Rises From My Deathbed Cutely

rises from my deathbed cutely

SoumaPs I think I can post smth today

Goodnight, Sleep Tight

A/N: I know there’s more demand for smut in general; but I am feeling soft. Also not me not really liking or disliking Rin, but choosing him to write for just because I wanted a third to ineffectively deny my bias for Nagi and Karasu.

Warnings: All my fics have characters aged up to at least mid-20s.

——-——-——-——-

Finding you on the couch sleeping as you wait up for them.

Nagi Seishiro

Nagi huffs a relieved sigh when he enters your shared apartment. Quietly locking the door and changing into his slippers, yawning widely as he grumbles about the late night training sessions. He doesn’t even bother unpacking his bag, just dropping it on the table – it can wait for tomorrow. It’s only when he bumps into the sofa that he notices your sleeping form curled under a blanket.

“Ah, angel,” he pauses, partly contemplating on leaving you there (the audacity) but he adores you too much. Also, it’s now harder (near impossible) for him to sleep without you beside him anyways. So he carries you to the bedroom, easily lifting you up and careful not to jostle you. As you slumber on the mattress, he quickly grabs a change of clothes and brushes his teeth. (“Hygiene is such a hassle.”)

You only stir awake when he settles in beside you, arm around your body as he pulls you over his chest. Nagi softly shushes you, “‘S okay, angel, am home. Go to sleep.” Mimicking his yawn, you mumble incoherently, burying your face in his chest as you go back to sleep.

Karasu Tabito

Karasu frowns when he enters the apartment, wondering why the lights were still on in the living room. His frown turns into a soft smirk, letting out a fond chuckle when he sees you dozing away on the couch, blanket lying on the floor.

He flicks a strand of hair away from your peaceful face, gazing and admiring you for a moment. “Shouldn’t have stayed up fer me, princess.” With a sigh, he throws his bag over his shoulder, picks up the blanket, and lifts you up all in one go. He couldn’t help but yawn as he brings the both of you to the bedroom, half rationalizing to just skip a change of clothing; but he knew he’d regret not getting fresh clothes.

When he’s done with his nightly routine, he drags his sore and exhausted body next to you, accidentally bumping into you. You sleepily squint at him, throwing an arm around his torso, incoherently whining as you try to drag him closer to you. Karasu snorts, “Oops, s’rry. Yeah, yeah, ‘m here. Go back t’ sleep, princess.” He tightens his arm around you as he follows you into slumber.

Itoshi Rin

Rin betrays how exhausted he feels when he bumps into a corner as he enters the living room. Muttering some curses as he puts away his things, he also won’t admit how he got startled when he hears a thump from the sofa. Squinting in the dark, he recognizes you sleeping away on said couch, your arm having knocked over your phone to the ground.

He approaches you slowly, “Dumbass, why are you sleeping here?” Yet his tone is soft, barely above a whisper, a rare fondness seeping into his eyes. He leaves you there for a bit, going to wash his face and brush his teeth; before returning for you.

With a sigh, he takes great care in carrying you to bed, making sure not to wake you. When he lies beside you, he hesitates. You stir awake and stare sleepily at him, and he freezes guiltily with an arm in the air, unsure how to hold you. Rin grunts when you suddenly throw your weight on him, shuffling into a comfortable position as you go back to sleep. His arm finally rests around you, “Goodnight, dumbass.”

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hugs4shizu

2 years ago

i think too many people forget that gojo is actually insane

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hugs4shizu

2 years ago

“you’ve got an eyelash right… here”

sae visibly stiffens the moment your hand made contact with his face. he felt his insides turn into mush when your delicate fingers gingerly pluck off the stray eyelash on his cheeks.

“make a wish, sae-kun” you chirp, showing off the little stray eyelash on your fingertips.

almost as if it was reflex, sae rolls his eyes

“that’s just childish”

you could only pout at his cold and blunt response but you were used to it at this point

sae couldn’t pinpoint why he felt the feeling of regret the moment he saw you pout for a second.

“i’ll make a wish for you then” you shrug, placing said eyelash on the back of your hand, ultimately getting ready to blow and make a wish

“hold it” sae grabs your hand and blows it instead

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET TO MAKE A WISH!” you react, pouting once again since you already made a wish in behalf of sae— for him to achieve all his dreams

“i did” was all he says back, jabbing a finger at your forehead. sae walks away, probably going back to training but you don’t miss the faint smile he had on his face

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hugs4shizu

2 years ago

reblog if you wear glasses. too many mutuals don't know they have glasses wearers in their midsts

Hearbreak Anniversary with Zayne

Summary: It was your anniversary with Zayne. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Zayne Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. Especially Zayne. So I had to adapt the request a bit. Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, Zayne POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version

Zayne’s apartment smelled like him—clean, crisp, and faintly of the eucalyptus-scented candles he kept on the shelves. You sat on the edge of his couch, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your thighs, nerves making your fingers tremble slightly. The dim light of the chandelier cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the carefully planned surprise you had for him —flowers, his favorite treats, elegant scarves, and jackets you had spent weeks picking out. The final touch was the flexible weekend getaway tickets, somewhere warm and far from the sterility of hospital walls. A place where he could finally rest.

You had gone all out for tonight. The garden-themed restaurant was supposed to be the perfect setting—a quiet, intimate place where vines curled around twinkling fairy lights, and the soft scent of fresh blooms would fill the air. And you had dressed accordingly with something elegant, something that made you feel beautiful for him. The deep navy-blue dress you wore clung to your form just right, the intricate lace details at the sleeves soft against your skin. You had taken your time getting ready, styling your hair to perfection, slipping on a pair of delicate earrings he once admired absentmindedly. A spritz of white jasmine perfume, the one he once said reminded him of spring mornings. You wanted to look like someone worthy of being by his side. You wanted to be beautiful for him, for the man who had somehow, impossibly, fallen for you.

Because, truth be told, there were times you weren’t sure you were.

you still didn’t understand how this happened—how Zayne, the prodigy, the man who could save lives with his hands and mind, had chosen you. He was brilliant, disciplined, and deeply compassionate. And you? You were just… you. Ordinary in comparison. He never made you feel small, never belittled you, but standing beside him you felt you were just lucky to be there. His world was one of brilliance, filled with extraordinary people—Lina, the fearless Deepspace Hunter; his late friend Caleb, a DAA pilot whose loss still lingered in hushed conversations; his esteemed mentors and fellow doctors who spoke in a language you could only ever grasp at the edges. Compared to them, compared to him, you felt so small.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, was supposed to be about the two of you.

You had fallen for him in the quietest of ways—through the gentle cadence of his voice, through the moments he noticed things others didn’t. How he’d pull a chair out for you before you could do it yourself, how he’d check the temperature of your tea so you wouldn’t burn your tongue, how he’d listen, really listen, to your ramblings even after a 48-hour shift. He had nestled himself into your heart without you even realizing it.

And tonight, he had insisted he wanted to be with you, even with the chaos of the hospital weighing on his shoulders.

The call came two hours before your reservation. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you saw his name flash on your screen.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Zayne’s voice was warm, familiar, but there was an edge of exhaustion to it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Your heart sank, but you swallowed it down, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s okay, Zayne. I know you’re busy.”

“It's been a long shift, and the surgeries…”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cancel the reservation. Take some breaks and rest, okay? You sound tired…”

“I am fine, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I swear.”

"It’s fine, Zayne." you whispered, even if it wasn’t. “We’ll just celebrate it another day. No big deal.” Even though it felt like one at the moment.

Still, you weren’t upset. Not really. You understood. You always understood.

You hung up and exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your lap. It wasn’t his fault. He was working back-to-back shifts, saving lives, doing what he was meant to do. And yet, you couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from settling in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, stripping away the dress you had so eagerly put on just hours ago. You slip into into one of Zayne’s oversized sweaters instead, the one that still smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing your hands. You wear leggings underneath and slip on your shoes. You took your time packing the gifts back into the car, moving slowly, as if dragging out the moment would make it hurt less. Maybe when he was finally done, you could pick him up from the hospital. At least you’d get to see him and surprise him. This was what occupied your time for the next three to four hours.

Once everything was back in the car, you plopped yourself on his plush but ergonomic couch. You scrolled through your phone while waiting, mindlessly tapping through social media, until one post stopped you cold.

Lina’s story.

A picture of her sitting across from Zayne in a small restaurant outside Akso hospital, the caption lighthearted:

When you have to drag out your doctor because he won’t follow his own advice about resting. (-_-)

Zayne looked amused in the photo, tired but still composed, his lips slightly curved in a small, rare smile. He looked… content. His gaze focused on her as if she had just said something ridiculous.

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to feel like this. Lina was his childhood best friend. She had never given you a reason to be insecure, and yet, the sting of it hit you like a slow, creeping ache. He had time to go out for a meal with her. He had time to smile like that, even after canceling on you. You knew you were being irrational, that he had only stepped out for a quick bite in his busy shift, yet you felt betrayed.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, silent at first, then turning into quiet, shuddering sobs. You felt pathetic. Childish. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You knew he wasn’t. But it hurt anyway. Because you would have taken anything—just a few moments, even just a simple meal at that tiny restaurant, if it meant spending time with him today.

It hurt in a way that made your chest feel tight, made the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The sting of it crept under your skin like a wound you hadn’t realized was open, raw and aching. The disappointment bled into something uglier, something heavier. Why, after everything, did it feel like you were always on the sidelines of his life? No, Zayne never made you feel that way. It was your own spiraling thoughts.

A loud sob choked its way out, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweater as if that would somehow ground you. You wanted to hate yourself for crying over something so petty. He was saving lives. He was exhausted. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it hurt.

You needed to go home. You needed to collect yourself before the ugly thoughts swallowed you whole. You stood up, tears streaming down your face, as the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. You didn’t want to sit here anymore. You didn’t want to wait. You needed to go home, to clear your head, to get away from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

You sniffled, grabbing your keys and heading out. The highway would be the fastest route home—less traffic, a straight shot. You rerouted, pressing your foot on the accelerator, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You wiped at your tears quickly, trying to focus on the road.

The road stretched out before you, a wide expanse of concrete and asphalt that felt like it would swallow you whole. The tears wouldn’t stop, and you wiped them away, trying to steady your hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you understood, that you were rational about his work. The reality of it, the empty seat next to you, the disappointment of seeing Zayne happy in a photo with someone else, it all felt too much.

And then—

Headlights. Too close. Too fast.

A car jumped the signal, trying to merge into the highway.

You slammed the breaks, the scream of tires against pavement rang in your ears.

The impact was instant. A violent, sickening jolt that sent your body forward, the seatbelt snapping against your chest, the airbag exploding in front of you. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spiderweb of broken glass. Your vision blurred, the world spinning.

Pain.

Your chest burned, lungs straining to catch a breath. Your limbs felt heavy. You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers fumbling, but it was jammed.

Fuck.

Your head lulled forward, resting against the deflated airbag. Your head was heavy, your thoughts slipping away like sand through your fingers. The distant wail of sirens reached your ears, but they felt so far away.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening.

I hope the other person is alright.

The thought barely had time to settle before everything faded into black.

ZAYNE'S POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow over the chaos of the emergency room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the undercurrent of blood—familiar, almost routine, yet tonight it gnawed at Zayne's nerves in a way he couldn't quite shake. He hadn’t left since he stepped through those doors, yet somehow, the guilt weighing on him had nothing to do with the lives he saved today. It was you.

He was tired. God, was he tired. His body screamed for rest, his temples throbbed from the strain of back-to-back shifts, but the hospital was understaffed, and there was no room for exhaustion when lives were at stake. As a cardiologist, his expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of the human heart, but duty demanded flexibility—especially in the ER. Cardiologists weren’t meant to be dealing with blunt force trauma and lacerations, but tonight, none of that mattered. They needed doctors. He was a doctor. So, he worked.

Even through the fatigue, his mind kept drifting back to you. He could still hear your voice from the call earlier, soft and understanding despite the disappointment laced beneath it. You didn’t deserve this. You had every right to be upset, to be frustrated that he had broken his promise, yet you didn’t even complain. That hurt more than if you had yelled at him

God, he loved you. And he hated himself for testing that patience again and again.

His hand tightened around the pen he was holding. He had plans—plans to make it up to you. The necklace in his office drawer, nestled in a velvet box, had been meant for tonight. Something small, perhaps, compared to everything you did, but a token of his devotion nonetheless. He could still salvage this. Maybe he could call you later, ask if you were still awake—

His device beeped, pulling him back to the present.

MVA on the highway. ETA: 5 minutes.

Multi-vehicle accident. Paramedics on site, victims en route.

Zayne exhaled sharply, shifting into work mode. He stepped into the ER just as the first stretcher was wheeled in. The radio chatter from their comms filled the space.

"Female, mid-to-late twenties, restrained driver, T-bone collision from a vehicle that ran a red light. Airbag deployment, but impact trauma to the chest from seatbelt. BP slightly low, likely from pain response. Tachycardic at 112. GCS is 14. Possible wrist fracture, mild concussion. No signs of internal bleeding from the ultrasound, but needs further imaging to rule out any complications."

He nodded briskly, slipping into the detached, clinical efficiency that had been drilled into him for years. It was only as he stepped forward, pulling the curtain aside, that his breath caught in his throat.

His world stopped.

There, on the hospital bed, was you.

Lying on the hospital bed, your hair disheveled, your skin pale against the stark white sheets. His breath lodged in his throat, the world narrowing to a pinpoint focus on the rise and fall of your chest. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was dried blood at your temple, your lower lip swollen where you must have bitten down upon impact. The sight of the IV line in your arm, the faint bruises forming along your collarbone—he couldn’t breathe.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Dr. Zayne…" Yvonne’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. A warning. He was frozen. This wasn't just a patient. This was you.

He blinked, his hands suddenly trembling as he reached for his gloves. Breathe. He had to focus. Had to push past the sheer, gut-wrenching fear threatening to paralyze him.

This is her. She was waiting for me. She—

"Dr. Zayne!!" Yvonne pressed, handing him the updated chart. "She needs you."

That snapped him out of it.

The moment his hands touched you, they were steady again. His voice was even as he examined you, the motions automatic, controlled. He checked your pupils, gently palpated your ribs to assess for fractures. He was a doctor. He was your doctor right now. He had to move. Focusing, he reached for his stethoscope, pressing it against your chest to listen for abnormalities. The rhythm of your heart was steady, but your breathing was just slightly labored—likely from the seatbelt trauma.

"You’re going to be fine." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

You were stable.

"Her left shoulder—check for AC joint separation," he murmured, voice steadier than he felt. "Get a CT to rule out any internal injuries. And…" He swallowed. “Get me images from the crash site.” He needed to see how bad the collison was. He had to.

The hours blurred. He monitored your scans, adjusted your IV, checked your vitals more times than necessary. Each time his eyes drifted to you; his chest ached. He had seen the accident reports—your car, your windshield shattered, the crumpled hood. And the contents scattered across the scene…

You had planned everything.

For him.

And he wasn’t there.

Zayne clenched his jaw. Flowers were scattered, crushed against the upholstery. The pastries you must have picked out for him were ruined; their boxes torn open from the force of the crash. And gifts. There were so many gifts. He hadn’t even known you had planned all this.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

You had so much waiting for him. And where had he been? At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating with Lina because she forced him to take a break. He had been smiling in that photo while you were—

God.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily as he sat by your bedside. He should have been with you. If he had just—

The monitor beeped steadily, a quiet reminder that you were alive.

Now, he sat beside you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, fingers curled into his palms to keep them from shaking.

"Wake up, sweetheart." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just wake up."

And for once, Zayne—brilliant, composed, always in control—felt utterly powerless.

The beep of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic, but Zayne found himself gripping the edge of his chair every time you stirred, waiting for that moment when your eyes would finally open. His body was stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to miss it.

Then, a small shift in your breathing. A twitch of your fingers.

Zayne leaned forward just as your lashes fluttered, your eyes cracking open, only to squeeze shut again at the harsh fluorescent lights. You groaned softly, shifting against the sheets. Instinctively, you tried to sit up.

"Hey—stay put," Zayne said immediately, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you down. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers warm even against the hospital gown. "Don’t move too much yet."

Your body resisted for a moment, muscles tensing as if you wanted to argue, but the disorientation dulled your fight. Your gaze finally settled on him, hazy with the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Then you frowned.

“…You look tired,” you murmured, your voice soft, still groggy. “How long have you been here?”

Zayne’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Even now, even when you were the one lying in a hospital bed, barely recovered from an accident, your first thoughts were about him.

His throat felt tight, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “You should look at yourself first, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the IV in your arm, the bruises along your wrist, the faint soreness that no doubt ached across your body. Zayne exhaled sharply and reached out, his fingertips tracing the side of your face before cupping your cheek fully. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, as if grounding himself with the warmth of you. His eyes were moist, though no tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, raw in a way that stripped away every layer of his usual composure.

You parted your lips, breath hitching as if you were about to reassure him—to do what you always did, to let him off the hook, to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But he didn’t let you.

“No,” he cut in firmly, shaking his head. “Not this time. This is the one time you shouldn’t be so understanding.” His jaw clenched, something bitter twisting in his expression. “I should have been there. We should have been celebrating our relationship. End of discussion.”

Silence settled between you.

After a beat, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. “Why didn’t you demand my time?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “You had every right to.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “…I didn’t want to bother you.” Your fingers twisted into the hospital blanket, grip tightening slightly. “You’re important, Zayne. You save lives. I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a sharp breath, then reached for your hand, gently prying your fingers from the blanket. His grip was warm, grounding.

“Shh… And you think you’re not?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that again.” His gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “You are important to me.”

"You’re important to me," he repeated, voice steady but almost desperate. "Just like my work makes demands of me, you are more than entitled to make demands of me, too."

Your eyes searched his, uncertainty flickering beneath the lingering haze of exhaustion. But Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I know I should have been there," he said again, quieter this time. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before brushing a thumb over the edge of your jaw, tilting your face slightly. “When I saw you on this bed when I entered the ER… pale, unconscious… I haven’t felt fear like that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in all my years of doing this. Not like that."

You didn’t say anything, but your hand came up slowly, resting over his.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

This—this was what he almost lost.

His jaw clenched, then loosened as he exhaled. “I don’t want to ever feel it again.”

Another pause.

Zayne inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were still here. That you were warm. That he hadn’t lost you.

“I know I say I’m sorry a lot… and it probably has lost meaning to you.” he murmured; his voice rough with emotion. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if struggling to put his feelings into something more tangible. “I should have been there. And I will be. Every step of the way until you’re fully recovered and after....”

His eyes flickered downward, scanning you like the doctor he was, but this was different. This wasn’t just clinical analysis—this was personal. "You got lucky," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. "Blunt force trauma to the ribs, a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. Some lacerations on your arm and leg, but nothing deep enough to require surgical intervention. The worst was the head trauma, but the scans came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling. That’s the only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown right now…" His fingers ghosted over your arm, careful not to apply pressure. "Nothing life-threatening or with lasting consequences. But still… you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone." His jaw tensed. "Not when you have me."

You gave him a small, tired smile at that, and something inside him twisted.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to reach into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He’d gone to his office to clock off for the day to be beside you when he picked it up from his drawer. The very box he wanted to give you today. The one that was supposed to be given in a far more joyful setting. This was supposed to be today. A night spent celebrating the two of you—not this. Not hospital beds and IV drips and the hollow fear that had nearly swallowed him whole.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that you were here. And this… this was still yours.

His throat felt thick as he flipped it open, revealing the necklace inside—a delicate silver chain holding a white jasmine pendant, smooth and polished, its petals carved with intricate detail. And behind it, barely visible, were his initials.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he took it out.

"I was supposed to give this to you today," he admitted, voice lower now, almost guilty. "Before all of this. Before I let my own priorities get in the way of what really mattered." He glanced up at you, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable. "I don’t want you to ever think that you come second. Because you don’t. You never have."

Gently, he reached around your neck, his touch featherlight as he fastened the clasp. The cool metal of the pendant settled just above your collarbone, resting against your skin. His fingertips lingered there, just briefly.

Then he let out a slow breath, tilting your chin up just slightly with his knuckles. His mind still reeled with everything that had happened, with everything he should have done differently.

"I love you," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no wry smirk to mask his emotions, no half-hearted deflection. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. "Even when I do a crappy job at showing it." He didn’t need you to say it back—he just needed you to know.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his lips quirked, just slightly, into something softer. "And since I’m apparently on mandatory bedside duty, I hope you’re ready to be completely spoiled. I’m talking fresh coffee, extra pillows, a ridiculous number of medical advices—"

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Zayne felt something in his chest loosen at the sound. Then, slowly, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingertips over the pendant before reaching up to cup his cheek.

Zayne leaned into your touch instinctively, exhaling softly. He smiled, finally, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll be just fine. I've got you sweetheart... I'll always be here for you."

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

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hugs4shizu

2 years ago

indebted | mikage reo

( ? ) reo spends money on someone who refuses to be indebted to anyone, FLUFF I SWEAR

( A/N ) why are my bllk fics literally about meeting again i think i have some strange obsession with this trope. ANW THIS FIC IS SOOO CLICHE but i think reo is cheesy like that

the sky is a pretty shade of blue, birds are chirping sweet songs from where they’re perched on branches, and cherry blossom leaves are floating along the wind; some are even pooling around his feet. love is in the air, one could say. pluck out every element you could see in a high school-inspired love song music video, and you’ll get precisely what reo is experiencing.

but none of those are what reo is looking at right now.

no, not when you’re standing before him, and his pulse is unsteady.

“i like you,” you say. “i want to go out with you.”

reo’s eyes go round, spluttering syllables that are strung together hastily. he settles with a: “w-whuuu…”

the small group of students who decided to tag along with reo all gasped and ooh?. reo doesn’t know why he’s the one feeling mortified, heat crawling up across his cheeks.

you’re staring at him with a fierce expression, refusing to back down and shy away despite the crowd. it’s like you don’t care what they think or say so long as you get your words across. he honestly respects it.

reo scratches the back of his neck, guilty for some unfamiliar reason. he’s gently rejected countless others before, so he’s unsure why he’s so reluctant this time. maybe it’s because you’re looking at him like you know what you want, and it’s making him feel flustered in a way he hasn’t felt before.

“don’t just stand there, reo!” someone butts in, as if it’s his business. as if he’s confessing or being confessed to.

you and reo turn to glare venom at the guy, who shrinks under both your gazes.

reo’s gaze finds yours once again, trying for a comforting smile.

“i’m sorry. i can’t accept your confession,” he murmurs and winces at the feigned cries of the people around him. his heart pangs painfully in his chest when he sees your crestfallen expression. “i really am sorry!” and he is. “i bet you’re nice—“

you hold up a hand, a universal sign to shut the hell up, you’re making it worse, idiot. “it’s fine. you don’t have to say anything else aside from a ‘no’, reo-san.” the smile you give him is pretty painful. or is it painfully pretty? “thank you for your time.”

reo blinks when you swivel around. he feels incredibly horrible, to be frank.

reo watches you leave until you’re out of sight, only snapping out of it when nagi shoulders him to tune back into the laughter of his classmates, teasing him relentlessly about the confession.

“man, are you always this nice to your fans?” one of them snickers. “you’re sick for leading the l/n y/n on.”

reo frowns. “i’m not leading them on, i’m just trying not to be an ass to people who admire me, unlike some people.”

“oooh…”

reo sighs, leaning against nagi’s terrifyingly solid figure. “y/n, huh?” he mumbles.

the hallways are unusually empty today. reo is usually swarmed by students from his class or even others, especially during the hour of lunch break.

there seems to be an influx of students crowding downstairs, though, judging by the faint cheers he can hear all the way from the fourth floor.

someone passes him, brushing his forearm, and reo almost ignores it.

“oh, hi, reo-san!” the voice says, and it snaps him right out of his wondering.

reo blinks, doing a double take. “ah, y/n.”

you skid to a halt, facing him over your shoulder with a pleasantly surprised expression. “you know my name already?”

reo feels caught, somehow. he doesn’t know what to say, so he nods and smoothly switches subjects. “where are you runnin’ off to?”

you don’t move from where you’ve stopped, and reo feels the need to catch up, so he jogs like an obedient dog. the nearly terrifying grin you shoot him does little to cover your amusement. “you’ve been spacing out during class, top of the class? there’s a parade going on right now for the school festival, i’m heading down to watch.”

oh. so that’s where everyone went.

in reo’s defense, he went to the bathroom minutes before break—most likely when the teacher announced anything regarding a parade. and nagi is nowhere to be seen to inform him about it. knowing nagi, he’s hiding away on some random floor’s stairs to play games on his phones quietly.

reo nudges you with an elbow and realizes halfway through that he never asked if you’re even okay with him doing that. he clears his throat, “let me come with you, then.”

“c’mon, pretty boy.” you pick up the pace, and he could’ve tripped on air hearing that. “don’t make me miss out on the fun waiting for a snail like you.”

reo makes a show of scoffing, but he can’t hide the smile in his voice.

you both make your way downstairs, chatting idly all the while. it’s small talk—mindless, almost, but reo finds himself relaxing quickly in your presence like he didn’t just meet you yesterday. like you didn’t just ask him out, and he rejected you yesterday.

“ahh, the stalls are up already?” you frown, scanning the area and onto the line of students swarming the field. “i thought they wouldn’t be serving anything this early.”

“if it’s what you’re worried about, it’ll be my treat,” reo finds himself offering without thinking.

“will it, now?”

minutes later, you two find yourselves walking out of the line of stalls with bags of snacks and street foods (even trinkets you weren’t planning to buy but reo wanted you to have). it was all a blur. reo didn’t know he could start from roaming the hallways to having a nearly empty wallet with you by his side.

blinking incredulously at the heap of bags slung over your forearms, you say, “i’ll pay next time.”

reo shrugs, pleased with himself but trying so hard not to show it. “it’s fine.”

“what? no, it’s not fine. i’ll pay you back,” you say, stern. there is no room for dispute.

“it’s really no big deal…” and it’s not. he gets enough money to fill up his wallet easily once more. upon seeing your glare, he concedes. “fine, do what you want.”

your bright smile at that response makes him realize something about you.

reo is ashamed to say it, but ever since yesterday, he’s been noticing you more and more often.

it’s embarrassing to admit that he hasn’t paid attention before, but it’s even more embarrassing to realize that he keeps finding you everywhere—it’s almost incredulous to think that he has never met you earlier.

what’s worse is that reo is excited when he does catch sight of you.

images of your moment with him come to him in a flash, and he almost fucks it all up by approaching you out of nowhere—he could, but he doesn’t know what you still think of him after that. he, for one, would feel as if he’s being pitied when the person he confessed his feelings to starts coming up to him without any good reason.

that’s the thing: reo can’t think of a good reason.

“stop overthinking,” is all nagi says to reo’s mindless rambling of his current crisis (read: above). “you shouldn’t look too deep into it, idiot. if y/n can confess to you just because, then y/n can tell you to screw off if you make things weird.”

that is surprisingly a piece of very reasonable and thought-provoking advice.

“okay,” reo says. it makes sense.

he doesn’t have to do anything, though, because nagi looks up from his phone, sees something, and tells him reo can just text him what happens because he’s heading straight home.

“what? what? where are you going, nagi?”

“reo-san—” reo jumps in surprise, “—sorry, did i scare you? haha, that was cute!” he turns and sees you grinning up at him, impudent like you hear precisely what is going in his head.

“y/n,” he says, horrified to feel sudden warmth crawling up his cheeks. how do you keep doing that? “when did you…”

“are you free? i still have to pay you back, don’t i?”

he wants to say that if you feel like you owe something, you don’t, and reo doesn’t care about the money he spent on you, seeing how much fun you had yesterday. yet the excitement evident in your voice kills off the rebuttal on the tip of his tongue.

reo finds himself laughing, mostly out of disbelief. “alright.”

you beam, his expression softens, and the sunset is beautiful this afternoon.

“come on, i know this really good place,” you tell him, reaching for his hand like it’s natural. reo’s eye catches on the charm dangling on your bag. his heart does something weird when he realizes it’s what he picked out for you. “you mentioned you like ichibo steak yesterday, right? you’re in luck.”

reo should really get checked up. he’s been feeling incredibly warm lately.

you two decide to ride a taxi. reo texts nagi that he is out on a platonic—emphasized platonic, in bold, italic, and even underlined—date with you, as friends, and all because you felt guilty. the sticker nagi sends in return says he does not care.

along the way, you two fall into easy conversation once again. reo feels so relaxed that he doesn’t realize until later how wide his grin is. and when he does, it’s when he starts to notice everything else, too.

“it’s weird! i just passed them, and they gave me weird looks. i wanted to square up and ask, what? you wanna fight? i would beat them, no doubt,” you say, huffing. reo chuckles a little. at the sound, you pout. “what’re you laughing at? you don’t believe me?”

“of course i believe you.”

you grin. “that’s right.”

the car stops, and you pay for the ride before reo could even blink and lead him outside. your enthusiasm is endearing, reo has to admit. it feels like you actually like him and like being with him.

the gentle hold you have on him, the way your fingers are absentmindedly rubbing circles on his skin, the way his brain is melting out of his ears—when did he get so soft like this? it’s insane.

it probably means he is happy to have you as a friend, right?

in a seat for four people, reo pointedly decides to sit next to you because sitting across would make it look weird—it will feel like an actual date, and reo is not sure how he can handle the thought of that.

you don’t question it, and reo feels embarrassed to think you probably think he’s so strange that you don’t blink at it. instead, you tug him closer by the sleeve, pointing at his favorite food with sparkling eyes. it’s adorable. you’re so damn excited that it’s rubbing off on him.

reo’s mouth again runs off before his brain can catch up. “are you alright with us hanging out like this? after…”

you understand immediately. reo can’t quite see your expression properly because you’re leaning down to study the menu; however, your answer seems unfazed: “i don’t mind. i like you, don’t i? you already knew that, so that’s a silly question.”

you turn to him, smiling. “of course i’d like being with you, too.”

“ah.” reo’s face is on fire. “so… why did you even like me?”

“hm.” you make a motion of rubbing your index finger and thumb together. “money.”

reo eyes you with a scrunched nose, speechless.

you laugh brightly. “kidding! kidding! kind of.” reo nudges your knee with his as a warning. “okay, okay. i thought you’re cute, alright?”

“really?”

“really.”

it’s almost enough to make him forget how your face fell when he rejected you. almost.

is it normal to think about that so much?

(no. the answer is no, obviously. but reo doesn’t want to think about the reason why it’s a no.)

reo slouches against the seat, his arm brushing against your side. “oh.”

“that was so good,” reo groans. he burps inelegantly afterward, laughing along with you. “fuck, you were right. i’m coming back here again.”

you snort, waving your fork around. “i told you! i’m never wrong, don’t doubt me about anything ever again.” there’s sauce on the side of your mouth; reo brushes it off with his thumb without thinking, as if in a trance.

you pause, going still. you’re staring at him wide-eyed, flustered, and reo finds himself thinking that he likes that look on you.

he snaps out of it the second after, blushing profusely. “sorry, i don’t—” to save himself from explaining, he calls for the waiter for the bill instead. real smooth, reo. did it like a real rich kid.

“hey, wait, why are you paying?” you ask, frowning.

“you already paid for the ride earlier, remember? you don’t owe me anything right now, so let me pay.”

“reo—”

the waiter comes, reo scans the receipt quickly, and slips money in. he also tells them to keep the change, to which the waiter starts bowing and thanking him for, which probably means he paid them more than he’s supposed to.

you slump, bottom lip jutted out. “now i’m indebted to you again.”

reo grins. “i know.”

you become something else to him entirely. more than friends, though not quite lovers. tip-toeing lines, ready to risk it all, but never crossing over.

reo laments this to nagi, who he realizes suddenly becomes an expert.

“for someone who didn’t hesitate to reject y/n, you’re quick to regret it every day,” nagi remarks. “don’t be stupid, reo. the answer is right there— oh, i lost.” nagi is sad now, not that reo can see it because he’s having a crisis.

by the time reo realizes that what he feels for you is more than a simple crush, it’s far too late. he’s on the bus, your last message with him is a goodbye, and his life is flipped upside down.

TIMESKIP

reo sits alone on a bench in the middle of a public park, holding a popsicle and checking his watch occasionally. his knee bounces, impatient, but his last text will stay as: i’ll wait for you no matter how long.

he sighs, his head slowly tilting up to face the sky.

it’s as beautiful as he remembers it—the day he regrets more than anything. all that’s left is for birds to chirp and leaves to dance around his feet.

he had to reject his friends’ offer to go out, as it’s not often blue lock members are given off days. however, it’s a small price to pay if he gets to see you again.

“i’m here!”

reo nearly jolts in surprise, his whole body instinctively preening at the familiar melody of your voice. he turns, and his heart bursts.

it’s been so long. too long. yet every detail about you is still the same as he daydreams about when it gets a little too lonely: from your smile to the way you’re looking at him with overwhelming fondness. there’s no mistaking it—the happiness tickling his chest says more than words could.

he is so fucking in love.

you stand there, a little nervous and hesitant like you’re ready to run with one wrong move.

so reo won’t fuck this up. not anymore or ever.

“y/n,” he breathes, tugging you by the arm to pull you closer. “i missed you.”

“i missed you, too,” you say, melting in his grasp. “i didn’t think you’d— i didn’t expect you to still want to see me after high school.”

“don’t be stupid,” he chides, gently flicking your forehead. “of course i’d want to see you.” your gaze shifts to the plastic he’s holding in his other hand, and he almost smacks his face for forgetting. “right, here. i bought you ice cream because it’s a bit hot today. thought you’d like it.”

“so thoughtful,” you coo, poking his cheek before gratefully taking the popsicle from him.

he pats the vacant spot next to him. it took all his willpower and rationality to not gesture his lap.

“um,” you fidget, tongue darting out quickly to lick on the icy treat. reo is not getting distracted, he’s not. “what was the question you said you wanted to ask? that text almost made me want to chuck my phone across the room, you know? we haven’t talked for months, and that’s the first thing you send me.”

“sorry,” reo can’t help but chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “i just want to do this before i regret anything again.”

“you have regrets with me?” you frown, hurt.

reo nods, and fuck it, reaches out to cup your chin. there’s a smidge of melted ice cream; he swipes it away with a thumb. “the day we met,” he says distractedly.

there’s a moment where you can only look at him incredulously, a little offended. but understanding dawns on your face soon after. “that was the day i confessed.”

he nods, proud. “you’re still indebted to me, aren’t you?”

“yes? you made sure you were the last one to pay for anything when you won me that plushie at the arcade a week before you left,” you recall fondly.

“alright, then.” reo takes your free hand to pull you closer to him, stunning you to silence. the popsicle starts melting at the sides—it could be from the heat or from how intense reo is staring at you. “pay me back by going out with me. as your boyfriend.”

THIS IS SO RUSHED I KNOWWW but take it and appreciate it please i dont even kno where the reo brainworms came from

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hugs4shizu

2 years ago

high school au genshin scenarios [ part two ]

[ author's note ] : yes i actually have my literature paper, two maths papers, the physics paper and my french reading over the course of next week. and here i am feeding you deprived souls instead of memorising macbeth quotes. these are more class oriented so have fun. also not editted bc we die like men. pls tell me of any mistakes you find tho <333

alhaitham ended up as your lab partner for biology and physics and sometimes you really do wonder how the hell you've managed to strangle your sense of reason and rationality into not escaping your brain with the first five minutes of this whole experience. he's cut-throat about how you drew the cells you saw under the microscope, he makes, he passes you the most subtly smug look whenever he sees you screw up with the test-tube labelling, he doesn't ever reply to the small notes you pass him in class as an attempt to befriend him, he doesn't appreciate you when you finally get a difficult practical right all on your own. you'd rate him a -0.5/10 had you not come across all the small notes you'd ever given him tucked safely into the back of his biology notes. or the fact that his ears turned the slightest tinge of red whenever you leant over to copy his answers.

kaveh always messes up with his deadlines, so being his partner for the photography project was quite the run. you had to constantly keep reminding him when which part of the final piece was supposed to have been completed by him. you observed he was lovely company, just horribly scatterbrained, after countless times of spending your lunch with him to get him to complete the last bits of editting. his creativity, you had to admit, put your entire work and dedication to shame. but he always said that your handwriting and organisation was something that all of his imagination could never hope to compensate for. you just kept taking his compliments as nothing more than friendly appreciation, until you found the photographs he'd used you as the model for adorned with little flowers and... pink hearts. what was most notable was that behind the photo, in his scrawny and tilted handwriting, were the words "i love you.

tighnari actually ended up saving your life with the maths midterm exam. with all the other subjects and coursework already heavy on your brain, maths had completely escaped your thought. finding him the library while trying to cram the last bits of trigonometric functions and the sine rule into your head was a literal blessing from god. he saw you struggling so badly, but you'd take the pity for now. bless him, he was so patient while explaining the calculations to you and he didn't rush you for your answers even once. and it was all due to him that you managed to achieve a score you were proud of. in all your excitement after getting your score, you ran up to him and tackled him into the tightest hug while blabbering out how amazing you had ended up doing. and of course, being the complete idiot you were, care for personal space had kinda jumped out the window. mortified when you realised it, you immediately released him with a new string of apologies dashing out your mouth. he just turned his head away and pressed his hand against your face... to prevent you from looking at him. because he'd never want you to know just how fast his heart was pouding against his chest or how red his face had turned. there was a time and place for everything, after all.

cyno was someone you found yourself to be really proud to be friends with, because being brutally honest, he had the social skills of a scarab. it was all because of the seating arrangements in your history and law classes coincidentally had you next to him. it was refreshing to be able to have fruitful discussions with him, since he had more brains that the entire class combined. occasionally, he'd throw in a random joke after a while of being your deskmate, and you always laughed. not because of how funny they were, because they were the farthest thing someone could get from funny, but due to how he said such bad and cringey jokes with a perfectly face. and after a while, he'd started throwing in jokes like "if you were a fruit, you'd be a fine-apple" or "if i were a gardener, you'd be my hoe," to which you didn't only lose your shit laughing, but lost track of how such corny jokes made your face go such a ridiculous shade of red.

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