Melodead - Melo - Tumblr Blog

sincerely,

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

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

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

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

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

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

zhongli:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but of course it's never that easy.

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

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

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

you've been seeing far too much of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUCK. you banged your knees on the ground.

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

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

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

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

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

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

kaeya:

“it's from me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

the hell. it's just bennett tripping.

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

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

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

scaramouche:

at best, he is an unwilling spectator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

without another word, he walks away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...you haven't made up?”

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

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

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

“then turn him down properly.”

“it's not that easy...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

itto:

itto barges into your life in a whirlwind of chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i'll carry you to the infirmary!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he frowns. “not even a congratulatory hug?”

“not when you're this gross.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

a lovestruck fool, keen to your touch.

your secret admirer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...hey.”

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

“it's you.”

albedo had always admired you in quiet adoration.

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

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

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

but you were special on your own.

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

you were dazzling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he tries anyway.

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

he may lose you entirely if he does it wrong.

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

“i like you, [name].”

Mushroom hah hah

Dearest Friend,

KISS ME ONCE AGAIN ── silver x gn!reader, 1.6k

silver has always taken his time with you.

he has never been able to tell you why. lilia says that it is just the way he is, ever since he was a boy. he plays by the rules. he goes by a routine that is, as much as possible, not too affected by his strange sleeping habits.

it is why he goes through the meticulous steps of courting you, offering you flowers and gifting you with thoughtful trinkets and even writing letters for your family while your worlds remain separate. it is why it had to be you to take the first step and kiss him one night during a star-gazing date because gods damn it all, you’re sick of waiting.

( silver laughed and laughed that night as you apologised for your callous actions; because you were so cute, because he was so in love, because it all felt like a dream come true when he allowed himself to ignore tradition to cup your cheeks and pull you into another kiss. )

silver discovers very early on that even when he takes his time, it's all still overwhelming. like a dream come true, he used to tell lilia in bouts of deliriousness when he's still caught between dream and reality and his mind is too muddled with sleep to care about embarrassing himself in front of the fae who had raised him.

like a dream come true.

but what is his dream, exactly?

a cottage deep in the forest of briar valley, with ivy growing up the walls and over the red-tiled roof. soft, packed dirt with growing flowers of all kinds, spring blossoms of pink, yellow, blue, red, protected by a low wall. there are no horrors with dripping ink and dragging claws, no glowing emerald eyes or scaled wings. just grass and flowers and sky and nothing.

no. not nothing. because there's you.

"i just cleaned, so remember to take off your boots by the door!" silver hears you call out from inside the cottage. his chest quakes as he lets out a ragged breath, his bag dropping as he rids himself of the extra weight.

the floor below his dirty boots is clean slate compared to the cluttered kitchen to his left and the living area to his right. silver sees the same threadbare couch by the stone fireplace, cluttered with throw pillows and blankets and an unfinished knitting project. the couch is old. used. loved. there are some closed doors beyond the stairs, but silver doesn't have to check to know what lies behind them. his old childhood bedroom where lilia used to tuck him in. a bathroom that has been flooded one or more than a few times when he got too carried away with playtime. the small study where he used to have his lessons on reading and writing.

there's something about the sight of his childhood home that sets silver off, as if he’s caught in crosswinds, but he fumbles his way inside anyway, toeing his shoes off out of ingrained politeness. his footfalls feel heavy and light all at once against the wooden floors as he walks — almost as if by habit — to the kitchen where he had heard your voice come from.

"there you are," you beam at him, putting a kettle of water on top of the same stove that silver had watched his father cook his meals so many times. your brows furrow when you notice the strange expression on his face; the emotions whirling in his aurora irises like a hurricane and the trembling of his bottom lip.

you frown, wiping your hands on a cloth rag. "silver? what's wrong?"

silver lets out a ragged breath, his hand shaking as it comes up to cradle your own as you cup his face in your palm. what is wrong? this is all he's ever wanted, isn't it? a life with you in the woods he had grown up in, free of worries and dangers and hurt and anger. he's built a home with no fear, no yelling, no uncertainties. just like the life lilia always wanted to give him.

it's a dream come true.

"you're a dream," silver whispers when he realises, his hands coming up to cradle your face in turn. he's shaking, he knows that even with his mind whirling, but he just can't help it— he has to touch you, make sure this isn't— this isn't a nightmare—

no. no, no, no. malleus wouldn't do that. this is his dream. this is what his heart has always yearned for.

"my dream."

"well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up in that soft smile that silver oh so adores to kiss. "what's the occasion?"

"i—" silver opens his mouth, but no words come out. what can he say? what can he do, knowing that this is all he's ever wanted, but this is a dream. this is a dream and you're not real but gods, does silver want you to be.

a beat passes, and your smile turns sad.

"you know, don't you?"

silver feels his heart ache. he wants to tell you no. no, please keep this veil over my eyes. pretend i don’t know this isn’t real. please. please.

you reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with such tenderness that silver feels like crying. “you’ve always been so smart, silver.”

“i’m sorry,” he allows himself to say, because this is the least he owes you— this perfect imitation of you that his mind, malleus’s magic, has managed to conjure, because in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve managed to ingrain yourself into every fibre of his being so that even under this spell, all silver can dream about is you, you, you.

silver doesn't want to wake up. he doesn't, he really doesn't. there's something in him that pulls at his heartstrings, tugging at every vein and nerve as if begging him to stay, please stay. there must be a reason why you're always falling asleep, why this had to happen. just stay. this is a dream come true, why would you want to wake up?

“you’re still there,” silver says in a voice so small, it feels like he’s a little boy again, crying and clinging onto lilia like the fever that sticks to his skin and reminds him of his mortality.

“you’re still there, and i’m here.”

his childhood home is small, but within the cottage and with your hands cradling his face, the thick walls feels unnaturally closer, like something is breathing on the back of his neck. he’s reminded of you, somewhere in night raven college, trapped within your own dream. do you think of him, he wonders? has he become your new dream, just as you have become his?

will he ever see you again?

silver can't bear the thought of you somehow waking up from your dream — a matter of when rather than if, because silver knows that you've always had a knack for getting out of impossible situations like this — and realising that he had left you alone to stay in this eternal sleep, with this dream– this illusion of what could have been.

“i have to go,” silver whispers, and his heart breaks because this might be a dream, but it’s still you. how can he tell you he’s going to leave? he can’t do that. he can’t break your heart like that, he can’t—

"i'm sorry. i'm sorry— i'm so, so sorry.”

he expects you to stop him. what do the stories say about dreams where you’re supposed to be kept unaware, blissfully oblivious to the fact that this utopia is not your reality? silver expects this dream version of you to pull some sort of trick to lure him back into your trap—

but instead you just smile softly, reaching out to stroke his face, "how lucky i am to have someone like you love me."

silver hears something crack, resonating in his soul. is it the chains of malleus’s magic breaking its hold on him, or the last pieces of his heart shattering at last? he doesn’t know.

maybe it’s both.

but whatever it is, silver knows he doesn’t have much time. his hands cup your cheeks, pulling you close to him with the desperation of a dying man.

he feels you gasp against his mouth, lips parting and allowing his tongue to slip inside. he maps the cavern of your mouth as if immortalising it in his mind, like he’ll never see you again after this— because that is very well a possibility, no matter how he tries to ignore it.

silver kisses you like it’s his last day in this godforsaken world, because it might as well be, and great seven, he should have done this every time he kissed you. he should have kissed you first. he should have kissed you every moment he could instead of taking his time because now he can hear the sand running in the hourglass, and he’s blind to how much time he has left, and he just wants to see you in the flesh again, please, please, please—

the two of you part an eternity later, but it still feels much too soon. there’s so much love in him, and too little time, and silver feels like drowning.

"wait for me," silver pleads. he'll make this dream come true, he swears. he’ll give you all the love he has in this wretched body of his, and then some. he’ll never sleep again even, if only to make this dream come true.

"i will," you whisper breathlessly—

—and with a bittersweet smile and a final, fleeting kiss to his lips, you let him go.

© trappolia 2024

aventurine with a reader who is his handler. your primary job? risk analysis. you were an intelligentsia guild member-- once, before your talent for mental statistical computations were fully discovered. being quietly brilliant was much easier than being loudly so. where you could once toil away on private research on the ipc's dime, you now trail behind aventurine, attempting to mitigate all the damage that ripples around him.

(this is particularly difficult as aventurine is a man cursed with luck so good that it's a statistical anomaly. prediction is useless. calculations must be made on the fly and you must pray you are accurate, lest the strategic investment department end up in some amount of personal of fiscal debt themselves.)

aventurine had assured you initially that you didn't need to keep such a close eye on him. and at first, you'd believed him. he is one of the ten stonehearts, and well-regarded despite the rumors and brand on his neck. it's-- it's not your business anyway. to pry. you trust him.

and truthfully, he does keep a good handle on himself. he gets out of all of his gambles in one-- piece. sort of. he either skirts disaster with no room to spare or he takes on the disaster with his own two hands and grit and fucking wins.

and truthfully, if that was the only thing you had to analyze about aventurine, your job would be quite easy. he's lucky. he wins.

however-- there's just so much more to it than that. factors and variables that aren't affected by aventurine's uniquely good fortune. there always is. but what is and what isn't is hard to suss out. it-- it all constantly changes and hence you have to be in aventurine's shadow and hope that your mind is fast enough to deduce and calculate at the speed that aventurine cuts typical odds down to aventurine odds.

which is to say, that exhaustion follows in your shadow.

aventurine isn't a horrible boss. as much as you're his handler, he's yours. there's a semi-silent, mutual duty you both carry. aventurine makes sure you stay in his shadow, just out of sight and out of danger (so, he can position himself in front of any bullets, stray or otherwise. because they will never hit him.) and you make sure that he does not inadvertently cause a firestorm half a galaxy away.

it works. it's tenuous, most of the time. because aventurine thinks getting close to you is his greatest gamble (one cannot use luck to mend a broken heart). and because you recognize that, for all of your risk analysis and statistical understanding of the universe at large, at some point, you will be in aventurine's wake at the wrong time. and your luck, in conjunction to his endless luck, will run out.

it's a statistical inevitability.

all the wrongs (make a right)

when you ask them to set you up with someone else.

or at least, that's what they interpreted it as.

wanderer, wriothesley, diluc ♡ gn!reader

warnings: diluc may be ooc (but he's funny), yapping

notes: WRIOTHESLEY... THE MAN U ARE...

you like someone else.

wanderer doesn't know how to deal with that fact—because of course you do. why would you ever love someone like him, anyway? who is he to even consider love, when he has none of it to give?

when he was created, love built him fiber by fiber. love constructed his eyes, love blessed him with sight and touch, love allowed him to perceive. because in this world, perception is the basis of love, and when wanderer was allowed to perceive, he was allowed to love.

he had love. lots of it, even. there was so much love in his being that it spilled from his eyes, dancing across the oasis of his irises and manifesting into stars. when the wanderer was created, he was ready to be loved, he was ready to love.

and then he was discarded—with all his love—because he was not enough.

(he wonders what it would take for him to be kept. for someone to cherish him despite his artificial limbs, his heartless chest.)

(he wonders what it would be like if he were cherished, even for just a little bit, by you.)

from across the lecture hall, wanderer stares at your figure. his eyes, which once manifested stars and dripped with love, trace over the bridge of your nose and the curl of your lips. wanderer stares at you, basking in the mundane, romanticizing the ordinary because for some reason, under the lights, you look ethereal.

(he would rather die than admit that outloud.)

he stares and stares, oblivious to the fact that stars have reappeared, that they begin to scatter across his irises like a mosaic of love. because the wanderer is unlike himself when it comes to you—he's enamored, he's taken, he's smitten.

when you blink, his chest throbs, and the nothingness in between his ribs becomes something—something akin to a heart, maybe—because you turn nothingness into everything, and all of a sudden wanderer feels a buzz in his chest. if he stares at you long enough, the buzz begins to sound like this: thump-thump, thump-thump.

suddenly, you turn to look at him.

his breath hitches.

you smile, and his heart aches.

then you look away. as if none of it mattered to you, as if your smile were a simple little thing, as if your eyes and your attention were meaningless.

but none of it is ever meaningless, because when he's in your presence, and when he has just a mere wisp of your existence, the wanderer breathes. he does not need to breathe (like humans do)—but when you look at him, your gaze sweeping over him like a golden light, he becomes human.

his humanity manifests in the form of a stolen breath, stagnating in his synthetic lungs in order to catch you for just a second. to adore you, within him, for but a moment.

when you meet up with him after class, wanderer feels his stomach churn (like humans feel). he feels something crawl up his throat—disgust, probably—when you look at him with those oh-so pretty eyes of yours, and when you talk to him with that oh-so pretty voice of yours.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"sorry to make you do this, wanderer!" you exclaim, bashful. "you really don't have to help me talk to him! just let me know if you don't want to, okay?"

earlier, you had asked him to help set you up with some nobody. something along the lines of, "i need my thesis project approved" or whatever, but wanderer knows mortals.

he knows that they have ulterior motives in everything they do, and the way your gaze averted from his and the way you fiddled nervously with your fingers when asking him for help was enough for him to deduce: you liked the person you were meeting up with.

"i mean—" you suddenly add, trying to fill in the awkward silence that's caused by wanderer's frustration, "he's a really scary guy, so i get it!"

"hah," he replies bitterly. "scary? yeah, right."

because what could be scarier than him? a puppet whose previous incarnations committed deeds of mass destruction, a puppet whose previous incarnations still exist with him in the present.

wanderer's past incarnations come in the form of hatred, and hatred festers all across his bones and makes its way onto his expression as he stares at you with longing. because wanderer wants you—and what would it take for you to want him back? what would he have to do, to have a mere fraction of your existence?

(but the hatred within his being grows larger. it takes over his ribs and his skin, because wanderer is a disgusting product of his previous incarnations, and his previous incarnations would never be satisfied with a mere fraction of you. his previous incarnations—and him—want all of you.)

"he really is, though! everyone in the akademiya fears him 'cause he always rejects their thesis projects—i mean, i'm scared too, but if you're there then maybe it won't be so bad!" you explain, waving your hands around for emphasis. the wanderer latches onto the fact that you need him there, that you want him to be there for the sake of comfort.

he thinks bitterly to himself: you're the only one who'd find comfort in me. and there you go again, your attention leaping beyond him, traveling towards greater heights that he will never, ever be able to catch up with. because one thing about mortals is that they are fickle, they are fleeting and they are dangerous, not to him—never him—but to each other.

one thing about mortals is that, in the face of love, they will do anything. they will look back for a brief second and lose it all, just for a glimpse of what could've been. one thing about mortals is that they'll do anything, everything for the person they love, all because it makes them happy.

as he trails after you, observing the back of your head with all the bitterness he can muster—none, when it comes to you—wanderer sighs.

(what has he been reduced to?)

you lead him towards a large door, and wanderer's chest stutters. he realizes that you're headed straight towards the grand sage's office, where many akademiya students loathe to be. but there are some outliers who want to enter that office, who want to exist inside of it because of the sage himself.

(something along the lines of the grand sage being attractive or whatnot. wanderer doesn't know, and frankly, he doesn't care. unless it comes to you, of course.)

what was his name again? wanderer thinks. but he doesn't have time to mull over the details because he just can't let you go there—wanderer doesn't want you to leave him behind those grand oak doors, left to exist with himself when you're just across from him.

he's always been star-far from you, perpetually longing to reach out and catch even a wisp of your light. and now that opportunity irrevocably close.

wanderer is going to seize a star; he's going to grasp your radiating atmosphere, let himself get pulled in by your gravity, and he's going to rest there forever and ever.

his hand reaches for your wrist, stopping you just before you reach the doors of doom.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"don't go," wanderer states. although his tone is stern, there's an unmistakable softness to his voice, his fingers clasped around yours as if he's afraid you'll be whisked away by the world, leaving him alone and betraying him once again.

"but my thesis project—"

"don't go," he repeats, "stay here." with me, his mind adds.

something crawls up his throat, his gaze suddenly averting yours as his free hand comes to tilt his hat down, masking his expression with its golden rim.

he holds his breath.

"alright," you respond. "is everything okay, wanderer?"

he doesn't respond. he tugs at your arm and pulls you close to him—so, so close—and chooses to exist in the silence. with you.

after a couple minutes, you hear wanderer mutter quietly to himself: "who even needs a thesis project?"

"uh, everyone who wants to graduate," you reply. wanderer rolls his eyes.

"who would even want to graduate?"

"me?" you respond, confused. wanderer looks away.

"whatever."

"eventually, i have to talk to him anyway—" you start, but wanderer quickly cuts you off.

"no, you don't."

"what?"

"nevermind. you wouldn't get it."

(what has he been reduced to?)

(a human.)

"what?" wriothesley says, almost incredulously. ''you want to know what clorinde's favorite flower is?"

"yeah," you reply. "i'm thinking of mailing it to her soon because i'll be too busy in the underworld to go out."

wriothesley briefly considers dispatching you on a deep sea expedition before realizing that if you're far from clorinde—underground—then you'll also be far from him, and he's not sure if he can handle that.

"well, you know, i don't really know her all that well..." he trails off, lacing his fingers together professionally. "it's a shame, really. maybe you can give her something else?"

"oh, like a box of chocolates?"

he blinks, his mind venturing to the worst scenarios. are you confessing to her? are you trying to court her? what's with all these romantic gifts?

it's unmistakable, the way his heart aches and squirms within his ribs. it's unmistakable, the way he feels something sutter one-too-many times within his chest, the tempo of his heart becoming slower and slower when, in your presence, it typically races.

but wriothesley swallows his envy and opts to relish under your gaze, feigning ignorance to the way his heart constricts a little, his ribs beginning to close in on themselves.

"well, clorinde is fond of anything that comes from your heart," wriothesley says, trying to ease the strain of his voice. "so anything you give her will definitely convey your feelings for her."

you chuckle to yourself, amused at the thought. "yeah, my feelings."

wriothesley doesn't quite know how to explain it, but the way you speak of your feelings for clorinde makes him want to give into the world and forget everything. because your expression is so lighthearted, so cheery, it makes him hate himself for wishing that it belonged to him. for wishing that you would ever, could ever, feel about him the same way you feel about clorinde.

he's selfish. too selfish. and maybe that's why you don't like him, and maybe that's why he doesn't deserve you, not now and not ever.

damn this heart of his.

"so, how long have you been planning this for?" wriothesley asks, forcing his signature grin. but the way his lips twitch a little, and the way his leg bounces up and down gives away everything.

you like someone else. for how long? wriothesley wonders, chuckling bitterly to himself. for how long have you liked clorinde?

how long has he spent, pining helplessly after you, only to realize that it was never going to work out? how could he even begin to perceive the thought of loving you, to even contemplate a time beyond what you've already given him?

he's such a fool.

"a couple of months," you say, fiddling with your fingers. wriothesley's such a fool, because the way he notices your tiny habits and the way he ogles at your embarrassed expression makes him want to continue falling hopelessly in love with you. even though you like someone else. even though you're discussing "someone else" right in front of him—he wants to love you anyway.

because that's just the kind of lovesick, hopeless fool he is.

"oh? a long time, huh?" he replies, hoping you don't notice the way he struggles to speak, the way words fail to leave his mouth the way he should.

wriothesley loves you—but no, love is not enough. he loves you the same way the birds love the sky, reaching into the limitless void, yearning and wanting. he loves you the same way tide loves the shore, ebbing and flowing, wishing for more.

wriothesley loves you in unimaginable ways, but they are not so galactic or as grand as the stars, because the love he has is rooted here on teyvat, within reach, and most fervently, within himself.

"yeah. i've been needing to apologize to her for a while now, actually," you explain, averting your eyes from his. "'cause a while back, i accidentally dropped a whole cake on her. it was a mess. literally and metaphorically."

"what?" wriothesley blinks.

"huh?" you tilt your head.

"apologize? so those gifts are for an apology?"

"yeah," you state, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"oh."

the grin he wears is no longer forced, and when you exit his office, wriothesley buries his face into his hands, unable to contain his smile.

so i have a chance, is all he thinks.

angel's tavern is unusually quiet today.

"is kaeya single?" you suddenly ask.

the glass in diluc's hand nearly shatters, his gaze focused wholly on you as his jaw clenches.

angel's tavern is unusually tense today.

"what?"

you smile awkwardly. "is kaeya single?"

"i heard you the first time."

silence ensues.

"so is he single?"

he looks away.

"i'm not sure."

diluc wonders where it all went wrong; since when were you interested in kaeya, of all people? he doesn't know what's worse: the fact that you don't like him, or the fact that you'd like kaeya over him.

he decides to ignore the way his heart constricts a little, suffocating in between the ribs that are supposed to protect it. but even when his heart gets pierced, skewered onto his bones, he feels warm. so, so warm.

he looks at you.

"you like him?"

"he's okay," you respond nonchalantly, swirling your glass of water as if it were a decadent wine. "i don't know him all that well."

"and you still want to know if he's single?"

"we all start from somewhere."

well, you're starting from the wrong brother, is all diluc thinks.

"huh," he says unenthusiastically, "so you like unreliable men?"

"what?"

"nothing."

diluc doesn't know what to make of himself—he doesn't know where to look or what to do. should he keep polishing this wine glass, or should he confront you right now and tell you about how he's loved you for so, so long?

should he tell you about how he's willing to do anything for you, how he returned to mondstadt all those years ago with only you in mind? should he tell you about how he was ready to leave this life as a ragnvindr behind, to travel teyvat and never look back, but he was more faithful to you than he could've ever imagined? he remembered you, so fervently, that he returned. he returned and he stayed.

there's no point, diluc tells himself. i will wait. he's waited and wanted you for so long, he can withstand this newfound infatuation you have. so what if you like kaeya now? diluc latches onto a slip of hope, a minute chance that maybe, just maybe, you'll notice that it's been him all along.

he's always been here. waiting. (for you.)

you glance at him, your irises enveloping him in a tender embrace, and diluc wonders what it'd be like if you were in love. with him. he wonders how much lovelier that look would be, how warm it'd make him feel, if your pupils would dilate a little, if your expression would soften and your lips would curl into a smile when you did so much as recognize him.

would you notice him then? would you be able to discern the look in his eyes—that look of love—if you felt that way too? would you be able to tell that your existence is sown into his skin, growing and blossoming like a wildflower, persisting 'till the ends of time itself?

your existence blooms all across his being until there is nothing left of him, and everything left of you.

"what do you like about him?" diluc asks, trying to ignore the way his chest throbs. he readjusts his collar, feeling strangely stuffy.

"well, he's attractive. but i don't like him like that."

diluc steals a glance at his reflection in the wine glass. people usually tell him that he's attractive. more than kaeya, though? they haven't specified.

"beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder," he affirms.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"anyway,"—diluc feigns ignorance to your flabbergasted expression—"i wish you luck on your endeavors." he crosses his fingers.

"thanks?"

"and if anything ever happens, i will be here." as i've always been, he thinks.

"right."

"and if he does anything weird, say 'ragnvindr' three times."

"what?"

there's no trace of mirth in diluc's expression, and everything he's stated thus far has been said with a straight face. you shiver a little.

"we are also closing, by the way."

"i thought you guys were open all hours of the day—"

"nope. goodbye, dear customer." diluc pauses a little when saying "dear," for he relishes in the sound, wondering when he'll be able to drop the "customer" part and call you only that. only "dear" and nothing else—with no strings attached, except for a red knot around both of your pinkies.

he cringes at the cheesy thoughts he's having.

"uh, diluc?" you call, getting ushered out of the tavern by his glare alone. "you do realize i'm not trying to get with kaeya, right? i feel like you're misunderstanding things."

"what?" this time, it's diluc's turn to be flabbergasted.

"i'm just asking for a friend. you know donna?"

he wonders if it's possible to disappear off the face of teyvat (again).

(but even then, he'd return to mondstadt for the sake of being with you. for the sake of existing in your presence.)

(because that's just the kind of man diluc is. the kind of man he becomes at the mere thought of you.)

"oh," is all he says.

"did you think i was interested in kaeya?"

"angel's share is open all twenty-four hours of the day," diluc states, ignoring your question.

KAZUHA BANNER TODAY

im gonna try to c6 him today!! wish me luck

bite my tongue, chew on ice

true to your word, you take dan heng out for breakfast after he spends the night taking care of you. it would be nice if you weren't so distracted by the way he looks at you and the stirring in your stomach.

dan heng x gn reader — 1.4k — sequel to this fic, introspection, aggressive pining, sweet and sappy oh my god it's so sappy, reader is trailblazer and this is set somewhere vaguely in canon, just stupid and cute, lots of feelings and thoughts,,,

notes: i love you dan heng hsr,,, i will love you forever and ever dan heng hsr

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

You always make good on your promises. That’s the one thing you take pride in. 

The morning after your drunken spree in Belobog, the memories of the night come flooding in, vivid enough to strip you of your remaining dignity (which isn’t much). You bore yourself to Dan Heng, sweaty and vomiting, and he’d seen more of you in one night than you ever planned on revealing to him. 

Embarrassing, yes. But you promised to get him breakfast as payment, and you don’t take breakfast (or promises) lightly. 

With minimal nagging, you manage to pry him out of his room, shutting down his remarks of it’s too early, I don’t need breakfast, are you sure you sobered up, do you need an antacid, do you even have money? in favor of linking your fingers with his and dragging him into the cool morning air of Belobog. 

(His hand doesn’t pull away from yours. You could swear that he squeezes back, the jutting knuckles of his hands digging into yours as he tightens his grip when you stumble just a little bit on the pavement.) 

When the both of you eventually get settled across from each other in a booth, a glass of water for each of you as you browse the menu, you notice the disgruntled expression on Dan Heng’s face. You can’t help but pry. It’s in your nature, whatever parts of it you have an inkling about, and with Dan Heng, your curiosity is always on high alert. 

“What’s wrong? You look like you hate this,” you can’t help the way your anxieties seep into your words. You take a tentative sip of your water (no ice, lukewarm, gross), trying to cover up the sweatiness in your palms as you beg and pray that he won’t just stand up and leave and call this breakfast a mistake. 

“No,” he says, a leading tone in his voice. His eyes trail along the unsteady movements of your hands, as your fingers go to tap against the smooth glass of your cup. “You just… beat me to it. I was supposed to check on you this morning and get you water. I didn't think you would be awake this early. I thought I had time.” 

Your chest tightens and blooms and flourishes with fondness. It’s a feeling so intense that it leaves you dizzy, your gaze goes distant, your fingers stop thrumming against your cup and your other hand tightens into a fist in your lap. It’s an exercise in restraint, to stop yourself from reaching over and grabbing Dan Heng by the shoulders and shaking him around until you never have to feel this affection again. It’s addictive and beautiful and horrible. 

Your lips part, wanting to say something but all of the vowels and consonants play dissonant keys on your tongue. Instead, you settle for a smile, bashful and fond, fond, fond of Dan Heng and that furrow between his brows when he thinks of what to say, the way he’s staring at your hand against your cup. You want to know what he’s thinking, to let your hand slide across the table, hold his forearm and feel the skin and the life underneath, have him do the same to you. The cancer of all worlds sits in your chest, but you hope he finds it to be kind and gentle, you hope he tames it into something good. 

“Dan Heng,” you start, letting that sick sick affection seep into your voice like rainwater into the cracks of pavement, and you can’t get enough of the way his name sounds against your teeth. “You’re so stupid. And sweet,” you tell him, trying not to melt into the floor. “I didn't think you’d still try to take care of me in the morning. I assumed that watching me throw up everywhere kind of, um, turned you away.” 

“You didn't throw up everywhere,” he corrects, because he’s stubborn and always tries to debate you on stupid things, “And it wasn’t that bad. It didn't bother me. It was just you. It… came naturally.”

And he can’t bear to look at you. He rips his eyes away from yours and you can see the way his face warms up, visibly red and blotchy on his cheeks and neck. Naturally. It comes naturally to him. The care, the hotel mouthwash, checking on you and making sure you laid on your side. He says it came naturally.

You feel sick, and in love, and isn’t that all just the same? The smile doesn’t leave your face, and your cheeks hurt and you fight off the urge to hide your face in your hands and run away like a baby. You’ll face your fears, damnit, even if your fears are just the beautiful man in front of you and the feelings blooming on the right side of your chest, just above your heart. 

“This is me taking care of you, then,” you tell him, trying to get across some semblance of warmth in your tone, trying to get him to understand that none of this is a joke to you, it never has been. You feel choked up, words strumming against your vocal chords. Too many to use, never enough time to say anything. A glance to the side confirms that no waiters are coming to take your order, but the laminated menu in your hands became obsolete the moment you sat down and looked Dan Heng right in his pretty eyes. 

“You never eat breakfast,” you continue, “I don’t think I’ve really seen you relax. You should try knitting.” 

His expression only turns more bashful, if possible. His mouth twists into something displeased, but lightheartedly so. “I tried knitting.” 

“No way.” 

He covers his mouth with his hand, the warmth in his face only building as he struggles to meet your eyes. “It was just for a bit, and I was never good at it. After March joined, she kept making me try the same things as her. Knitting, cooking, sewing… she said that she thought it would help me figure myself out.” 

“Oh my god, Dan Heng. She was so right.” 

Dan Heng makes a discontent noise, something like a mindless murmur of annoyed words, but by the way his lips twitch, you can tell he’s a little bit amused. And so are you, because the image of Dan Heng sitting next to March 7th with a tangle of yarn in his lap is a little too hysterical. 

He has this stupid smile on his face now, and you could almost call it lovesick, the way he keeps looking back at you with his hand still covering half his mouth, like he’s ashamed of the way he’s softening. You like him soft, you like him malleable, warm like this with the window next to you streaming pale yellow light onto the table and the crown of his head. A sick, sick, in-love part of you wants to squish him in your hands like a slime ball and toss him around the room and play catch with yourself. You mean this with love, of course. 

“Dan Heng,” his name, again, falls off your tongue, “I’m not actually that hungry. Can we go back to the parlor car? And I’ll— I can cook you something. Whatever you want.” 

He pauses, and you can see him flitting through potential responses. You’re half-expecting him to make some sarcastic quip, like You shouldn’t be anywhere near a kitchen or Any food that comes from your hands will probably be inedible or You have many skills, and cooking is not one of them. Instead, he looks at you, a contemplative look in his eyes. He’s thinking, and that’s always a dangerous thing. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, finally looking at you, finally holding your gaze with the same warmth spreading through your palms. You want— you need— you’re craving nothing more than your hands on his and his mouth against yours. He’d be an awful kisser, you’re sure, awkward and clumsy, but you’d be just the same. 

“Can I—” you start, cutting yourself off but letting your awful lack of self-control take over. “Can I kiss you? Do you want that?” 

And he’s too lovely, too stupid and funny and his face hasn’t cooled down for a moment and the sides of his neck are still flushed red. “Not here,” he tells you earnestly, and you see his hand twitch just a little bit against his face. “Once we get back, you— you can do that.” 

It’s a promise, and Dan Heng is starting to get good at those.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

taglist: @tragedy-of-commons

(pssst!!! send me a msg or fill out the form in my navi to be added to the taglist!!!)

you don't get to say sorry

garden bed

todoroki shoto x gn! reader

word count: 0.9k

summary: He doesn’t know how he got here, not really, but he finds that he can’t really care when he’s this warm and you’re getting this close. 

content: pining, kissing, SO SWEET, fluff, introspection (i guess), todoroki is so out of character kill me now, cute things and developing relationship and mild anxiety 

loose part 2 to garden snake but you could def read this w/o reading that like its barely connected LMFAO

notes: no i actually cant characterize todoroki okay SORRY sue me for it! one day i will write my prepared 20k painter au todoroki centric fic but today is NOT THAT DAY. i wanted to write silly kissing so i did it… 

<><><><><>

Todoroki would not be able to explain how he got here. 

He’s in a daze right now. Not from the lingering heat of the garden bed he sat in for the last hour, and not from the humidity of your room failing to be quelled by the loud, running fan that rotates slowly in the corner. Maybe those are minimal factors, but, really. It’s because of you. 

You’re kissing him—everywhere, in every way, and his face is a diluted crimson hue. You’re giggling against his cheek, kissing it over and over again until he’s sure he’ll get a bruise right in the soft part of his face. He feels your teeth unexpectedly clamp down on it in a playful bite, and he flinches away in mild shock. 

“You— bit me?” 

You laugh at him, lightly, and kindly. “Yeah. You didn’t like it?” 

Keep reading

the sun told me so

dan heng + march 7th x reader

word count: 2.4k

summary: It must be something in the heat. Your head swirls with feelings and temperatures and the rush of ocean water pushing and pulling against your feet is giving you vertigo. Or maybe it’s the looks that March and Dan Heng are giving you. 

content: beach day, unrequited feelings, a little bittersweet, mostly just sweet though, crushes, developing relationships, dan heng is a closed door and march is an open book, vague love triangle maybe

notes: hi guys i started playing honkai star rail and my brain is ROTTING and i love dan heng but i also love march and this was supposed to take a different plot but then i was like no i LOVE march and so it became this… no i don’t know how to characterize either of them (i never know how to characterize anyone ever) but i hope this is GOOD okay love u all bye bye 

<><><><><>

“Dan Heng,” you say. “The beach.” 

It’s simple enough. Just a statement, with an underlying pleading tone as you stand in front of him. There’s a good gap between you both. A safety buffer. An airbag of comfort as you shift your weight from side to side and shuffle your feet. March is somewhere behind you, shoving miscellaneous beach items in an oversized tote bag and humming to herself, unaware of the staredown you’re having with Dan Heng. 

It’s a very one-sided staredown. You’re trying to dig into his soul through his corneas and he’s looking in every direction except yours. You sigh. Obviously, you have some very one-sided feelings between you both, as well. 

“I have work,” he finally says. “I need to organize the archives.” Which is probably a lie. Sure, you barely know how the archives work or where everything comes from, but you really doubt that whatever new entries Dan Heng has are so urgent that he can’t go to the beach with you and March. 

It’s always like this. Excuse and excuse. You know you should stop trying by now. 

Keep reading

content: suggestive, making out, stupid silly sweet

<><><><><>

on a sunny day, on a sunny planet, dan heng kisses you. 

you don’t think much about how it started, or the reasons behind it, or where you even are. march is surveying the town for something-or-other, and you had responsibilities to fulfill. but if dan heng finds that there’s no problem putting those off, then neither do you. 

if your memory serves you right (which it never does, evidently), you were both taking a break at some nice outdoor cafe. you held a cup of something warm and sweet in your hands and dan heng stared at you with syrupy eyes and twitching hands and lips that parted but never said anything. and you remember asking him dan heng, what is it? and suddenly your drink was on the table, barely touched, and both his hands reached for yours as he stood up and led you both away. 

Keep reading

„Why can't I be happy?”

I was too touched by his storyline and it turned out to be a sketch of my tears..

We got a real jam going down

found dead on the phone

aventurine, self described.

1.4k words, character study, experimental format, written pre hsr 2.1.

read the full piece at archiveofourown.org/works/54738511.

A dragon, a hero, a sinner, but never a person

Hide your tears, little peacock.

CUPID IS SO DUMB!! >:( (g/n reader x ace trappola) ★ ace trappola is familiar with romantic relationships, but actually factoring love into it is a whole different equation. love is boring. it ruins friendships, makes everything awkward, and is just plain annoying to deal with! it's better if he just ignore it all entirely. right? ★ slight angst/comfort. ENDLESS PINING. too much denial. ★ SIX THOUSAND WORDS. IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR MONTHS. also as you can tell by the first sentence, there is a Lot of Cursing!!! y/n is the prefect in this fic However grim does not appear in this fic at all. Sorry grim lovers :(

ace trappola is in deep shit. 

and that’s saying a lot, considering that he’s been in tricky situations before. possibly trickier than the one he’s in right now. sevens, he’s survived an overblot more than once, so compared to that, this shouldn’t even be that big of a deal. 

and yet here he is. lying in his bed at 5 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what went wrong. sevens know how many times he’s mentally traced over the small crack in the ceiling that’s somehow gone unnoticed by riddle, caused by deuce miscasting a spell which went just a bit too high.  

...this is pathetic, he thinks to himself glumly. rolling over onto his side to get more comfortable, he tries distracting himself by any means necessary. reminding himself of that math test that’s coming up that he still hasn’t studied for, how to improve his basketball shots, new card tricks... and yet his mind keeps replaying that dumb moment in history class. 

that stupid, absolutely aggravating moment in history class. 

it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal. in fact, he recalls just how unimportant that class was up until the moment you so rudely interrupted and somehow made it important. 

the memory plays in his head again, him mindlessly twirling his pen around, blankly staring out the window. the essay he was supposed to be writing laid unfinished in front of him, with only a few words lazily scribbled down. in stark contrast, deuce was very furiously writing down words at record pace, his brows furrowed in concentration.  

in short, history class had been boring, as always. boring and normal and totally irrelevant to ace, until you had reached over with your red pen and crossed out the “your” on his paper and jotted under it “you’re.” 

ace had let his jaw drop in betrayal, watched as your hand quickly shrunk away from view. but the damage was done. offended, ace turned towards you, ready to give you the worst stink-eye of your life. 

“what’s the big deal?” he hissed out, before immediately trailing off and feeling the irritation dissipate into thin air. 

oh, sevens, the way you were covering your mouth with your hand, trying (and failing) to muffle your laughter. your eyes were upturned, crinkling at the edges with mirth. and great seven, the sun was hitting you just right, highlighting all your features and ace just had to admit, you were really pretty. 

ace groans with frustration as he recalls how effortlessly flawless you looked in that moment, so flawless you just had to make it his problem because you’re incapable of not being a pain. 

thankfully, professor trein did one good thing in his life and told the both of you to get back to work, saving ace the embarrassment of having to deal with you and your stupid attractiveness. and while he’s slightly frustrated that he got into trouble, he’s even more frustrated that he has to deal with the fact that he may or may not be in love with his best friend. 

he remembers kicking you under the desk after that, partly for correcting his spelling error, partly for making him feel butterflies in his stomach. he also had to write his 8-paragraph essay in the last 10 minutes of class, and perhaps he’s upset about that too. how dare you distract him from his studies in this way?! 

but alas, ace isn’t as stupid as he makes himself out to be. he can make all the excuses he wants, but he can’t deny the truth. he definitely has feelings for you. he’s not someone to deny the obvious. 

...the only problem is now what? 

the last time ace was in a relationship was when he was in middle school. and he abhorred the whole thing. their date at the amusement park was more of a chore than anything, and she vetoed anything remotely fun. hell, ace wasn’t even sure if she knew what fun was. if that was how all relationships were going to be like, then ace would rather not be in one at all. 

and in any case, he rationalizes, he doesn’t want to go through the hassle of being “serious” with you. he would rather die than play the role of a devoted, sappy, disgustingly cheesy lover who tells you how beautiful you are every day or something. he just doesn’t fit into the prince charming category! if anything, deuce would be a better contender for that role than he is.  

and he couldn’t stand having your expectations for him rise higher than they already are. you expect him to do enough already, for sevens sake! 

all in all, he’s just not the type of guy to commit to such a thing. he’s already told you once that he doesn’t have one romantic bone in his body, and that’s final. being all romantical and sweet just isn’t his thing. 

...and suddenly he recalls your stupid face again, and maybe, just maybe, you’re worth all the trouble of being in love again. 

ace slams his face into his pillow to try and block out his thoughts. 

forget it, he thinks, face still buried in the pillow, you probably don’t even like him back anyway. no point in ruining a good thing, right?  

ace trappola likes hanging out with you, and while he wouldn’t admit it to your face, he would very much like to continue hanging out with you. if he told you that he likes you, like, really likes you, then you’d probably stop talking to him. and, unfortunately, that would kind of hurt his feelings. 

so obviously he should just suck it up and forget that he ever considered you beautiful. he should give up the idea of ever confessing to you. 

...but what if he did and you said yes? 

another groan of frustration slips through his mouth. great sevens, what is wrong with him? 

he doesn’t know why it’s just now that he’s feeling like this. occasionally, he slept beside you when he crashed at your dorm, and he didn’t feel anything then. he’s held your hand once or twice, and his heart hadn’t raced then.  

he mumbles incoherently into his pillow, why is he feeling like this? 

and he had this all happen to him in history class? of all times to fall in love, why history class?! if he had to have some mind-boggling revelation that he was in love with you, he’d rather it be in some magical fantasy place where it feels special and not... underwhelmingly normal. 

no, he thinks firmly, it doesn’t matter where it happened. he’s not going to let it change anything. you guys are friends, and nothing more. 

the image of your face resurfaces again, and he fights the urge to punch himself.  

when the sun rises and he’s forced to continue with the endless charade that is college life, ace trappola realizes he’s had approximately one and a half hours of sleep. it's not the worst thing ever, but to add insult to injury, his alarm didn’t wake him, and he woke up to riddle threatening to collar him if he didn’t wake up this instant.  

so on top of having to think about what he’s going to do when he sees you again, he got yelled at by the housewarden. because of you. 

just another reason why love is more trouble than it’s worth! 

“did you stay up again?” deuce asks, interrupting ace’s thoughts, “you know it’s bad to stay up. us students need sleep to function throughout the day.” 

“what? pssh. this student is functioning just fine, thank you,” ace scoffs out a little too quickly, “come on. you know i’ve got my full 8 hours.” 

a beat of silence. ace grins nervously as deuce’s gaze falls on the painted heart located on ace’s left eye. it’s quite obviously the product of someone who was in a rush.  

“are you... sure?” deuce says slowly, looking at ace skeptically. 

“totally sure, man! when have i ever lied to you?” 

“yesterday,” deuce sighs, shaking his head in exasperation, “whatever. just don’t come to me if your lack of rest comes back to bite you.” 

ace breathes out in relief. while he knows he just spit out the flimsiest excuses known to twisted wonderland, he’s just glad deuce didn’t push it further. sevens knows how he was going to get himself out of that situation if he did. now, just to somehow avoid you for the rest of the day and... 

“good morning!” you yell out brightly, slowing to a stop behind them and flinging your arms across both of their shoulders. 

great.  

“prefect!” deuce greets back, turning to face your sunny grin with a small smile, “good morning. you seem awfully chipper today.” 

ace watches as your grin grows, and he thinks, oh he is so doomed.  

what’s with you and your dumb smiles? he fumes to himself quietly, why do you have to smile so damn much? and why do you always have to be smiling around him? can’t you go smile somewhere else, where he can’t see you- wait no, he still wants you to be around, he means- 

“oh, deuce spade, let me tell you!” you sigh wistfully, letting your arms drop from the two heartslabyul students’ shoulders, “i heard through the grapevine we’re finally doing another hands-on alchemy assignment, and you know what that means, right? i finally get to do something actually magical!” 

wow. you’re practically glowing, ace thinks, and he kind of wishes you weren’t. not that he’s wishing on your downfall or anything, but you’re distracting him, dammit! he likes to be able to use his critical thinking skills, thank you! 

“really? that’s great,” deuce says, “i just hope i don’t have to do any remedial classes this time... that always seems to happen to me. alchemy's just not my strong suit, i suppose.” 

“nothing’s your strong suit, man,” ace sighs, hoping to the great seven his ears aren’t red, “except maybe throwing around cauldrons. not to worry deucey, i’m an expert at alchemy! i’ll help you out, no problem.” 

deuce glares at him, entirely unamused. in contrast, you seem very amused, still warm smiles and cheery laughter. it takes all of ace’s willpower to keep his cool and triumphantly smirk at deuce’s expression, pretending like he’s not about to combust if you so much as say one word toward him. 

we’re just friends, he reminds himself, don’t let this affect you any more than it should. continue pretending you’re unaffected and totally, 100 percent normal. you may be in love with your best friend, but who cares? it’s not that big of a deal. you can do this. you’re not going to let love ruin a perfectly good friendship. 

“in any case,” you hum, snapping him back to reality (the reality where he has to admit that you are extremely attractive), “i’m just excited to do anything remotely magic related that isn’t just writing essays about how the magic pen changed the course of history or whatever. let’s hope we don’t have to do any remedial classes!” 

“like i’d be caught dead in one of those,” ace retorts, “not sure about deuce, though.” 

“you just watch!” deuce huffs, “it’ll be different this time around, you’ll see!” 

ace grins, watching you out of his peripheral.  

see, he thinks, he’s perfectly fine, see how he can still joke around with his best buds? absolutely zero need for anything romantic. we can stay friends. we’re better off friends, even. he’s not letting any romantic attraction ruin the friendship he has with you. 

it’s better this way, he thinks resolutely, isn’t it? 

ace is even more sure that love ruins everything after the disaster that was alchemy class. 

to his absolutely horrible luck (or great, depending on who you ask. ace still thinks it’s horrible luck, though), he just had to be paired with you. professor crewel must have something against him for being too great of a student or something to wrong him in this way! 

this is fine, he tells himself as he watches you gather materials for the potion with that same stupid smile still plastered all over your face. it hasn’t disappeared since this morning, and it’s really getting on ace’s nerves. how is he supposed to focus if you’re smiling like that, huh?! 

again, he’d never pray on your downfall, but great sevens, show him some mercy. he’s already in deep, and you just seem hellbent on pushing him down even further. 

“okay,” you say, excitement evident in your tone as you snap on your gloves, “first, the grounded-up wings of an aurora moth, then the entire bottle of mermaid tears, and finally the cap of an amanita verna. mix until it turns white, and then we tell professor crewel we’re done. easy stuff, right?” 

you turn towards ace, who’s thoughts seem to cloud his ability to listen to anything anyone is telling him. you snap your fingers in front of his face, and he jolts. 

“hello? twisted wonderland to ace?” you huff, “are you even listening? come on, half the class is already getting to work. don’t drag down my alchemy grade, please.” 

ace grins clumsily at you as he readjusts his position. 

“if anything, you’d be the one dragging my grade down,” he quips back, praying to the seven that sounded natural, “just sit back and relax, i’ve totally got this. what’s first, mermaid tears, right?” 

he picks up the bottle of mermaid tears, popping off the cap and getting ready to tip the contents into the cauldron. 

...until you suddenly reach out and grab his wrist. 

ace feels his mind blank. 

you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine... 

“you really weren’t listening, were you?” you scold him, totally oblivious to the raging thunderstorm that is occupying ace’s head, “the wings first, dumbass.” 

it wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact, and yet you’ve still got him absolute putty in your hands, ace thinks, what the hell is wrong with him? no, what the hell is wrong with you? why are you doing this to him?! 

“of... of course i knew that!” ace sputters, placing the mermaid tears back onto the table. his hands aren’t shaking, right? they definitely aren’t?  

“i was just messing with you, you hear me?” he continues rambling on, sevens, he’s a wreck, “i was totally listening. mhm. that’s right. i would never make such an amateur mistake.” 

“right. whatever you say,” you tease, rolling your eyes in amusement, “the aurora moth wings, please.” 

“you think so little of me sometimes,” ace grumbles, face feeling a little too hot for his liking. he reaches for the small vial of powder next to the mermaid tears, before dumping it into the cauldron. 

“see?” he huffs, “everything’s fine. nothing’s going wrong. i mean, how could it when you have the great ace trappola on your side, huh?” 

you make a ‘pfft’ sound, your smile widening as your eyes crinkle at the edges, and great sevens ace has never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. immediately, his eyes flick down towards the cauldron so that he can save whatever bit of dignity he has left.  

everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine, he repeats to himself mentally, just make it to the end of this period, and everything’s gonna be okay. you will not let love win. you are better than this, ace trappola! you can do this! 

“okay!” ace says hastily, in a desperate attempt to minimize the amount of time he has to spend with you, to hurry this class up so you don’t see how red his face is, “what’s next? the mushroom cap? in it goes!” 

“wait- no, ace!-” 

the cauldron explodes. 

to say professor crewel was mad is an understatement. no, professor crewel was pissed.  

“you pups should know better than to just throw things in willy-nilly!” he shouts, “it seems you mutts just never get tired of being disciplined, huh? remake the potion by the end of the day, understand?” 

and so now ace has to be stuck with you and your aggravating, totally annoying and frustratingly pretty face. he’s starting to think he angered a deity in a past life and this is his retribution. 

“you’re an idiot,” you tell him as you reach up on a shelf to grab a new bottle of mermaid tears, “i told you not to drag down my alchemy grade!” 

“hey, i already know riddle’s gonna be all on my case after this,” he quips back sharply, glaring at the back of your head, “i don’t need you mad at me too! listen, we’ll just do this potion over and then everything’s gonna be a-okay. let’s not get upset, yeah?” 

“you’re just trying to deflect your guilt,” you sigh, placing the vial onto the table, “don’t mess it up this time, okay? i don’t want to find out what professor crewel will do if he finds out we exploded another cauldron.” 

“listen, it was a one time thing! a one time thing, you hear me?” he insists, watching you as you pop open the bottle of ground aurora moth wings, “i won’t do it again, promise.” 

“uh-huh,” you say, entirely unconvinced. you mix the powder into the water-filled cauldron, watching as it dissolves. eventually, you both fall into a comfortable silence, with ace simply examining your features as you focus on making the potion. occasionally, you ask him to pass you something, but otherwise he’s left to just stare at you. 

your brows are furrowed, knit together in concentration, and normally ace would think you look silly so focused. eventually, he’d probably find a way to ditch, and then laugh at your exasperated expression when you somehow manage to find him. and yet here he is, willingly staying in a remedial class because you are the most ethereal thing he’s ever seen in his entire 16 years of living. 

at the same time, he also thinks you’re the most troublesome lump of flesh he’s ever encountered. 

people make love out to be this great, totally stupendous thing, and yet all it has done for ace is ruin his life. it’s gotten him with barely any sleep, in trouble with his housewarden, in trouble with his teacher, and most importantly, it’s gotten him a hurt ego.  

and yet, ace almost wants to think that all of it is worth it if he manages to get a laugh out of you in the end. maybe all this trouble would be worth it if he manages to stay with you. 

he’s being stupid, he thinks to himself, he’s being delusional, even. love is doing nothing but ruining his life. he can’t fall into its whims like this! he isn’t going to fall for that trap again, no sir. 

“ace, look!” you say excitedly, snapping him out of his trance. the liquid inside the cauldron has turned a milky white, and while ace wants to tell you good job, he can’t. 

you’re grinning at him, waiting for him to say something. the sight is comical, you look like a puppy waiting for approval from its owner. it’s almost endearing. it may be too endearing. 

ace trappola realizes for the one-hundredth time that he is wholly and entirely enamored with you.  

okay, just tell them good job. tell them something witty, something funny. tell them you’re surprised they managed to do that all on their own. don’t say anything you’re gonna regret, don’t say anything you’re gonna regret- 

“i’m in love with you,” ace blurts out. 

fuck. 

you gape at him, the grin on your face replaced with a dropped jaw. a heavy silence falls between you, only interrupted by the quiet bubbling of the potion in the cauldron. you continue staring at him like he’s grown three heads. he stares back. 

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.  

“kidding, i’m- pfft- did you fall for it?” ace adds-on quickly, laughing to fill the overwhelming silence that threatens to swallow him alive, “prefect, i thought you were smarter than that.” 

you don’t respond. ace swallows, his smile starting to become strained. sevens, he’s really fucked up now. 

“i think i might love you too,” you say back softly.  

what the fuck. 

now it’s ace’s turn to stare at you, eyes wide open. he knows this should be all that he wants. or at least, according to the occasional, cringey romance movies he’s watched, he should be the happiest man in the world right now. 

but all he feels is conflicted.  

your face falls slightly at his silence, and his stomach twists. there’s a burning feeling in his chest, everything in him is screaming at him to say something. anything. does he keep the charade up? does he cheer and celebrate? does he sigh with relief? does he vomit? 

everything he’s told himself up until this moment, every denial that he used to push himself away from his feelings is crumbling at his feet, his walls that he so carefully built around his heart are falling away faster than he can repair them. he wants to be with you more than anything, and yet what if everything goes wrong? what if he messes it all up? 

the silence is deafening. what does he even say in this scenario? the scenario that he’s been trying to avoid the entire day? 

the solution comes to him suddenly, and he stands up abruptly. he decides to do what he does best, a magic trick. 

one where he hits the ground running and sprints as far away as he possibly can. 

you think you just got rejected. 

after ace unceremoniously left you at the cauldron with the potion still brewing away, yet to be poured into a glass bottle, you felt yourself at a loss of what to do. with every step you felt like the ground was threatening to swallow you whole.  

who the hell bolts for the door after they tell you they reciprocate your feelings? 

somehow, you had managed to turn in the potion to professor crewel. when asked where ace was and why he hadn’t turned it in with you, you had frozen up like a deer in headlights.  

“he’s... uh, picking up drinks for the both of us,” you sputter out hastily, “you know, for a job well done! we didn’t blow up the cauldron this time, so, you know, this is a cause for celebration, haha!...” 

crewel eyes you suspiciously, and you try to stop the obviously strained smile on your face from falling and opening the gates to an ocean’s worth of emotions you’re not sure you’re prepared for. 

eventually crewel sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he rubs his forehead in exasperation. 

“i hope you aren’t covering up for that pup,” he mutters, “in any case, the potion seems to be of good quality and seems to be actually properly crafted this time, so fine. i’ll accept it. next time though, if you dare blow up my cauldrons again, i won’t treat you both so leniently. understand?” 

“i understand,” you respond a little louder than necessary, nodding your head slightly in affirmation before high tailing it out of there.  

now what?  

do you run back to your dorm crying? do you weep helplessly at the foot of your bed as the ghosts of ramshackle try their best to comfort you? do you indulge in ice cream and eat your sorrows away? do you call a friend to vent all your frustrations? do you simply go on with your day and pretend like it never happened? 

or do you chase after him, demanding an explanation?  

screw it, you think, what do you have to lose? he’s already technically rejected you, might as well track him down and force him to give you verbal proof to break your heart even more. and besides, even if he does tell you he doesn’t feel the same, you can just say you were playing along with his joke. the joke that is currently the cause of all your problems right now. 

you take out your phone, pulling up the text messages between you and ace. the last few messages you sent to him was only a few hours ago, sending him the answers to the math test you had today. 

your fingers hover over the keys uncertainly, staring at the last message you sent. maybe texting him would seem desperate. maybe you should just let him come to you first. 

you sigh, shoulders slumping as you consider your options. what do you even say anyway? that you’re sorry? that it was a joke, and you didn’t mean it? or that you meant what you said with your entire heart, and you really want him to affirm that he likes you too instead of passing it off as a joke? 

well, what’s the worst he could say over text? you think to yourself, having someone run away when you tell them you like them stings a thousand times more than any insult. might as well just do it, right? 

you slowly type out your message, overthinking every letter and erasing the whole thing more times than you’d like to admit. 

“i’m sorry,” your message reads when you finish, “didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. can we at least talk it over? i turned in our potions btw.” 

you wait a few seconds before a small ‘read’ appears from under the message.  

you wait a little longer before realizing that is all the response you will get. 

as it turns out, there is something that can hurt more than having someone run away when you tell them you like them. 

your friendship with ace trappola is totally wrecked. you’re never going to be the same around him ever again. 

the phrase repeats itself over and over in your head, unrelenting and ruthless. it drives the knife further into your heart, twisting it until you feel like you can barely breathe. 

you don’t know how you managed to drag yourself throughout campus, scouring the academy for any sign that ace has been around. maybe the fact that he left you on read should be evidence that he doesn’t want to talk to you, but you want, no, need answers. your pride, dignity, and feelings be damned. you just need one verbal response that he doesn’t want you around, and then you’ll leave him alone. 

it’s only a shame that ace trappola is much better at hiding than you originally thought. 

you visited heartslabyul first, and unsurprisingly, he wasn’t there. you asked riddle if he had been around, only for him to say he hasn’t seen him since classes ended. deuce said the same thing, saying that he thought ace had been with you this entire time.  

“has something happened, prefect?” deuce asks you, and you’re not sure how to tell him that you’ve been trying not to scream for the last hour. so you tell him that he ran away from his remedial class, and that you’re now looking for him. 

“need any help?” deuce offers, helpful as ever, “i can put him in his place- ahem... teach him a lesson he won’t forget.” 

“no, thank you,” you respond quickly, “thanks for the offer though.” 

you checked the cafeteria next, to which all the ghosts residing there said that they saw him sprint past them towards an empty classroom. but when you had gone to the classroom, the place was all but deserted. a painting of a man in a very fashionable suit eyes you as you visibly slump in defeat. 

“looking for something?” he asks, and you flinch in shock. after all your years in night raven, you still haven’t gotten used to the paintings talking to you. 

“ah... yeah,” you say quietly, staring back at his oil-paint eyes, “a heartslabyul freshman about this tall, fluffy red hair that looks like it’s never seen a hairbrush, red heart on the left eye. have you seen him?” 

the painting hums in contemplation, a streaky hand coming up to rub his chin slowly.  

“i may have seen him, i may have not,” he says eventually, “what do i get in return for telling you?” 

damn these paintings and their conniving nature, you think, why can’t anybody in this academy do a good thing solely for doing good? 

what can you even offer a painting anyway? it’s not like they need money, material possessions are kind of useless when you’re affixed to a wall and can’t touch anything out of the frame you reside in. 

“...a new paintjob?” you offer, “i can hire an artist to paint you a new suit.” 

“the nerve!” the painting gasps loudly, “are you calling me aged and unpleasing to the eye? you disrespectful humans with no sense of-” 

“i’m sorry,” you say quickly, cutting him off. sevens, you don’t have the time for this, “that’s not what i meant. you’re a very... handsome painting, i promise.” 

“hmph,” the man huffs, “apology accepted, i suppose. i’ll tell you where the boy went if you put in a good word for me to the painting in the classroom over. she’s painted with watercolors, and she has the most beautiful raven-like hair i’ve ever seen-” 

“put in a nice word to the watercolor painting,” you interrupt again, exasperated, “got it. now where did he go?” 

the painting grumbles at your interjection, but points you towards the courtyard. you express your thanks and bolt out the door of the classroom. 

“and remember to tell her that i have the most magnificent color palette she’ll ever see!” the painting yells as you sprint away. you make a mental note to get somebody else to do it. 

you skid to a stop as you arrive at the courtyard, looking around for any sign of a 16-year-old, 172-centimeter, red-haired heartslabyul student.  

“ace trappola!” you call out, continuing your search, “come on, don’t avoid me!” 

unsurprisingly, but just as disappointingly, there’s no response. you groan and sit on a bench near the apple tree. only to hear a squeak from behind you. 

you turn, and there he is, ace trappola, trying to hide behind the large apple tree that shades you.  

how did you not notice him?  

“ace,” you whisper, “uhm. hi?” 

silence. and then, ace begins to scramble to get out of position and run as far away as he possibly can once more. 

“hey!” you yell, running into motion after him. sevens, you think, he’s fast. guess he’s not on the basketball team for nothing.  

thankfully, to your relief and his horror, you manage to catch up and grab onto his arm. he stumbles backwards before slowly turning to look at you. 

he’s breathing heavily, and the moment he makes eye contact with you, he looks away. he chews on his bottom lip nervously, fists clenching at his side. 

“why are you running away from me?” you ask, breathing heavily from all the running, “just- tell me what’s going on and i’ll leave you alone. do you not want to be friends anymore or something-” 

“i do!” he says suddenly, and he winces before adding on, “i still want to be friends. i’ve just... i just have to think.” 

there’s a beat of silence, and suddenly the questions you prepared for when you found him slip from your mind. ace still doesn’t look at you, and you feel your resolve start to crumble.  

“...do you not like me the same way?” you say slowly, letting go of his arm, “i get it. i can take rejection. i’m not afraid of honesty.” 

“no, that’s not...” ace groans, running his hand through his hair with frustration, “i do like you. i like you a lot.” 

there’s a thread of hope that you don’t dare to follow, but your heart still leaps at his words of sincerity. 

“so why did you run?” you ask. 

“i don’t know,” ace says, desperation starting to show on his face. “i just... i’m scared.” 

“scared of what?” you probe, exasperation mounting, “are you ashamed of me? do you not want to be with someone magicless, is that it, ace trappola?” 

“no, no!” he exclaims, “i’d never be ashamed of you, i mean, i’ve poked fun at you a few times for being magicless but- come on, you know i don’t actually mean it!” 

“then what is it?” you almost beg, “what are you so afraid of?” 

“everything!” he blurts out, the tips of his ears going red, “i’m scared that we won’t be enough, no- i'm scared i won’t be enough. i’m scared of not treating you right, i’m scared that we won’t work out, i’m scared that i don’t love you enough to make everything turn out okay. i’m scared that i can’t give you what you want, and you’ll realize just how much of a screw-up i am, and then i lose this. i lose us.” 

ace takes in a deep breath, voice shaky. he looks up at you, eyes frantic. desperate. 

“i don’t want to lose us,” he murmurs, “you’re... you know. who’s going to bail me out of detention if i lose you?” 

you blink at him, once, twice... before bursting out into a fit of laughter. and tears. you double over, hiding your expression away from ace’s view. 

“woah- woah! don’t cry, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it,” ace says hurriedly, “we’re cool, right? we can forget all of this ever happened, it was my bad, don’t cry-” 

“you fucking idiot,” you yell at him, hitting his shoulder with your fist. he winces, but you keep talking. “you absolute dumbass. you made me run across this stupid college and you’re worried you won’t be enough? goddammit, trappola, i love you. i am in love. with you.” 

you breathe out. you look up to meet ace’s shocked expression. 

“no, trappola, we are not cool,” you say, “not at all. my legs hurt from running, and i made up an excuse for why you weren’t there when i turned in the potion, and i owe a painting a debt for telling me your location. if you think we’re cool, then you’re dead wrong.” 

“...oh,” he responds back dumbly, “sorry?- wait, no, i didn’t ask for you to chase after me!” 

“but i did!” you quip back loudly, “you know why? because i have the biggest, fattest crush on you. and hell yeah, you’re a screw-up, but i’m still in love with you. maybe i even love you because you’re a screw-up. who the hell knows at this point? ace trappola, i’m rejecting your rejection! try again!” 

“what- you can’t reject a rejection!”  

“i so can!” 

ace blows out a frustrated breath, but there’s amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

“i’m rejecting you because you’re really annoying. also, you snore when you sleep.” 

“i do not!” 

“you so do!” 

you scoff, rolling your eyes. you miss the way ace smiles fondly at you. 

“...sorry for running,” he murmurs, “dumb decision in retrospect. can i try again?” 

“try what again?” you ask. now it’s ace’s turn to laugh at you. 

“my confession.” 

“oh,” you say. you nod. he takes your hand in his.  

“i really, really like you. more than a friend,” he whispers, trying and failing to look you in the eye, “and it sucks because you’re an idiot and annoying and you get on my nerves sometimes-” 

“hey!” 

“shh! but, you know, i guess i like how annoying you are. disgusting, i know. and just to let you know, i’m not going to buy you roses every other thursday with a handwritten card in cursive-” 

“you can’t even write in cursive.” 

“i can! just- shh! i’m not gonna get down on one knee and promise to be someone i’m not. but i really do mean it when i say i love you, and your stupid smiles, and the way you think about me even when you’re mad at me, and i think i’d probably jump in front of a bullet train for you- and sevens, i hate how you’ve made me so cheesy, but seven be damned if i didn’t mean everything i’m saying right now with my entire heart.” 

“so- uh,” ace trails off, embarrassment tinting his face red, “yeah. i like you. can we, uh, kiss and make up?” 

a silence passes between you. ace rubs his thumb against your knuckles subconsciously, and it’s only then do you break out into a grin.  

“not sure about the make up part,” you say, cupping his face with your hands, “but the kiss part? i can do.” 

yeah, you think as your lips collide with ace’s, you’re still in love with ace trappola even after he made you take a remedial class and almost made you cry in said remedial class. you’re still in love even after he made you run like your life depended on it. you’re still in love even after he made you have a mini heart-attack.  

you feel ace smile against your lips, his arms snaking around your waist, and you think, 

yeah. you’re still in love with him. 

note: sorry for disappearing i was on tumblr but i actively ignored by tumblr acc :3 whoopsies! apologies if this fic came off weird or has typos OR uses dashes/commas/ITALICS... I THINK I ABUSED MY ITALIC PRIVELEGES.../literally any grammar incorrectly i literally gave up by the end because it was getting too long and i wanted this off my hands IMMEDIATELY!!!! there are only so many times you can proofread a 6k word fic.... (two times) i love love love the idea of pathetic ace tho like that man is NOT!!! the cool guy i see him as!!! bro is a freshman!!!!!!!!! bro is a 16 year old!!!!!!!!!!!! so here he is. pathetic ace in all his glory. i hope i did him justice ^^;; ty for reading this far if u did! <3

x : TO LOVE, TO CHANGE: *+ﾟ

in which: you tell veritas you love him. he gets upset with you.

warnings: contrary to what the synopsis implies, it's fluff, i promise. 1k words, first time saying ily, slightly cranky reader, no mentions of reader's gender, dr. ratio being so in love he becomes so soppy and lovestruck. confessions.

a/n: there's a phenomenon that happens whenever i write for dr. ratio, and it's that my heart literally lunges out of my chest and begins typing at the keyboard for me. i should get it checked out. anyways, this is to preemptively celebrate his release!!

“Why- why are you mad?” You exclaim, watching the way Veritas crosses his arms and pouts with the petulance of a child. His gaze has strayed away from your eyes, and all you can do is sit in his lap with your arms hanging at your sides, brain tirelessly racking for all the reasons that you could have angered him.

He doesn’t give you any clues, displeasure brewing in his eyes instead.

“Is it because I said ‘I love you’?”

The purple haired scoffs and sticks up his nose, hair bouncing with his actions whilst you jostle slightly on his legs from the quick action. As much as you love his side profile, you’d love it even more if he spoke to you about what is bothering him.

During this moment, the world stills. You think he’s genuinely mad, and Dr. Ratio’s fury-driven state is not something you should take lightly. Really, you’ve seen it multiple times, and though it has never been directed at you, you hope it never will be. Which is why you sit on his lap now, tensely anticipating his response, and for the answer as to what you did wrong. 

“I was meant to say it first,” he grumbles, losing the arrogance that fills his tone whenever he speaks, air filling with sincerity. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I was meant to be the one to say ‘I love you’ first.”

Your confusion is tangible at this point. Audible, if you will, because it rings like cicada sing. “Are you being serious?”

“Deadly.”

“You- why, then couldn’t you just have said it?” You sputter, slapping his defined deltoid, concern slowly melting into frustration. “Need I remind you that it was me who confessed to you first as well?”

“Yes, and it was positively the best day of my life.” He says that like it’s a simple fact. No sentiment, no heartfelt declaration, just another logical statement straight from a textbook of his life.

They say to be loved is to be changed, but no matter how much you love Veritas, all he knows is how to be an astronomical pain in your ass. Does he know how scared you were for his answer? You thought you did something unforgivable, or that he didn’t love you enough to respond in kind, or worst of all, that he wanted nothing to do with you anymore?

However, he's acting petty because he was not the first one to say those three words? You frankly don’t know why your heart beats for him as strongly as it does. In fact, you want to whack him over the head with his own codex.  

Placing your hands firmly on his shoulders, you shuffle out of your position from his lap, planting your feet onto the ground. “Oh, you are so infuriating! Pretend I never said anything, I’m going back to my office until you-”

Not even two steps away from him and a hand clasps around your wrist to drag you back to where you started: on Dr. Ratio’s lap. His arms come to wrap around you like chains, leaving no room to wrestle him out.

“I never said you could leave. Especially not after telling me you love me,” he grumbles lowly into your collarbone, breath tickling your skin.

“I’m starting to regret it.” 

“Can’t you at least say it again?”

“I don’t want to,” you grumble, arms snaking up to rest around his shoulders. “You don’t deserve it.” 

“Well, that’s a little harsh. Is this how you treat the ones you love?”

“You haven’t even said anything back,” you pinch his skin. “Talk about harsh.”

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asks with a fond chuckle, not missing the opportunity to leave kisses in a trail along your skin, making his way up your neck. Then, when his eyes meet yours, you almost crumble in embarrassment at the memory he’s injected into your mind. 

You push him away and raise a hand to shield your eyes from him, clearly reliving a haunting memory. “Please don’t remind me.” 

“Y’know, it’s not everyday someone gets to scold me and be right. If you weren’t so beautiful, I wouldn’t have let it slide, but it’s not everyday a gorgeous genius falls into my lap with guts to challenge me.”

“I was… agitated that day, so stop talking about it, please. In fact, for my sake, please just forget that moment. Completely.”

“Forget about it? Completely?” The scholar asks with genuine shock lacing his tone. “I fell in love with you in that very moment, how can you expect me to stop talking about it? You rendered me a fool in love and expect me to not think about the very moment it happened? Sweetheart, it was a pivotal moment of my life!” 

“Not pivotal enough if you can’t even say ‘I love you, too’.”

“On the contrary, I have loved you longer. I yearned for you in wakefulness and in my dreams. I wished for you to look my way, and when you did, I never wanted your eyes to stray from me. How heartbreaking it was when they did.” His hand has snuck under your shirt now to rub circles on your skin. If he detached from you, he fears you’d slip away from him, and the worst thing you can give him is space. “Do you know how it felt chasing after you because you were the only one out of my reach? For three years, the only thing I wanted was to be yours. You made me an idiot.”

Stunned by his confession and the weight of it, you let him continue, sharp tongue softening. The only motivation you offer is a hand coming to cup his cheek, tucking aside his bangs so you can see his expression in its entirety. 

His gold eyes shine when they look back up at you. For the first time, you feel like you’re seeing the parts of him that Veritas hides from everyone else. 

“I love you.” He continues with heart wrenching devotion. “I’ll continue loving you until the streams stop, the rivers freeze, and the oceans dry. With three hundred thousand, eighty-three thousand, five hundred and seventy-one discovered planets in the cosmos, that phenomenon will approximately take-”

You seal his lips with yours in a gentle kiss, cradling his jaw and swallowing his words. Like wax to fire, Veritas sinks into you, completely helpless against your affections. 

But, oh, you love him, and nothing else in the entire universe matters.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

me and you and awkward silence