i'll start writing tomorrow

⋆｡°✩- feat. itoshi rin

synopsis: six months into your relationship and rin hasn’t been able to express his love for you verbally just yet. that doesn’t mean he is incapable of showing you in other ways tho.

note: a little rin fluff on the way! i hope you enjoy♡

„rin.. what are you doing?“

silence, followed by the slight crunching sounds the paper made as he folded it. that’s right.

itoshi rin, sat on the floor of your living room, surrounded by loads upon loads of pastel pink paper, folding it into dozens of little flowers.

you took a step closer, picking up a blossom that was laying astray before examining it closely. it must’ve been one of his first tries.

it’s petals were uneven, with one or two of them bent downwards. overall it looked like it was on the brink of falling apart, disfigured by the way he must’ve haphazardly thrown it on the wooden floor in his frustration of messing it up.

you smiled. he must’ve spend hours on making these, you noted while looking at the bunch to his left, little pastel flowers piling upon another.

you took another step towards him, stopping beside him to examine the flower he was currently crafting.

it looked downright perfect, petals forming a little crown around a little silver gem in the middle of the blossom matching perfectly with the soft pastel pink of the paper.

“are these for me?”

your question seemed to have startled him, the little jump he made upon noticing your presence beside him gave him away.

he turned to look at you, cherry red tinting his cheeks as his eyes washed over with confusion and guilt.

“you’re home early. you weren’t supposed to see them before they’re done.”

you giggled at him. he looked at you embarrassed before turning back to his task at hand. stubborn as ever.

you watched as he turned the flower in his hand, it’s downside facing upwards as he took ahold of the liquid glue, filling it into the small hole on the bottom before carefully closing it with a soft green pipe cleaner.

he gently collected the other flowers beside him, adding the his newest creation into the bunch before tying it tightly with a cream colored ribbon.

your boyfriend took one last look at his masterpiece, handing it to you together with a small note after giving an approving nod and a satisfied hum.

you gratefully accepted the bouquet, hugging it close to your chest while reading the little note.

with love, your rin

you smiled. these last few days rin has been feeling guilty every time you said i love you.

you understood tho, knowing full well that some people have difficulties expressing their feelings verbally, especially this early into your relationship.

you turned to look at him again, anticipation and nervousness swimming in those teal orbs of his.

“thank you rinnie.”

i understand. i love you too.

©nagiisangel! please don’t steal

you’ve been here before.

the dinner you've prepared is cold on the table. with a fork, you prod at it. maybe if you pretend like you aren't waiting, time will go by faster.

is this the 7th time? 8th? however often it's been, tonight is one of a growing collection of occasions in which sae had left you to out to dry.

a month or so ago was your 5-year anniversary. and he hadn't come home. you waited for him, then, with bated breath. you'd set the dinner table with the fancy china, and a vase of columbine flowers sitting in the middle. two seats. one empty.

when he came home the next day, he'd promised to make it up to you. and you let him promise, because you know he's busy always. he'd be home for dinner next week, he said.

and next week passed. then the next, and the next, and the next. same story, different days. same story, same flowers; columbines. pretty, purple and white with thin little spindly stems. it wasn't until later that you'd learned that they represent foolishness.

tonight is a sunday. you wear his favourite colour. and you don't know why, but you're still watching that door, the one to your shared apartment. you're still waiting for it to open. (he said he'd be home at 8. it's almost 11 at night, now. how much longer will you wait for him, for a change that may never come?)

it's funny, almost. you never thought you'd end up here— as the lonely girlfriend, stuck in solitude, self-induced. this is your fault. you'd gone into this relationship knowing he was a mess, knowing he was spacey and distant and not good enough. never there, never anywhere when you needed him. flakey, famed, far-away. too much and never never never enough.

even you think you deserve better. but you don't want better.

not now, at least, because the door clicks open.

itoshi sae calls your name. a ghost responds.

"you're late again."

it's dark, and you see his silhouette dressed in a white button-down and pants, stooping down to take his shoes off. he doesn't look at you until he rises again.

"i know." he knows. he's not sorry. he knows.

when he moves closer, you can smell him— the scent of spring, his cologne. familiar, so familiar. you feel ill as he examines the table, spread out waiting for him. the fine china, the unopened bottle of expensive red wine, the columbine flowers. and then his eyes land on you.

"you look beautiful." a hand on your chin. does he know he's done anything wrong? and then you see it— a flicker behind his eyes. you latch onto it; was it guilt? did he feel bad? for doing this to you? a knot loosens. ice melts. he has to feel bad; he does. he must. and you love him, so much. because he does care, he does love you. enough to feel bad. enough to kiss you.

itoshi sae kisses you like he’s consuming you— he is the cursed, the cancerous, the cruel— and he intends to devour you whole. make you a part of his world, forever. bound by the tears that turn the kiss salty as they run down your cheeks. you don't remember when you started crying. you didn't realise you were until his thumb shifts to wipe a stray tear away.

he's doing so little but sending sparks across your skin. all it is is a kiss. that's it. one hand is on your jaw. that's it. he's hardly spoken to you— just a few words. and that's it. still, you fall apart in his hold.

it's just like last sunday. it's just like the week before. it's just like it's always been, as of late, with his teeth on your neck and tears in your eyes, and unspoken words left to die hanging in the air.

it hurts. you can't breathe. you hear sae's voice but can't make out what he says. you love him; he is the worst person in the world. you love him, so much. you are sick.

suddenly, he pulls you onto the table. the china falls to the floor. it crashes, you don't care. you love him, you don't care. everything is gone— the cutlery, the plates, the wine bottle, you, him— everything but the columbine flowers. their soft petals touch your skin and you pretend you can't feel them. but it's like they're carving their mantra into your flesh: fool, fool, foolish girl.

"i love this colour on you," sae says. he's down by your legs, finger traveling freely up your thigh and hooking beneath the bottom of your dress.

you don't reply. you know he does.

you've been here before.

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— mint gum

bachira meguru x reader | 0.9k

he hates bitter things, but you thought to test it

bachira meguru is an outspoken hater of all things bitter. he claimed they simply don’t go with his personality, as if the two had any actual ties. you couldn’t deny though, that it certainly fit him well.

he was the first person you thought of when ‘sweet’ came to mind, and the label fit him terribly well in your humble opinion. according to him, he trusted that you knew him well enough to form your objectively correct opinions. you were happy to agree.

alas, it was a commonplace game of yours to try to feed him bitter things, never entirely sure whether he’ll notice or not. it usually ended up in him getting mad at you, but his annoyance rarely lasted long. 

how could he stay mad at you when he thought you looked so pretty laughing, even if at his expense. bachira wouldn’t admit it, but he may play up his negative reactions, just a bit. if it made you smile that much more, he was confident it was fully worth it.

the way your face lit up made him feel like the gross tasting leaf you’d just made him swallow was made of butterflies, and so who was his own pride to deny him of the sight?

this didn’t mean he enjoyed it though, especially considering that he had much better ways of making you laugh. it was a bit unfortunate that his displeasure brought you more joy than his occasionally well-timed jokes, but who was he to go against it? you liked his jokes well enough anyways.

gum was quite clearly banned from your school. you supposed it was fair enough, considering the concerning number of students who stuck theirs underneath the desks. did this rule stop most people though? of course not.

bachira walked up to you, balancing his lunch tray in one hand, waving at you excitedly with the other. “hey!” he exclaimed before meeting you at your usual table, where a late isagi had yet to join you.

It’s your friendly neighbor fanfic author here. In the light of this apparent new trend of people feeding unfinished fics to AI to get an “ending,” and some people even talking about “blanket permissions,” let me just say this:

I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE TO FEED MY FICS TO AI. DUDE, THAT IS ABOUT THE LEAST RESPECTFUL THING YOU CAN DO. IF YOU DO IT, SHALL YOU BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM YOUR FANDOM AND WALK ON LEGOS BAREFOOT TILL THE END OF DAYS.

That is my anti-permission.