[evangeleilee]

take a look at this, the flowers are blooming!

leilee? oh, you mean lilies! one of them withered and died, so there are only 19 of them left. i got the seeds from an asian market, and they even came with basic instructions on how to plant them! looking for a specific flower? check the list to see if it's available.

chose a flower, get a fic: forget-me-nots (new arrival), sunflowers (back on display)

© evangeleilee

[evangeleilee]

yahallo, everyone! i sincerely apologize for being inactive for a while. i've been very busy this semester, bombarded with schoolwork and extracurriculars, so, i have quite a lot on my plate as of the moment. anyways, i'll be back on track once the academic year ends.

i may or may not lurk in @angeleilee. see you around!

[evangeleilee]

YOUU SCAREDD MEE i thought that why does this post seems deja vu AND why the acc is diff bc on how unactive I am recently TT

HELP I'M SO SORRY i moved my works from @archelangeli into this account! i kept the original taglist from the fic so yeah, it's a bit of a jumpscare coming back to this

[evangeleilee]

ACCRUED INTEREST, hinata shoyo x fem! reader

ACCOUNT HOLDER: CPA (can't pass accounting)

while cramming for an accounting assignment from a professor who rarely even shows up to class, a struggling marketing student unexpectedly gets help from an accountancy student, who offers out of pure boredom. but as the numbers add up, it seems that there’s more to this basic accounting equation than meets the eye.

about the account holder !

y/n and tsukishima are first years; akaashi is a second year; oikawa, sugawara, and kuroo are third years; alisa is a fourth year

y/n and tsukishima share the same schedule for all their classes, making them attached to the hip most times

akaashi is y/n's roommate and the only reason why y/n isn't living off of instant ramen is because akaashi cooks for them both

sugawara and oikawa are roommates, kuroo later on moved in with them because rent was getting high

y/n remembered tsukishima during the university's freshmen orientation and when classes started, she immediately secured the seat next to him

kuroo frequently volunteers as a tutor along with sugawara to help first year accounting students

it was through a peer tutoring session that he met both (y/n) and tsukishima, which he later on kidnapped

oikawa only chose accounting as his major because we wanted some challenge in his life and it backfired horribly

alisa rarely drops by the group chat due to being busy since she's a graduating student but would randomly appear as a proof of life

their definition of bonding is group study sessions at 3 am

masterlist | next

taglist (16/50): @dearru @wyrcan @wellitseugi @asrichin @kameyyy @localgaytrainwreck @lvtilzs @cherrysurf @sahrii @gumims @ellsarchive @manhattanstrawberry @solarvrse @stellar-haikyuu @mayyhaps @chloiyoomi

[evangeleilee]

Hii could I be added to the tag list for accrued interests please 🌝🙏🏽

hello there and of course!

[reocidal-deactivated20250312]

sweet — jing yuan

PAIRING: jing yuan x female reader

CONTENT: medieval au, marriage of convenience, fluff with 0.1 second of self doubt related angst, no swearing or anything so no real warnings i think :)

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

NOTE: requested by @prinzessinns for my event!

"princess."

you lay down your embroidery with a sigh, looking up at your husband — jing yuan — with a perfectly practised smile. "my lord."

he waves a hand at you dismissively, lips curving up into a lazy grin. "no need to be so formal — actually, i have something to ask of you."

"do continue." this is an arranged marriage; a union between two nations for the good of both. you — and jing yuan, too, you realise — are nothing but sacrificial lambs for this cause. and yet — his smile, the way he moves, it should not cause you to feel like this. the butterflies that come to life in your stomach every time you see him are just a mistake.

"you are overworking yourself," he says gently. how unexpected. then, catching you off-guard: come out to the gardens with me."

but wait — he shouldn't even be here, he should be out in the courtyard training with his soldiers or teaching his juniors right now. you open your mouth to protest, but he presses a finger on your lips with a barely-concealed smile. "not a word."

you stare at him expectantly, and he relents, stepping back. "we have both been working so much lately. surely a stroll outside shall not cause any issues?"

before you can respond, there's a firm knock on your door.

"yes?" you call out.

they're guards, specifically your husband's guards, and they're looking for him. your gaze meets his, and mischief dances across his features as he raises a brow. it's up to you, so what'll you do?

"he's not here!"

the footsteps recede, and he approaches again. "come, my lady, while we still have time."

the sun is already sinking into the clouds, bathing the grounds in a golden-orange light. he cocks his head, waiting for an answer, and you get up. why not?

"detour to the kitchen?" he suggests as the two of you sneak out of your room. you don't reply, but you follow him anyways, standing discreetly in a corner as he riffles through the well-stocked cupboards while the cooks watch on in disbelief. once he's satisfied with what he's scooped up in his arms, he nods at you to leave — only to be met by the guards, once again. a laugh bubbles out of him; he shifts the bag of food to one hand and grabs yours with the other, pulling you along as he begins to run.

you find yourselves hiding in the stables, sitting on hay bales in most undignified a manner; your husband is digging into a sandwich that looks quite literally perfect. you get rather carried away staring at him, and he, in turn, notices your eyes on him almost immediately.

jing yuan looks up, mouth full. "wan' some?"

taken aback, you blink at him owlishly, and he barely has time to swallow his food before he begins to laugh. "it's fine. here, we're not of any status, so please don't worry about any formalities."

you smile, tight-lipped. is this a test? but he's serious, and princess or not, who are you to refuse a perfectly good sandwich?

by and by, you find yourself slipping into commoners' attire that jing yuan has procured through dubious means.

"are you done yet?" he asks; his back is turned to give you privacy.

"yes, i'm sorry."

"take your time, it's fine."

you walk up to him. "still, i do apologise."

he seems surprised. "whatever for?"

"i just… i'm nothing like you. i'm sorry you aren't getting to do this with someone you really love, instead of the princess you married only to better the bonds between our countries."

"oh," he says, but he does not continue the conversation as he takes your hand and leads you into town.

it's well into the evening now, moonlight streaming down upon the two of you. even in his old, drab outfit, jing yuan seems to glow in its light. but that's not unexpected — he is beautiful. instead, what's more surprising is that no one recognises the two of you. or almost no one. (when you're almost at the end of your walk through the town, a little boy looks up at the two of you, eyes widened. he seems to have realised who you are, but before you can do or say anything, jing yuan presses a few coins into his hand with a sly grin and pulls you away with him.)

"you know," he begins. the two of you are in a secluded area by the town; no one else is around to hear him speak. "what you said before… that isn't true."

"what's not true?"

"the thing you said, about me deserving someone else instead of you. i don't agree with it."

"o-oh. and why not?"

"there's no delicate way to say this." he flushes a little, clears his throat. "i don't want to be with anyone else, regardless of what i deserve. the only one i love is you."

"oh."

"i'm sorry," he adds.

"what? why?" (déjà vu, much?)

"for springing this upon you so suddenly, of course."

"we're going about this wrong," you declare suddenly, fueled by the adrenaline of such a confession. "if we both love each other, we should stop apologising."

"if we both— what?"

the rush has left your system now, and you only offer him a shy smile in return. the sight makes him weak at the knees.

"what do you propose we do about it, then?"

you don't say anything, but the answer is clear.

"may i kiss you, my lady?" his voice is soft, and his touch is softer. you've never nodded this hard or this fast in your life.

when he cradles your face in his hands, you seem sosmall in comparison to him. fragile, like a flower or a sculpture made of glass. and his parents always taught him to appreciate everything he was given, so of course he takes his time, too. and even though fireworks are erupting through his nerves and hordes of butterflies spontaneously come to life in his stomach, when he kisses you, he's gentle and oh so sweet.

800 follower event

© reocidal 2025

[evangeleilee]

i may or may not leave sour note to marinate for some time now

[evangeleilee]

ACCRUED INTEREST, hinata shoyo x fem! reader

while cramming for an accounting assignment from a professor who rarely even shows up to class, a struggling marketing student unexpectedly gets help from an accountancy student, who offers out of pure boredom. but as the numbers add up, it seems that there’s more to this basic accounting equation than meets the eye.

tropes: study buddies to lovers, strangers to lovers

warnings: university! au, accounting student! reader, fluff, attempt at humor, kms/kys jokes, use of profanities, accounting jokes, some university experiences are based on my personal experiences, smau with written portions, out of character, deviations from canon

taglist: open, leave a comment or send an ask

ACCOUNT HOLDERS

introducing...

CPA (can't pass accounting) | academic victims

CHART OF ACCOUNTS

journal entry one: local blonde, zero empathy journal entry two: boring journal entry three: academic parasite and more journal entries coming soon...

© evangeleilee, a repost from @archelangeli.

[reocidal-deactivated20250312]

sweet — jing yuan

PAIRING: jing yuan x female reader

CONTENT: medieval au, marriage of convenience, fluff with 0.1 second of self doubt related angst, no swearing or anything so no real warnings i think :)

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

NOTE: requested by @prinzessinns for my event!

"princess."

you lay down your embroidery with a sigh, looking up at your husband — jing yuan — with a perfectly practised smile. "my lord."

he waves a hand at you dismissively, lips curving up into a lazy grin. "no need to be so formal — actually, i have something to ask of you."

"do continue." this is an arranged marriage; a union between two nations for the good of both. you — and jing yuan, too, you realise — are nothing but sacrificial lambs for this cause. and yet — his smile, the way he moves, it should not cause you to feel like this. the butterflies that come to life in your stomach every time you see him are just a mistake.

"you are overworking yourself," he says gently. how unexpected. then, catching you off-guard: come out to the gardens with me."

but wait — he shouldn't even be here, he should be out in the courtyard training with his soldiers or teaching his juniors right now. you open your mouth to protest, but he presses a finger on your lips with a barely-concealed smile. "not a word."

you stare at him expectantly, and he relents, stepping back. "we have both been working so much lately. surely a stroll outside shall not cause any issues?"

before you can respond, there's a firm knock on your door.

"yes?" you call out.

they're guards, specifically your husband's guards, and they're looking for him. your gaze meets his, and mischief dances across his features as he raises a brow. it's up to you, so what'll you do?

"he's not here!"

the footsteps recede, and he approaches again. "come, my lady, while we still have time."

the sun is already sinking into the clouds, bathing the grounds in a golden-orange light. he cocks his head, waiting for an answer, and you get up. why not?

"detour to the kitchen?" he suggests as the two of you sneak out of your room. you don't reply, but you follow him anyways, standing discreetly in a corner as he riffles through the well-stocked cupboards while the cooks watch on in disbelief. once he's satisfied with what he's scooped up in his arms, he nods at you to leave — only to be met by the guards, once again. a laugh bubbles out of him; he shifts the bag of food to one hand and grabs yours with the other, pulling you along as he begins to run.

you find yourselves hiding in the stables, sitting on hay bales in most undignified a manner; your husband is digging into a sandwich that looks quite literally perfect. you get rather carried away staring at him, and he, in turn, notices your eyes on him almost immediately.

jing yuan looks up, mouth full. "wan' some?"

taken aback, you blink at him owlishly, and he barely has time to swallow his food before he begins to laugh. "it's fine. here, we're not of any status, so please don't worry about any formalities."

you smile, tight-lipped. is this a test? but he's serious, and princess or not, who are you to refuse a perfectly good sandwich?

by and by, you find yourself slipping into commoners' attire that jing yuan has procured through dubious means.

"are you done yet?" he asks; his back is turned to give you privacy.

"yes, i'm sorry."

"take your time, it's fine."

you walk up to him. "still, i do apologise."

he seems surprised. "whatever for?"

"i just… i'm nothing like you. i'm sorry you aren't getting to do this with someone you really love, instead of the princess you married only to better the bonds between our countries."

"oh," he says, but he does not continue the conversation as he takes your hand and leads you into town.

it's well into the evening now, moonlight streaming down upon the two of you. even in his old, drab outfit, jing yuan seems to glow in its light. but that's not unexpected — he is beautiful. instead, what's more surprising is that no one recognises the two of you. or almost no one. (when you're almost at the end of your walk through the town, a little boy looks up at the two of you, eyes widened. he seems to have realised who you are, but before you can do or say anything, jing yuan presses a few coins into his hand with a sly grin and pulls you away with him.)

"you know," he begins. the two of you are in a secluded area by the town; no one else is around to hear him speak. "what you said before… that isn't true."

"what's not true?"

"the thing you said, about me deserving someone else instead of you. i don't agree with it."

"o-oh. and why not?"

"there's no delicate way to say this." he flushes a little, clears his throat. "i don't want to be with anyone else, regardless of what i deserve. the only one i love is you."

"oh."

"i'm sorry," he adds.

"what? why?" (déjà vu, much?)

"for springing this upon you so suddenly, of course."

"we're going about this wrong," you declare suddenly, fueled by the adrenaline of such a confession. "if we both love each other, we should stop apologising."

"if we both— what?"

the rush has left your system now, and you only offer him a shy smile in return. the sight makes him weak at the knees.

"what do you propose we do about it, then?"

you don't say anything, but the answer is clear.

"may i kiss you, my lady?" his voice is soft, and his touch is softer. you've never nodded this hard or this fast in your life.

when he cradles your face in his hands, you seem sosmall in comparison to him. fragile, like a flower or a sculpture made of glass. and his parents always taught him to appreciate everything he was given, so of course he takes his time, too. and even though fireworks are erupting through his nerves and hordes of butterflies spontaneously come to life in his stomach, when he kisses you, he's gentle and oh so sweet.

800 follower event

© reocidal 2025

[chloiyoomi-deactivated20250219]

𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 – suna rintaro x f!reader

"i know what you are..." you say, breathlessly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. he refuses to meet your gaze, chartreuse eyes fixated on something far off in the distance, empty. "suna–"

"say it."

you inhale deeply, eyes locked on his averted gaze, "vampire."

content info & warnings. sfw, supernatural, vampires & werewolves, heavily inspired by the book series twilight by stephenie meyer. characters aged up (18-19), blood, violence, attempted murder, murder, attempted kidnapping, attempted vampire suicide, depictions of depression, past cannibalism. PLS REBLOG

intros: humans | vampires | werewolves

chapter 1: tba.. >:)

taglist: (lmk if u wanna be added!)

@fushiguruuzzzz | @seumyo | @koahla | @sahrii

@sugacor3 | @reocidal | @heartmaddie | @cherrysurf

@nobodybutnnoorr | @twiishaa | @tetsuswaifu @duhhitsmira

[evangeleilee]

dropped by late but haii new mooti😋😋🔥

hello to you too, new mooti! 💗

[evangeleilee]

hii 🫶 stealing moots from alina don’t mind me i love your theme 💗

hello! it's okay, feel free to steal me since i'm a very willing hostage lmao

also, thank you! this theme is currently my favorite 💗

[stockholm1996]

when i read ppl's favourite character section in their about me and it says some shit like 'dazai osamu' or 'fyodor dostoevsky' i need 2 think for a moment if they mean like the author or the bsd character..

n this lwk makes me laugh like

[evangeleilee]

what if i told you it's both the fictional character and real life author

[evangeleilee]

SOUR NOTE, oikawa tooru x fem! reader

THE BAND LINE UP: lure

after calling it quits with his situationship, a lead singer of a band at the university, oikawa tooru can’t shake the feeling that things aren’t as over as they seem. his way of winning her back? start his own band and compete with hers to get her attention, even if it ends on a sour note.

in collaboration with ephemeral by @solarvrse.

Give it up for Lure!

Meet the lead singer and guitarist, Tooru Oikawa—the star of the show!

Before he even steps on stage, the crowd is already screaming his name—and it only gets louder once he’s in the spotlight! A third-year communications student with a natural talent for connecting with people, Oikawa knows how to captivate an audience like no other. The moment he strums his guitar and leans into the mic, everyone falls under his spell. Though, maybe we shouldn’t talk about his fan girls.

He’s the one who draws you in—and before you know it, you’re hooked!

Meet the bassit, Hajime Iwaizumi—the backbone!

Solid, steady, and dependable, he’s the grounding force that holds the band together! A third-year medical technology student, he pours the same fiery passion he has for his studies into his dedication to the band. His stage presence is quiet yet commanding, something everyone admires about his character. Though he’s known for his hotheaded moments, it’s that fire that keeps the band grounded.

When Iwaizumi is strumming the chords on the bass, it’s all soul!

Meet the drummer, Issei Matsukawa—the pulse!

The dummer and his drums are the pulse of the band, and that's exactly the energy Matsukawa brings! A third-year mortuary science student, his dry humor is as sharp as his drum fills, keeping both the band and the fans on their toes. Infamously known for his ability to flip from steady beats to explosive solos, Matsukawa brings an edge to band sound that keeps the energy level sky-high.

With every struck, he fires up the crowd's spirit!

Meet the keyboardist, Takahiro Hanamaki—the smooth operator!

His fingers dance across the keys while the crowd sways to the rhythm! A third-year management student, he’s the band’s unofficial planner, keeping things on track both on and off stage. With the talent to create unforgettable melodies and a presence that’s subtle yet impactful, Hanamaki adds depth and soul to the music of the band.

You can always count on Hanamaki to set the mood!

prev | masterlist | next

the backstage !

finally, we're done with lure's introduction that i totally didn't rawdogged at some point

anyway, it's currently enrollment period for me so i might take a while to work on the epilogue

taglist: @lvtilzs @sahrii @haechuun @sickpatientt @s777athv @stellar-haikyuu @kameyyy @chemicalsnoopy @cherrysurf @moochiwoochi @phoenix-eclipses @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sun4san0 @daemoncer @nobodynnoorr @x3nafix @lblackwood @kissunday @mayyhaps @renardiererin (20/50)

[kameyyy]

PASSION; atsumu miya x reader

CHAPTER 1: red

cw: cursing, mention of a deceased grandparent, mention of dysfunctional family, lowkey unreliable memories, mention of alcohol use, umber is a color I don't mean amber, sry if I missed some [please refer to the general tags/warnings on the m.list !]

a/n: hi so I hope you'll enjoy !! this is my first ever written chapter in english and after like idk 4 years of writers block, so please be nice about it <3 I'm really excited to write this smau and I apologize for any grammar issues or typos !! I'm writing this at 6:30 am rn and I haven't slept yet lol so please bear with me

songs I violently played on repeat: Girl With One Eye ; Beatutiful Crime ; Claire ; Not

wc: 3.7k

She didn’t hear the front door of the shop creak open, nor the ring of the old bell attached to the ceiling sounding twice. He let his eyes roam suspiciously over the two steps of stairs in front of the door that led him further into the building, uneven and small, rough edges and splitting paint hidden behind a rug of yale blue that certainly has seen better years.

At first glance, the shop appeared messy. Countless rugs in various colors hung up on walls, spread out on the dark wood floor, or rolled up and stuffed together on shelves or any corners. The wallpaper was yellowed, partially wavy, and loose in places. Between the million rugs laid out underneath his feet, he spotted chipped parts of the wood floor and white dried-up paint smeared over it, seemingly by accident, as he moved over to the redwood counter and the person sitting behind it.

He wondered why his friend chose this specific shop for his rug. It was nothing like him, and not even close to the other stores he frequented. This one was cluttered, messy, and odd. The tips of the aloe vera on top of the counter were rolled tight and colored brown, balancing between life and death. Water and coffee stains adorned the counter top, dust settled in the corners and the jar with pens was tipped over. However, when his eyes landed on the stack of volleyball magazines spread messily next to the woman hunched over the counter, he suddenly understood his friend. He couldn’t make out her face since it was angled too far down, but instead, he clearly saw the video she was watching. A volleyball video. An interview of him. 

This place reeks of a discount.

She doesn’t like the color red. It reminds her of the past she is trying her best to forget, or it announced bad times coming for her. But as much as she learned to hate this color, somehow, she found herself surrounded by all kinds of shades of it every day.

Her childhood bedroom had wallpaper colored in carmine red. Walls that witnessed her silent sobs, her figure slouched over the prickly carpet writing a myriad of essays, all those fights with her mother, and countless nights where the bed stayed untouched and cold. She used to love this specific shade of red, though all it did now was leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her school uniform had a tie colored in maroon. The fabric accompanied her to all those classes, where she repeatedly realized just how different she was from everybody else. 

All her peers had their lives planned out already. They knew what to study, what job or company they wanted to work for, and at what age they wanted to get married. One child or two, the age difference no more than three years. A boy, or a boy and a girl. If they didn’t plan their life out this detailed, then they at least had an idea. Everybody had some sort of dream or goal to reach, unlike her. 

She was lost in a maze with no way out, the fog imprisoning her growing denser with every passing year or thought she spent on ways to escape.

The counter was made of redwood and the countless rugs scattered around the shop, either hung or rolled up, were all colored in some shade of red. They watched her fail the attempts of trying to forget the past whenever she lets her gaze wander out the window. Her eyes focused on the building across the street as if she was looking for someone. 

These rugs witnessed on cold fall days how she hung up a certain crimson red scarf on a coat rack behind the counter and sometimes stared at it a little too long, lost in thought. She got it as a gift a year before her high school graduation and never brought it over herself to toss it out of her life. It kept her warm on nights she turned her back to the locked front door of her house. Head hung low, sigh after sigh leaving chapped lips, a shiver from the biting cold of winter running through her body. Though moments later she was greeted happily in a certain house filled with warmth, laughter, and love. Umber eyes lifted unpleasant feelings and worries from her shoulders like a feather caught by a gush of wind. The scarf tagged along when she waited in front of the school gym, or when she laughed with the person that would later show her what passion truly felt like. Even when that passion was fueled by hate.

She was hunched over the countertop next to the cash register, her knuckles pressed against her temples as she kept her head low and eyes trained on the screen laid flat on the wood grain. 

She couldn’t help it.

The wired earphones she wore were broken in and tangled, the sound quality wasn't the best, but it was enough for her 10-minute walk to work. Or, to watch this interview with her eyebrows scrunched while the shop was only filled with her figure and a faint buzzing sound coming from the break room. It went unnoticed — just like the person actually standing in front of her.

She doesn’t know why she keeps watching these stupid volleyball interviews with him in it. She doesn’t know why she googles his name at least once a month, on the lookout for new achievements he made in his life, but not to celebrate. And she doesn’t know why she keeps buying these damn magazines he’s printed on the cover of — or is somehow featured in. 

She doesn’t know why she can’t let him go.

On her screen he stood proudly with a hand on his hip, the other running through his damp blonde hair while he answered the reporter's questions. His team won a match that was seemingly rather important. They talked a little too much about volleyball and teams she had never heard of before, though that was only because she always skipped the magazine pages that weren't about him, so she didn't really focus on what was said.

He carried himself with confidence, success was written all over his face. His hair wasn’t this awful yellow color anymore, it hadn’t been for a while, but rather a natural-looking blonde. He grew bigger, in muscles and size, compared to the last time she saw him in person years ago. He seemed more mature, though he was still the same and carried his signature smirk around, which she so desperately wished to wipe off his face. 

It’s unfair. Life’s unfair. It had only been good to him, for some stupid reason. He had a happy family, confidence and looks like no other, passions and goals he worked hard for to achieve and maintain. On the other hand, life had been treating her like a pacifier lost on the streets. It made her bitter. It filled her with hate. It made her cry at night — because she doesn’t understand why.

He got everything he dreamed of, while she didn’t even get a dream.

“What is your ideal type of woman?” The reporter spoke, and the blonde man paused for a second, raising a hand to his chin in thought, before a sly grin spread over his lips. She found herself biting on the skin of her cheek, a small part of her anticipating his answer a little more than she’d ever admit.

“My type in women?” He blew a lost strand of hair out of his vision, his eyes glimmering in amusement. “Someone who knows what they want in life.”

She scoffed loudly, roughly ripping her earphones out of the shell of her ears, and throwing them on top of the table. 

“What a dick.” She spat, venom rising to the back of her throat, daring to spill over like ink and red wine, staining her for years to come. She threw herself back in the creaking chair, nails roughly digging into the palm of her hand.

“Excuse me?” A voice sounded in offense.

Her eyes snapped up from the screen that still played the interview. In front of the counter, she was met with a broad figure in a burgundy red t-shirt and umber-colored irises. Her mouth went dry — and with it, her heart stopped beating for a second.

“What the fuck.”

Her sudden words of calling him a dick caught him off-guard. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he had his lips parted for more words to come out, offense painted across his face, though they died on his tongue the second she threw her head back to look at him.

A few moments of silence passed between them as they took in one another. 

It was her, to his delight. And it was him, to her misfortune.

He desperately tried to find his voice. He wanted to express all the feelings and questions swirling and burning inside his mind about her, after all those years, since they last saw each other. She pressed her jaw together tightly in an attempt to keep calm, the fight or flight instinct within her triggered. But she was working right now. Punching a customer would likely result in termination, as well as abandoning the shop.

He was the first one to break the silence again, a weak and nervous smirk painting his lips as he spoke.

“You’re a fan?” His eyes flickered to the interview still playing on the screen.

“Quite the opposite.” She scrunched her nose in disgust and quickly turned off the video.

Though, he simply raised his eyebrows, not buying a word she said, and instead nodded towards the stack of magazines next to her. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that the magazine lying on the top of the stack had his face printed all over the cover. She cursed herself silently, the only one without him displayed on the front page, currently stuck under the left leg of her chair to keep it from tilting over.

“We sell those.” She said flatly, trying to seem indifferent about it, but the nervous biting of her lip betrayed her.

The corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement, the smile on his lips grew wide before his features ultimately softened. Umber eyes roamed over her face, taking in everything that changed or had stayed the same. 

Her hairstyle was different, the bags she used to carry under her eyes weren’t as prominent anymore. But she still looked tired, her lips still chapped from her habit to gnaw at them whenever something bothered her. 

He wondered if her troubles were different now. He hoped they were. Otherwise, everything he had given up — which was her — was pointless. Nonetheless, she resembled the same girl from years ago, though he knew she was different now. She looked at him differently, too.

“I didn’t think we’d see each other again.” He muttered, memories of their time spent together played in front of his inner eye.

“I wish it would’ve stayed that way, Miya.”

His name tasted weird and unfamiliar on her tongue. The last time they saw each other — which was years ago — she referred to him by his given name, though not nearly as civilized as she managed now. Ways were parted in hate and anger, insult after insult spat from her mouth like venom as she screamed at him, in hopes of making him hurt as much as she did in that very moment.

He wronged her. He broke the trust he had so patiently built up and did the one thing she begged him not to do, sealed with multiple pinky promises and reassuring smiles. 

But suddenly her life fell apart. All because of him. 

She was left with nothing except this ignited spark of hate, and she never managed to loosen the claw-like grip it had on her throat.

“How have you been?” He cleared his throat awkwardly, dying to know about her life since he lost her. It was the same soft tone and expression he had used on her years ago. On days when she came to him after she had found the front door to her house locked and her hopes for a better life in shambles.

“Don’t act like you care.” She pressed through gritted teeth, her voice trembling from frustration.

She shot a glance behind him at the only functioning clock hanging on the wall, next to many others that were either off by many hours or just stopped working completely. Some were small, some were big, and a few were oddly shaped. Metal, plastic, wood. Brown, gold, red. It was 6:53 pm and her shift for today would end in exactly 2 hours and 7 minutes. 2 hours and 7 minutes too long, stuck in this shop, with a man she never wanted to meet again.

His shoulders fell slightly, and he took a step closer to the redwood counter, placing his calloused hands on the rough edge of chipped wood. The murmur of her name fell from his lips like a low melody. “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like that?” She scoffed, disdain written all over her face as she jolted up from her chair, the palms of her hands slamming against the counter. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He winced when her chair hit the floor, avoiding her gaze as he tightened his grip, looking down to her hands sprawled out on the wood grain. Chipped redwood dug uncomfortably against his palms, he squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, biting his cheek as if to force himself to make his next move. 

He gulped as he carefully lifted his gaze back to her, silence hanging thick in the air between them. 

Years ago, on a day that began like every other, he messed up and lost her completely. Today was similar, though this time he won’t let her stray far from him again. Their friendship meant a lot to him, even if he never openly admitted it, and he wanted to win her back. Make up for past mistakes and fix things, see her laugh at his stupid jokes or hear her cheer loudly for him during a volleyball match again. 

He missed their late night talks in the quiet of his living room, arms softly brushing against each other and acting as if both didn’t notice their knees touching underneath the thin blanket. Hushed voices conversing from the floor and bottom bunk bed in his childhood bedroom, trying not to disturb his brother who always fell asleep first, and giggles muffled by their hands when his mother returned from a shift way past their bedtime, rushing up the stairs with adrenaline pumping through their veins. 

He was uncharacteristically soft with her, doing small things his brother teased him about, like holding her hand under the pretense that she was walking too slow, or so she wouldn't get lost. Physical contact like this normally made her uncomfortable, but for him, she made an exception.

A wary look was painted on his features and his warm, calloused hand slowly cupped over her own, his thumb softly brushing over her knuckles in a calming manner, voice just as gentle. “Look, I’m sorry for what I’ve done-”

“No, you’re fucking not!” She cut him off with a snarl, swatting his hand away like a nasty fly. “You’re only sorry because your stupid attempt to ‘save me’ failed!”

He opened his mouth to object, his hand pulled close again as if he had burnt himself, though his words died on his tongue and he pressed his lips together tightly, running a hand through blonde hair. 

Never before had she seen him this close to looking remorseful, though, she knew it was just faux feelings. If he hadn’t met her today, after roughly four years, he wouldn’t have spared a single thought on her. She was just a side character in his story, after all.

Atsumu Miya was the type of guy who spoke a lot and couldn’t ever shut up. Even when the situation called for it. 

She only slept 4 hours? Well, he only slept three and has a stomach ache. 

She tries to talk about her life at home? Too bad, suddenly he’s reciting every moment of his life, starting from when he was just a cell in his mother's womb. 

Something was always on his mind. Anything he deemed worth expressing he spoke out loud, and often it was unnecessary, stupid, or left her questioning his common sense. When he didn’t talk over her or made every conversation about himself, he was too busy training and bickering with his brother. 

Emotional, soft, and heart-to-heart conversations were impossible with him. This includes when she first opened up about her situation at home. Her voice was quiet, her hands trembled, and she made him promise a million times not to tell anyone else. 

Opening up to someone filled her with anxiety. Somehow, she even feared his reaction. Would he be indifferent? Dismiss her completely, or tell her to suck it up? Would he get angry at her? Would he tell her mother? Or his brother and mother?

These are things she never had to worry about whenever she emailed her deceased grandmother, emails in which she thoroughly spoke about the things that had happened to her, dumping her thoughts and feelings. She had tried diaries before, but the fear of her mother discovering them or someone else led to her lying about the things she wrote about. But that destroys the purpose she bought the book for, no?

So she stopped, and poured out her heart's content in emails instead that no one had access to anymore. Even though she will never receive an answer, sending those made her feel as if she really talked to someone. Something a piece of paper or the notes app on her phone couldn’t ever do for her. Unlike when she opened up to Atsumu, she felt heard and listened to.

He kept pacing around the room, muttering curse after curse through gritted teeth. She didn’t know if they were directed at her mother, her, or himself. He was ticked off and frustrated about the fact that this had been going on for years at her home, without him knowing anything about it, though they only recently started growing closer. So when could she have told him about it? Not only that, but she used to hate him too. 

Many people her age actually preferred being friends with Osamu, rather than him. They were alike, but the grey-haired brother was rather laid back and kind of calm, more bearable to have a conversation with. But the blonde kept pestering her, walking her to class, eating lunch together and joining her on the swings by the playground at late hours. She eventually came to the realisation that he was only half as bad as originally thought, and that she actually kind of liked him. 

Yet moments like these, where she opened up and made herself vulnerable in front of him, caused her to second guess her choice of friend. There were no hands holding hers, and no softly spoken call of her name to sooth her spiraling thoughts. Nor did they ever truly talk about the things she so slowly and carefully put together in words. He couldn’t comfort her the way she needed, and to a certain degree it seemed like he never truly cared, always swiftly moving to a different topic.

“I was doing okay, I was content. But you made my life sound so much worse than it actually was.” she said, her tone tight, edged with frustration and a hint of wounded disbelief. “I had you and your support, no one else needed to know what was really going on, there was only one year of school left anyway.”

Somehow, she noticed, their roles were reversed now. He grew up and learned to manage and express his emotions better. He was successful in his job and his passion. Everything she prayed to god to was ignored and fell into his lap instead. 

It filled her with hate and bitter jealousy.

They both came from somewhat similar backgrounds. A deadbeat father, a single mother, and issues with making friends. She was an only child, he was a twin. She expected his mother to be exhausted, overwhelmed, and stressed, unable to control her emotions or lash out at them sometimes. It’s what her mother was like already, though she only had to feed one extra mouthful, and not two. Instead, she was met with nothing but love and support in the four walls of his home. Something incredibly foreign to her. 

Now, she directed her frustration and anger at people close to her who deserved it the least. Her emotional control kept slacking off with every passing day. She’s been fired from previous jobs often, goes out drinking instead of attending her classes, and her relationship turned from something that gave her joy and a will to push through, to this never-leaving sense of guilt and exhaustion. 

“I had plans, Atsumu. I knew how to get out, I knew how to help myself. But you robbed me of every opportunity and broke your stupid fucking promise.”

Everything he had dreamed of was just one breath away, while she’d been drowning for years.

They’re two sides of a coin. 

He woke up early with a smile, feeling refreshed and energized. She hadn’t moved an inch the moment she opened her eyes, even though she’d been meaning to get up for the past hour.

He kept in touch with his mother and called her every Sunday. She hadn't heard a word from hers since she moved to Osaka.

He doesn't know who his father is and doesn’t plan on knowing. She was forced to find out about hers.

He was a role model for many children. She never understood the concept.

The blonde stepped back from the redwood counter, hands buried in his pants as he shook his head slowly. “You would have lost yourself.” 

“And I’m not lost right now?”

please consider leaving a like, reblog or follow if you enjoyed <3

masterlist ; playlist ; pinterest board

taglist, open (comment here or send an ask);

throne of honor: @solzscribblez @wyrcan @heartmaddie @causenessus @hyunteru

@angeleilee @kawoala @vertejay @vitoshi @kang-ulzzang @hanadulsetaad @nobodybutnnoorr @pookalicious-hq @gigiiiiislife @fridaenpina @sahrii @sakusasbadger @solarvrse

©kameyyy all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

[evangeleilee]

SOUR NOTE, oikawa tooru x fem! reader

THE BAND LINE UP: genesis

after calling it quits with his situationship, a lead singer of a band at the university, oikawa tooru can’t shake the feeling that things aren’t as over as they seem. his way of winning her back? start his own band and compete with hers to get her attention, even if it ends on a sour note.

in collaboration with ephemeral by @solarvrse.

Give it up for Genesis!

Meet the lead singer and rhythm guitarist, Y/n L/n—the face and voice of the band!

A true natural on stage that her presence alone is enough to make the crowd go wild! A third-year marketing student with a way with words, whether it's writing a new song or coming up with the perfect marketing pitch, she also handles the band’s coordination with venues and promoters outside the university. Some might swear they could faint from how hot she is but beware, her temper burns even hotter.

She’s always on fire—before you know it, you’re just a moth drawn to her flames!

Meet the lead guitarist, Eita Semi—the showstopper!

The moment his riff solo hits, the crowd is electrified, hanging on every note! A third-year music student with a competitive edge, he contributes immensely to the band’s original sound and musical identity. Known for his talent and stage presence, Semi doesn’t just play the guitar—he owns it. He’s the glue that keeps the band grounded, always ready with a sharp quip or a guiding hand to elevate their music to the next level.

You know the show isn’t over until Semi has stolen the spotlight!

Meet the drummer, Satori Tendou—the erratic heartbeat!

The crowd isn’t alive until his sticks are hitting the drums! A third-year culinary student, he’s probably banging pots in the kitchen if he’s not behind his kit. He never misses the chance to drop a drumroll or a perfect badum tss at the worst possible moment. True to his eccentric nature, Tendou names his drumsticks and talks to them like they’re his bandmates but will probably break them the following week.

Once Tendou starts banging on the drums, the crowd can’t help but bang their heads!

Meet the bassist, Wakatoshi Ushijima—the steady ground!

The crowd knows too well that he prefers to let his bass do the talking! A third-year sports science student who initially had no interest in music or thought of being in a band, Ushijima now takes his role as the bassist very seriously, bringing unwavering commitment to the band. He is known as the stoic bassist with dad energy, which is agreed upon by both the band and the fans. If he isn't in the practice room, he's probably at the gym.

Reliable and steady, Ushijima’s presence is as solid as his basslines!

Meet the backing vocals and keyboardist, Kenjirou Shirabu—the harmony!

The perfect blend of smooth and sharp, his harmonies and vocals complete the soul of the band! A second-year nursing student with a keen sense of precision, whether it is pressing the right key or remembering details of human anatomy. Usually found in the corner of the practice room, pretending he’s not judging everyone’s music taste. Despite being the last to join, he’s proven that he’s an integral part of the band’s sound.

Watch out—his underrated keyboard skills and vocals can steal the show when you least expect it!

masterlist | next

the backstage !

just a head's up that there will be references of the battle of britpop, making genesis the oasis in this fic

though genesis isn't the exact same as oasis, just a reference like how blur will be to oikawa's band, lure

taglist: @lvtilzs @sahrii @haechuun @sickpatientt @s777athv @stellar-haikyuu @kameyyy @chemicalsnoopy @cherrysurf @moochiwoochi @phoenix-eclipses @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sun4san0 @daemoncer @nobodynnoorr @x3nafix @lblackwood @kissunday @mayyhaps (19/50)

[evangeleilee]

i am crashing out because hyperlinks to external websites no longer works on tumblr