he doesn’t believe you, though his titled head would have told you the same if you had looked at him. “Just, I thought that I was painting something else, now I see I wasn’t” You mutter, aware that it doesn’t make that much sense. 

“I’m not sure I follow you, H” He says in return, wine going down his throat. 

“Hold on.” You say, as you move closer to him. 

His hearts beats faster for a second as he sees your decision in his eyes, confusing him in thinking that you were going to make a move, surprised when he sees you catch a small brush and the straight bottle of red paint. He watches you closely, and he can’t help himself but mutter “You’ll get your dress stained.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” You smile, dropping the painton the floor, he watches closely as your hands reach over for an old overshired button up, you putt it on quickly, his mouth opens a little too much when he sees you taking the dress off, kicking it of the ground to him. “Good reflexes” You tease as he catches it on his free hand. 

He’s brain can’t quiet compute the information. You look way too good right now. The look of determination on your eyes as you stare at the canvas, your tangled or maybe intricate would be a better word for the state of your bun, with flyaways framing your hair. Your legs still in the black tights, but thanks to that little wardrove change, he can now see the very beginning of your legs, and he is mesmerized for a little too long, not being able to focus on what you were actually doing, since his whole attention is set on the way you move, your presence, you. 

Once you turn back to him, the roles diverse for a second. Maybe a bit more. He crouches forward, and you’re the one left starring. He had taken his jumper at some point, and he was now left with a tight grey shirt, his arms in full display, and with them so were his veins, that now appeared as he was holding the wine in one hand, and your dress in the other. Maybe what you liked best was the look of recognition on his eyes as he started at the canvas. 

“Is that?” 

“Yeah, you.” You finish, as he finally turns around. Even with your arms crossed against your chest, the distance between the both of you was small. If you or him made one step, not only your feet would be touching, but so will be your chest, you’d share the same air. And the electricity of the whole night seemed to be building up, your chest raising faster and faster as you looked up at him. Aware of him, close enough to see his freckles, to count them even if you fancied. 

And just like if lighting had struck, he took a step forward, as soon as his glass reached the impromptu table and his body collapsed into yours, his eyes closed, waiting for your lips to touch, wich they did. Immediately, with a necessity that seemed to come from far before. His hands dropping your dress on the floor fastly as they traveled to your cheeks, pushing in closer to you, as your fingers found the back of his neck, grabbing his hair instictibly, needing him like air, or like water. A soft moan escaping your lips as he pressed harder into you, his hands travelling to your back, he needed you just as much as you needed him. 

His belt was starting to bother him, and you were starting to feel the tingle between your legs, and you knew you had to stop, because if you didn’t, you would never want him to leave again. 

As he pulled away you knew he had thought the same. Touching his forehead with yours as your fingers found its way to one another, intertwined. 

“That was…” 

“Yeah.” You agreed with him. “Stay?”

As his lips kissed the tip of your nose, you felt safe in his arms. 

“I’m never leaving.” He reassured you.

-

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[heartfullofleeches]

Oh speaking of Sucrose, what would a scenario where reader first met Sucrose at their bakery be like?

The bell above the door chimes as you walk in.

Bubblegum pink wallpaper lines each corner of the room; strawberries and bits of confetti painted it to give the impression of a cupcake. Chairs of a more vibrant shade form around the edges of lace covered tables; booths available at a far wall. The combined scent of a variety of treats fill the air in a vortex of pleasantries; the sweets proudly on display in their casing and in jars on a back shelf. The chalkboard beside the menu reads:

"Opening Week Special: Ring bell on counter for a free treat."

You walk over and tap the bell, waiting for someone to come out from the back. Instead, they pop straight up from behind the counter.

"Heyo!"

You clutch the edge of the counter and your chest as shock pulses through your body.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Didn't mean to scare ya. My name is Sucrose, and welcome to my bakery. What brings you in today?"

"This place is around the corner from my job, and everyone's been talking about it- so I thought I'd check it out.

"Oh, yes. I've seen you walk by before with your friends. My, you sure are the cute one of that group- Its Y/n, right?"

"Um... Yeah..."

Sucrose giggles. "Sorry, I have a bad habit of hearing things I shouldn't. Anyway, I'm sure you're here for that free treat, right? Normally, I give out my experiment candies, but a cute gumdrop like you deserves something special."

Sucrose pulls back the door of the case nearest to them and pulls out a cupcake wrapped in red paper. Its base is decorated by white frosting topped with a pink swirl; heart shaped confetti pieces, and a piece of taffy with the same confection finishing the dessert off.

"It's strawberry taffy flavored. My personal favorite." Sucrose packs up the cupcake with a bow and slides it over to you. "Here you go!"

"Thank you." You take the box. Sucrose's gloved fingers graze your palm.

"No problem, gumdrop. I can tell already that we'll get along well, so come visit me soon, won't you?"

#Sucrose my oc #The bsstard of all bastards #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere nightmare #yandere teratophilia #yandere x darling

[zchnlswrld]

RENJUN’S BROKEN MELODY: REGULUS

NCT DREAM’S BROKEN MELODIES

Renjun taps his fingers on the oak wood table in front of him, nervous for what's to come. The minimal aesthetic and the openness of the café provided him some sort of comfort knowing that if this went well they could return once more and have another date and if it went poorly he could leave without any obstacles in his way with a clear path to the exit.

He carefully takes a sip of his hot drink to pass the time, after taking the sip he hold the cup in front of his lips before taking another one, making a mental note to order this drink again regardless of the outcome today.

The bell next to the door chimes much like it did when he came in, his eyes wander to the door and he sees a girl stumbling in. A dark blue satchel sat across her body, clearly stuffed with too many items, and a brown paper in her left hand, she had clearly been holding it for a while as it was creased and crumpled around the handle. A sage green long sleeve shirt was tucked into white denim shorts. Her style alone told Renjun this would go well.

Her eyes widened when she spotted him sat in the middle of the room, a smile makes its way to her face and his expression matches hers almost immediately. The smile doesn’t leave her face as she rushes to sit in front of him, she takes the satchel off and hangs it on the back of her chair before sitting down and placing the brown bag in her lap.

The girl reaches her hand out, "Hi! I'm Minji! I believe Chenle set us up?" The smile never leaving her face.

Renjun takes her hand and shakes it, "Hi, yes he did. I'm Renjun."

"Before we start, Chenle mentioned you liked art so I though I'd give you this. I'm not sure if you'll like it but I wanted to get it for you regardless." Minji hands Renjun the brown bag in her lap and he carefully takes it.

He reaches into the bag only to pull out a 9x12 canvas with a yellow tulip on in. Just by looking at it he could tell it was done with acrylic paint and modelling paste. It was zoomed in with the stem, leaves and bottom half of the petals being shown with barely any white left uncovered on the canvas. The detail was incredible, Renjun was unsure if he could replicate this himself. His fingers dragged over the painting, completely mesmerised by the painting. His eyes flicked to the corner of the painting for the artist however he found nothing.

Yellow was his favourite colour, tulips... you loved tulips. Yellow tulips became a statement piece in your household. Eventually you grew to love yellow, ditching orange a you favourite colour when Renjun began to call you his 'yellow'.

But that was long ago, he needed to let you go now, he wants to try again. He wants to try again with Minji.

"I got it at a market," she interjects softly "a teenage girl made it. She was selling her paintings to try and afford an easel." He listens closely and nods.

"I love it." He finally tears his eyes away from the painting and looks at Minji. "I'm going to hang this up when I go home." Renjun smiles genuinely and places the painting next to him, leaning it on the table leg.

"I didn't get you anything, I'm sorry. In return I'll pay for your drinks and food today." She hums in agreement and stands up, Renjun follows suit and picks up his wallet.

The pair walk up to the oak counter in silence. Minji's eyes scan the chalkboard hung on the back wall intently trying to pick a drink. She mumbles under her breath about wanting them all because they all sound good. Renjun catches wind of her comment and lets out a quiet laugh at her.

The barista walks up to the counter and waits expectantly. "Please could I have..." she drags out her words, still pondering "an iced macha green tea latte please?" The staff member replies with something about getting right to it as they push the order into the till and pushes the card reader to the pair. Renjun opens his wallet and gets out the change to pay. The barista takes the money and pulls back the card reader.

An iced macha green tea latte. Your order. Renjun never understood the appeal for green tea and making it a latte just doesn't sound the best either. You used to make an excuse for your constant consumption of them, saying that you need them to get through checking book drafts and that you wouldn't work without them so Renjun would give in and make you one.

They both stayed quiet as the drink was being made, once it was made Minji took it and the silence followed them as they sat back at their table.

"So... besides art what else are you into?" Minji sips her drink.

Renjun looks up and thinks. "I like museums and art galleries. I know it's art but I also like pottery classes. I enjoy music too, my friends say I have a pretty voice. Making jewellery is really fun too." He smiles. "What about you? I feel like I've only spoken about myself."

Minji immediately brightens up, "I like volunteering and crocheting, sewing too and I make my own clothes! I'm also big into reading!" Renjun nods, recalling Chenle telling him. "My favourite author is probably YUNGLUV! I have all their books, that's why my bag is fo full right now!" She beams.

His mind goes fuzzy at the mention of your writing name. Everything goes to quickly and he can vividly make out Minji taking out a book from her bag and reach it over the table to him and he takes it.

"This is their most recent, 'Warm tones'. I don't know what it's about yet but it sounds beautiful. Read the blurb, I think you'll enjoy it." She offers.

'It was sunrise when we fell in love. 6:18am. You took me out to a picnic spot on the hills, you said we should eat breakfast together because it would prepare you for the job interview you had that day. I said the sun on your face was pretty and you said I was pretty regardless.

A moment of silence followed before you confessed your love, I did the same before we sealed it with a kiss.

It was sunset when you told me you fell out of love. 9:24pm. We were eating dinner on the patio, I said we should eat together out there because you hadn't been home in the past few days. I said I love you and was sorry for being so busy and you said you couldn't lie to me and didn't love me.

A moment of silence followed before I said I know, you picked up our empty plates and went inside to leave me alone once again.'

"They don't usually write love stories, or ones written in first person so I thought I'd buy it." Minji tries to break the silence but she gets nothing back, his eyes trained onto the words. "You can keep that copy if you want. I got a few so I could get a signed copy, crazy I know."

Renjun gives a quick polite smile, giving the book one last look and then placing it next to the painting on the floor.

Renjun continuously presses the button outside of the elevator to call it to the ground floor, your book is gripped tightly in his left hand with his knuckles turning white.

"Oh Renjun!" He hears a familiar voice call. "It's been a whi-"

"Not now Hyeongsub." He sternly replies, not even sparing him a galnce.

Ding.

The familiar sound causes him to stop pushing the button and walk through the elevator door as soon as it opens. Hyeongsub followed suit and stood next to him.

Renjun doesn't even ask where he's going, already knowing it's the 12th floor seeing as he's your secretary. He punches the correct button and stands there angrily. He glares down at the book in his hand and your secretary sees this as a sign to keep his mouth shut.

The generic music in the background becomes increasingly infuriating for Renjun. His grip tightens on the book and he quickly turns to Hyeongsub.

"Why didn't you tell me? You would have known. You would have been there when it was written. Why didn't you tell me?" He says accusingly.

He takes a deep breath before responding, "You remain anonymous and it's nothing incriminating. The only people that could figure it out are you, your friend and f-"

"You should have told me the second you knew she was writing about us. You're my friend." He cuts him off.

"Yes, but I was her friend first." He replies bluntly as the doors open. "I'll let-"

"Don't." Renjun storms out of the elevator, past his once friend and heads straight to your office.

He knocks and enters without a second thought. You look up from the paper files in front of you, ready to greet whoever came in but he comes to your desk and drops the hard cover book before you can say anything.

"Explain." He stares you down.

"Why?" You fire back, matching his energy right away.

"I deserved to know you were writing this."

"You don't deserve shit Renjun."

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You left me, Renjun." You stand up to come face to face with him. "I didn't leave you, you left me. Why would I go out of my way to get a hold of you?"

"You can't just write about me like this, Y/N, what aren't you getting?" He tries to argue back, although he point doesn't stand strong he has to know.

You push aside the paper files and pick up the book he dropped. You put it against his chest, "Did you even read it? Hm, Renjun? Did you give the stupid book a read?" He hold the book against his chest and drop your hand. He shakes his head slowly and you let out a sarcastic breathy laugh.

"Get out." You command. "I'm not doing this with you, get out."

"If you're writing about our relationship or anything to do with me you need to tell me. I shouldn't be left in the dark about anything." He puts the book back down, this time with lead force but still feuled by anger.

You turn around and faced the large window behind your desk. "Get out, Renjun."

He walks around your desk and tails behind you. "You can't leave me out of decisions about us, not again."

"Leave it, Renjun. I've asked once, I'm not asking again." You walk to the other side of the window but he follows once again.

"I deserve to know, our relationship was two people, you and me so I should know when you're using our story-"

You turn around to face him "What else was I supposed to do?" You shout with tears in your eyes. "You were never there, Renjun. What was I supposed to do for days alone?"

He's taken back by your sudden tears but ignores them completely and putting it down to you being frustrated. The urge to comfort you was insane but he had to push it down before he said anything back to you.

"I was alone for days! I just wanted to relive what we had! Being lonely isn't a crime!" You shouted at him, being done his entitled behaviour.

Your eyes met, your intense gaze pierced through his now seemingly soft one. Sympathy seeping through his eyes.

“I, Renjun, had to stay home alone for days, by myself, I-I just wanted to relive what he had.” You say, wiping your tears. “You promised you would never make me feel like that but you did so I did the only think I knew how to do.”

He points to the book, "It was written out of hurt?" He looks back at the book and walks to the desk, picking it up. He analyses the cover and then flips it over to read the back much like he did earlier.

Renjun's fingers graze over the back before opening it and flicking to a random page. Page 148:

'June 17th 2021: We had our first fight, our first in three years actually. You said I shouldn't get so close to your friends and I said I couldn't help it.

"He likes you!" You shouted.

I pushed your hand off my wrist. "How do you know? Has he said that to you? No. So drop it, p-'

He slams the book shut and silently winces at the memory. Mark used to like you however he never made a move out of respect for both of you, yet once Renjun caught win of it through Jaemin he saw nothing but red and put his own insecurity on you.

"It's the story of us?" He looked up, tears now in his eyes.

"What else was I supposed to do?" You replied quietly. "I didn't know how to talk to you about it so I just let you fall out of love, I didn't know if I could convince you to stay so I let you go."

"You let me go?"

"Look, Renjun, you need to leave."

"I can't. Not after hearing this. I'll go back and read this and I don't want to because I'll see how much I hurt you." He shakes his head, still holding the novel.

"You've hurt me enough, you need to go."

"No!"

"Renjun, you left! You walked away! Quit playing the victim and get out!"

"I said I didn't love you anymore because I thought we were drifting apart but that hurt too much to admit." He reasoned.

"Quit making excuses and leave!" You walk to the desk opposite to Renjun and pulled the book out of his hand.

"I understand if-!

"Jun, you don't understand, you never understood me, you never tried to understand me! You said we used to have our little bubble and that the world was all about us but it wasn't it was about you! The whole time it was about you! What about me?" You broke down.

He reaches out to comfort you, placing his hand on your shoulder and stroking it with your thumb. He had nothing to say, he wasn't even sure what he could say to you either. He was the cause for all of this and yet here he was, being beyond pathetic. Renjun watched you sob into your hands as you shake off his hand.

"I was wrong. I know I was wrong. I apologise." He straightens himself up and backs away from your desk. "I shouldn't have come here."

"You shouldn't have." You wipe your tears once again. “You had no reason to.” You state, wiping your wet hands onto your blazer.

“I had no reason to be angry, I guess just you writing something so poorly about me hurt. I know I’m not like that but you saw me like that, you were supposed to love me.” He scrunched his nose in order to prevent himself from getting any sadder.

“And I did. It just wasn’t the same.”

Renjun looks back at the door before turning around. He balls his fists, not really sure why but he does it regardless.

His slow steps towards the exit are painful. Part of you wants to beg him to stay but the other wishes he was out of your life for good. Loving him wasn’t worth the heartbreak it caused you, you couldn’t do it all over again.

He grabbed the handle and waited for you to say something, nothing came so he pushed down the handle and opened the door. This was either going to be him walking out for good or both of you taking it as a sign to try again.

“We could relive what we had once more?” He offered, quietly.

“Would you love me the way you used to?” You questioned.

Silence.

“Everything reminds me of you yet… it hurts, not in a way where I miss you but in a way where I wish we closed it off better.” He thinks out loud.

You nod although he can’t see you, “There’s your answer then, Jun. It’s not worth the hassle.”

He pushes the handle down and quickly takes his exit, you can barely hear the door close when he shuts it.

You look down at the book resting on your desk and tears build up in your eyes. Sitting down you pick up the book and inspect it the way Renjun had done so earlier.

“You came here for what? Idiot.” You whisper and drop it into the small trash can below your desk. Quickly you begin organising the files and drafts on your desk, trying to pull yourself together.

Staring at the large phone situated on your desk you contemplate dialling Chenle’s number. You ponder a little longer before punching in his number.

Ring. Ring.

You slam the phone down onto the holder, hanging up before he gets the chance to pick up.

Maybe it’s best if you push him to move on, that way you can do so yourself.

Taglist (reply to masterlist post to join): @sukistrawberry @lovesuhng @shwizhies @niinjo @renjunoya @carelessshootanonymous @hyuckissed @funkygoose @fymine @asteriaskingdom @iscocohere @calssunflower

#NCT DREAM’S BROKEN MELODIES #Spotify #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagine #nct imagine #nct dream scenarios #nct #nct dream angst #nct drabble #nct dream scenario #nct dream #nct renjun #nct renjun x reader #renjun #renjun x reader #renjun imagines

[bird-likes-to-fandom]

rtc art style hcs (bc im an artist and i think they all like art even if they aren't good at it)

ocean: girl does semi-realism and realism exclusively. she's an overachiever, what did you expect? she prefers pencil, but will resort to charcoal or oil paints if given the chance.

constance: she has a dorky-cutesy more cartoonish art style. She likes chibis and generally round shapes. I think she'd draw little comic strips on the kids menus at her parents' cafe or on a big chalkboard wall there. her art is almost always bright and colorful, except for the stuff in her closest-held sketchbook full of vent art completely drawn in black and white. I think Constance would dabble in every medium of art and also has a soft spot for ceramics and sculpture.

mischa: he doodles ironically and shittily. he's not good at art but he does enjoy fucking around and doodling on papers or occasionally noel's arms. He's not a good artist, but he does like to design rap album covers. he draws exclusively in blue or black ballpoint pen

noel: oh, you know he's dramatic with it. his favorite medium is oil paint, though he hates the mess. he pains exactly what you think he'd paint.

ricky: i'm not sure if ricky's disability caused him to lose mobility of his hands (i think they would have mentioned that?) but i think he likes colored pencil and he draws comics. it's something he and constance bond over! he has that classic superhero comic art style and a cartoonish one.

jane/penny: she loves charcoal and oil pastels, but will use just about anything. She also likes those doll repainting videos and digital art. Her art style is more haunting and filled with hidden meanings, but she also draws stuff for her friends. She draws scenes from 1920s France for Noel, Zolarian cat women for Ricky, etc. She once surprised Mischa with a custom painted rap-record cover based off of one of his designs. There's an oil painting of the choir of hers hanging up at the Blackwood Cafe. Ocean owns a charcoal portrait of her cat and a miniature painting of her betta fish that Penny made.

#bird likes to write #rtc headcanons #ride the cyclone headcanons #rtc #ride the cyclone #jane doe rtc #rct jane doe #penny lamb #ricky potts #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #ocean o'connell rosenberg #constance blackwood

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses ~ (Kyoya Ootori x Reader)

pairing- Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is.

Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

-> word count: 14.5k

-> summary: Kyoya’s breath stills at his beating heart rate, partly from the adrenaline, and partly from how close you are to him. His chest heaves as he waits for your reply, and it’s almost too pitiful for him to admit what he wants you to say. 

legend:

(y/i) ~ your idea

see masterlist!: masterlist

Attack of the Lady Manager!

The classroom is a blur, lavender jackets and daisy-colored dresses painting your vision, completely blocking your view of the teacher. Even so, she still tries to shout among her students.

“Make sure to choose a good partner! Your projects will be heavily influential on this year’s final exam. You will have to know the material!”

Chalk crackles along the chalkboard as your teacher finalizes the due date, printing it in white power so it’s there for all to see. Students are already heeding her warning as they swim around desks, waving to their friends and calling dibs from across the classroom.

(H/c) hair swirls as you take your attention from the teacher to follow a massive portion of your classmates run to the desk next to you. Your eyes fall on Kyoya, who still writes in his notebook, paying no mind to the out-of-breath students who sit expectantly at his side.

Your eyebrows raise at their quickness to connect the dots. Kyoya was the top of your class, no matter how hard you tried to surpass him. That meant that his project would get the highest grade, regardless of who paired up with him. Biting the inside of your cheek, you also watched guests you recognized from club hours looking at him with a sense of longing, wishing to get the most time with him as possible. 

“Kyoya-san?” 

The air around you seems to freeze as a girl steps out from the crowd. Her black hair bounces as she makes her way to the front, her green eyes sparkling with hope as she tries to get his attention. 

She was beautiful, truly. You hadn’t spoken to her personally, but she was definitely a regular guest of Kyoya’s. You even saw her make him laugh a few times, which was a feat in itself. 

There was something about the way she looked at your best friend that made you hold your breath. Out of nowhere, you started focusing in on everything about her. How she stood, how close she stood to the desk, what color she painted her nails, how tightly she was gripping her notebooks. 

Why was she gripping them so tightly? Was it because she was nervous? Why was she nervous? What, did she like him or something-

You turned your head back to the front of the classroom. ‘Take a breath, (Y/n)’. 

Jealousy wasn’t really your forté. You had only experienced it once before, when the boy you kissed in middle school suddenly started dating another girl the next day. Back then, you didn’t like how it felt, so your solution was to stop feeling it. Simple as that.

Not so simple, anymore. 

As girls surround Kyoya, it gets harder and harder to talk yourself out of the fact that you have a crush on him. But there was no rational reason why you wanted to insert yourself in their conversations when they talk to him, or make up an excuse just to get him away from them when they reach out to touch him. 

You knew that was absurd and you would never do it, obviously. 

But a girl could dream. 

“Kyoya?” The girl draws your eye once more as she attempts to get his attention again. 

The glasses character flicks his eyes to the girl, to her relief. “Ah, Miss Aina. What can I do for you?” Kyoya says, a host smile stretching his features. 

“I was just wondering if…” she pauses, looking down, a blush rushing to her cheeks. The other students behind her lean in anticipation, silently cursing themselves for not having more confidence. 

Aina finally inhales sharply, gathering her courage the best way she knows how. “If you would like to be partners? With me?” 

The words come out so fast and forced, you’re surprised they're not threaded together as they fall out of her mouth. 

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as you observe Kyoya’s reaction. Somehow you were keeping a nonchalant exterior as your head rests in your hand, supporting you throughout your internal turmoil. 

His host smile stays in its place as you watch Kyoya’s head tilt to the side slightly.

“I am very honored, Miss Aina, but unfortunately I already have a partner.”

Your’s and Aina’s facial expressions match in confusion and slight heartbreak at his words, feeling as your heart slides from your throat to the pit of your stomach. You check your watch to make sure you didn’t freeze in time somehow. How in the world did he have a partner already? The teacher assigned the project literally just minutes ago. 

Kyoya’s head falls to the front of the classroom again, his gray eyes cast downwards as he leans back into his chair, one hand coming up to push on the frame of his glasses.

“That is,” He stops to tilt his head up and to his left, gray meeting (e/c) as he looks at you. “If she accepts my offer?” 

The students behind him all look towards you, some with malice and others with exasperation. You even see some teenagers in the far back exchange knowing glances, as if they knew you were his choice the whole time. Aina seems to be a mixture of all three. 

You lift your head from your palm, your eyes widening slightly at the realization that out of all those people, he chose you. 

Scratching at the back of your neck, you give him a small nod. “Yeah, yeah, of course! That sounds great.” Realizing how shy you’re acting, you quickly check your act. “Maybe this time, you’ll get a decent grade.”

The Ootori son rolls his eyes as the crowd dissipates, dividing up among themselves while accepting their second choice. “I’m already regretting my decision.” 

You laugh as you stand to gather your books, taking note of the playful smile on his lips. Kyoya picks up his bag and moves to stop at the door of the classroom, waiting for you to join him.

“You trying to get some extra time with me, Ootori?” You ask him as you two begin your journey through the halls of your beloved academy, a teasing tone lacing your voice.

The megane scoffs. “Please. I spend enough time with you as it is.” He smirks at your overly dramatic, offended gasp as he sighs, looking forward through his lenses. 

“You were just the prime candidate. As an honor student, you have the intelligence and the dedication to keep up with me on the academic side of things, while also having a creative talent that I admittedly lack.” He glances at you to see a confused look on your face.

“Creative?”

He nods, keeping pace with you as you both make your way up a grand staircase. “Those inventions on your desk are quite intricate. It takes an out-of-the-box, patient person to problem solve their way through the inevitable obstacles that those things entail.”

“Oh I see,” You say, and Kyoya knows your setting up for another joke. “So, you’re just using me for my brain? How materialistic.”

As you push open the doors to Music Room 3, you hold it open for Kyoya. A smirk flashes across his face as he enters, and he replies. “Yes, precisely.”

You open your mouth to retort, but only a yelp comes out when you are interrupted by the twins hooking one arm under each of your shoulders. 

“(Y/n)! You need to get ready…” Kaoru says as you are whisked away towards the changing room. 

“Guests are going to be coming through this door any minute!” Hikaru follows, and with a final shove, you're pushed through the curtain. 

“Okay, okay!” You say as you dust yourself off, trying to regain your balance. Glancing to the temporary closet residing inside the curtains, your eyes meet a beauty of a kimono. Sophisticated designs are sewn through the (f/c) fabric as a plush belt compliments the entire ensemble. You gasp as you reach for the billowing sleeves, intertwining your fingers with the soft fabric. You had worn plenty of expensive costumes during your hosting days, but this was something special. 

“Wow, where did you guys get something like this?” 

The twins smirk at your amazement, forgetting how irritating you could be. “Our mother made them.” Hikaru answered you first.

“They’re really impressive, aren’t they?” Kaoru says, remembering how proud their mom was when she presented the collection to her sons.

“Absolutely. Give my compliments to your mother.” You praise as you cross the small area, preparing to shut the curtain. “It’s a wonder how she gets anything done with you two as her sons.” With a thwip!, fabric shuts them out of your space, and both brothers are reminded of how much you annoy them. 

:::

Kneeling at a kotatsu, your guests watch you as you practically glow. Dressed in traditional Japanese light, your hair perfectly frames your face as matching earrings dangle from your ears. Your smile entrances them as you talk of your mother’s business, not taking a single hint that it might be forced. 

The light dims, however, when they notice a tear collecting in the corner of your lashes.

“(Y/n)! Why are you crying?” One of your boys ask, reaching over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Huh?” Pretending to be surprised, you raise a delicate finger to your cheek, swiping the tear away in one foul swoop. You giggle a little bit, flicking a single tear away. 

“Oh gosh, I didn’t know I was crying.” You smile and tilt your head towards your guests, a sweet expression molding into your visage as you urge more droplets to come forward . “I was just overwhelmed with admiration for my mother.” 

Your guests’ faces crinkle into enamored looks as they fawn over how cute you are. You thank them and excuse yourself, walking over to the divider near Kyoya’s table to grab a tissue from a small station set up there. 

“Are you alright?” 

Speaking of the devil, you spin towards the ravenet, who was dressed in a dark brown kimono, with accents of a deep, earthy orange peeking out through the collar. The color brought out the tones in his eyes, and his attractiveness made you forget all about the wetness on your cheeks. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” You lazily gesture towards your guests as you lean against the table. “Just a method I’m trying out.”

“Well, be careful.” Pale fingers grasp your chin, and you’re forced to meet the gaze of your friend, who is suddenly very close to you. A fluttery feeling blooms in your chest as another hand raises to your eye, gently wiping the tear from your cheek. Kyoya’s eyes flicker over your face as he leans in slightly, but close enough that you feel his breath fan over you. 

“You’re going to ruin your make-up.”

The tension in the air cracks as your blush immediately disappears, your star-struck look being replaced with the most deadpan expression you could muster. You lightly shove him out of your space, your eyes rolling at the smirk that rests on his face. 

“Get away from me, Ootori.” 

His chest vibrates with a chuckle, “Flustered, are we?” 

You point a finger into his chest. “Not at all, you’re just a perv. Save the charm for the girls that actually want it.” 

“The blush on your face says otherwise.” You resent the smug aura that surrounds him, and become even more annoyed when you can’t come up with a decent comeback. 

Thankfully, Haruhi walks past you, relieving you of the pressure to reply as Kyoya’s attention is drawn somewhere else. 

“Haruhi.” He calls, and she stops. A small laugh escapes you as an exasperated look has already taken over her features from just being around the host club. 

Ootori searches through his scroll, as he had to replace his trusty black notebook due to Tamaki’s whining that it didn’t match the theme. And Kyoya was nothing without his intense attention to detail. 

“You’ve booked another appointment. Keep up the good work.” He says before looking back up at the brunette. “I’m not going to charge you interest on your debt like I normally would, so keep this up and you should be able to pay it off.” Another host's smile appeared as he motioned to Haruhi’s costume.

“Although the rental fee on that kimono is nothing to sneeze at.” 

Haruhi sweat-drops as she mumbles next to you. “He’s like a heartless tax collector.” 

Once again, Haruhi coins another creative name for your spectacled friend. “I’m going to have to save that one for later.” 

And before you can say anything else, your friendly banter is interrupted as two girls make their way up to Kyoya, and he greets them as politely as he can.

“Hey, Kyoya!” One of them says, her pig-tails bouncing as she makes her way over to your group.

“I can’t get over how great you look in that kimono!” Her friend says, mindlessly playing with the red ribbon tied into her uniform. 

They both gently, but hurriedly, push past you and Haruhi in order to get closer to Kyoya. A feeling similar to the one in the classroom bubbles into your gut as he presents the girls with a smile, but you keep it to a simmer. You reason that of course he is going to look at them like that. It’s his job. 

“Are you planning to release any more picture books for the host club?” One of them asks, and you take your bottom lip in between your teeth, remembering your phone conversation a couple nights before. 

Kyoya keeps his demeanor calm and welcoming. “Unfortunately, we don’t have anything planned at the present, ladies.”

Orange hair rises from the divider behind the Ootori son, nearly making you jump out of your sandals.

“How did they even get over here?” You say, astonished as you look at the distance between their table and yours.

Easily ignoring you, the twins release their questions onto Kyoya as the black-haired manager turns towards them.

“But doesn’t the club make a lot of money?” Hikaru starts before his brother speaks.

“From the sale of promotional items?” Kaoru finishes.

Kyoya sighs, forgetting that no one in this club thinks past what they’ll have for dinner tonight.

“While that is true, those items were poor quality. Those picture books were full of nothing but amateur hidden camera shots.”

An offended noise leaves your mouth as a jeweled hand flies to your chest. “I am an excellent photographer.”

“Oh?” Kyoya throws you a glance over his shoulder as he raises a handful of photos fanned out in his palm. “Then why are these blurry and filled with sun flares?”

You pick one from his grasp, careful to keep your fingertips on the edges. Studying them, you find that Kyoya was right, unsurprisingly. The photos are blurred, and sparkly, rainbow-colored dots litter the picture as the sun enters your camera lens. Your confident posture deflates as you stare at your sloppy craftsmanship. 

“Well,” You say, trying to cover up your mistakes under the guise of art. “I’m sorry if I wanted to create an original piece of art, you perfectionist.”

Kyoya hums as you puff your cheeks out while handing the photo back to him. “Uh huh.” Unconvinced, he turns back to the twins.

“If we want to create some higher quality money-making products, I’m afraid we would have to pull money from the school’s budget.” The club’s director whips out a calculator, adjusting his glasses as he types numbers from his exceptional memory. 

The Hitachiian brothers sweat-drop as they realize they’ve poked the bear, taking refuge behind the divider they emerged from just minutes ago.

Haruhi watches in amazement as Kyoya thinks out loud, talking himself through the calculations. “If it wasn’t for Kyoya, this club would spiral into the depths of bankruptcy.” 

“Mhmm, it’s always been that way.” You say, a small feeling of pride welling up into your chest as you look at your best friend. He pauses as he feels your gaze on him, turning once again to meet your gaze. You smile, and Haruhi watches as a gentle look overtakes Kyoya's eyes, more delicate than she’s ever seen him look at anyone before. 

“What was that?” Haruhi grabs your arms slightly, pulling you away from the megane.

Your eyebrows knit together, oblivious to the tension created between Kyoya and you.

“What do you mean?” 

Haruhi rolls her eyes and looks behind her to make sure that Kyoya can’t hear the two of you.

“That look he just gave you. I’ve never really seen Kyoya-senpai look at anyone like that before.”

“What?” You laugh slightly and turn your head, waving her off as a blush appears on your face.. 

Haruhi studies your reaction, and ever so blunt, makes you confront your feelings head on. “(Y/n), do you have a crush on Kyoya-senpai?”

After a sharp intake of breath, your hands wave in front of you and you laugh through your words, your blush deeping. “No! No, no, no. Of course not.”

The brunette’s eyebrows raise at your poor attempt to hide the truth. “You don’t have to lie, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone. Just be honest with me.”

Your forced façade cracks slightly, and your shoulders release their strain. A defeated sigh leaves you as your vision turns to scan the room, unwilling to look at your friend who sees so clearly through you.

Putting your hands down, you wrap them around your torso. “I don’t really know how I feel about him.” You give her a tentative side-eye. “It’s all just kind of…chaotic, right now.” 

The honor student nods. “I get that.” She gives you a small smile. “Just know you can talk to me about it if you want too.” 

Your body relaxes then, thankful for how casual Haruhi is about all of this.

“Thank you, Haruhi, that means a lot.” A close-lipped smile graces your lips, and you wonder how you were able to have made such a close friend in such a short amount of time.

“(N/n)-chan! Haru-chan!” A sharp cry draws your attention towards a small, lovable lolita boy. Honey stands in the center of the room, his feet bare as a sandal hangs at his side. 

You and Haruhi make your way towards him, some sort of motherly instinct taking over. Haruhi stands in front of him as you kneel down, a concerned look on your face at Honey rubs the tears from his eyes. 

“What happened, Honey-senpai?” You softly question.

“I don’t know how, but I lost one of my sandals!” More droplets cascade down his cheeks as he cries, and you frown empathetically. 

“But you were just wearing them, weren’t you?” Haruhi asks, looking around Music Room #3 to see if there was a lonely sandal anywhere. 

“Mitsukuni.” A deep voice sounds from behind you, and you stand to see Mori waiting for you to move out of his way. You step to the side, and Mori takes your place, kneeling at Honey’s feet and revealing the missing sandal in question. He slides it onto the smaller one’s foot as the blonde lolita gasps.

“Takashi?” Honey asks quietly, tears threatening to fall.

“I noticed that you dropped it.” The intense look on Mori’s face stays, but his tone is softer than earlier.

Another waterfall erupts from Honey’s eyes as he throws himself into Mori’s arms. “Takashi!”

The guests that have gathered around you awe and coo at the beloved sight. Even you struggle to restrain your touched expression. 

“How sweet!”

“Isn’t it though?” 

Haruhi watches the scene with confusion. She looks behind her at Tamaki, who is sweeping the girl in his arms off her feet with wet eyes as well. 

“Looks like tears are popular with the students today.” She says to you, and you nod. “But how are you able to cry so easily?”

Your friend turns, only to run straight into Hikaru as the twins make their way toward her. He trips slightly on impact, and you and Kaoru reach out to grab him. As he falls, a small teal bottle flies out of his sleeve and onto the tiled floor. Haruhi reaches down to pick it up while you and his brother work to place Hikaru back on his feet.

The brunette twists the bottle in her fingers, reading the label. She deadpans. “What is this?”

Hikaru looks back after regaining his balance, seeing what she has in her hands and scoffs. “For your information, it’s common for a host to use eye drops.” 

Kaoru ends up by his brother’s side once more. “No woman alive could resist a man on the verge of tears.”

“Or lady.” You point out. 

Haruhi gives you three an annoyed stare. “But that’s cheating.” 

You laugh and nudge her. “Oh come on, Haruhi, it’s not the worst thing they’ve done.”

The twins snicker as they trap you two between themselves, Hikaru on Haruhi’s right while Kaoru joins your left. 

“Here Haruhi, this is for you.” Hikaru offers a small, pink sweet. It’s wrapped in a plastic container, with a pearl topping the treat.

“For me?” Haruhi asks, and you look over to see an awed look on her face.

“Aren’t you just the cutest?” The twins gush at her with a pleased smile. 

Kaoru holds one out in front of you. “And this is for you, (Y/n).” You take it from him and admire the designs on the miniature delight. 

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?” You say to him, inspecting the cake through the plastic before peeking back at them. You laugh at their deadpan expressions and shake your head. “I’m kidding. Thank you, guys, this is really nice.”

Their faces change as they simper back at you. You were like a big sister to them. Annoying, irritating, and cruel, sure. But sometimes you had your moments. And they loved you all the same. 

Some of Haruhi’s guests surround her as she grips the sweets in her hand. “Oh wow, Haruhi, I didn’t know you liked sweets!” 

The honor student looked up and a polite smile painted her features. “Oh, no, I don’t really. But you know, it might be a nice memorial offering for my mother.”

The guests around her positively glowed, another “awe” resounding around the room.

The one glowing the brightest, however, was your dearest Tamaki. The prince rushes towards the natural host, sparkling with adoration for his Haruhi.

“How admirable of you! Such devotion to your mother’s memory!” Tamaki gushes to his disciple, teary-eyed as he suddenly fills her arms with duplicates of the little sweet. “Please, take as many of these as you’d like.”

While you would expect Haruhi to be annoyed, she just looks at the blonde with a blank expression.

“Let me guess,” she starts, making Tamaki pause his movements. “The tears are fake.”

Ever the dramatic, Tamaki gasps. “How dare you?!” 

There’s a gust of air that follows him as he spins around, not believing Haruhi’s audacity.

“My tears are always genuine, Haruhi. Being able to cry without the use of eye drops is the mark of a true host.” He sends a pointing glare at the twins before falling into Haruhi’s space again. “Tell me, do I impress you? Have you fallen for me yet?”

You giggle behind your hand when Haruhi rolls her eyes. “You wish.”

A shuffling sound is heard that makes the entire host club turn their head to the doorway. Peering her head from behind the edge of the arch, a brown haired girl spies on your club, trying to decide if she’s allowed in or not. 

Almost as if it’s second nature, you all immediately enter into host mode. You and the twins get there first, a rose in each one of your hands. You offer a soft yellow rose, the color of freshness and joy.  

The twins speak first. “Come in, what are you waiting for?” Hikaru says, pushing a blue rose towards the girl.

“Watching from afar is no fun.” Kaoru encourages, holding out his orange rose.

“No need to be scared, you can trust us.” You say, charm practically pouring out of you. 

“Please, Miss…” The three of you say in sync, striking an alluring pose.

The girl still seems hesitant, and you think you catch her back away slightly at your advances, and that was your cue to back off. 

“Hey guys, maybe we should-”

“Stop that! How many times do I have to tell you to be more courteous to our first time guests!” Tamaki pops up in front of you three, mostly yelling at the twins, and gets closer to your mystery guest. 

Knowing that this girl is not going to take too kindly to Tamaki’s advances, you retreat back to the group, stopping at Kyoya’s side. 

“This is going to be interesting.” You say, sighing as you fidget with the stem of your flower.

“Please, you don’t have to be afraid, my princess.” The prince says, reaching out an open palm, working his normal technique to its bones. “I welcome you to the Ouran Host Club!” The mystery brunette speaks, but it’s barely detectable.

Tamaki steps closer to get a better listen, bringing a finger under her chin so that he can meet her gaze. “Yes…?”

“Don’t touch me!” And suddenly, her hand is on his face as she pushed him away harshly. “You’re phony!”

Tamaki pales as he stumbles backwards, a hand covering his face from the slap.You hear gasps from the hosts around you, completely taken aback by this stranger’s behavior.

“W-what do you mean? I’m phony?” Your friend's voice wobbles as you stand him back up, but you still hold your arms out, afraid he might fall again. 

“Just what I said! You’re phony!” The student’s courage seems to rise as she steps forward, an accusing finger pointing directly at the tall blonde. “I find it hard to believe that someone like you is the prince character for this host club!”

The rest of the hosts gasp, completely bewildered by the sudden change in tone. You missed the timid girl from earlier. 

“You shouldn’t go spreading your love around so easily like that, you stupid, dim-witted narcisist! You’re incompetent! You’re a commoner! You’re disgusting!”

With each insult, Tamaki’s ego deteriorates, until all that’s left is a hollow shell of what he used to be. His body goes limp as he falls backwards, somehow slowing down his own frame rate. 

“He’s created a new technique!” Hikaru says, gasping at his boss.

“One-man slow motion!” Kaoru names it, equally as surprised. 

Meanwhile, your eyes narrow slightly at this girl. The arrogance this girl must carry to verbally berate someone she has never even met, let alone one of your best friends. Your jaw ticks, and you begin to step forward.

“Hey, lady, I-”

Kyoya’s hand stops you from speaking, a warning glare being thrown towards you from behind his glasses. You stop moving and look at him confused. You were ready to give that girl a piece of your mind. 

If only you knew how much worse it would get. 

As Tamaki finally makes it to the floor, the girl now has a full view of the hosts in front of her. Kyoya stands in the center, and you see a look of recognition cross his irises. 

“I don’t suppose you are…” The megane starts, but is interrupted by a shrill squeal coming from the yellow-clad girl.

“It’s you! Kyoya!” She runs to the man standing beside you, and you are jostled out of the way as she jumps and hugs him. 

When he doesn’t automatically shove her off, you choke on your own spit.

:::

Your guests have left, therefore leaving you no distraction to avoid the two new pains in your life. 

Firstly, a sharp sting settles in your heart as you sit on one of the couches in the club room. You bite the inside of your lip as you watch the others talk, trying to keep a calm composure even as their voices sound distant and unimportant.

Fiancé.

The sting turns into a slow burn, spreading over you as that word fills your mind, making it hard for you to breathe. 

Kyoya has a fiancé. 

In the back of your mind, you suspected he could never be yours. But you had always held out hope. Now, those hopes had been crushed in a matter of seconds, and you found yourself incomplete without them. 

Your second source of discomfort sat herself next to the Ootori son, having become a rather large pain in your side. 

“You’re fiancé?” Hikaru states as he and his brother sit across from Kyoya and his friend. Honey, Mori and Haruhi all stand behind the couch where the new couple sits, wanting to be as close to the action as possible. 

“Kyoya-senpai?” Kaoru asks, looking between the new couple. 

“Of course! My name is Renge Houshakuji, and I’m transferring into Ouran Academy’s first year class starting tomorrow!”

Now she’s transferring schools for him? Another stone thuds into the pit of your stomach, and your jealousy expands exponentially. 

At least you know her name now, so you can curse her under your breath. 

The hosts give you a fleeting glance as you shift in your seat before resting on Tamaki, who crouches in a corner.

“Why is Tamaki sulking?” Hikaru asks, observing the depressed look in his boss’ eyes.

“Because Mommy was keeping a secret from Daddy.” You say, a bit of sad sarcasm seeping into your voice.

“Whatever,” Kyoya says, releasing a deep sigh. ‘Why does everyone insist on referring to us like we’re husband and wife?” 

“Ours is a story of love at first sight!” Completely unprompted, Renge takes it upon herself to tell their love story as she clasps her hands together.

A dreamy look passes over her eyes as her gaze softens. “I couldn't resist the way you were adoring those flowers in the backyard when you thought no one else was looking.” Your eyebrows raised at that. “And how sweet it was when you reached out to that poor little injured kitten.”

Now that got your attention. You only knew of Kyoya’s secret love for cats because he drunk dialed you one night after a dinner party with his parents. It was a calm night, as his parents only let him have a glass or two, but his walls were just cracked enough for him to go outside of his modest demeanor and gush about a cat he saw on his way home from school for about 30 minutes. 

The next morning, Kyoya had made it his mission to make sure you would tell no one about that night, so you assume it was a secret he kept very close to his heart. 

So how did she know?

Come to think of it, if Kyoya was engaged, you would assume he would have at least told you about it first. Or anyone, for that matter. Yes, he was a secretive guy, but something like this was so big, that if Kyoya didn’t tell you, the news would’ve gotten to it sooner or later. 

Hope flushed back into your system as a thought crossed your mind.

“Um,” you say, testing your theory, “could you have the wrong person?” 

Renge turns at the sound of your voice, anger and disbelief lacing through her tone. “No way! I can recognize my love anywhere!”

You deflate back into your chair. ‘Well, there goes that, then-’

“He’s a gentleman who’s kind to everyone but doesn’t ask for anything in return!” The newest pain in your side interrupts your thoughts, and if you had a drink, you would’ve done an amazing spit-take. 

“He likes solitude but in fact sometimes he can get lonely!” The twins bring your thoughts to life as they run rampant around the music room, shouting ‘What the hell is she talking about!’ and ‘Stop her!”

Renge pauses her drooling over the megane and twirls around to face him. “He looks just like the star of the popular dating sim Uki Doki Memorial!” She points at Kyoya as the whole room falls silent.

“You’re my real life Ichijo Miyabi!” 

Haruhi has a thoughtful look on her face. “Uki?”

Honey chimes in. “Doki?”

Connecting the dots, you spring from your chair. “Otaku!”

The twins start in horror. “Otaku?!”

Mori and Kyoya stay silent as the rest of the host club look at Renge as if she wasn’t from this planet. “I’ve never seen one before.” Tamaki states.

“Hmm.” You all turn to see Kyoya still sitting in his chair. His legs are crossed as well as his arms, and a hand rests against his chin. “I get it now.”

The hosts stop their chaos in order to delve their attention into Kyoya’s conclusion, ready for some answers. A crowd forms around him, some hosts taking a spot behind the couch, while you choose to sit on Kyoya’s left.  

“You’re in love with the character.” His eyes are closed, deep in thought. “You’re projecting that love onto me, and somehow deluded yourself into thinking that we’re engaged.” He sighs and touches his frames. “I assume this Miyabi character wears glasses as well.”

Still lost in her own world, a blush forms on Renge’s face as she twirls around in the background, hopelessly shouting her romantic manifestations into oblivion. 

You take a stuttering breath, hoping you were right this time. “So,” You draw his attention as he looks at you. “She made it up, right? You’re not really her fiancé?”

Kyoya hums before speaking towards all the hosts. “Well, no, I don’t remember ever asking for her hand in marriage.” He crosses his arms. “Besides, this is the first time I’ve ever met the woman.”

As grateful as you were, your face still falls into your hands at your friend's total ignorance. For someone as incredibly intelligent as Kyoya, he somehow still managed to be a dunce.

“You could’ve said so sooner.” You whine into your palms as the host club releases a collective exhale, just as relieved as you were. 

Renge breaks from her cycle of adoration to shlump into the seat next to Kyoya’s right, sitting close enough to touch knees with him. 

Knowing that these advances weren’t reciprocated by the ravenet, and remembering the way she treated one of your best friends, your quiet jealousy mutates into something protective and distasteful. The feeling overtakes you, and you deal with it the only way you know how. 

Your aura changes slightly. Instead of being distant, you take a posture of disinterest. A manufactured sense of boredom and annoyance leaks into the atmosphere, smartass retorts locked and loaded behind your lips.

“According to my research,” Renge starts, leaning towards Kyoya slightly, “I understand that you’re in charge of managing this club, is that true?” 

“That’s right!” Honey-senpai replies from behind you. “Kyo-chan is our director!”

Renge’s pupils become more heart-shaped, somehow, as she gasps and clasps her hands together. “You’re the club’s director? That’s perfect!” A distant look takes over her brown eyes. “I’ve always wanted to wear a sandwich board to advertise a business!”

Kyoya raises his eyebrows at your scoff as you lean forward slightly, getting a better view of the otaku.

“We don’t advertise, Renge, we’re just a host club.” You say, very matter-of-fact.

Her head tilts before she is up again, her skirt whirling around her as she spins. “Then I’ve made up my mind! From now on, I’m gonna be the manager of this host club!”

Blanching, you confront her. Your voice doesn’t raise, but you're still very stern. “Actually, I’m the manager of this host club.”

Renge stops her twirling to look at you, as if she is seeing you for the first time. Her gaze scans up and down your body, and you swallow at the tense silence she’s created.

“You?” She asks, an annoyingly innocent appearance sculpting her features. 

You nod awkwardly, wringing your hands together. “Yeah, me.”

She hums, and the girl clasps her fingers behind her back. “And who, exactly, are you?”

You didn’t quite like her tone. “I’m (Y/n).”

“Mhmm. (Y/n), what exactly do you do here?”

Another scoff emits from your lips. “Firstly, it’s (Y/n)-senpai.” Renge’s eyes widen before narrowing slightly. The hosts hold their breath. “Secondly, I do a lot of things here. I host, grocery shop, manage the finances, plan and decorate the events, basically anything that you can imagine the host club needing.”

“It sounds like you have a lot on your plate, don’t you?” She says, and your teeth catch the inside of your lip. You might’ve just given her the ammo for her to shoot you down. 

You try to back track. “I mean, it’s not like that, I-” 

A smug smile expands to the corners of her lips. “It’s a win-win situation then. Since I’m the new manager, you don’t have to do as much work! You can just go back to entertaining boys and being the club’s dog.” 

The peanut gallery bites their nails, shivering at the icey aura that surrounds you as your nostrils flare. 

“Um, listen, Kyoya-” Tamaki warns, but the megane is already up, a hand on your shoulder to melt the sharp words you were going to unleash onto this girl.

“Miss Houshakuji is a very important client of the Ootori family,” he says, his sense of caution causing you to look up at him. He watches as the emotions swirl through your ticking jawline and tense shoulders. He’s never really seen you like this before. 

“Please be polite and try not to offend her, alright?” You meet his gaze with a pleading one. You want him to stand up for you, but when you look at him, he’s a brick wall. 

You shake your head and turn, grabbing your things. “If you want to work with her over me, be my guest.” 

You don’t give Kyoya the chance to reply as the host club watches you swiftly walk out the door. 

“Well boys,” Renge stands victorious in front of your friends with a closed-eyed smile  “I can’t wait to work with you!”

:::

Silence wasn’t a stranger to you and Kyoya. When you two would work together, it was a blanket, covering your hunched figures as you typed or read. It was comforting and calm, and Kyoya liked it that way. 

Plus, many people seemed to think that because Kyoya was so reserved around people he wasn’t familiar with, the more you got to know him, the more he opened up. But it was actually the complete opposite. 

What people didn’t understand was what they perceived to be as ‘reserved’ was actually Kyoya trying to be social. It was in his nature, as a future business mogul, to carry the conversation with people he didn’t trust, making sure to get information out of them before they could ask anything about him. 

When you become his friend, however, he doesn’t feel the need to force small talk. He’s comfortable just being around you.

He likes the silence because it was something he shared with only the people he cared about. 

So why did this feel so different?

For your group project, Kyoya had suggested working in your room, given the fact that your parents were out of town once again. 

Usually, you two would work on the project until you reached the studying goals for that night. Then you would branch off into discussing the club and your personal lives as you prepared a snack in your kitchen. Because of the quick work you would usually make of your homework, you would usually suggest a game or a movie to finish off the night before Kyoya had to go, and that was that. 

He found himself missing the simplicity as he glanced at you from his left to where you sat. 

The usually comforting silence now felt sluggish, the blanket thawing into a tar trap for time. The hours struggle to pass against the tension it creates, seconds stretching slowly into minutes. 

Kyoya types under the strain, and while his face remains unchanged, his mind races to find the reason why things were so different now. 

He steals another look at your figure as you let out a small sigh. You’re hunched over a circuit board, fingers expertly keeping wires from becoming tangled as you click and weld together metal and plastic. Through his own safety goggles, he sees you lift your mask from your face and off of your head, your hair falling messily, but still perfectly, over your eyes. Fixing it, you inspect your handiwork before setting it down to cross-reference it with the blueprint you have in front of you. 

Your project was for your business class. Because almost everyone in your school was set to inherit their parent’s companies, it was in Ouran’s best interest to change up their curriculum from the classic class schedule. So along with your foundations to marketing, you were also taking a finance course next to your basic general education. 

The professor had assigned you to create a sellable product, something that you thought could be valued in your society. Something that you thought could make money off of. You and a partner had to create a proposal and a marketing plan to go with a prototype for your creation. 

Kyoya and you had gone back and forth on what your invention should be, but eventually decided on (y/i). It combined your knowledge of technology with Kyoya’s expertise in the medical field, and although it was controversial, you both were confident that it would be able to sway the majority of the public in your favor. 

You waved your finger over your computer mouse with one hand to wake it from its slumber, a 3D printing design loading onto the bright screen. While you were usually diligent with your work, the air around wasn’t the same as Kyoya watched the apprehensiveness wrap itself around your joints and the way you sat, your knees and toes turned away from him in an unconscious attempt to close yourself off. 

He clears his throat, hoping it sounds through the viscous atmosphere. 

“I think that as long as we stay within our budget, these graphs should prove our estimated profit within the next 6 months.” He swivels his computer on your desk to give you a better view of his work, but you barely give it a passing glance. 

Both hands at work, you pause your movements shortly to scan the organized charts on his laptop before going back to adjusting the measurements of your design. “Good.”

His eyebrows raised for a second before he knits them together, hating the way your frigid tone makes him feel. 

“These charts highlight the compatibility that this product will have with the already thriving market, so it should be clear that we deserve high marks on our project.” He explains, trying to get you to talk to him. 

“That sounds great, Kyoya.” He swallows at that. You didn’t know, but he noticed that you tended to call him ‘Kyo’ whenever you two were alone. The way you said his name now was nowhere near as warm as the familiar nickname. 

Falling into a usual pattern, pride overtook the sad feeling he felt when you dismissed him. He reasoned that he was the one who should be mad, considering how you acted today with a very important client to his family. You were acting like a child, acting out and then giving people the cold-shoulder when they don’t do what you want. 

How pathetically immature. 

“Okay,” you say, filing this project above all the rest on your desk before closing your laptop. “I did all the things on your little checklist.” You begrudgingly reach up to check the last box on your side of the dry-erase board Kyoya had propped up between the two of you. You stand, dusting off your school uniform, “I’ll get one of the maids to pull your car around.” 

As you began to make your way to your bedroom door, there was a rush of frustration boiling in Kyoya’s stomach. First, you barely talk to him all night. Then, you’re hurriedly trying to push him out the door before even trying to confront the problem at hand. What was with you today?

He stood quickly as you passed the back of his chair, Kyoya’s hand reaching to wrap around your wrist and stop you from walking out the door. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, his deep voice sharper than usual. 

You turn back at him to look at your hand in his, and you ignore the butterflies fluttering in your body. 

“The goals were met for tonight, and I’m tired. Why would you stay any longer than you need to?” You ask, wrenching your wrist from his grasp. 

If you wouldn’t admit your wrongdoings, that’s fine. He will just have to make you confront them dead-on. 

Kyoya huffs, a hand stuffed into his jacket pocket. “Are you angry with me, (Y/n)?” 

A cynical laugh breaks through you as you roll your eyes. “Angry doesn’t begin to describe how I feel towards you right now.” You turn to walk away again, but Kyoya’s voice stops you. 

“Then tell me, (Y/n).” He persists, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Stop acting like a child and be honest with me. You can’t just walk away from this.”

“A child?” An amazed smile forms on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes. “You’re the one who’s acting like a child.”

“And how is that?”

“Since when have you let someone you barely know walk all over us as a club, huh? Where’s your backbone?”

Kyoya’s eyes narrow. Why couldn’t you understand? “The Houshakuji’s are important donors to my father’s hospital. Without their money, our family couldn’t do business with your mother for her medical technologies.” He steps towards you, his mouth pursed and his eyes dark. 

Your eyes roll, and he becomes even more annoyed. “She’s not worth it. Did you see the way she spoke to Tamaki? How can you support someone like that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever Renge needs, it is my duty as an Ootori son to give that to her.” Kyoya says, trying to be as clear as he can. “My father’s business needs her family’s contributions.”

“Even if it costs me my job?” You retort, also taking a step forward. “She’s the manager now, Kyoya.”

A headache is beginning to form as Kyoya reaches behind his glasses to support the bridge of his nose. “Please, (Y/n). We both know that she is the kind of girl who will get bored of us and leave within the week.”

“How can you possibly know that? You’re not God, Kyoya!” 

“I know I’m not God! Why is that the term you always return to?”

“Because you can sure act like it.” You roll your eyes.

His diction is clearer as he attacks you with his words.“I am just good at predicting people’s behavior! It’s called being observant.”

Even as neither of you raise your voice, there is an aggravating energy rising between the two of you. 

“You know what I’m observing? That when someone else rips the job I love from under me, you will do nothing to stop it.” He hates the fact that he can see frustrated tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

“I don’t need to stop anything, (Y/n), because clearly,” He gestures sharply to the argument you two are having. “you have no problem standing up for yourself.” 

“That has nothing to do with it.” You take another step closer to him. “I wish that you would’ve stood up for me!” 

“Why?” He meets your distance, and you two are closer than ever. 

He sees a slight panic flicker across your features at his question, but Kyoya is too angry to sense your hesitance. 

“Really, (Y/n). I want to know. Why should I risk my family’s business just to keep you happy?” The megane presses. 

Kyoya’s breath stills at his beating heart rate, partly from the adrenaline, and partly from how close you are to him. His chest heaves as he waits for your reply, and it’s almost too pitiful for him to admit what he wants you to say.  

The ravenet wanted you to say it was because you wanted to be more. He wanted you to let him spoil you and make you his top priority. He wanted you to let him pull you closer into his embrace, and he wanted you to whisper that you wanted him. 

But he couldn’t be the one to put himself out there. Of course not. 

It had to come from you. 

And yet, with all his want, he guessed you gave him what you thought he deserved. 

You turn on your heel, wiping the tears off your face in one movement before stopping at the doorway. 

“You’re right. You shouldn’t.” Wilting, you don’t look at him as you extend an arm, signaling him out of the room. 

“(Y/n)-” Kyoya says, realizing he might’ve went too far.

“No. If you can’t see why, then I’m not going to force it out of you.” Your voice cracks slightly from the strain of keeping your composure.

“This is still my house, Kyoya. Please, leave.” Your friend looks at you for a moment, debating whether to push for a better resolution.  

But his eyes hide behind a flare in his glasses as he packs his bag, taking down the whiteboard and closing his computer. Then he, being the gentleman he is, walks out the door, leaving you alone to cry in peace. 

:::

“And that was it.” 

Haruhi looks at you as you walk down the hallway together. “Wow. That sounds really intense.” 

You nod, and Haruhi feels tired just looking at you. On the outside, you were put together. Your hair was in the right place and your clothes were ironed and clean. But it was the way your smile hung slightly heavier than it normally would, and how much the (e/c) color in your eyes had dulled. 

Even if she hadn’t known you for very long, Haruhi was sure this wasn’t a normal look for you. 

“One thing did come out of it, though.” You spoke, your voice more delicate than usual. 

The honor student gives you a confused glance.

“I have a crush on him.” You give her a sheepish smile and shrug, wishing you didn’t have to realize it in the middle of a heated argument with one of your best friends. 

“There was this moment where we were super close and I was panicking, so I asked myself ‘why do I care so much?’ It didn’t take long to figure it out after that.”

Haruhi spares you a sad chuckle when you put your head in your hands. “Now he won’t talk to me” you whine. 

“Well, at least you can be honest with yourself.” She puts a hand on your back, giving you some support as you open the double doors towards the music room. 

Tamaki’s voice lilts into your ears as your eyes immediately find Kyoya’s. He sits on the couch, listening with the other hosts as the prince rants about Haruhi’s femininity, his frown deepening as you appear. 

You break eye contact to drop your school bag in the designated area, then move to the crowd of hosts circling Tamaki. You pull up a large chair, sitting comfortably so you can join the conversation. 

“Now is our chance to help Haruhi get in touch with her feminine side!” The mentioned girl rolls her eyes as the blonde points a pale finger at the twins sitting across from him. “She doesn’t have any friends in class right now besides these two shady twins! That’s no good for her!”

The ginger brothers tilt their heads to the side, quirking up an eyebrow in sync. “Like you have room to talk.” 

The door opens once more to reveal your least favorite brunette enters the room. An innocent look lines her face as Renge walks on the tiled floor, a basket held in her hands. 

“Hey everyone!” She greets as she makes it to the group, barely sparing you a glance. “You’ll be happy to know that your new manager Renge,” Her gaze focuses on you at the word ‘new’ and you sink further into your seat. “Has made you all some cookies!” 

“Isn’t she ladylike?” Tamaki praises, twirling as he stands. Your prince character poses dramatically as he tries to get on Renge’s good side. “I’m so moved by your generosity.” 

“I didn’t bake these cookies for you, you phony prince.” Your jaw drops slightly as Tamaki pales. A sympathetic look is thrown his way as he immediately walks off to sulk in his corner some more. 

After completely insulting your friend, Renge continues to make your existence insufferable as she stops in front of Kyoya. “I’m sorry. I burnt them a little bit.” A sickeningly sweet look appears on her face as she looks up at him. “I did the best I could!” 

Blushing, she puts her hands to her cheeks and she sways back and forth. “And I already know what you’re going to say! You’re so sweet to me Kyoya!”

You deadpan and stand up, not being able to bear her any longer. You move to Honey and Mori, where an abandoned basket of cookies sits. The small boy takes one and puts it in his mouth.

“Wow, these really are burnt.” He says, not a thought behind his eyes as he takes a bite.

“Don’t eat that, Honey.” You say, picking up a cookie to inspect its black bottom. “It’s bad for you.”

Before you could take satisfaction in insulting Renge’s work, a growl erupts from behind you. When you see Honey’s eyes widen in fright, you spin around to see Renge racing towards you, her eyes flashing red. You could even imagine Medusa snakes slithering out from all sides of her head. 

“Oh, sh-” You stop yourself from cursing in front of Honey-senpai as you hike it across the tile, the embodiment of a greek witch on your heels.

Suddenly, you’re lifted off the tile, and Renge chases the three of you as Mori carries you and Honey to safety. 

While you’re occupied, Haruhi grabs a cookie as well, and takes a bite.

“They’re not bad at all. They’ve got a good flavor to them.” She says, going in for a second bite. 

The twins behind her, bored of watching Renge and you run around in circles, see Tamaki still sulking in the corner and get an idea. 

“May I try, Haruhi?” Hikaru comes around in front of her and raises her chin. He leans down and takes a bite of the cookie from her mouth. 

Tamaki whips his head around at the men touching his precious Haruhi.

“Uh oh, Haruhi, you got some crumbs on your face.” Kaoru comes around to the honor student’s right, and instead of sensibility wiping the crumbs off, he licks them off of her cheek. 

“Did you see what they just did?!” Tamaki vaults into action, pointing and shouting at twins while they just smile, happy that their little scheme worked.

Everyone stops at Tamaki’s commotion, crowding around the baffled prince who continues to spurt profanities.

“And suddenly the trio of classmates are closer than they’ve ever been before.” Kyoya says, watching as you and Mori make your way back to the group. Honey said he wanted to try and improve Renge’s mood and ran off somewhere else.

Haruhi rubs her cheek as she grumbles towards the twins. “You know, you could’ve just told me and I would’ve wiped it off, Kaoru.” She turns to the other twin. “And if you really wanted some, Hikaru, there’s plenty there.” She gestures to the small bowl of baked goods.

Tamaki gasps dramatically, and takes Haruhi’s face into his hands. “That’s not the way you’re supposed to react, Haruhi!” He stares deep into her soul and she struggles to not rip him away from her personal space.

“You have to stay strong and reject them, then casually brush them to the side! Do you understand?” 

A sweat drop falls from the brunette’s forehead. “This is sexual harassment, Senpai.” 

Flabbergasted and betrayed, Tamaki looks between Haruhi and the Hitachiians with the most incredulous expression on his handsome face. “Sexual harassment?! If this counts as sexual harassment, then those twins are twice as guilty!”

Tamaki begins to ramble once more. A small smile appears on your lips at your friend’s antics, and you can feel the adventures of the host club start to lift your spirits, even if it’s just a tiny bit. 

“Renge-chan, Renge-chan!” Your eyes look towards Honey’s voice to find him offering a mug to the lady manager among all the chaos. 

You squint as you scan her posture. Renge has a hand up to her mouth as she watches your group, a calculating look on her visage. When she looks at Honey-senpai, a cunning gaze studies the bunny mug held out in front of her. 

“Want some? It’s milk.” The unsuspecting lolita asks, innocence shining through his brown eyes.

Her mouth moves as she mumbles something, but you can’t quite make it out. 

Honey tilts his head slightly, not hearing her either. “Huh?”

“Every single one of you!” Renge’s posture explodes, and your head reels at her mood swings. Honey cries and runs to Mori for safety as her sudden explosion, and Renge’s pink bow jolts as she points at the eight of you. 

“Except for Kyoya, all of your characters are lukewarm!” Her voice is high-pitched as she barks at you.

“Each one of you needs to have a dark-side, you understand? Guests are vulnerable to handsome young men who are troubled!” 

“And women.” You whisper, rolling your eyes slightly. 

Unfortunately, Renge continues. “If you keep carrying on like this, then it’s only a matter of time before they get tired of you and stop coming altogether! Are you trying to ruin my precious Kyoya’s business?”

“Oh my god.” Another eye roll from you. 

“As your manager, it’s my duty to change your character's backgrounds! Let’s start with you!” Her finger points to poor Honey, who tries to hide deeper in Mori’s arms.

“If you’re nothing but cute, inside and out, then you’re nothing but a baby!” Honey whines. “From now on, you’re the baby-faced thug!” 

Screaming is heard as she changes focus to Mori. “And Mori-senpai, you’re his childhood friend, The Flunkie!”

“The twin’s will be basketball players enslaved in their own world!”

“Haruhi, you’re an honor student who’s constantly being bullied!”

She takes a final breath, hoping to get her last order out in one go. “And as for you, Tamaki, you’re the school idol who’s admired for his good looks, but you actually have an inferiority complex that you’re hiding from the world.” A final point, and Tamaki is given a horrifying nickname. “The lonely prince!”

You can see the light go out of his eyes as the newly named blonde staggers, suddenly becoming very melodramatic.

“And Kyoya,” You turn to see Renge back to her happy, lovesick mood. “You’re perfect just the way you are now, so I want you to stay as kind and affectionate as ever, okay?” 

“Thank you, I’m honored.” Kyoya was so jovial. You wanted to wring his neck. 

Everyone was clamoring into their new roles, but you broke the commotion. 

“Um, Renge?” The lady manager’s blush disappears as she deadpans at the sound of your voice. The hosts stop talking and turn as they watch her size you up, before a tolerating smirk paints her face.

“Yes, (Y/n)-senpai?” 

“I just…” You feel awkward as everybody looks at you. “What kind of part do you want me to play?” 

“Oh, I didn’t give you one?” She asks, but you know full well her true intentions. She pretends to think, at least letting you think you have some fighting chance. 

“You can be our water-boy!” The host club grimaces at the demotion, but Renge looks as content as ever. 

You sigh, already exhausted only a couple minutes into the club time. You shake your head helplessly as you tilt it to the side. “What? I’m still a host, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, there really isn’t any room for you in the movie, ya know?” She steps forward, a deceiving aura of kindness following her. 

“But I understand that you want to be included, so you should be thankful! You’ll get to be on a real movie set.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You say through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She taunts. Almost as if she wants you to blow up again, only to embarrass yourself once more. “Plus, my Kyoya made me the manager, not you, and what I say goes, right?”

You’re about to give her a piece of your mind, when excerpts from last night crawls from your subconscious.

The Houshakuji’s are important donors to my father’s hospital. 

Whatever Renge wants, it’s my duty as an Ootori son to give that to her!

Why should I risk my family’s business just to keep you happy?

Your eyes meet Kyoya’s, whose mouth has settled into a taut line, jaw muscles pulsing as he clenches back his tension. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” You say, avoiding her cocky gaze. As you look down at the polished floor, you miss a pair of gray eyes close with relief, and a hint of regret. 

“Perfect!” Renge clasps her hands together. “I’m so glad you’re accepting things around here.”

The twins aren’t so ready to quit without a fight as they watch you sadly walk to a secluded windowsill, trying to calm yourself down. 

They pull Kyoya to the side, knowing that he’s the only one that could stop this madness. 

“Come on, Kyoya-senpai!” Hikaru begs, coming around on Kyoya’s left. 

Kaoru appears on his right, also pleading. “You gotta do something.” 

Kyoya sighs, your disheartened expression imprinted in his mind. He appreciated your ability to keep your cool, and he really felt that you just had to hold out a little longer before Renge got bored and left already. 

“Why?” He shrugs as the twins blanche, pointing to Tamaki who leans up against a wall. “It looks like the boss is up for it.” 

“How does this look, Renge?” His forehead rests against a closed fist as he wistfully sighs, not having a hard time getting into character. “Do you think these poses work? For a lonely prince?”

Excited to see her direction come to life, Renge looks up at him cheerfully. “Oh wow, you’re pretty good at that Tamaki! But you know, it would be more effective if you were standing in the rain!”

You make your way over to the twins and Haruhi while groaning. 

This was going to be interesting. 

:::

When Renge made you “water-boy”, you thought you would be passing out small cups of H2O to the actors. Not operating a hose 20 feet from the ground from behind a building. 

Renge had made sure to put you right across from another dude holding a hose, too. You look apologetically at one another as you spray water onto each other, your clothes completely soaked through. Renge insisted on this exact spot, as it would ‘fill out the scene nicely.” You wore a variation of the orange and white uniforms. A wet, orange shirt clings to your body while being tucked into wide-legged cargo pants. An orange basketball cap rests on the top of your head, and you watch as water droplets fall from the bill of the hat all the way down to the grass. 

Your chin rests as you lean over the railing of the elevator holding you up. Shivering at this height, you would’ve preferred the water cups. 

Luckily, you had some entertainment. While you hated Renge with a burning passion, you had to admit she was talented at this directing thing. The basketball scene with the twins was tear-jerking, and now, as you watch Honey stand uncharacteristically menacing in the woods with Haruhi, you’re surprised at how much you feel for each character. 

It burned you to say this, but Renge had some real potential. 

A sharp cry interrupts your thoughts, and you observe from your bird’s eye view as Honey completely breaks character. Your eyebrows crease sympathetically as he runs to Haruhi, crying about how he couldn’t do it anymore. 

“Cut! Cut, cut, cut, cut!” Renge waves her arms, a megaphone securely gripped in her hand. “You’ve gotta stick to the script!” 

“But I can’t!” Honey mewls back, tightening his hold on Haruhi.

Renge groans and spins on her heel, “Stop rolling, camera man!” Earning her a thumbs up from the bearded man behind the camera. 

“I want the rain to make things seem tragic!” Renge calls up to you, and you restrain from pointing your hose at her. 

“It’s water, Renge! It’s not sentient!” You yell down from your machine.

“That’s what I have you for!” She groans. “Let’s just take a break for a second.” She waves her hands and you start deescalating. 

Once you’re on the ground, you hang your hose on the railing. Haruhi brings you a towel and you give her a grateful smile. 

“How are you doing?” She asks as you weakly dry yourself off. 

“As good as I can be.” You shrug, taking your hat off to towel dry your hair. “Kyoya still won’t talk to me, not like I want to talk to him.” You glance at the megane while he talks to the twins, looking as annoyingly put together as ever. 

“And Renge is using me like her personal slave, so, yeah.” A defeated laugh leaves your lips, but your mood lightens up a bit as Tamaki bounds up to you and Haruhi.

“Haruhi, (Y/n)!” He adjusts his tie as he greets the two of you. “So, how was I? Did you like my performance?”

You smile at his eagerness to impress. “It was really awesome!” You praise, giving him a strong thumbs up.

Haruhi hands him a towel, and begins to dry himself off. “Yeah, I’m surprised you were able to get into character like that. You were really believable.”

Tamaki positively beams at the two of you as he drapes the towel onto his head. “I’ve discovered a new side of myself. I’m starting to think it would be a good idea to explore it.” 

You and Haruhi exchange a look. A gloomy prince is just as hard to handle as a joyful prince. 

“Are you sure about that?” Haruhi asks. “Because I think you’re fine just the way you are now, Senpai.” 

Tamaki pauses. “You do?” You giggle as a blush creeps onto the blonde’s face, his violet eyes twinkling as Haruhi compliments him. “Well, if you say so, Haruhi.” 

“Hey (Y/n)!” You turn to see Renge peeking her head out from behind a corner of a building, your mood immediately dropping back down. “I need you over here. Can you bring those water bottles next to you?” 

You disdainfully grab two water bottles from the cooler at your feet and walk over to the manager, grumbling to yourself. “Why does she always peak around corners like a creepy little doll?” 

As you make your way to the edge of the building, you see three shadows stretching across from the other side of the corner. Confused, you round the edge of the stone, and see two tall men standing next to Renge. 

“Over here, (Y/n)! These two gentlemen have just agreed to be in our film, and I thought you could offer them some water as a thank you gift.”

The men in your school uniform look at Renge with surprise, their shirts untucked and ties loosened around their necks. The one with shaggier hair speaks up first, baffled by Renge’s claim. 

“In your film?” 

“What are you talking about?” His friend asks, his shorter hair moving as he stares at your manager as well. 

Renge seems to be in her own little world as she explains. “After all, we are going to need some tough guys for the big climax!” That distanced look takes over her face again as she daydreams about her video game idols. “That’s when all of the club members come together to fight against the two real villains at their school.” The boys’ jaws clench at that.

“Renge, I don’t think-” you start, but she continues, completely ignoring you. No surprise there. 

“According to the script, these two are from a wealthy family that got their wealth from being a part of the Japanese mafia.” Stars practically form in her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a brilliant casting choice.”

“Wait, Renge-!” You try to stop her as she begins to drag one of the men over to another place, totally ignorant to his rising frustration. 

“Just come over here and wait for your cue.” She says before the man completely breaks away from her, his longer hair framing his angry expression. 

“Let go of me!” He whips around, and Renge puts her arms out in front of her, suddenly feeling that she’s in danger.

“Hey, you think you can push me around?!” The boy shouts, and your eyes widen as he winds his arm back. “You don’t even know me!” 

His open palm rams into Renge’s shoulder, intending to push her into the set equipment that leans against the wall behind her.

Completely forgetting that she makes your blood boil, you lunge forward. You couldn’t let anything bad happen to her, or else she might tell her father. 

‘My father’s business needs her family’s contributions.’

You put yourself behind Renge in order to cushion her fall, but from the pure force and strength of that student, plus the pressure of her body on yours, your back hits the hard brick of the wall. 

Sharp, stinging pains crash into your skin as the equipment stabs into your spine, and your headache grows as your head hits the surface behind you. 

Renge gets off of you immediately after realizing that she wasn’t the one to hit the wall. She crouches down in front of you as you slide down the stone, hoping to gain a little more of the wind that was knocked out of you.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)-senpai?” 

“That guy was right, Renge.” She jolts at your sharp tone. “You can’t judge people by their appearance. You’re supporting a stereotype.” You wince as your head pounds. “You’ll never see the person inside if you keep doing that.”

“I-I…” Renge stutters as she looks defeated. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Footsteps are heard around the corner, and soon the host club is staring back at you, helping you to your feet.

All except for Kyoya. 

When he saw you on the ground in pain with Renge at the center, it all hit him like a runaway train. How you hadn’t spoken to him in three days, and how much he missed the little things, like the late night study sessions and organizing the finances with you. 

How he had let this all go too far too quickly. How he had let you get hurt. 

It had to end. 

“Wow, (Y/n), are you okay?” Haruhi looks at you as you finally stand. You nod slightly, but flinch at the way your muscles protest the strain. 

“Mon ami!” Tamaki says resting a hand on your shoulder so he can see a clear sign of any injury. “Are you in any pain?” 

“A little, but it’s just a lot of soreness right now.” You give him a sheepish smile, and the host club recoils at the way you pop your neck.

Feeling sorry for you, Renge picks up one of the water bottles that you had dropped in order to save her and placed it in your grasp. “For the swelling. It’s still cold.” You throw another grateful simper her way, and place the cool cylinder at the base of your skull. 

She turns, trying to find something else to help you out, when her eyes land on the camera. Her eyes squint as she focuses in on the reflective glass, a red dot beeping rhythmically in the corner.

Renge gasps as she thinks of a new idea. “Please tell me you got that cameraman!” 

“Yes boss!” The bearded man says back, and Renge nearly trips over herself to tell you the good news.

“You’re going to get to be in the movie, (Y/n)-senpai! That was the perfect scene to introduce your character!” You and the hosts look at her with confusion on your faces before she gestures to the camera, and you see that it’s still recording.

She sways wistfully. “Ah, and it was the perfect scene! You looked so heroic, throwing yourself into the action without a care for your own safety! All it needs now is narration by my sweet Kyoya!”

Your posture jerks at the harsh, acute sound of glass shattering before you, interrupting Renge’s plans. Surprised, you turn your head to see Kyoya standing at the face of the camera, a rock in his fist crushing what remained of the lens. If you weren’t so shocked, you would’ve laughed at the cinematographer behind him who was nearly on the verge of tears.

“Why?” The lady manager pleads, her bow wilting as her love stares at her in disgust. “Is something wrong?”

Kyoya’s face is rigid, uncaring of how his words might affect the girl in front of him. “I’m terribly sorry, but I cannot allow there to be any record of a club member engaging in violence.” He looks up and his dark irises pierce into her gaze. 

“I think you’ve caused enough trouble around here, Renge. Please stop being such a pest.”

Your eyes widen as Renge gasps. “A-A pest?” You watch her as her face wrinkles, tears overflowing onto her cheeks. 

“But you’re supposed to pat me on the head and tell me not to worry!” Her body leans forward as she cries to the ravenet. “You’re supposed to be kind and affectionate, Kyoya!” 

Her brown eyes shine with distress as she pleads to him. “Why are you acting so differently now! Tell me why!”

“Because that’s not the real Kyoya.” You say, meeting your crush’s eyes. 

She kneels to the floor, too overwhelmed as her delusion dissolves in front of her eyes. 

“Does it really matter?” Haruhi has walked away from you and is now kneeling in front of the crying otaku. “Who cares if Kyoya’s a little different than how he used to be?”

You nod, carefully walking over to the two female club members so as to not strain your back. You don’t break eye contact with the Ootori son. “Take a good look at the person on the inside, and get to know him little by little.” You smile slightly as you see his expression soften slightly. 

“It’s a lot more fun that way.” You state, turning to Renge with a closed-eyed smile. 

It’s hard to tell what goes on in Renge’s mind at that moment, not like you could ever tell in the first place. She gets that same distant look, but this time, it’s sad. Her pupils dilate as she settles back down to earth, and she has a different aura around her, as if she’s broken away from some sort of habit.

Haruhi stands and holds a hand out to her, helping her up with a firm grasp. “You need to learn to get to know people based on who they are, not who you expect them to be.” And Renge’s irises spin then, a different lovey look on her face.

When you look up, Kyoya is gone. The cameraman kneels in front of his precious camera, grieving over the broken shards for his money wasted on the equipment. You sigh. You really thought you were getting somewhere with him. 

Turns out he still couldn’t bear to be around you. 

You get Tamaki’s attention as the host club begins to dissipate, moving back to the clubroom after all the festivities. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom to get a look at my back. I’ll meet you guys there!” The prince nods and walks away, glad you didn’t ask him to go with you. He doesn’t really handle injuries all that well.

Gingerly, you make your way to one of the bathroom trailers built around the movie set. You jiggle the door knob slightly, checking if the unisex lavatory was locked, before opening it completely. 

“Oh! God…” Startled, you jump back in surprise at the person that stands at the sink before you can fully register who it is. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here. The door was unlocked.” 

Kyoya, who was also caught off guard by your sudden entrance, huffs as he processes that he’s not in any real danger. 

“I tried to lock it, but I guess these Hollywood movie producers put all their budget into the films, and not the broken door handles on their ‘pristine’ trailers.” 

You swallow, his sarcasm lifting the tension in the air slightly, but not enough for you to want to stay. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll leave you to it.” Your eyes fall on his open, travel sized med-kit on the counter, bandages strewn across the marbled surface. Kyoya nods as he goes back to cleaning up his right hand. His dominant hand being hurt and held at his side, he struggles to twist the cap off of one of the hydrogen peroxide bottles, trying to get it to stay still so he can get enough friction to open it. 

You can see annoyance set in his face.

“Do you need some help?” You ask, knowing that he would never ask for it himself, not after the fight you two had just nights before. 

His jawline pops with frustration, but he nods nonetheless. You walk over to him, getting a better look at his injury.

The skin of his fingers were covered in small gashes and scrapes. Gasping quietly, you subconsciously take his right hand into both of yours, turning it over to see that the afflictions only went down to below his fingernail, stopping at the first knuckle from the top. 

“What happened?” You question, completely forgetting you were supposed to be mad at him. 

“I wasn’t really thinking when I smashed that lens.” He says, sighing as you open the bottle he was struggling with. “My hand was bigger than the rock itself, and when I hit the stone to the glass, the tips of my fingers were crushed as well.”

“Yeah, that was pretty reckless of you, I suppose.” You pour out the contents of the bottle onto the cotton swab and turn his hand. The megane sucks air through his teeth as the liquid sinks into his wounds, unapologetically disinfecting them. 

“Not as reckless as you, it seems.” Kyoya replies as he takes his hand from your grasp in favor of wrapping small bandages around each one of the small knuckles. He gestures to your slow, cautious movements as you return your arms back to your sides, clearly in some sort of discomfort.  

You laugh regretfully and look at yourself in the mirror. Turning your back to your reflection and wincing, you stretch your arms around to pull up the bottom of your shirt slightly. Irritated skin peaks out through the bunched up fabric, and you can already see some purplish coloring begin to take form. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.” You observe matter-of-factly. You figured, considering how stuff your muscles were after that fall.

Rustling draws your attention away from the mirror as you watch Kyoya pick through his small box of medicine. He unfolds a piece of plastic filled with some sort of blue liquid and shakes it. With his movements, the pint-sized package transforms from flexible to solid, and you can see frost crystals lining the plastic as it freezes on impact. 

“Here.” Ootori says as he hands the travel ice-pack to you, and you take it gladly, thankful for the solace it gives as you rest it on the small of your back. 

“Thank you.” 

Kyoya nods and he moves to pack the rest of the medical supplies into the box. “Whatever you need.”

Whatever Renge needs, it’s my duty as an Ootori son to give that to her!

Your stomach churns as you recall your fight once again.

Without their money, our family couldn’t do business with your mother.

Wait a second. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

A hum resonates through the acoustics of the bathroom from the black-haired man, as he once again tries to rearrange the bottle and boxes perfectly into the kit. 

“Are you only friends with me because of the business relationship between our families?” 

Kyoya halts, hands freezing in mid-air, general supplies trapped between his fingers. He looks at you sharply, gray eyes searching your (e/c) ones to find the joke. But you're serious. 

His mouth parts a moment before he responds, trying to collect his words. 

“If I’m being completely transparent, that is how it started.” He replies, trying his best to pair his blunt honesty with an assuring tone. “When my father came to know of a(n) (L/n) daughter transferring to Ouran, he asked me to greet you personally to keep in good faith with your mother.” 

And as he sees the disappointment take over your gaze, Kyoya is more motivated to give you a better answer.  

“But you were…” Swallowing, he’s attentive to not give away anything that he wasn’t ready to confess yet. “You were different than how I’d expected you to be.” You see something earnest in his expression as he goes back to filing in the medicines. “And since I realized that over a year ago, our friendship has been completely genuine.” 

And as Kyoya shuts the perfectly organized medkit with a click!, the case is closed. Your insecurities flush away at his candidness, along with your pride, and you do something you should’ve done days ago.

“I’m sorry, Kyoya.” You apologize as you set the ice pack on the counter. Your crush slightly deflates as the tension leaves his body, and you hope it’s a sign of relief.  

“I wasn’t thinking about all you had to go through with your dad back home, and I just-, god, she was so annoying!” You laugh a little at his amused smirk, glad that the pressure in the atmosphere is easing up. 

“I can deal with her, if you still want her to be your manager.” And while it hurt to lose your position, he could tell you meant it.

“I don’t want her as my manager.” Kyoya argues as he stuffs the travel medkit into his jacket pocket, a joking simper playing on his face. “She’s terrible at it.” 

You snort before he continues. “Plus, I have to admit I quite missed your company.” 

“I missed you too, Kyo.” 

At the sound of his nickname, he becomes a little more vulnerable. “And I’m sorry as well. If you are ever in need of support, please don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Kyoya offers you his arm as you both walk out the trailer, already proving his word as he supports your stiff body. You slowly, but surely, make your way back to the clubroom. 

And that was okay. It gave you a chance to make up for lost time. 

:::

Guests crowd around the host club, blushes running rampant on their beautiful faces as they fan over you and your friends. 

“I bought the video of the film you made!” One girl squeals

“I bought it too!” A guy says, holding up a disc.

“So did I!” 

“You did?” The twins look at each other before the students in front of them, totally blindsided. 

They continue to gush. “Oh I just loved the scene in the rain!”

Another guest appears in your sight. “And I loved the lonely prince!”

“I wanna see Honey act like a thug again!” Some girls absolutely melt as they scream together. 

“Yes! And I couldn’t get enough of Haruhi’s poignant expressions!”

You and the hosts look between themselves, then turn around to find Kyoya looking as content as ever, his bandaged right hand writing in his notebook.

“Kyoya?” Tamaki asks, already knowing that the megane was the one behind this.

Ootori’s smirk only grows as he replies. “I may have broken the camera’s lens, but the footage that we already shot wasn’t damaged. Naturally, I did cut out that violent scene.” He glances at you as you adjust in your seat. The bruising had slightly healed by now, and the soreness was almost gone, but the pain would still rear its head every now and again.

“Sales have been pretty good so far.” You continue, smiling at the way the hosts looked at you with wide eyes. “That Hollywood film crew did a fantastic job. But then, I guess, that’s to be expected.” 

“Plus, it’s best to have as much money as we can in the club’s budget.” Your director finalizes his statement with an adjustment of his frames. 

“Good day, everyone!” 

You spin around, only to regret it as your back twists without mercy. You wince from both pains as one flares up your spine and the other walks towards you, a flash of a pink bow making you slouch back into your seat. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Renge?” Tamaki asks, and you curse him as his question draws her closer. “I thought you went back to France?”

A dreamy sigh ghosts past her lips as she gets a familiar look in her eye. “I just can’t believe I didn’t recognize it sooner.” 

You turn, carefully this time, to see Renge stop in front of Haruhi. She pulls the honor student onto her feet, clasping their hands together.

“It was so chivalrous for you to help me up when I was at my lowest, and I could feel the love when you lectured me about judging people.” She gazes lovingly into Haruhi’s eyes. “When you said I should get to know people based on who they are, you were talking about you!”

You laugh as Haruhi sweat drops, but you stop at the side-eye she gives you. 

“Yeah…” She trails off, trying to pry her hands from Renge’s, but the otaku’s hold is too strong.

Suddenly, she’s pulled out of the room by the lighter brunette, Tamaki hot on her heels.

“Hey, Kyoya-senpai.” Hikaru starts, his brother in tow.

“You okay with that?” Kaoru finishes.

Kyoya’s eyes travel to where you sit, laughing with Mori and Honey as Tamaki races after his ‘daughter’.

A gentle smirk graces his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Next time, on Lavender Roses

“I’m so sick of your face!”

“Your haircut’s stupid!”

“Sex pixie!”

“Sicko!”

“What the hell is going on?!”

The Twins Fight!

tag list <;3 @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed

#kyoya ootori x reader #haruhi fujioka #hikaru hitachiin #honey senpai #kaoru hitachiin #kyoya ootori #kyoya x reader #mori senpai #mutual pining #ouran fanfic #slow burn #ouran kaoru #ouran kyoya #reader x kyoya ootori #reader x kyoya #x reader #romance #reader insert #ouran honey #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #ohshc fanfic #ohshc mori #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #humour

[calico-kiwi]

The Coffee Trials

Chapter 1: a sleep deprived coffee addict walks into a cafe

Fandom: Maribat (Miraculous Ladybug x DC)

Tags: Tim Drake/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Original Character, fluff & Shenanigans, no plot & no update schedule

Work Summary: Both Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain-Cheng are incredibly successful and busy people. Two people who both view coffee as their lifeblood. When they find themselves needing each other to obtain ultimate coffee rights at their favorite cafe, two total strangers become allies. And friends. And perhaps eventually… something more.

Chapter Summary: Tim walks into his favorite cafe to find things are not as they should be.

ao3 Link, Next Chapter

Read the first chapter below the Keep Reading!

Tim loved this smell. He worshiped it. It was so ingrained into his soul that he could describe it as no way other than divine. Well, perhaps he could describe it as heavenly. Sweet ambrosia. Nectar of the gods. 

Yet above all, it was simply... lovely.

It was the smell of a reliable constant. It smelled like home. Not because home smelled like it but because the smell elicited that feeling of home.

As he approached his favorite café, his body began to ease. Not only was the café itself his favorite, but it had his favorite drink. And truth be told, his favorite coffee dealer, and dare he say personal barista. (And yes, it was quite a dare to say such a thing, because if Tim ever outright called them his personal barista, they’d cut him off.)

The bell above the door softly chimed as he entered. He was instantly treated by the smell of coffee and the warm welcoming energy of the café. 

He dragged his eyes over the faded and chipped walls painted in a warm cappuccino brown. He didn’t need to look at the black chalkboard menu hung on the wall behind the registers. He could say his order in his sleep.

His eyes wandered to the various seating areas and tables within the café. It was a hodgepodge of all colors, styles, and decorum. Almost like a lost and found. Though all were in good condition and seemed to just fit . 

He briefly took note of a new face. She was sitting on the old leather couch in the corner to the right of the registers.

Continuing to walk towards the register, he felt himself smirk. Looking very bored, holding their head in one hand and aimlessly drumming their fingers against the counter with their other, was the man of the (the being Tim’s) hour.

Tim’s very own coffee dealer and personal barista. 

The glitter of the barista’s night sky-themed ballerina nails sparkled as she tapped them against the counter, and they didn’t seem to notice Tim until he was almost at the register.

When she did notice, however, her bored expression turned almost sinister with the way she smiled and the way her eyes twinkled. They straightened their posture and moved to be more centered behind the register.

Something about their “cat who’s caught the canary” expression and current mischievous demeanor planted a seed of dread in Tim’s stomach.

“Why hello and welcome to ‘Carrie’s’ valued customer. May I take your order?” they said. They twirled a strand of the dyed white hair that was loose from their high ponytail around their finger. It was a faux attempt to look innocent and they both knew it. 

Tim narrowed his eyes and replied, “Same as always Skye.”

Skye’s shit-eating grin grew wider, and her hand dropped so she could place them both on the counter and coyly lean forward.

“Sorry,” they apologized, though it held no hint of remorse. “Just to be clear, what drink would be the one ‘ same as always ’?”

Tim was silent for a moment. ‘Oh something’s definitely off here,’ Tim thought to himself.

“The one only you know how to make, and that I order every night, and have been ordering every night for almost two years.”

“Yes, but what is the drink called? So I know I have the right one,” Skye said cheerily.

Tim didn’t have enough drugs (caffeine, he’s talking about caffeine) in his system for this. “It’s not actually on the menu, which you would know because it’s a-“ Tim makes air quotes as he continues. “Skye SpecialTM”

“We always refer to it as ‘The Motherload’ though. Which is cringe as fuck and we should change it, by the way.” Tim looks at Skye expectantly.

And Skye stares back at Tim as if they’ve won.

“Well,” Skye starts, “what exactly is in this drink? To jog my memory,” she says, absently waving one of his hands in the air.

Tim sighs, and all but bangs his head against the counter. He instead settles for burying his head in his palms. “You are so fucking lucky I refuse to piss you off in fear of you revoking coffee privileges.”

Skye laughed. “Damn right! Don’t ever call my Skye SpecialsTM cringe ever again you fucking oaf.”

Continuing, Tim adds, “Also how the fuck am I supposed to know what you put in your goddamn magic energy potion? I don’t even know how you can make the shit you do and not have any illegal ingredients.”

Skye raises an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume what I make doesn’t have illegal ingredients.”

“ Skye .” Tim says incredulously, his frazzled and strained voice matching the slight look of panic in his sky-blue eyes.

“Hey don’t worry dude, I swear I’m not running some Breaking Bad type operation. Besides, we live in Gotham, this is one of the worst possible places to get into drugs. No shot I’m chancing anything.”

Tim just sighs before once again asking for his beloved drink. He really doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with this.

“Skye, darling, one of my favorite and most gender people ever, I fucking BEG of you, serve me the fucking drink. The one that tastes like heaven and grants me godly energy.”

Skye gives a devilish grin. “Oh!” they exclaim. “ That drink! Well, why didn’t you say so.”

Tim actually bangs his forehead against the counter, and Skye laughs at her friend's misery.

“ ~Skyyyeee~ ” comes Tim’s grumble, muffled by the cold countertop he’s still smushing his face against.

Skye giggles, and ruffles her friend’s wavy black hair. “Gosh, you’re so dramatic. And stand up, you’re gonna get drool on the counter or something. Can’t make drinks if I'm stuck cleaning up, now can I?” they ask with a raised eyebrow

With that, Tim lifts his head off the counter, but immediately follows the action by propping his elbows on it and clasping his hands together.

“ Please just make the damn drink,” Tim begs.

Skye shrugs. “Sorry sweetie, we’re out.”

“ WHAT?! ”

Tim’s mind breaks a bit, and Skye holds back the snort that almost comes out at the sight of Tim’s eye twitching.

“Skye,-“ Tim begins, sounding like he’s bargaining for his life back, which in Tim’s eyes, he is. 

“How in the actual fuck is that possible? How can you be out ? You only allow one Skye SpecialTM per shift. And even if , and that’s a big if, another customer ordered one, who else other than the two of us would you possibly be ok giving that much caffeine to?”

Skye, who had stood calmly and patiently listening to Tim’s spiel, which she always finds quite endearing (the crazed and deranged look in his eyes added a nice touch) just smiles. 

There’s no malice in it this time. But Tim’s known Skye long enough and well enough to see the brewings of a chaotic plan spread plainly across their face.

“You see my little lovely bean addict, I have found a new regular. Not only that but she’s already passed The Coffee Trials.”

At the last piece of news, Tim’s eyes widened.

“She completed The Trials,” Skye continues, voice dropping to a whisper, “In 10 days.”

Tim’s jaw drops. “How long has she been coming to the cafe?” he whispers back urgently.

“Well,” Skye begins, “she stopped by once around two months ago. Came back around a week later, and her visits became more frequent until she started coming every other day. She just passed The Coffee Trials five days ago, so she passed ‘em last Saturday.”

Narrowing his eyes Tim asks, “If she’s a regular, when does she stop by? You only work from eight to one, and I don’t get here much later than you do. I mean kudos to her if she gets here after I leave but…”

Hopping onto the counter so her legs dangle over the side and she’s sitting facing Tim, Skye nods sagely.

“The first time she came here, and I remember this interaction vividly cause it was so wonderfully chaotic, she burst into the cafe panting with only 15 minutes before my shift ended.

This, of course, did not phase me, and I asked her what she’d like to order as if a beautiful french woman running into this establishment at 12:45 a.m. entirely out of breath with a tiredness so obviously bones deep and soul-crushing that I offered her a free pastry was normal.

She apologized for basically barreling through the doors before sheepishly explaining this was the closest place open that served coffee and wasn’t someplace like Mcdonald's. 

She knew we closed at one, which is why she was in such a hurry. She then apologized to me a second time for bothering me so close to when we closed.

I would have been annoyed, but I was too amused and charmed to find it in me. So I told her no worries, made her order, and gave her a free croissant with her coffee. 

She told me it was some of the best coffee she’s ever had, thanked me, apologized a third and final time for the night, offered to help clean and close up, which I refused, and then left.

She must have found herself in a similar situation to the first night she visited where she desperately needed coffee because around a week later, she stopped by around 12:30ish.

She asked for something else, I gave the poor tired sweetie a free toasted bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and she once again complimented the coffee, thanked me, and left.

This continued for a bit until she just came by pretty often, each time around midnight, and we hung out a bit. She ordered something new every time, which I liked. You know how I love to experiment.

I told her that I was a bit of a hobby mixologist and thought mixology was cool, and that because I can’t drink yet I instead have honed my mixology skills in the art of coffees and teas. She then asked what some of the craziest concoctions I’ve made have been.

At this point, I’ve known her for around two months, and I’ve been seeing her super often. I know enough about her to feel comfortable around her, and so I trust her with the sacred information  that is The Coffee Trials and Skye SpecialsTM.

She is, predictably, thoroughly intrigued. And also concerned. Because you know as well as I do that it is definitely not a legal amount of caffeine that I put in those drinks. Like I could not serve those to customers. Make for the homies? Hell yeah. To sell? I am breaking the law and can be sued. I do not have the money to be sued, man.

Anyways, she asks if she can partake in The Coffee Trials, and I oblige. It’s mostly to humor her and let me tell you, I did not expect her to succeed so fast. She beat it as fast as you did. Which is to say, the fastest I will allow anyone to beat it.

I’m not trying to overdose people here man. In case you don’t remember, during the coffee trials there is a rest period between stages, and the attemptee is cut off three days before, during the trial, besides the drink you’d need to ingest to pass each stage, and three days after.

She does the trial no problem. Like, scarily without any problems. She now has access to the Skye SpecialsTM. Oh, and, she’s drinking The Motherload right now.”

Tim would’ve spat out his drink if someone else hadn’t beat him to ordering it. “She was already here ?!”

Skye hums while they swing their legs back and forth. “Actually, as if it isn’t already information overload, she’s still here. The little missy is sitting right over there,” they say, jutting out their chin in the direction of the ‘new customer’ Tim had seen sitting in the corner on the sofa when he walked in.

“You should go talk to her. Go say hi to the pretty lady. Try your best to not screw it up and all that. I think you two would get along swell,” Skye encourages with a smile.

Tim tries his best to not stare at the stranger (who has become much less of a stranger to him in the past few minutes) quietly sipping her coffee (which should be his coffee) and typing something out on her laptop and then switching to a sketchbook that she furiously sketches in before repeating the cycle.

“What do I even say,” Tim asks exasperated. “Besides, how do I fix the fact I no longer have my preferred amount of caffeine or favorite drink.”

Skye raises an eyebrow before scoffing. “Ok, mister antisocial-” They’re interrupted by a muttered ‘says fucking you of all people’ from Tim. “FAIR BUT UNCALLED FOR. Anyways, I was going to say that I have a proposition.”

Trying his best to hold in yet another sigh, Tim continues. “ But ? There’s always a catch with you, you chaos gremlin.”

“Says fucking you of all people. You’re the most chaotic chaos gremlin I know. And the catch is that I’ll only tell the two of you, yes the two of you, if you’re the one to bring her over here so I can explain.”

Tim scowls, and starts grumbling while walking over to  ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶e̶t̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n̶  the stranger before Skye grabs his shirt collar and yanks him back towards her, whisper-yelling a rushed ‘wait!’.

“Do you want a drink first? You can still order from our normal menu, you know.”

“I feel like whatever shenanigans you’ve got in store for us is going to make me want to bash my head into the wall, so maybe just some nice hot tea. That has the caffeine of course. Some earl grey how I like it?”

Skye salutes before swinging their legs back over the counter, hopping down with a, “You got it boss!”

They press a few buttons on the order screen before announcing, “That’ll be $4.96 oh valued customer who we treasure very dearly.”

Tim rolls his eyes but hands Skye a five-dollar bill, telling her, “Don’t worry about the four cents,” and stuffs another ten in the tip jar that’s sitting in front of the register.

Skye’s eyes soften, and Tim hears a whispered “Thanks,” before they put the bill in the register and head off to make Tim’s tea.

Tim looks back over at the woman on the sofa. She’s still lost in her own world. Her hair reaches a quarter down her back and is the most dazzling shade of black he’s ever seen. It’s almost as if it glows a faint blue. It’s a little hard to tell from the way she’s sitting, but Tim guesses she’s a few inches over five feet. She has a small but impressively lean build, and no he is not staring at her biceps.

It’s not until he feels something hit his face that he looks away from the stranger and focuses his gaze on the balled-up napkin that had been thrown at him and then fallen to the floor.

“Your drink good sir,” Skye says. She holds out a to-go cup with the label of a tea bag dangling out of the cup but held in place by the lid.

For what feels like the millionth time tonight Tim sighs. He grabs his drink, mutters a quick thanks, and walks toward the mystery girl. He hears a whispered ‘Knock ‘em dead tiger!’ followed by snickering from Skye but just ignores it.

It’s not until he’s standing in front of the stranger, her beautiful bluebell eyes staring up at him, that his brain finally processes what he’s doing. ‘I can’t believe this,’ Tim thinks to himself.

Running on enough caffeine to give doctors a likely cause of death if he were to keel over right then and there, and with less than 5 hours of sleep in the past several days, Tim figures he has nothing to lose.

So after a few seconds of awkward silence where the woman in front of him seems very confused and concerned, Tim spoke. “Um, hey, sorry to disturb you but there’s something I kind of need to talk to you about. Mind if I sit?”

> Next Chapter

AN: Forgive my many spelling mistakes, I have the horrible tendency to only write for this fic in the dead of night. i have this fic on ao3, but I realized I never posted it to tumblr as more than a link. if you wanna keep up with it, but dont wanna subscribe to it on ao3, just ask to be added to the taglist either through this post or an ask to my blog and I'll keep you updated!

#kiwi shares their thoughts #kiwi's got a pen #maribat #mlb x dc #shutterbug #timari #dc x miraculous #dc x miraculous ladybug #dc x mlb #miraculous x dc #miraculous ladybug x dc #timari fic #timari fanfic #timinette #timinette fanfic #timinette fic #maribat fanfic #maribat fic #shutterbug fic #shutterbug fanfic #dude i am no going tag crazy like i did with the other one that shit is tooooo over the top rn

[themsource]

Catalyst

Rating: M Word count: 1,480 Pairing: HT Sans/Reader

I read Htsan's It's just a game and Love Grows by lylia9000. Both really good 4th wall romances that I strongly rec. I got inspired to write a short based on the premise.

They say there are 5 elements to a story; Exposition, Raising Action, Climax, Falling Action, and finally the Conclusion.

So let's start with the exposition.

Once upon a time, a human fell into the underground—

But you already knew that, didn't you?

We have to fast forward. Scroll through the endless trials and multiple scenes played out by long familiar characters as they blur and blend into a rainbow painted in greyscale.

That's right.

This story has already ended. The climax is long passed and forgotten.

Or it should've been…at least.

Watch the world around you, witness the way the sky shifts and the earth sinks, stare into the void as reality itself tears apart like paper ripped right down the center.

A fissure now in place of what had once been a happy ending.

And that's where we stop.

In a white roar of noise with nothing but sorrow, and hunger, for company.

Once a story ends it must inevitably bleed into another. There are souls in the world that wouldn't have it any other way.

But the question we should be asking ourselves is: how?

How can something continue past a conclusion, if it's already ended? Then surely, the story never truly concluded in the first place, right?

Wrong.

A world fades and collides when people stop caring for it. A tale falls out of time when there's no minds and hearts to suspend it. A story dies when there's no one left to listen, until there's no one left to tell it.

And that is the conclusion.

So, how?

…simple, by being broken.

By throwing the world off its axis and distorting liner perception of time, by blinking in and out of other's spaces and recognitions, by listening—

To the silence.

And finding sound.

~~

The rain is falling.

It's a cascade of endless drizzle carrying with it the scent of wet cement and mud caked paving stones through a bleak coloration of dreary silver.

A skeleton stands beneath it, unfazed and unimpressed by the downpour as he stares up at the sky and sees only black. The water falling into his sockets is barely a footnote in his attention, as are the countless droplets pouring into the massive crack in his skull. The water gathers and chills him from the inside out but he fails to notice, too used to the lack of any real sensation other than ice against his bones.

The huff he lets out comes out a thick cloud of icy vapor as his gaze slowly drops to the barren road in front of him. He possesses a single eye—the color of fresh blood—in his left socket. It once belonged to another but now it serves him and is kept alive by his magic, and as a consequence lights the darkened space around him with an ominous tinted glow that casts his sharpened features in stark relief.

Terrifying, imposing.

Even as he wears an expression of utter exhaustion and boredom.

"told him it was going to rain." He mutters. "but did he listen? no, of course he didn't. thanks pap, you're the best."

His tone drips sarcasm but it's half hearted at best. He's beyond caring to scathe and scorn others with any real venom as he once did. With a spine chilling creak his arm lifts to scratch at the gap atop his cranium. The ache of his body is made obvious as he lets what had once been blunt tips—but now were deadly macabre claws—scrape down the side of his skull.

The sound of nails on chalkboard screeches around him filling the silence.

It stops once his phalanges find what they seek and latch onto the rim of his dead socket. He pulls—

There's a crack.

He hisses, satisfied.

Sighing he lets go and tucks his wandering hand back into the drenched pocket of his threadbare and torn coat. Its color has faded so drastically from neglect that no one can correctly guess that its shade had once been a soft deep blue, or that the gray fur that adornes it had belonged to a brown pelted wolf before being haphazardly sown in to provide a false warmth to a starving creature when the fleece had long since fallen from inside it.

The skeleton groans.

No one hears him.

No one but the girl whose hair he keeps trapped within the locket he tucks away safely beneath his hole-ridden shirt, pressed flush against his ribs where his soul thrums. There's a pulse and he smirks, but just as quickly as it'd arrived it falls to be replaced with a frown as metal on metal grinds through the air and signals the arrival of a bus.

The doors open as soon as it stops.

He glares impassively at the driver who meets him with a dour expression of his own. The driver is a human—a monster hater that carries no shame for his beliefs. The skeleton hates him but respects the man's honesty in his bigotry.

"took ya long enough." He grumbles. His steps are heavy and cause the bus to dip as he shuffles on and walks past the man, making sure to swipe a bent passcard over the machine in passing with his stare aimed and locked on the seat furthest in the back. His usual spot.

"You're lucky I stopped at all." The driver drones back before slamming the handle down to lock the doors.

The monster laughs, and manages to keep his balance without a single sway as the bus lurches and takes off at a speed meant to topple him. 'nice try', he thinks, before taking his seat.

There’s blood, the clash of water on rock as the tide rolls in and with it a furious burn that stabs and numbs all at once. Betrayal goes down bitter and rises back up a bitter bile spewing hate and agony. Revulsion claws at cloth and splinters bone, spilling marrow and blackened ichor down teeth that can no longer grin with anything but ire and loathing.

The monster stands before a door.

Putrid desire fills his chest cavity like smog from freshly burned smoke stacks. He closes his sockets and wraps a hand around the locket still hidden away beneath his clothing and believes he can feel it scorch the skin he doesn’t have. Sockets narrowed and grin sharp he pushes open the door, and is met with a human female bound in frayed rope and thick iron rusted chains inscribed with the ancient language of his magic.

She looks up through fearful almond colored eyes.

“missed me?” The way in which he asks is teasing, cruel. “sorry, had a bit of a long day. pap decided i needed to walk home. something about needing the exercise, heh, what a riot.”

“I–”

He moves quickly, his speed faster than a jaguar's as he snatches her hair and twists it around his wrist. She lets out a pained cry as he pulls til her neck is a straight line of flesh, her nose pointed directly at the ceiling as she struggles under the bonds that keep her on her knees. He closes in on her, and forces her eyes to stare into the blinding fury of his eye as it roils with latent fury and malicious intent.

His words are a  whisper of warning, “i wasn’t talking to you.”

She shuts her eyes as she gives in and goes limp.

Phalanges slip under his shirt and drag over his spinal column and ribs, slowly, savoring their journey, before alighting against the locket that now burns hot enough it’s searing. He relishes the sting as he grips it and tugs it free. The clasp easily comes undone and its chain falls between the creases of his joints, pools and falls to drip down as if liquid gold. 

He lets go of the girl’s hair and she whimpers knowing what comes next.

There’s reverence in his gaze as he stares down at the trinket he holds. The locket is nestled safely in his palm–a tiny seed in a devil’s clutch–he doesn’t resist the urge to cup it in both hands as his smile falls into a softened frown. He shuts his sockets and holds it against his chest before opening them again with a manic glee.

The sound of the chain rattling echoes as the locket falls and goes taunt to suspend between his hands. A morbid imitation of a human nailed to a crucifix is depicted as a white light forms over its center and expands into being. 

Carefully he brings the chain around the girl’s neck–

The maddening twist of a stomach years long empty, a blinding hysteria of hopelessness and apathy, yearning–unfathomable yearning to fall.

The world is bathed in black.

Light shines in around hazy edges as sensation floods in.

“there you are.” Sans whispers, soft.. “happy to see me, krokette?”

You smile. “Always.”

#undertale au #sans/reader #sans #reader #horrortale #yeah i know i'm on an ht kick #i tried to do meta #emphasis on tried lol #meh my own twist i guess #hope it's a good read anyways #yeah and i have a rope thing sue me-- #XD #my writing

[toris-letterboxd]

What color would you paint your room, and/or would you hang up any posters?

Oooo cool question !! Ive been dying to paint my room like a cappuccino/ french cream white (yes I am very particular about the shades of white) with like a big painted on chalkboard wall to write on that’d be sick and I got a Pinterest board for some posters

#Jen vs the asks #off white enthusiast #room inspo

[zestymimblo]

Find The Word - Tag Game

I was tagged by @sam-glade and you can find their post here (thank you!)

You know what's up, gotta find the words that I was tagged with. I was genuinely surprised that I could find all the words, because I have a bad habit of neglecting to specify what the colour of an object is.

My words: green, blue, red, yellow

As always, the following snippets are from my current WIP (name TBA). Enjoy!

Green

Located in the Old District, it was probably the last large green space left in the city. The Old District itself was an anomaly. Historic buildings and old architecture lined the thin brick streets. Signs and plaques were posted on the lawns of every second building. Lawns! This district was the only place where the City Counsel couldn’t touch. It was the only place to breathe. All thanks to Sierra Boyd.

Blue

Caesar dashed up to the front of his apartment building. It was an old blue duplex that had been renovated and split into four smaller apartments. He lived on the top right side. He jingled the key into the lock, and shouldered the old door open. It screeched against the tiled floor, and he shouldered it back closed once he was through.

Red

The Red-Suited Man stuck out a hand for him to shake, and gave an award-winning smile. His teeth were all perfectly straight, and perfectly white. As Caesar took his hand, he felt a glowing warmth emanating from beneath this man’s skin.

Yellow

Making his way inside, he saw that even though it was early, the place was decently busy. The walls inside were painted a butter-yellow, and held shelves of artwork done by local artists. Comfortable wooden chairs and circular wooden tables dotted the floor. The counter was along the back wall, and showed all the cafe equipment, with a chalkboard menu hanging above the cashier’s head. The cashier looked up as the bell above the door rang.

That's all!! Caesar's POV is the one rich with colour, it seems.

I will be tagging: @thewardenofwinter, @surroundedbypearls, and @mayawritesfantasy

Your words to find: Plane, pile, jump, weak

#tag game #writeblr #find the word tag

[casiavium]

Posting my AU day fic for Ghiralink week a couple hours early because I'm bored!!

You can also read it on ao3

Link first sees him when he's unloading baked goods from the delivery truck out back. A tall man dressed in pants with more rip than jean is leaning against the alley wall, smoking some sweet scented thing though it's barely 6:30 in the morning.

Link is carrying a rather heavy crate of bread when the man notices him, blowing a long stream of cotton candy breath without breaking eye contact. Weirded out, Link sets the bread down, and goes back to the car.

The building next to them is vacant, so Link is used to seeing roughed up teens hanging out, usually when the sun is down. He usually closes, so this morning shift is new to him.

The man looked different from the typical angsty high schooler spray painting the walls and smoking pot to get back at the system, and Link clocks him as trouble. He's his age, if not older, and probably their dealer. He makes a note to bring him up to management, though he knows they won't do anything. He has half a mind to get Zelda to help him, just to have another person there, but she's busy getting ready for the morning rush.

Link has moved onto the pastries when he is startled by the man in white jeans. He's leaning against the truck now, and up close, looks stranger than before. Pure white hair, bold makeup, shaven brows. Link almost drops his box, but gathers himself before it's too late.

The man clears his throat. Link ignores him.

On the way back to the truck, he stands in Link's path so he can't avoid him.

"Do you work here?" He gestures to the small building behind them, and Link nods. The man's face turns into a disgusted sneer. "How... quaint."

Flipping his asymmetrical hair, he doesn't get the hint that Link is busy. "How long have you been working here?"

Frowning, Link has to set down the pallet to hold up 5 fingers.

"Days? Years? Weeks?"

He nods at weeks.

"Don't get used to it." Ghirahim scoffs, and at Link's confused look, jingles keys in his face.

Prancing back to the abandoned building, the man ducks into the door with a satisfied wave, pointing at the insignia of a popular coffee corporation on the door.

Damn.

Link makes a mental note not to leave the building alone anymore.

The coffee company opens within a week. He knows the state of the building, and knows there had to have been some OSHA violations to get it up and running so fast. But the coffee company is a megacorp, and they can do whatever they want. Link occasionally sees the white haired man in the window, usually behind the counter, sometimes at a table with a laptop open in front of him and papers strewn about. He doesn't enter.

Once or twice he's seen him pass the mom-and-pop coffee shop Link works in, stopping to glance in the window. He's made eye contact a few times, but nothing more.

It's another week before the door rings to signal a new customer, and the white haired man walks up to the register while Link's on shift.

"Pleasure to meet you again..." He glances at the smeared name tag. "Rin. Strange name."

Link almost laughs. The man makes a show of reading the menu, belittling their minuscule choices compared to the chain next door, critiquing the handwritten down-on-the-farm chalkboard style. Finally, after a long sigh and a comment on how confusing it all is, he asks,

"What would you recommend?"

Were a friend to ask Link, he'd say a hot apple cider with three pumps of pumpkin spice, whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Given that this is not, he points to their drink of the week taped to the register, which just so happens to be their most expensive. In Link's opinion, this week's is atrocious.

The man's lip curls when he reads the cutesy name, but he agrees anyway. Link holds a pen to the cup, clearly asking for a name.

The man raises a blank brow, still leaning on the counter. There's a line now. "Don't talk much, do you?"

Link stares.

"Ghirahim." He sighs, straightening his posture. "G H I R A-him. Spell it right."

He adds a shrug as he leaves. "Or not. I'm not fussy."

Link passes the cup to Zelda and takes the next order.

A flurry of customers go by, but Link is sure to be "busy" washing the blender when his coworker has made Ghirahim's drink. She has it at the bar, pauses, and squints at Link's bad handwriting.

"Drink of the week for... Gary Ham?"

Link watches smugly as Ghirahim snatches the hot coffee, storming out of the shop with a huff.

Link can no longer hide behind a messy nametag when the owner Pumm decides they all need to look more professional. "Link" is printed clearly and legibly in stark black ink against a white background, pinned to the top of his apron where everyone can see.

Ghirahim avoids coming into the coffee shop, but Link sees him outside the window occasionally. He always glares at him when he notices.

He's with a group of people when he visits them next, his nasally whine loudly ringing through the room that they "could just go next door, he gets a discount there." A tall woman with hair as white as his waves his complaints off, saying she likes the taste better here and he doesn't share anyway.

Ghirahim's the last to order. Link almost makes Kina take it this time, but she's already busy with the drinks and Ghirahim's already seen him. He smirks at Link's little glare, and leans against the counter.

"Nice to see you again, sweetheart." He mocks, but his eyes glance down at the nametag. His face freezes when he sees the name is not Rin, and for a moment, Link wonders if he can pull off the evil twin act.

However, the chance that both twins have a brain that doesn't connect to their vocal cords is low, and Ghirahim rolls his eyes.

"So it's Link." He draws out the 'k', and it's kind of nice the way it rolls off his tongue. "You just have the handwriting of a toddler."

Link is pissed. This time, before Ghirahim can order, he grabs a cup without writing a name. Ghirahim squawks a protest over the sound of mid-tier pop music, his friends teasing him in the background. Link throws some sugary syrup into a cup, giving him what appears to be a glass of straight milk when he's done.

Kina's on the third friend's drink, who makes a snide remark about the service if Ghirahim's getting his first. A battle for dominance, Ghirahim walks to the counter to take it from Link's hand.

He doesn't let go.

From behind his back he pulls out the worst flavor they have, cherry syrup that tastes like cough medicine, and pours it over the top of his mocha-less white mocha. Ghirahim glances down at the red collating in the sugary monstrosity, barely holding together his disgust.

On the house Link seems to say with a smile and a tilt of his head.

Ghirahim snarls and takes the cup.

Just Link's luck, the friend group snags a table and stays there for a while. Ghirahim ignores him, but Link pays attention as he mulls over the slow coffee chit-chat, occasionally sparing him a glance to take a long sip when he knows Link's watching. It can't be good, the number of unappealing things Link put in there, but Ghirahim drains the whole glass.

As he leaves, he licks a drop of the cherry syrup from his finger, sending a smirk and a wink in Link's direction.

Against his better judgement, Link is the one to make the next move in their game of chess. He visits the megacorp coffee shop two weeks later, walking through the front door without looking back.

Ghirahim isn't there. Link isn't sure what his plan was now that he's at the register and can't speak, a bitchy barista telling him to hurry up as he frantically scribbles something on a pad. Someone is waiting behind him. He can't find his wallet. He fumbles the pen, plastic falling from his fingers, and is on the verge of panic when it slides under the counter.

"I'll take this one."

Link snaps up from crawling on the floor to see Ghirahim's hand on the shoulder of the other, gesturing with his eyes for Link to leave the line and wait at the counter. A hot flush floods his cheeks, and Link shrinks back.

Link doesn't see what all Ghirahim is making. He watches matcha powder get placed back on the shelf, hears the clink of ice, and then the man disappears behind a swinging door for a second. When he comes back, it's with a self absorbed smirk.

"Here." He slides a bright green drink across the bar, the sides ringed with threads of red syrup. Link's eyes widen. "Much better than what you gave me, I'll say."

Link takes the drink, eyes cast away. With a fluid motion he moves an open palm from his chin to out in front of him, and hurries away.

Thank you.

He doesn't know if Ghirahim understands.

The next time Ghirahim visits, Link is working alone. It's closing, and Pipit is taking the trash out that night. He doesn't expect any customers that late on a Tuesday, not even a stray college student pulling an all-nighter.

He's slacking off behind the counter, watching videos on his phone, when the bell rings. Nearly falling from his chair, he gasps when he sees white hair and tight clothes, a splash of purple makeup on a pale face.

Immediately, he gets to work.

The espresso machine has been cleaned and shut down, but Link fires it up anyway. This time, he takes his time pouring the syrup around the edge of the cup, mixing the white chocolate powder until it's smooth and creamy. He gives him oat milk, though they're supposed to charge extra (and he's not charging him at all), and tops it off with whipped cream.

Link makes a second of eye contact before grabbing a pen. Something possesses him this time. He writes his number on the cup, and the first words he's ever "spoken" to Ghirahim. Leaving the drink on the bar, he scurries behind a curtain to finish his closing duties.

From behind the fabric he peeks out, Link watches as Ghirahim's mouth quirks into a smirk when he reads his messy writing. He pulls out his phone, types something in, and walks out of the coffee shop without a word.

Link's phone buzzes.

"I can give you something other than coffee to keep you up all night. Call me."

You couldn't have thought of a better pick up line?

#ghiralink week 2022 #legend of zelda #cherryskywriting #skyward sword #ghiralink #ghirahim #link

[j0514x]

Changkyun x OT7 [+ strangers] - Gimme a shot to over everything angst + nsfw + dead dove | ongoing | ao3 previous chapter | next chapter | all

┌───────── · · · · Ch.1: I wonder if my reflection laments

CW: incredibly dub-con | described drug use

He can't see his own hands, violent white strobes replaced with the dull flicker of vibrant red. He sees the silhouette, the width of his palm, the protrusions of the knuckles resting amid each finger, the ghost of something vaguely his. The lines on his palm, the small scratches, callouses, the mementos his hands collected as proof of living are gone, drowned in the cardinal flood of light.

He pushes himself from the booth, leather tacky under his touch, pulled taut towards the button patterning the seating. It wouldn't surprise to sit one day on these only to discover them sheen with their own sweat. There's something uncannily intimate about the material. Skin on skin, one inanimate, an object for the other.

Feet stumble. He wonders what he's searching for. A hand slams to wall, stabilizing himself where legs fail. A tattered array of stories, of art, of mistakes, the walls sit covered in graffiti. Fragments of people he'll never know. A hand drifts up to touch a sticker; square, white, inconspicuous all things considered. He can't even tell what design it bears, but doesn't care enough to try. Fingernails scrape against the wall, dislodging small flakes of cracked paint. It's upsettingly dry, the same matte as a chalkboard, Changkyun the chalk that cries out so violently against it. A corner of the sticker folds over, yielding. He runs a nail against it again.

Limbs phantom, waves of numbness crash through him, a heated buzz resting in his lower stomach. Someone grabs him by the jaw, rough, careless. Comradeship with the booth seating, Changkyun's nothing more than an object here. Moans spill from him as lips crash against his. Something sickly coats Changkyun's tongue, rum and coke, he thinks. He imagines he doesn't taste much better. Hungry, the tip of his tongue runs along a row of teeth, enticing. It's gritty, there's the remains of powder coating the stranger's gums.

The hand on his jaw tightens, stranger pulling away with a trail of spit-strings, and Changkyun finds himself being dragged away.

He knows this dance well, reciting the steps in his sleep. He doesn't exist until someone picks him from the shelf. He forgets how many times he's been taken. Part of him wonders if there's anything left.

Part of him already knows there isn't.

They don't bother with stalls for him anymore, cold porcelain of the sink smashing into his hip, there's nothing left to hide. His head is wrenched up, forced to watch himself in the mirror.

He hasn't been to an art gallery in a long time. Hyungwon took him once, maybe it was the last time, maybe it wasn't. It's the only time he remembers. It was cold, hard pine floors and hostile white walls; every painting quarantined from the next, a foot of limbo between worlds. Hyungwon wore one of his overcoats, near-ankle length and the same shade of black as his hair. Changkyun envies the people who look upon blank canvases, stretching a wingspan, only to find possibility and not fear.

He watches himself on the canvas before him, light catching on the edges of the glass, bleeding. It's so distant, he thinks. A film playing on loop.

"What do-" Changkyun starts, the stranger yanking his trousers to the floor, "what do I get in return?" He doesn't recognise the voice that comes from his lips.

"This." He feels something warm, wet, tap thrice against his ass; he begins fighting the grasp that holds him.

"Come on, not like you need incentive." The figure behind him sighs. "Fine, whatever. Fucking-"

Rustling, the stranger searches the pockets of the jeans resting around his ankles. Small plastic pouches crumple between his fingers; Changkyun feels his cock twitch.

"It's fucking- it's powdered, not liquid. Take it or leave it." The figure leans over the the sink, over Changkyun, making show of crushing his hips against the sink. A rough line of powder is tapped out, barely visible under the light.

Changkyun's hands tremble, sniffing hard before reaching to press a nostril closed. Leaning down, a pause, he steels himself. The flood of red fades as he lets his eyes slip close, inhaling the powder sharply. He winces, throwing his head back, sniffing violently. A hard swallow, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, gently rubbing. Gritty, just like the remnants on the stranger's gums.

"Done?" The voice behind him asks, rhetorical.

Changkyun goes to nod, but finds himself cut off, wincing once more as he's stretched brutally around the stranger's girth. Stepping foot to foot, he readjusts his hips, but is granted no time to accommodate; the stranger pounding Changkyun relentlessly, folding him over the damp sink. Muffled melodies blur into the background, bathroom full instead of humiliatingly obscene sounds of skin hitting skin. It's a mercy, Changkyun finds, that he rarely needs prep. There is use in being left gaping and full of cum from the person before.

And the person before that.

Hands grip the edge of the sink, teeth gritted; knees weaken as white hot pressure builds, threatening to drop him to the floor. A beat of sweat trickles from his brow. The stranger reaches his slender hands to find Changkyun's throat, curling around, squeezing tight. Changkyun's legs shake, muscles twitching uncontrollable as moans cascade from his liquor-slick lips. His head feels heavy, lolling gently from side to side, the room slowly disappearing into a blurred haze. A swallow, and he chokes, throat caught by the stranger's grip. In some other room, some other life, he hears the ricochet of his voice, keens of 'shibal' . It's euphoric, indulging in the weight of his limbs, feeling his body lose strength. A string of spit falls from his lips, body twitching. A cry as his cock jumps, pumping rivulets of cum that splatter against the floor, against his shoes. Eyes drifting shut, his vision allowed to desert him.

-

Veins sear cold with panic as he gasps himself awake, throat dry and spit thick, he chokes. It takes a moment to stop, sharp inhales and wide eyes swapped for the soft heaving of his chest. Changkyun pulls his sweat-soaked skin from the leather of his sofa with painful sting, legs swinging round till they find the stability of ground. Head in hands, he holds himself, lungs filled with shaky deep breaths.

He should get a new rug. This one has been through too much. Gaze tracing the matted tufts of fur, the "unknown" stains. He stretches his toes; it still feels good against his skin, soft despite everything. A fond scoff escapes as he recalls a flickering memory of Jooheon, film reel crackling. It was maybe 3AM, no more than 4AM. He doesn't remember what they were doing, what they were supposed to be working on. All he remembers is the soft glow as Jooheon laughed, drunkenly swaying at every joke Changkyun told; Johnny Walker, just for Honey. The only time his rug ever felt coarse, felt harsh to the touch, was after his fingertips had drowned in the soft skin of Jooheon's jaw.

He looks away from the floor, reaching for his phone, yanking it from the charger.

10:17AM 8 missed calls Kihyun: 12 messages Instagram: You might know these accounts... monstas: 54 messages

A sigh, eyes scanning through the notifications, weighing options, before landing upon one to open.

>Kihyun [00:12}: Kyun >Kihyun [00:12]: Where the fuck are you >Kihyun [00:15]: It's been four days >Kihyun [00:16]: Again >Kihyun [00:37]: Fucks sake >Kihyun [02:41]: You selfish bastard >Kihyun [02:42]: Just come home >Kihyun [02:42]: Please >Kihyun [05:14]: I don't understand >Kihyun [05:15]: Why won't you come home? >Kihyun [05:15]: We love you. >Kihyun [08:39]: If the next time I see you if to identify your body, I'll never forgive you Changkyun.

Thumbs hover over the letters on screen, twitching towards sentence starts only to abandon them just as fast. His shoulders ache.

>Me [10:23]: im fine

The message begins its journey, bouncing through small animations, small illusions of physic it never gets to complete before Changkyun's screen lights up with a call. He hesitates over the red circle.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

"Studio... just woke up." His voice comes out hoarse, unintentional emphasis to his point.

"I'm coming to get you." He hears the clash of keys, a door slamming. Stairs.

"No. Go- go get yourself a coffee. Or something, I don't know..." Changkyun trails off, hand through his crusted hair.

"What? No. I'm on my way, don't fucking hang up."

"Shit, I need to shower, Ki - my hair's knotted to shit. I'm gonna hang up-" A car door slams shut.

"No." Kihyun snaps. "You take the damn phone in the shower with you if it's that fucking important."

"Fucking hell... What happened to you, Ki?" There's a beat of silence, violent in its desolation. Changkyun's frame crumples, concrete wall of regret crashing from the skies.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO M-"

"Yeah... yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry. I-" I know what happened to you. I did. The sentence dies in his throat.

The click of an indicator echoes through the phone.

"Hey, uh. I'm... I'm gonna shower. I'll keep y- I'll keep the phone with me."

"Good."

A knot pulls, ribs caving around the cavern of Changkyun's chest hearing Kihyun's tone so utterly fed up. He feels nauseous.

#changkyun #kihyun #monsta x #monsta x fic #monsta x imagine #monsta x scenario #changkyun smut #changkyun imagine #monsta x smut #GASTOE.jx

[mfmilligan]

In the Midst #4

     I decided to explore the Familiar Schools today. School #1 was the only one I’d had prior experience with, since it was one of the first places I partially searched when I arrived. I’d been running myself ragged calling out for anyone and banging on doors. It was when I stepped into the hall lined with empty, pastel orange lockers that I realized this world was truly abandoned. Perhaps that’s why my heart beat a little faster going in there. For the hundredth time, I’m glad I have music to make this all easier.

     I didn’t find anything useful in that space. There weren’t any textbooks or supplementary materials. Just chalk and chalkboards. I contemplated leaving a message, but…who is here to read it? So I just drew a smiley face and a frowney face and moved on.

     School #1 must have been a high school because School #2 was a little smaller and more colorful. Although the colors were weird there. The walls were painted yellow, pink, lime green, and purple at alternating points. Squares of all different colors were painted haphazardly on the floors. And instead of the walls running straight up and down, they curved. I don’t know whether the curves made corners more or less creepy. Regardless, the whole place looked and felt off in a forced-cheery way. Did middle schoolers enjoy coming here? I wondered. Were they creeped out by this place? Or have I just become so afraid of empty spaces that this school is creepy to me? Maybe I’ve gotten old enough that color and whimsy have lost their charm. Not that I’m that old, but…

     Finding nothing useful, I left another doodle on the chalkboards before moving on to the third and final school. This last one was definitely a preschool. And what makes it weird is it looks almost exactly like where I went to kindergarten in the late 90s. The white and sickly green floors, the long hallways, the classrooms full of finger paints, crafts, toys, and other stuff. Even the tank in the corner where my school kept a turtle (although there’s nothing in this one).

     It’s so alike that it scares me.

     In that place, I could clearly remember what memories I made at that time. I was in for only two days, but it felt more like two weeks. Probably because I didn’t like it. Why would I? I was alone, I didn’t know anyone, and unlike at the playground everything was controlled. I wanted to make friends, but the need to obey the teacher got in the way of that. Or maybe I just let it get in the way. At recess, I’d grow shy and just read books in the classroom. Worst of all was when I had to find the restrooms. The halls were big and every room around me looked alike. I must have gone in a circle three times before some bewildered teacher found me on the brink of tears and pointed me in the right direction.

     Interestingly, this preschool is the only place in this world so far that has books. Kneeling down at the cubby where picture books were kept, I hoped I’d find anything legible to read. But no…when I opened one of them up, the words were blurred, as if someone had cried too much on the pages. And they were far too jumbled to understand. Though it wasn’t just the words that were strange. The illustrations were plain weird. Eyes, toadstool mushrooms, rainbows, and sparkles were everywhere. People had TVs and teapots (among other things) for heads. It wasn’t just one book either. I flipped through everything there was and they were all like that.

     What kind of world is this where you can’t read anything and people don’t look like people?

     Although…god, I didn’t want to talk about this, because again I have no idea if what I saw was real or not. But seeing all the eyes in the illustrations made me think of the shadow that grew in White Collar Avenue.

     It, too, was full of eyes.

     Seeing similar things in a kid’s book isn’t proof of anything. At least, I won’t see it as proof until I witness something in a more conscious, trustworthy state.

     Anyway – I should get food and find somewhere to sleep. Maybe tomorrow…I definitely won’t go inside. But it might be good to check up on the Pink Mall. See if the flooding got worse or eventually stopped.

     Decided to make things easy for myself tonight and stay at the Sweet Tomato. It might not be cozy, but it’s the only place I kinda trust.

     Also feeling a bit melancholy. As strange as this world is, there’s too much that’s familiar in all the wrong ways. Wrong because everything familiar is like times, places, people, or things that I’ve left behind. Or things that have left me behind or changed beyond recognition (in the real world, I mean). Things I was mourning before I came here.

     Perhaps it’s best to stop remembering. I mean, it’s bad enough that this world has me scared and unsure. Why give it more power by letting these things get to me?

     I’ll hang onto the music because I need it to stay sane. But anything else that reminds of the past, I won’t think about it. I won’t write about it. From now on, I treat everything like it’s new. No sentimentality, no nostalgia, no memories, nothing.

     This is the present, not the past.

     This is the present, not the past.

     This is the present, not the past.

     I don’t know what to do.

     A few minutes ago, I woke up because instead of music, there was static playing through the Walkman’s earphone – probably because I knocked it over in my sleep. I was about to switch stations when I heard something in the static.

     Clicks. Short ones and long ones. Morse code.

     I can’t believe I’m saying this – but there must be someone else in this world. If every form of communication here is muddled beyond recognition, why would there be Morse code? Why would something dare to make sense now?

     There are just two problems. I don’t remember Morse code. The last time I knew it well was when I was eleven. And around 3:30 AM, the clicking stopped, so even if I could decode anything, I can’t access the message. I’m going to keep tuning in just in case it comes back.

     There’s also one other major problem. It’s almost 9 AM…and the sun hasn’t come up. Yeah – I can’t explain it, I can’t do anything about it, and I don’t like it one bit.

     Should I stay put? Go outside and keep exploring? I don’t have a flashlight, but the streetlamps are on. So are all the lights in the stores. I mean, as long as I don’t go toward Daisy Hill or out where the Gas Station is, I should be fine, right?

     All I can think about right now is the eye-filled shadow on White Collar Avenue. Every time I look out into the expansive darkness, I keep wondering if those eyes are out there, searching for me. I keep hoping what I saw wasn’t real.

     I need to explore…but I promised myself I wouldn’t make anymore dumb decisions. Think I’ll just stick it out here until the sun comes up. Or until I’m too sick of wondering what could be happening outside. If anything’s happening outside.

#liminal spaces #liminal #creative writing #short story #writing #writeblr #writer #original story

[tinybriewrites]

Like A Drama - 7

Arriving in front of Wayne Manor, Marinette hurriedly let go of the vigilante, her cheeks the same color as his suit. Lewis grinned widely at the two idiots pointedly avoiding looking at the other.

Just as the pair were about to say something, the front door opened to reveal a tall, elderly butler.

"Miss Marinette, Master Lewis, welcome back," he greeted, interrupting the ongoing awkward standoff.

"See you two around," Red Robin said quickly before zooming out of view on his bike.

The twins spent the rest of the time until dinner in Lewis' room, surrounded by the ham-bots. Carl was in the kitchen helping Alfred cook the meal.

Dinner that night was a more awkward affair than usual. The rest of the Waynes kept shooting each other looks when they thought the twins weren't looking. Their father kept staring at them and opening his mouth as if wanting to say something before cutting himself off.

Finally, before dessert was served, Bruce said with his ever-beaming smile, "So how was your day, Marinette? Lewis?"

"It was fine. We had milkshakes at a diner," Lewis said tersely.

"We're just worried," Dick tried to explain for his emotionally-stunted father. "We heard you were caught up in a robbery."

"Yeah, squirts, and we had to hear about it from someone else, too," Jason butt in.

"It was nothing. We were fine, and we told Alfred afterward."

"Indeed, they did," Alfred suddenly appeared at the doorway. "And, might I suggest, Master Bruce, that you move on to your better news, hm?"

"Right, of course, Alfred, here," their father handed over a black card to each of the twins. "All of the children have one, and these ones are yours. The password is your birthday, but feel free to change that."

"...A bank card?" Lewis asked. Marinette could see whatever faith her twin still had in their birth father rapidly fading.

"Yes," their father once again gave them that goddamn press-ready smile. "And, there's something else, but that will have to wait for after dinner."

For the rest of the meal, both twins were silent among the chatter of their siblings. Marinette grabbed her brother's hand and gave him a shaky smile in support. None of the world's greatest detectives missed this gesture, but no one moved to comment on it.

Afterward, Bruce together with Dick and Tim led the twins to the building behind the manor.

"This is the annex," Tim introduced. "There's a gym and a lounge here on the ground floor, but from the second floor up are each of our private hobby rooms."

"It took a while to get some of the items from abroad, but I can assure you, all of these are state of the art, especially yours, Lewis," Bruce smiled at them, but Lewis didn't react to his practiced grin. Marinette gave a very hollow-sounding laugh in response.

"Thank you," she gave their father the same grin back.

On the fourth floor, Dick opened the doors to two opposite rooms. On the left was a room in soft pinks and whites with several mannequins and a wide table inside. A door on the side was left ajar, showing bolts and bolts of fabrics. In the right room, various power tools were hung on the wall. Another wall was coated completely in chalkboard paint, waiting for the teen's next big idea. The connecting room revealed empty shelves ready to be filled by its future occupant.

Both rooms had a small bed in a corner next to a kitchenette with a brand new coffee machine. "The coffee was my idea," Tim smiled at the two, though his eyes kept straying to the ravenette. "You both looked like the type to live off of the stuff."

"Thank you," the twins told the young man, but this time, it was completely genuine. They could feel the co-CEO's sincere welcome for them.

Tim moved his hand to the back of his neck, but as he did that, he brushed the back of Marinette's arm, and she froze. Tim turned red and looked anywhere but at the ravenette, but Marinette stood stock still, eyes wide.

It was the first time Tim had physically touched her, but that wasn't what had the teen shocked. It was the familiarity of his life signature; it was lively and strong and had the same aura as coffee beans.

Oh.

It was something she was in contact with just a few hours earlier.

Tim Drake was Red Robin.

Lewis noticed his sister's odd reaction and pulled the attention away from her.

"I think we'll stay here for now. Thank you, we really appreciate the gifts." Immediately, he pulled Marinette into his room and slammed the door shut in the trio's face before they could reply, locking it.

"What's wrong?"

Paranoid, Marinette dragged her twin over to the inner room before whispering in as low a voice as she could manage, "Tim is Red Robin."

"What-"

"Holy crap, Lu, but wait, if Tim is Red Robin then that means he's close with the other vigilantes, but we haven't seen him with any friends from Gotham, so, that would mean that our dad is Batman, maybe! Wait, is that what everyone has been keeping from us?" Marinette said in an anxiety-fueled rapid fire.

Lewis squeezed Marinette's face, interrupting her tirade, "Mar, breathe. Now, how did you find out about Tim?"

"His life signature. It's the exact same as Red Robin."

"When he brushed against you?" Lewis said in a fact-like tone. "Well... that changes things."

"Yeah..." Marinette trailed off. That would explain why their siblings would shift the conversation whenever they enter a room. It might also explain why their father always put up a facade in front of them.

In the middle of the silence, Plagg phased out of Marinette's bag, "Why don't you get them back?"

"Ooh, yes! A prank!" Duusu popped out of Lewis' bird's nest of a hairstyle.

"No!" Tikki yelled at the two kwamis.

"Come on, sugar cube," the cat kwami spun around Marinette's head where Nooroo also popped out from. "It'll be fun. And, don't you think Nooroo and Duusu deserve some laughs after the last few years?"

The two kwamis both looked at the creation goddess pleadingly.

"Fine." After a few beats, Tikki gave in, much to the pleasure of the other three kwamis in the room. "But no going too far!"

"Please, sugar cube," Plagg drawled. "Going too far is my thing. The kids'll be fine."

Prev  |  Next

@maribat-bdbwm​

#tinybriewrites #maribat #timari #timinette #fluff #crack #bio!dad bruce wayne #bdbwm #mlb x dc #mlb x batman #ml x dc #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb #dc x ml

[anopennotebook]

Observations/Theories on the Generation Loss teaser released May 1, 2022.

I originally posted this on Reddit but figured I’d add it here!

This is a very long rambling of everything I’ve observed in the Generation Loss teaser that was released today. I hope you enjoy and feel free to add anything you think I may have missed! Here we go!

Phrases in the video:

Don’t talk

Don’t hide

Don’t escape

Don’t conform

Don’t hesitate

Learn the history

Find the Founder (Kill the Founder)

Everything has a purpose

Just not the purpose you think

Images:

A red symbol reminiscent of a 4 with a tail shows up repeatedly throughout the video. Possibly a symbol of an organization.

The first image is of a person has the initials T.Z. (Or possibly J.Z. Since T.Z. was the first observation, I will be sticking with those initials for now) Said image is of a male figure in a suit. (Hence I will use he/him pronouns to discuss T.Z. for now) Instead of a box over his face, there is a hand covering his mouth. The hand has the familiar red symbol painted on the back of it. Possibly signifying that the organization linked to this symbol is keeping T.Z. silent about something. This also ties back to the phrase “don’t talk.” The entirety of the image is in black and white, except for the hand with the symbol which is covering T.Z.’s mouth.

The second image is that of what appears to be a classroom or a workspace. There are several papers posted on the wall, mostly unidentifiable except for the clear red symbol drawn over a poster. There are four-to-seven people in the room, all with black boxes obscuring their faces concealing their identities, save one with a red box instead. This suggests that the person with red may be the person of focus or most importance. (Note: I claim “four-to-seven” because due to the quality of the photo, it is difficult to determine whether or not the extra three black boxes are indeed blacked out figures or merely shadows)

It should be noted that in the Desk photo released in January, there was a messy sketch of a figure with a black box where the head should be. Perhaps these two observations are linked in some way?

Again, this photo is entirely in black and white, except for the red of the symbol and the red box.

The third image is of a faded portrait photo, again with a red box concealing the face of the subject. Drawn on the bottom of the photo is the red symbol yet again.

The fourth photo is most certainly that of a classroom. The supposed professor of the class, who is seen drawing on the chalkboard, has the same red box blocking out his head. The symbol is drawn in the center of the chalkboard, yet is not in color in this photo. Other than what has already been stated, the entirety of the photo is in black and white.

The final photo is of a male figure’s portrait. This time instead of a red box over the entirety of his head, there are two red bars covering his eyes and mouth. The rest of what can be seen of his face seems to be altered so that there are no features other than smooth blank space. Rather than a clear red symbol, there are red scrawls near the bottom left and top right of his head. This may be the symbol again, or possibly something else, like a person’s signature. Other than what has already been stated, the entirety of the photo is in black and white.

Discussion:

The red bars over the mouth may again signify the phrase “don’t talk.” However the concealment of the identities of those in the photos contradicts the phrase “don’t hide.”

Since T.Z. is currently the only person we have an “identity” for, we are given a few options:

1. T.Z. is the subject in each photo who’s face is obscured by red.

2. T.Z. the founder of the organization.

3. T.Z. wanted to speak out against the organization, what it was doing, or something else, yet the organization was keeping him quiet.

4. All of the above.

The classroom(s) may suggest the idea of indoctrination. Possibly research.

More than one person was involved in whatever this may be. One person (red box and/or T.Z.) is an outlier to the rest. This may signify the founder or a person who’s ideas differentiate from the organizations (don’t conform)

All the photos being black and white suggests age, meaning the supposed organization was founded many years ago. Or at least the people originally involved were alive many years ago.

Due to the nature of the photos, I am lead to believe that the MC and T.Z. are two different people. So we have at least two confirmed important characters.

We do not know whether or not the text in the video comes from the organization, or an outside source. Hence we are offered two options:

1. The text is the organization’s mantra. You are not allowed to talk about the organization’s goals. You should not hide your secrets from the organization. You should not attempt to leave the organization. The organization does not intend to conform to society’s expectations. You should not doubt the organization.

2. The text is instructions from an outside source. You should not tell anyone what you know. You cannot act suspicious (hiding may draw attention, attempting to escape, possibly from the law, may draw attention) Do not conform to the organization’s ideals. Don’t doubt yourself.

The idea that the instructions may come from an outside source is supported by the orders “Learn the history, find the Founder.” If one is already involved in the organization, they would already know this information.

“Kill the Founder” can again come from two options. The outside source may have instructed to find the Founder with the underpaying intent to kill the founder. Or, the organization is the one who desires to kill the Founder, perhaps to cover up their tracks.

We do not know anything other than the existence of an organization, and even that is only supported by the image of multiple people being involved in Something, and the term “Founder,” which suggests the creation of some sort of group. This makes theorization extremely difficult, since we cannot determine what the organization’s goal is, if it is a threat or not, or it’s relationship to the main character.

It should be noted that “everything has a purpose,” so everything that had been observed IS significant. However it may be difficult to determine how it all ties together, since it’s “not the purpose you think.”

So, after all of this, what DO we know?

We know there are VHS tapes. These tapes contain something important.

We know there are black and white photos of people, possibly an organization. We know there is someone with the initials T.Z. (Or J.Z.) who is an important figure to the plot. We know there is a main character who discovers these VHS tapes later.

The title of this era of Generation Loss is The Lostfield Incident, so we have a location in which all this will be focused: Lostfield.

This concludes my current observations/theories I have on the Generation Loss teaser. If you’ve made it this far, I commend you. Thank you for reading! And again, feel free to contribute your own ideas as well, I would love to hear them.

#Ranboo #Generation Loss #The Lostfield Incident #fan theory #i probably missed some #but that’s okay #there’s already a lot to unpack here #LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

[thepropertylovers]

The Kitchen at Getaway House is Finished!!!

Here it is!!

I am so excited to be writing this: Getaway House’s kitchen is finally finished! This little cottage has been a labor of love over the last year and we both agreed that this kitchen is probably our favorite one we’ve ever done. The first time we walked in we immediately knew what the layout was supposed to be.

The previous layout made no sense to us, especially the washer and dryer being in the kitchen. I will say, it is a small house, so there wasn’t really a place for them to go before we renovated it, but they weren’t centered under the two windows so it just looked awkward and even more out of place.

Before

After

The best part about this whole renovation is that almost all of materials used were second-hand, bought at discount, or things we already had.

Take the cabinets for example: PJ found them on Facebook Marketplace for an absolute steal. He got something like 25 cabinets for a little over $2k about two years ago and they’ve just been sitting in our storage building waiting to be used. We used about half of them in here and made them fit like a glove by designing a new, L shaped layout.

We relocated the washer and dryer and made them a stackable at the end of the hallway which opened up room under the two windows directly across from the entrance to the kitchen. We knew that was the perfect place to put a stove, and suddenly the flow and layout just presented itself and we didn’t stray much from our original plan.

The upper cabinets are original, just painted the same color as the walls (White Dove by Benjamin Moore) and with the doors removed. We thought about taking them down all together and just doing new open shelving, but something about the way they looked with the doors off and painted felt both traditional and fresh at the same time. They still feel open and airy but have a little nod to what was original to the house.

PJ had the crew add paneling to the back of the cabinets for a little something extra.

Other than that, we kept the window trim the original stained color and opted not to replace the windows in the kitchen, or any in the entire house, because they’re in such good condition. We both love the way the dark wood on the windows pops against the 4x4 tile on the wall, and how it contrasts with the green cabinets. It just all feels very earthy, calming, and comfortable.

Before

After

The countertops are quartzite. We wanted a honed counter, but loved the goldish-brown veining of this slab and thought it would tie in to the wood tones in the kitchen that we decided on this shinier one instead. The contrast of the white counters with the green cabinets is my favorite. It all feels very light and casual, like a kitchen you could actually cook in and not tiptoe around.

The 4x4 subway tile came from an old palette from Home Depot about seven years ago. They were selling all of these palettes for $10 a piece of items they couldn’t sell on the floor, and whatever was on the palette was what you got (they were wrapped up so you couldn’t really see what you were getting). PJ bought a few of the palettes and in one of them was all of this tile that we have used in almost every house we’ve renovated lately. It’s lasted for years, but this might be the last house we’ll be able to use it on. We’re almost out of them!

PJ had the idea of bringing the tile from the floor all the way to the ceiling, something we wanted to do to our kitchen in town when we renovated it five years ago, but we just never got around to it. So, good thing for this house so that we can live our entire wall-of-tile-dreams. I love how all the tile feels so industrial and clean.

We brought in art from our house in town that we thought would fit the space well. The art above the lamp used to live in our kitchen at home on the chalkboard wall, and I love how the light wood frame popped against the black paint, but I love how it looks even more in here against the tile.

It’s like it was meant to be here the entire time.

The green oar on the right wall used to be in the farmhouse PJ grew up in.

The island was another FB Marketplace find over a year ago, originally meant for Holiday House before that renovation became so extensive. It was a display table at Anthropologie but we thought it made the perfect island. Every time people see it they immediately compliment it, and I can see why. It’s extremely durable and can easily take a beating, so we’re not worried about people who stay here potentially ruining it.

So there you have it! We technically need to style all three bedrooms, but other than that, Getaway House is finished and ready for its first guests. We can’t wait to welcome whoever books it, and hope they find it as magical and peaceful as we do.

[scenicphoenix]

At the office I see my counselor they always have house redecorating and rebuilding shows on in the waiting room. They will take some of the best looking flooring and wallpaper and replace it with boring minimalism (only white and black and maybe shades of gray if they are feeling risky) and what middle-class and rich people see as country (wood, sometimes plain two by four ass wood not painted or varnished or anything)

I literally saw them making a kids play room not for the kids in mind but what they the adults wanted. Boring minimalism for a kids room? Get that paint that turns any flat surface into a chalkboard and give those kids a room they can draw on. Ask what the kids favorite colors are and make that room for the kids! I vaguely remember my aunt having a full wall chalkboard in her kids playroom and damn if i had full reign of my apartment I would make my room a chalkboard