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I write. Drabbles and whatnots. reqs are always open ♡

[liminarystars]

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liminarystars ﹐infp ﹐she/her

reqs are always open

m.lists | guidelines 4 requests | quotev | wattpad

[liminarystars]

B E H I N D H E R L I E S

You had woken up in a classroom. The classroom had at least 2 security cameras, and the windows were boarded. Well not exactly boarded, they were sealed tight using big sheets of metal and massive bolts. Excessive and industrial looking. Bright yellow wallpaper covered the rest of the real estate on the walls. A hideous pattern might many may say. It was tacky.

Who's idea was it to make a bright barf yellow wallpaper with animal print? Creative sure, you could give it that, the designer must've thought they were revolutionising the look of the standard classroom.

This isn't like Mean Girls, barf yellow animal print isn't going to happen like fetch.

Ignoring all the visual horrors of the walls, the rest of the classroom contained what you would expect. Desks, chairs, chalkboard, shelves, the usual classroom standard. Except this classroom looked as if it hasn't been used in a while. A very agonising while.

Huh? A pamphlet? 

You picked up the neatly folded paper and begun to read it. Maybe it would give me a indication of what had happened. At least answer to why you were here. Instead of anywhere else much more fun or pleasant to be. 

Is this some kind of cruel joke? This looks like some 5-year-old made this!

This was mockery at its finest.

The pamphlet had read: 'Hey there New Kid! The next semester is about to start. Starting today this school will be your entire world.'

Entire world?

Why would this school become your entire world? What do they mean by this? The child like scribbles and artwork wasn't helping the much needed but lack of seriousness. Especially not with it being drawn in crayon like a preschooler.

"I don't think I can stand this ugly wallpaper anymore." You mumbled under your breath. Not that you were wrong. Neon yellow shaded barf with animal print is a crime. At least, to you it is, apparently not to the designer.

Totally not making the next fashion trends. 

Lost in thought you had began to walk down a hallway, the desolate hallway. Following the allocated signs to the gym. Your eyes scanning the walls and other things in the building. Looking at more barred and sealed windows. As well as the stairwell, which was tightly sealed, for no apparent reason. No way up or down. Not like it was broken and posing a safety hazard for the lack of students this school has.

Intrested in more? This is a snipet from my fic, Behind Her Lies, on both wattpad and quotev.

! here !

© 2026 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[formerlyluckymanticore]

Reblog if you will never. Ever. Use AI in your writing.

[gsfloater]

The Project from Hell.

Manjiro Sano x Reader

-> When you get stuck with the infamous no-show Manjiro Sano as your partner for a major class project, you hunt him down fully prepared to drag a delinquent legend back to school by the collar if you have to.

Word Count: 5,554

------

It starts with a list.

A stupid, crumpled, printed list your teacher taped to the chalkboard while the class groaned like they had just been sentenced. You lean forward in your seat, dragging your finger down the columns of names until you find your own.

And then you blink.

And then you blink again.

“…Who the hell is Manjiro Sano?”

The classroom goes dead silent.

Three heads snap toward you like you just said a slur. Someone drops a pencil. Someone else actually gasps. It's dramatic enough that you lean back in your chair, wondering if you’ve somehow missed a world-ending announcement.

A girl near you leans in, whispering like she’s imparting ancient knowledge.

“You… don’t know who that is?”

“No?” you answer slowly. “Should I?”

Her eyes widen with the kind of fear usually reserved for natural disasters.

“That’s Mikey,” she hisses.

You stare blankly.

“That doesn’t help,” you say.

Her jaw unhinges. “THE Mikey.”

You stare harder.

She seems physically pained. “Tokyo Manji Gang? Toman? The delinquent gang that runs this entire side of the city? He’s their leader?”

Ah.

So your partner is a truant crime boss.

Fantastic.

You raise your hand.

Your teacher doesn’t even look up from his attendance sheet. “No, you may not switch partners.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“But you were going to.”

You lower your hand and sigh. “Okay, but my partner isn’t here.”

“He’s never here.”

“…That should be the first red flag right there.”

Your teacher pinches the bridge of his nose. You feel bad for him. He looks like he hasn’t slept since the Meiji period.

“Just… find him,” he says weakly. “Work it out.”

You’re about to argue about fairness, about not being partnered with a literal urban legend but the bell rings, and twenty students flood the hallways, leaving you with your backpack, your half-finished worksheet, and a headache.

You stare at the name again.

Manjiro Sano.

Whoever he is, he’s not dragging your grade down.

You’ll hunt him down yourself if you have to.

-----

Finding Mikey turns out to be harder than you thought.

You ask one classmate where he usually is. They faint.

You ask another. They run away.

Eventually you corner a third, who trembles through an explanation that you should “try the parking lot” like that means anything.

The parking lot is empty.

Then someone else suggests the shrine.

The shrine is empty.

Finally, by pure accident, you overhear some first-years whispering about “Mikey-san and Draken-san” being at “their spot,” which apparently everyone knows about except you.

And that’s how you end up here.

In front of them.

Toman.

A whole cluster of them, lounging around abandoned bikes, laughing, shoving each other, wearing matching jackets, and collectively radiating the kind of chaotic energy that warns normal people to turn around and walk away.

You are not normal people.

You march straight up to the nearest one.

He stops mid-sentence, staring at you like you’ve just approached a wolf pack holding a report card.

“Um. Hi.” You adjust your backpack straps. “I’m looking for Manjiro Sano.”

Five heads swivel toward you.

A tall boy with blonde hair, definitely Draken, gives you a long, assessing stare like he’s trying to figure out if you’re suicidal or just clueless.

“Why,” he finally asks, “are you looking for Mikey?”

“I’m his project partner.”

Silence.

The type that has weight.

The type that says whole gangs have been wiped out over less shocking statements.

Draken clears his throat. “Come again?”

You hold up your assignment paper like a badge. “Group project. He’s my partner. He hasn’t been in class since the beginning of time, so I need him to do his part.”

Someone chokes.

Someone else drops their cigarette.

Draken rubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re serious.”

“Yes?” You glance around. “Should… I not be?”

Before Draken can answer, a voice floats in from behind him, light, airy, singsong.

“Drakeeeeen, did you eat the last dorayaki? I told you I was saving that-”

A small figure hops off a bike and walks closer, pout already forming.

Blonde hair. Big dark eyes. A lollipop in his mouth.

Mikey.

He looks nothing like a terrifying gang leader should look. He looks like a boy who makes trouble because he thinks it’s fun. He looks like he hasn’t attended a single class in months.

He looks at you.

You look at him.

He tilts his head.

“…Who’re you?”

“I,” you say, stepping closer, “am the person whose grade you’re ruining.”

The entire gang audibly inhales.

Mikey blinks at you once, twice, like a cat processing a new toy. Then, slowly, a smile curls onto his lips.

“Oh,” he says. “Class stuff.”

“Yes. Class stuff.” You cross your arms. “You are my partner. You are failing. Actually, both of us are failing, because of you. So get up. We have work to do.”

The look on their faces is priceless.

A mix of horror, awe, and mild respect.

And Mikey? He just grins wider, leaning in with a glint in his eye like he’s found something interesting for once.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking you up and down. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Only when my GPA is endangered.”

Draken mutters, “This is insane,” under his breath.

Mikey pops the lollipop out of his mouth, points at you with it, and says:

“Alright. I’ll help you.”

Everyone stares at him.

“You will?” you ask, surprised.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “You came all the way here. That’s kinda cool.”

You blink, taken aback.

Then…

“Great,” you say briskly. “Let’s go.”

Mikey hops up immediately, following you like a duckling.

Toman watches their leader get dragged away by a random classmate like he just imprinted on you.

Draken calls after him, “DON’T SKIP, MIKEY!”

Mikey calls back, “I’M NOT SKIPPING, I’M STUDYING!”

Then he turns to you with an eager expression that should not exist on the face of a known menace.

“So,” he says brightly, “what’s the project about?”

You exhale.

This is going to be hell.

------

You drag Mikey back to school like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

It isn’t.

People stop and stare as the two of you walk through the gate: you with your backpack, him with his hands tucked into his pockets and a lollipop in his mouth, looking like he’s on a casual stroll instead of being forcibly escorted to class.

You can practically hear the rumors writing themselves.

“Is that… Mikey?”

“Why is he here?”

“Who’s that with him?”

“Is she… his girlfriend?”

You ignore it all, focusing on your actual mission: the project.

“Take off your shoes,” you say, pointing at the entrance cubbies.

Mikey squints at them like they’re an unfamiliar species. “Oh, right. School rules.”

“You remember those?”

“Mm,” he hums. “Draken used to yell at me about it.”

You can imagine it. You don’t have to try very hard.

Once you’ve swapped shoes, you march him down the hallway. He keeps drifting, getting distracted by posters and windows and literally nothing. Twice you have to grab the back of his uniform jacket to stop him from wandering off.

“This is boring,” he says eventually.

“You haven’t even started yet.”

“I can feel it.”

You roll your eyes and shove the classroom door open.

Every head snaps toward you.

Then the room collectively stops breathing.

Someone whispers, “No way.”

Someone else reaches for their phone like they want to document this rare, possibly mythical occurrence.

Mikey looks around, visibly unimpressed. “Smells like chalk.”

“That’s because it’s a classroom,” you mutter. You point at his assigned seat, empty since the dawn of time. “Sit there.”

He plops into the desk, spinning slightly on the chair, legs stretching out. He slumps back like he’s at home, eyes flicking over the whiteboard.

Your teacher looks like he might faint.

“M-Mikey,” he stammers from the front, clutching his attendance sheet.

Mikey lifts a hand lazily. “Yo.”

The class is buzzing now, whispers bouncing off the walls.

“He actually came.”

“Who brought him?”

“That girl is insane.”

You ignore the buzzing, tug your notebook out, and slide into the seat next to his. The moment you do, the whispers change tone. More pointed. More curious.

You pretend not to hear any of it.

“Okay,” you say, flipping to a blank page. “The project is on post-war economic reforms. We need to pick a specific policy, research its effects, and do a presentation.”

Mikey stares at you with the most offended expression you’ve ever seen. “Post… what now?”

“Post-war economic reforms.”

“Why can’t we do something cool? Like… famous fights in history.”

“Because that’s not the assignment.”

He slumps further, cheek squishing against the desk. “School sucks.”

“You wouldn’t know,” you mutter. “You’re never here.”

He grins sideways at you. “But I’m here now. For you.”

Your heartbeat does a stupid little jump.

You squash it immediately.

“For the project,” you correct him sharply.

“Mm,” he hums, smile not budging. “Sure.”

-----

The after-school library is painfully quiet.

Mikey is not.

He drums his fingers on the table. Taps his foot. Tilts back in his chair. Tilts too far, almost falls, then catches himself with a laugh that makes three people look over and shush him.

You slap your hand down on the stack of textbooks between you.

“Focus.”

“Can’t.”

“Try.”

“Don’t wanna.”

You inhale through your nose and exhale through your teeth. “Okay. New approach.”

He perks up slightly. “Does it involve food?”

You blink.

Pause.

Absolutely recalibrate your whole plan.

“…It can.”

His eyes brighten instantly. “I like this approach.”

You dig into your bag and pull out the small paper bag you brought, because some annoyingly soft part of you anticipated this. You pull out a neatly wrapped dorayaki and set it on the table.

Mikey goes very still.

“Is that-”

“Yes,” you say. “And you can have it if you answer five questions correctly.”

He stares at you.

You stare back.

The air between you feels loaded, like some unspoken challenge has been issued.

Finally, Mikey leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes shining with determination you haven’t seen once in class.

“Alright, partner,” he says. “Teach me.”

You try not to smile.

You fail.

Just a little.

“Okay,” you say, pointing at a paragraph. “What was one of the goals of the post-war economic reforms?”

Mikey squints at the page, lips moving as he reads. You watch his eyes track the lines, a little slower than you expected, but steady.

“…To reduce the power of large… conglomerates,” he reads carefully, then glances up. “So rich guys couldn’t control everything?”

“Exactly,” you say, pleased. “That’s one.”

His gaze flicks to the dorayaki. “Four more.”

You work through questions. You simplify things where you can, connect it to stuff he’d care about.

“So basically,” you say, tapping the page, “they broke up economic power so one group couldn’t dominate everything.”

“Like how Toman doesn’t let other gangs run our turf,” he says without missing a beat.

You pause.

“…Sure,” you say slowly. “Kind of.”

His whole face lights up. “I get it now.”

You stare at him.

It hits you that he isn’t stupid. Not even a little. He’s just... unbothered. Uninterested. Floating through life on his own orbit.

But when something hooks him, when something connects, he’s sharp.

You’re weirdly gratified you were the one to make that connection.

Five questions later, he’s chewing happily on his dorayaki, crumbs dotting his lips. You’re surrounded by open books and scattered notes, and somehow, progress has been made.

“Not bad,” you admit, scribbling down your half of the outline. “You might actually pass.”

He leans back, watching you as he chews. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You always work this hard?”

You shrug. “Someone has to.”

“That why you came to find me?”

“Someone had to.”

He hums thoughtfully, sucking some filling off his thumb. “You’re kinda scary.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“In a good way,” he clarifies immediately. “Like Draken. Just smaller. And cuter.”

Your pen stutters.

You refuse to dignify that with a response.

------

Word spreads fast.

By the second study session, Toman is aware.

You know this because when you show up at Draken’s bike shop, at Mikey’s invitation, no less, there’s a row of delinquents pretending very badly not to watch.

“You’re back,” Draken says when you step in, wiping grease off his hands. His gaze darts to the stack of notebooks you’re carrying. “You really got him doing schoolwork?”

“Trying,” you say. “He invited me.”

Draken snorts. “That’s a first.”

Mikey is perched on an overturned crate, swinging his legs, half-empty bag of snacks beside him. He brightens the second he spots you.

“Oi, partner!”

The word makes something flutter in your chest. You press it down and drop your bag at his feet.

“Alright,” you say. “Today we’re working on our presentation structure.”

He frowns. “Didn’t we already study?”

“Knowing things is step one,” you say. “Explaining them without sounding like an idiot is step two.”

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically.

You sit beside him on the crate, knees bumping. It’s a tight squeeze, but you don’t move away. Neither does he.

“Okay,” you say, opening the notebook and angling it between you. “Look. We divide it like this-”

As you talk, filling out a rough outline, you can feel eyes on you.

You glance up.

Half of Toman is leaning around doorways, peeking from behind shelves, very obviously eavesdropping.

You stare.

They freeze.

Mitsuya raises a hand weakly. “Don’t mind us.”

“This is creepy,” you say flatly.

“Don’t worry about them,” Mikey says, reaching over your arm to steal a pen just because it’s yours. “They’re just curious.”

“About what?” you demand.

He shrugs, leaning so close his shoulder presses into yours. “You.”

Your face heats.

You try to hide it by pointing aggressively at the notebook. “Focus, Sano.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says cheerfully.

The others exchange looks.

You hear someone whisper, “She just told Mikey to focus and he listened.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Are we watching our boss get housebroken?”

You snap your head up. “I can hear you.”

They vanish.

Mikey bursts out laughing, head tipping back, eyes crinkling. The sight does something dumb to your chest.

You don’t join the gang. You don’t start hanging around all the time. But you become… a presence. An exception.

And Toman, bizarrely, gets used to it.

------

A week later, you’re back in class, project presentation looming.

You’re at your desk, flipping through index cards, when one of your classmates, Tanaka, you think his name is, eternally smug, sidles up to you.

“Hey,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “How’s it going with Sano?”

You don’t look up. “Fine.”

“He even shows up for you,” Tanaka says with a laugh. “That’s impressive.”

There’s something in his tone you don’t like.

You hum noncommittally.

“He’s not actually doing anything, though, right?” Tanaka continues. “I mean, you’re obviously carrying the whole thing. He’s just… there.”

You pause.

Your pen freezes mid-word.

Slowly, you look up.

“What?”

Tanaka shrugs, careless. “It’s Mikey. He doesn’t do schoolwork. Honestly, sensei should’ve just given you a new partner.”

Anger sparks, hot and automatic.

You think of Mikey squinting at paragraphs in the library. Mikey connecting economic reform to gang turf like it’s the most natural comparison in the world. Mikey actually trying because you asked him to.

You narrow your eyes. “He’s doing his part. We both are.”

Tanaka snorts. “Sure. Look, it’s not a big deal. Some people just aren’t cut out for this stuff. Delinquents like that? They’re just dead weight in class.”

You’re halfway to standing when a shadow falls over your desk.

“Say that again.”

Mikey’s voice is quiet.

Too quiet.

You glance up.

He’s standing behind Tanaka, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded but sharp. The energy around him has shifted, still, but dangerous, like the air before a storm.

Tanaka stiffens. “M-Mikey-”

“I said,” Mikey repeats calmly, “say that again. About me being dead weight.”

Tanaka swallows. “I-I just meant-”

“And about my partner,” Mikey adds, tilting his head, smile not reaching his eyes. “Say that part again.”

The room has gone silent. Everyone is watching now.

You stand quickly, stepping between them before this becomes a disciplinary hearing… or a funeral.

“Mikey,” you say, lightly pushing at his chest. “It’s fine.”

He looks at you, expression shifting, the hard edge softening immediately.

“Is it?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Because we’re going to get a better score than him anyway. Right?”

You hold his gaze, willing him to drop it.

There’s a beat of tense silence.

Then Mikey smiles again, genuinely this time. “Right.”

He looks over your head at Tanaka, expression mild but eyes still icy.

“You heard her,” he says. “We’re gonna beat you. So maybe focus on your own project and stop talking shit about mine.”

Tanaka bobbles his head in a frantic nod and retreats like his life depends on it.

You exhale slowly.

Mikey watches Tanaka go, then looks back at you. “You okay?”

You blink. “I should be asking you that.”

He snorts. “That guy’s annoying, but I don’t care what he says about me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then why did you get mad?”

At you, the smile turns softer. “He doesn’t get to talk about you like that.”

Something in your chest flips over.

You look away fast, shoving your notebook into your bag with more force than necessary. “Whatever. Just… don’t start a fight over me.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What if I finish a fight over you?”

“Mikey.”

“I’m kidding,” he says, laughing. Then, quieter, “Kind of.”

You should be exasperated.

You are.

You’re also weirdly, stupidly touched.

------

You’re at Draken’s shop again.

It’s late, the sky outside fading into navy, streetlights flickering on one by one. The shop smells like oil and metal and something faintly sweet from the bakery down the road.

The others have cleared out already, leaving you, Mikey, and Draken.

You’re hunched over the workbench, index cards spread out, scribbling last-minute notes. Mikey is perched on a stool, swinging his legs, reciting his part of the presentation under his breath.

“Post-war reforms… aimed to decentralize economic power and-”

“-and weaken the Zaibatsu conglomerates,” you prompt.

He snaps his fingers. “Right. Those guys.”

“You’re getting it,” you say, genuinely impressed.

“Only ‘cause my teacher’s so scary,” he says lightly.

“I’m not your teacher.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Draken walks by, towel over his shoulder. “He giving you trouble?”

“No more than usual,” you say.

“Hey,” Mikey protests.

Draken chuckles, ruffling his hair. “Can’t believe you got him to study. You’re a miracle worker.”

You shrug, pretending that doesn’t make you a little proud. “Bribery helps.”

Mikey grins. “She makes really good snacks.”

“Is that so?” Draken looks intrigued. “You bringing any next time?”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” you say quickly. “The project is tomorrow.”

Both of them look at you.

Mikey’s smile falters just a fraction.

“Oh,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, waving it off. “Just thought we’d keep… y’know. Hanging out.”

Your heart does a weird, wobbly thing.

You look down at your cards. “We can still hang out. It doesn’t have to be for a project.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than it should.

When you peek up, Mikey is staring at you with a look you haven’t seen before, something open and almost vulnerable.

“…Yeah?” he asks quietly.

You swallow. “Yeah.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slowly, like the sun rising. “Then I’ll do extra good tomorrow.”

You snort. “That’s not how that works.”

“Sure it is,” he says. “If I do good, sensei won’t yell, and you’ll be in a good mood, and then you’ll wanna see me again.”

“You’re so sure of yourself.”

“Aren’t I right?”

You want to say no.

You don’t.

Instead, you shake your head and shove your stack of cards at him. “Again. From the top.”

He groans dramatically, but obeys.

As he stumbles through the first sentence, you catch Draken watching the two of you from across the room, a knowing little half-smile on his face.

You ignore him.

Or try to.

------

You’re packing up later when you realize you’ve been at the shop for hours.

You stretch, your spine popping, and wince. “Ow.”

“You okay?” Mikey asks.

“Just stiff,” you say. “Too much sitting.”

“Here,” he says.

Before you can ask what he’s doing, he steps behind you and places his hands gently on your shoulders. His thumbs press into the muscles at the base of your neck, kneading.

You go rigid.

“Mikey, what are you-”

“Relax,” he says softly. “Just a bit.”

You consider protesting. You really do.

Then his thumbs find a knot and press just right, and your eyes flutter shut against your will.

“See?” he murmurs. “You work too hard.”

“You study too little,” you mumble.

He laughs quietly, warm breath brushing your ear. “We balance each other out.”

It’s alarmingly intimate, standing here in the quiet of the shop with his hands on you, his chest a solid presence at your back. Your heartbeat picks up, loud in your own ears.

“Okay,” you say abruptly, stepping forward out of his hold. “That’s enough. We should go. It’s late.”

He lets his hands drop but doesn’t look offended. If anything, his smile turns softer. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he says simply.

You sigh, defeated. “Fine.”

You walk side by side under the streetlights, shadows stretching long behind you. The night is cool, city noises distant.

“So,” he says eventually, hands clasped behind his head, eyes on the sky. “What are you gonna do after this project? Keep being top of the class? Get some fancy job?”

“Maybe,” you say. “I just… want options. I don’t want to be stuck.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”

“What about you?” you ask, curious. “You ever think about that? Your future?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I’ll take care of Toman. Take care of everyone. That’s enough for me.”

You look at him.

His profile is lit by the streetlamp, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He looks younger like this, softer, but there’s a weight in his eyes that’s older than either of you.

“You’re already taking care of everyone,” you say quietly.

He glances at you, surprised, then smiles. “Yeah. Guess so.”

You reach your building too soon.

He stops at the bottom of the steps, rocking on his heels. “So. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you echo. “Don’t be late.”

He puts a hand to his heart. “I’d never.”

You give him a look.

He laughs, waves, and turns away.

You watch his back grow smaller down the street, oddly reluctant to go inside.

You only move when he glances back once, catches you still staring, and grins.

You absolutely do not slam the door quickly after that.

-----

You’re nervous.

You’ll never admit it out loud, but your fingers fidget with the edge of your index cards as groups go up one by one. Your leg bounces under the desk.

Mikey, on the other hand, looks… relaxed.

Too relaxed.

He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, eyes half-closed like he’s about to nap.

“Mikey,” you hiss. “Stay awake.”

“M’awake,” he mumbles.

You jab him in the arm with your pen. “Our turn is next.”

He cracks one eye open, looks at you, and smiles. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

You do not feel less worried.

“Next group,” sensei calls, looking at his list. “Sano and (Last Name).”

You stand, smoothing your uniform, heart thudding.

Mikey ambles up beside you, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered. When you reach the front, he casually leans down and mutters, “Hey.”

“What,” you whisper back.

“If I mess up,” he says with a grin, “you’ll fix it, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Just read the cards.”

He laughs and turns to the class.

You start.

You introduce your topic, voice more steady than you feel. You’ve done this a hundred times in your head, practiced your lines, your pauses. It comes easily.

Then it’s Mikey’s turn.

He takes his card.

Your heart stops.

He looks at it.

Then looks up.

There’s a beat where you’re terrified he’s going to say something completely off-topic. Or blank. Or walk out.

Instead, he says, clear and confident:

“One of the major goals of the post-war economic reforms was to break up the power of the zaibatsu, big corporations that controlled a lot of Japan’s economy before the war.”

The class blinks.

He continues, warming up.

“By doing this, the government wanted to stop too much power from being in the hands of a few families. That way, more people could compete in the market, and the economy would be more stable.”

He glances at you.

You nod subtly.

He relaxes, shoulders loosening.

“It’s kinda like… if one gang controlled all the turf in Tokyo,” he goes on, casual but surprisingly articulate. “It looks strong, but if anything happens to that one gang, everything falls apart. But if there are more groups, spread out, the whole thing doesn’t crumble so easy.”

There’s a ripple of laughter around the room, but not mocking. Intrigued.

You hide a smile.

He just did what you’ve been doing for days, connected it to his world, his rules, so it makes sense.

You finish the final part of the presentation together. He doesn’t freeze once. When he falters, you pick up the sentence. When you blank for a moment, he jumps in with an example. It’s… smooth.

It’s weird how easy it is to talk when he’s next to you.

At the end, there’s a small pause.

Then, unexpectedly, your classmates start clapping.

Not just polite taps.

Actual, impressed applause.

Your teacher looks like he might cry again.

“T-that was very good,” he says, visibly moved. “Clear, engaging, excellent use of examples. I’m… pleasantly surprised.”

Mikey beams.

You exhale, tension draining out of your shoulders.

You catch Tanaka’s expression in the back, sour and begrudgingly impressed, and fight the urge to smirk at him.

You and Mikey return to your seats. Your legs feel a little wobbly.

“That was fun,” Mikey whispers once you’re seated.

“You’re insane,” you whisper back. “You just freestyled half of that.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You can’t argue with that.

When grades are posted later, you see it.

Top score.

You stare at the number for a full five seconds.

Then, involuntarily, you grin.

A hand appears next to yours, ruffling your hair from behind.

“See?” Mikey crows. “Told you we’d beat that guy.”

You swat his hand away, but you’re still smiling. “You did good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you say honestly. “In a good way.”

He tilts his head, eyes crinkling. “Then I’m happy.”

You look up at him, about to say something more, something like you really tried or thank you, but sensei shuffles by then, clearing his throat.

“Sano,” he says, hesitant. “I, ah. I hope to see more of this… effort from you. In the future.”

Mikey scratches his cheek. “No promises, sensei.”

Your teacher deflates.

“But,” Mikey adds, glancing at you, “I might show up sometimes. If my partner’s here.”

Sensei blinks.

You choke. “I’m not your-”

“Thank you for your hard work,” sensei says to you quickly, like you’re the only thing standing between his sanity and collapse. “Truly. You’ve done a great job.”

You bow politely, murmuring a thank you, and then you’re dragged away by Mikey’s hand on your sleeve.

-----

You end up outside the school gate without really meaning to. One moment you’re packing your bag, the next you’re being herded along by Mikey’s unstoppable momentum.

He finally stops under a tree just beyond the gate, where the street is quieter. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, dappling his face with light.

“So,” he says.

“So,” you echo.

He rocks on his heels, hands in his pockets, looking at you with a brightness that makes your chest warm. “We make a pretty good team.”

Your lips twitch. “Apparently.”

“Top score,” he reminds you.

“I can read.”

He laughs.

Then, suddenly, he sobers a little.

“Hey,” he says, shifting his weight. “You know how you came to get your partner back from the dead?”

“He wasn’t dead, just truant.”

“Same thing,” he says with a shrug. “Anyway. I was thinking.”

You cross your arms. “Dangerous.”

He ignores that. “I don’t really care about school stuff. You know that.”

“I picked up on it, yeah.”

“But.” He pauses, looking at you. Really looking. “I liked this. Doing something with you. Building it together. Watching you get all serious and bossy.”

You feel your face heat. “That’s not-”

“It is,” he insists, grin tugging at his lips, then softens. “You worked really hard. For both of us. No one’s ever done that for me. Not like that.”

You blink.

Something in your chest squeezes painfully.

“You’re important to me,” he says simply. “So I was thinking…”

He steps closer.

Your back bumps lightly against the tree trunk. You didn’t even realize you’d moved.

He’s close now, close enough that you can see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, the way his lashes cast little shadows. His smile is smaller, more genuine than the lazy grins he shows everyone else.

“…You should keep being my partner,” he finishes.

You swallow. “For… school?”

“For everything,” he says, without missing a beat.

Your heart stutters.

“Mikey-”

“I mean,” he goes on, eyes darting briefly to your mouth before snapping back up, “you can yell at me when I skip class. Drag me to the library. Make me snacks. I’ll walk you home. Scare off annoying guys. You know. Partner stuff.”

“That’s not what partner stuff means,” you say weakly.

He hums. “It is if I say so.”

You stare at him.

The worst part is that he sounds… sincere. Like in his own skewed, simple way, this is how he says I want you around and I like you and don’t go anywhere.

Your throat feels tight all of a sudden.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but it comes out softer than you intend.

He leans in just a fraction more, eyes flicking over your face. “Is that a no?”

You hesitate.

You think about the first day, staring at that cursed partner list, cursing whatever fate married your grade to a delinquent myth. You think about the parking lot, the shrine, the Toman hangout. About textbooks and dorayaki and late-night walks home.

About the way he stood between you and a rude classmate like it was nothing.

About the way he looked when he thought you might not want to see him after the project.

You exhale.

“It’s…” You lick your lips, nerves crackling under your skin. “It’s a maybe.”

He grins, bright and unstoppable. “I can work with maybe.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You didn’t say no,” he counters.

You open your mouth, then close it.

He laughs, delighted, and in that moment, caught between annoyance and fondness, you slip.

“If you want me to keep being your partner,” you say, trying to sound stern and failing, “you have to promise to show up. At least sometimes. I refuse to be seen as the person dating a ghost.”

You freeze.

He freezes.

You replay your own words in your head.

Dating.

You want to sink into the ground.

Mikey’s smile does something oddly slow. It softens, widens, shifts into something you’ve never quite seen on him before, something almost reverent.

“Dating, huh?” he says, voice a little hoarse with poorly concealed glee. “You thinking that far already?”

“I- That’s not what I meant-”

He steps even closer, bracing one hand against the tree trunk near your head, caging you in without touching. His face is only inches from yours now.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do, helplessly.

His gaze is steady. His voice drops.

“If we were dating,” he says slowly, “would you let me do this?”

He leans in, close enough that his forehead brushes yours, that you can feel his breath fan across your lips. He doesn’t close the distance completely. Just hovers there, waiting, asking.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it.

You could push him away.

You don’t.

“…Maybe,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker, satisfaction flashing through them.

Then he pulls back half an inch and taps your forehead gently with his own, like a soft little headbutt.

“Okay,” he says, and somehow his smile is even warmer. “I’ll earn it.”

“You… what?”

“The right to do more ‘dating stuff,’” he says matter-of-factly. “If my partner wants it.”

You’re certain your brain has melted.

He straightens up finally, hands sliding back into his pockets, expression turning playful again.

“Until then,” he says, voice light, “I’ll settle for this.”

He reaches down and takes your hand.

Your fingers slot into his like they’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your brain short-circuits again.

“Mikey-”

“Walk me home,” he says with a grin. “Partner.”

You should say that’s backwards.

You don’t.

You just let him tug you along, your joined hands swinging between you, the late afternoon sun warm on your backs.

[liminarystars]

this is criminally underrated

[liminarystars]

i n t e n t i o n s

a/n: i had a dream abt this lil scenario once. Am I too lazy to write it all out? Yes. Maybe I make this a whole ass fic? Maybe also yes.

character: light yagami

Light. Someone who was always the top of his class, the one who was into his academics. Always number one in exams. But yet, as of late, he's became more and more... different. As both a Kira suspect and as a individual.

You, a Kira Case Investigator, studied his behaviour in the potential of being Kira. So, this 'date' was mearly a guise for you to study his behaviour, since in this time frame, he's being going on many with different girls to your knowledge.

A date here and there.

'So, what are you going to order?' You ask, as you take a break from your own eyes scanning the menu to looking at the potenial serial killer seated before you.

'Perhaps the chocolate cake roll?' He commented, his eyes never leaving the cafe's menu. He subtly glanced over his shoulder, a odd move. Maybe he heard something? Too minor to claim he's Kira over.

'Straight to dessert then?' You smile, though it didn't quite meet your eyes. Though, you think he could tell you were faking it.

'A sweet treat is good every once in a while.' He shrugged. Your eyes trailed to the menu. Scanning the options.

'I'll have the Apple Crumble.' You stated, though you could've sworn he tensed slightly. Like he was silently praying for something to go his way.

Like he was praying for something divine. Or for a ounce of something having the restraint in this very moment.

'Something wrong? You've gone silent. Not a fan of Apple Desserts?'

'No no, it's okay. I just, got a sudden chill down my spine.'

© 2025 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

Hello! Could you do N x Fem! Disassembly drone reader (who has red acid instead of yellow if that’s okay??) who has heavy trauma from her time as a worker drone, and often gets reminded of her trauma?? Ok have a nice day/night, byee!

a/n : um. i apologise for this like literally never getting posted until now. but it sat in the drafts for way too long. also haven't watched md in a hot minute.

character : N

You've always been different.

Modified.

You were nothing like any of the other dissassmbly drones you call your friends. No similarites other than the thirst to consume Worker Drones.

From your red nanite acid, or to your different nature. Today was no diffrent after a feeding off a Worker Drone. Some Drone that was too busy absorbed talking about Doors to see you or N coming.

"What.. I did... What?"

You look down to see the Red Nanite acid dissolving the Drone after you got what you wanted from it. It was like you didn't know what you did, like you were having a rude shock after a hunger filled frenzy.

"Are you.... oh." N popped his head around a corner. Looking at you like you've gone crazy.

"I don't want to talk about it." You quickly dismissed any of the questions that were sure to follow up.

"But-"

"No."

He tilted his head. Trying to gauge your mood and emotions. He was too kind and empathethic for his own good sometimes. It easily irked V and J.

You sighed.

"It's just I don't like harming Worker Drones.... I know how it is trying to survive against Designation Drones."

N nodded and offered a hug. His arms hesitating to get closer to you. It was like the thought of being a hair too close would get his arms ripped off their sockets.

"It's okay N. I won't dissasemble you."

To that, you both laughed as he finally wrapped his arms around you.

© 2025 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

a/n : I've finally gotten back into writing! For now.... maybe I'll even write shit for wattpad too. But enjoy this short ass drabble.

character : Sal Fisher

'Let me see... how'd this happen?' You hold a cold facewasher to Sal's face. Smearing the crimson colour across his face.

'I don't want to talk about it.' He was quick to refuse any explanation to why he approached you in the hallway with his mask dripping blood from underneath.

'You sure?'

'I... I dunno.' Already second guessing himself. Going backwards on what he wants and feels like doing in his mind. He typically did that, you noticed after speanding some time with him.

Your hand rinses the cloth under a water fountain tap, the red washing down the drain. Before returning to the scarred side of his face.

'Did you want me to help you fix and wipeout your mask too?'

'I would like that... thanks... for everything.'

© 2025 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[smllvlle]

pined my whole life.

summary: you and wally have been best friends for years, little do you know that the ginger speedster himself has a MASSIVE CRUSH on you, so he communicates in a way that he knows you;ll understand; music (1105 wrds).

notes: fluff, friends to lovers, wally and reader are in college, wally calls reader "babe," matt maltese mention, philosophy slander, music slander (srry linkin park), lowkey oblivious!reader, i tried my best to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, enjoy everyone <3 (navigation here).

next stop is, keystone south; keystone south station.

the announcement of the next stop sounded grainy through the train’s speaker, which was being distorted even more from the rumbling train that you could feel underneath your feet. could the 2 hour trip to central city be entirely avoided if wally just ran the both of you there? yeah. did wally purposely choose not to so that he could spend more time with you? totally. 

“seriously wally? you really couldn’t run us all the way there?” you huff out, a slight annoyed look overtaking your features as you cross your arms and slouch in the uncomfortable train seat.

“i already told you babe, my back has been KILLING me lately, the weight of all those chemistry textbooks really adds up you know!” wally says, grinning and slightly shoving your shoulder for emphasis on his point. 

“plus, this gives me more time to give you song recs! you have really bad taste you know that right?” the ginger says, elbowing your side and laughing when you shove him back.

“not true wally, you are the one with bad taste! i still can’t believe that out of all the songs that are out there, never gonna give you up was the top song on your spotify wrapped!” you say through laughter.

“you call it bad taste, i call it being enlightened,” wally states, wiggling his eyebrows around and making a stupid face. you shove him again while trying but failing to suppress a grin, hands moving down your face in a mix of amusement and utter exhaustion.

 “okay in all seriousness though, can i show you a song i’ve been obsessed with lately? like i cannot stop listening to this! give me one second!” you say with excitement, pausing your conversation with your best friend to take your phone out of your pocket and wired earbuds out of your bag. when you plugged in your earbuds and had the song loaded up on spotify, you handed wally one of your earbuds, smiling while doing so.

brushing your fingers, wally took the earbud from your hand and put it into his ear, leaning back a little bit while having a slight blush dust his freckled cheeks. was your best friend of 6 years turning red from brushing fingers with you? yeah. have innocent touches and fun moments with you caused him to spiral and make his 8 month crush on you even worse? totally. 

“...i wasn’t expecting slow chemical! dick was right, that logic final really did a number on you!” wally says through laughter. 

“shut up wally!” you squawk, slapping his arm and scoffing in protest, “i didn’t expect my prof to destroy my average this badly!” 

“no can do babe, i like talking too much. and plus, you still came out of that class with a 87, so your prof can suck it!” wally states with overexaggerated pride while raising his fist. 

“yeah yeah whatever; you have any songs you wanna share?” you ask while looking up at the ginger beside you and passing your phone to him. wally takes the phone and starts typing, a slight look of hesitation in his face. he stops typing and pauses for a second before pressing play, a slight essence of fear displayed on his face. 

has it been a century, or a couple hours? 

i don't believe in ancient wisdom, but it’s in the stars

thinking of you each night, just like i was born to 

i should get a PhD in yearning all the time 

as the first verses of the song plays, you look up at wally smiling, signilling that you’re enjoying it. wally flashes you a quick smile, trying to swallow down the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

i've pined for you my whole life

morning noon and night

and i'll pine ’till the day i die

yes it's wrong but why?

after the chorus you pause the song and look up at wally again while cocking an eyebrow. “hey wal, can i ask you a question?” you state, taking the earbud out of your ear while sitting up more. the ginger beside you nods, taking out his own earbud as well. 

“firstly I didn’t know you were into matt maltese!” you state smiling from ear to ear whilst grabbing his arm and giving it a little squeeze, leaning into his side. wally tenses up for barely a second, and then relaxes while letting out a breathy laugh and a slight shrug in response, leaning into your touch. 

“and secondly, are you finally going to admit you like me, or keep looking at me like an injured puppy?” you say with a playful tone, looking into wally’s eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes again. the speedster in front of you paused all his movements immediately and his jaw dropped, letting out a noise that sounded like disbelief and shock at the same time. you giggled, closing his jaw with your hand and crossing your arms.

“what’s wrong west, cat got your tongue?” you say with a smirk. wally then turns to face you more, shuffling closer to you while grabbing your hands. 

“speak for yourself babe,” the ginger says with a surge of confidence and flirty tone, leaning in and locking his lips with yours. the kiss ended as soon as it began, with you now being shocked and wally giving you a boyish grin in response. you blink, stunned for a moment, and then burst into laughter, smacking his chest lightly.

“that was so overdue oh my gosh,” you say through a smile, cheeks burning. wally grins, vibrating a bit; “what can i say babe i’m full of surprises.” the train begins to slow, the announcer’s voice crackling again: “next stop is, keystone docks; keystone docks station. change here for line 2”

you glance out the window, then back at him. “guess we’re almost there.” “yeah,” wally says softly, eyes on you instead of the station. “but i kinda wish the ride was longer,” he says with a slight pout. you nudge your shoulder against his. “don’t worry, we still have to take a totally other train line before we even get even close to central city, we have all the time in the world,” you say with a grin, sliding your hands together and intertwining your fingers with his.

he squeezes your hand, grinning. “good. because i’ve got a whole playlist of songs that remind me of you.” “can’t wait to hear it lover boy!” you say with a slight teasing tone and a wink.

⭑.ᐟ © smllvlle ²⁵｡𖦹°‧

[liminarystars]

a/n: gizmo appearing out of nowhere. that was my inspo.

character: sal fisher

It was your first time being in Sal's apartment. You smiled as he opened the door and let you in. He rubbed his neck, almost anxiously. Like a child who had just broken a vase.

❛ Sorry about the mess. ❜

Sal mumbled from behind his mask. To which you shook your head, silently telling him it was fine. You had followed him into his room, sitting on his bed.

❛ I'll make popcorn, yeah? ❜

He twirled the tip of one of his blue pigtails between his thumb and forefinger. It was obvious he wasn't sure on how to be a good host. He was nervous.

❛ Yeah, popcorn sounds amazing. ❜

You smile, trying to ease his ever increasing nervousness. Even if it was a feeble attempt, before he left to go make some popcorn. While you sat on his bed, you took a look around his room. Not in a bad way, just a... I want to see his space kind of way.

❛ Hey... Sal? ❜

Your voice rang out, to get nothing in response. Your eyes dart to the pile of clothes, they were moving. Rustling. Did Sal know he had something moving, possibly breathing, in his bedroom? Let alone his apartment.

❛ Sal! ❜

You called out again, still nothing. You let out a sigh, taking a step towards the clothes. Then another. Until you were 3 feet away from the moving pile. You lightly kicked the pile with your foot.. did that pile just hiss?

❛ Sal! Sal! Why do your clothes hiss? ❜

You called out once more, and before you knew it. Gizmo popped out. The Maine Coon looking cat was annoyed. You had just disturbed its nap.

❛ Oh yeah... That's Gizmo. ❜

Sal smiled as he returned from the kitchen, bowl of fresh popcorn in his hands. He said that like it was the most casual thing in the world, just like the ghosts. Sal was strange, but he was your kind of strange.

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my content.

[liminarystars]

SUPRISE

im back with possibly a shred of a urge to write :)

(my cert is kicking my ass)

[liminarystars]

doll m.list

☁︎ Fluff ꩜ Angst

✧ Platonic ☔︎︎ Sad

❥ reader who speaks russian

summary: self explanitory

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

hey! i was wondering if you could do some N x Reader angst??? like how N would feel being in a fight with reader or reader just being reckless and how would N resolve this oh and i didnt specify what drone reader would be i thought i would leave that up to you if you wanted to pick a W drone reader or M drone reader or even Human reader i really love your work i just got into the Murder Drones fandom and i take a real liking to your works soooo i thought i would request something even if you dont end up doing this its fine! i just wanted you to know i really like your work make sure to take care of yourself!!⭐️

a/n: you like my work??? tytytyty!! i feel like it could be way better and have like a specific layout look.

character: n

｡𖦹°‧ in a fight

.ᐟ at the start he'd try to remain calm. like boy would try to keep himself from getting emotional

.ᐟ it wouldn't last long tbh

.ᐟ if he could cry, he'd be a angry crier

.ᐟ i think just fighting with you or anyone else would make him anxious

｡𖦹°‧ recklessness

.ᐟ if your being reckless, he'd panic and worry

.ᐟ falling from something? nearly broke him, but he'd catch you

.ᐟ i feel like he'd malfunction from stress.

.ᐟ n is just so sweet.

｡𖦹°‧ personal feelings

.ᐟ n 100000% does not like fighting at all. with you? especially not.

.ᐟ i feel like it would make him feel guilty and upset from fighting with someone.

.ᐟ he would be like a puppy. like a sad puppy.

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

EEEEE HI HELLO

CAN I UHHHHHH.,.,. REQUEST DOLL X READER WHO LIKE. ALSO SPEAKS RUSSIAN..,.,??

(Reader can be any gender)

(you don't have to btw!!)

a/n: watch me fail the little activity spark i got going right now.

character: doll

𝜗𝜚⋆ i think this could be used for both casual conversation and evil a like.

𝜗𝜚⋆ like you two could be having a public conversation about plotting murder but to the other worker drones? it would be like a plain monday at school.

𝜗𝜚⋆ you two would be partners in crime frfr

𝜗𝜚⋆ if you are involved with her and her absolute solver plans, you two would easily work off one another

𝜗𝜚⋆ poor lizzy, like? you and doll talking russian while she has no clue what you to are talking about.

𝜗𝜚⋆ ik i said you two would be partners in crime, but she'd probably still be independant and untrusting.

𝜗𝜚⋆ girl is still self reliant

𝜗𝜚⋆ overall? evil and chaotic.

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

random idea but could you do V x reader that LOVES to flirt with V and V only?

a/n: say no more. this may not be what you've been picturing, but i hope it's close

character: v

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ worker drone wise, i think she'd be looking at you like your a snack.... literally

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ murder drone? probably would see you as a nuisance. probally more so then n

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ at the prom? again, she was planning to eat you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ romancing this drone would be a challange. cus you'd either be food or annoying in her eyes.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ i think it'd take ages for her to return your advances.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ how would everyone else take it? it's a mixture of feelings

⊹ n - big confused, lowkey thinks half of it's just like friendly thing. if you say something dirty, poor boy would self combust. but if this is his liking v era, i feel he'd be jealous.

⊹ uzi - i think it would bother her. like it would not exactly gross her out, but she would find it distracting.

⊹ j - absolutly hates it with a passion. since j is work driven, i say she would use some fancy words to describe it being unprofessional and that it was wasting company time.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ but overall? she'd probably act annoyed but secrectly could be fond of it.

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

question....

If you're taking requests, would you be fine with the MD teacher x male reader headcanons?

Asking for a friend haha. Ha.

I would be accepting reqs for the teacher. I may just need to rewatch MD to rejog my memory.

[liminarystars]

I N F E C T E D

a/n: this is just pure angst. i swear to you. also, reqs are open, give me ideas x

characters: sal fisher

tw: death, murder

There you were, just in the kitchen of your parent's old apartment. It was nice of them to give you it while you were doing further post secondry study.

Sure, Addison Apartment's weren't the nicest place. But this old building is very dear to you, afterall this is where you met the love of your life and most of your current friends.

As you were reaching for some food to put in to the pot, your eyes fall upon the picture frame. It was of you and Sal. It was a old picture, but it was a nice one. It was of prom, Sal was your prom date. He went despite not wanting to go.

You couldn't hear much, due to music playing while you cooked. But the second you turned around, you saw Sal. But, something wasn't quite right.

❛ Sal? ❜

Your hands grabbed the counter behind you. It's not that you didn't trust him, you trusted your partner with all your life. But something didn't quite seem the same. It was his eyes.

❛ What are you doing? Are you okay? ❜

Your voice had wavered. You weren't okay. How could you possibly be okay in this scenario? Larry was dead, Sal wasn't acting like he usually did.

❛ I'm sorry. ❜

Those were the only words that graced his lips. The only words he's spoken this whole interaction.

❛ For what? ❜

❛ If you were in my position, you'd do the same. ❜

He looked down. Not wanting to face your gaze. He pulled out a bloodied knife from his sweater. Who's blood was it? You didn't know. But your heart beat heightened at him coming closer while brandishing the knife.

❛ Sal! Get away from me! ❜

You screamed, pushing off the counter and running off to seek shelter in your apartment. To call for help.

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.

[liminarystars]

N I G H T M A R E

a/n: i just love sal. thats it.

character: sal fisher

!SPOILERS AHEAD!

It was the dead of night, not a single sound through the apartment. All was calm and quiet. Sal was happily wrapped up in his lover's embrace. His glass eye in his cup of water, alongside his prosthetic face.

The clock had just struck midnight, thats when he started to stir. In his dreams he was living out what he thought was the worst possible moment of his life.

In his dreams, it was a nightmare. One of when he was younger. One of that man with the dog mask. The shotgun in the man's hands.

You had woken up to his frantic rambles and tossing side to side. Safe to say, you were concerned.

❛ You're okay. I got you. ❜

You whispered to the blue haired boy. Your fingertips gently soothing him as they ran across the scarred side of his face. You saw his eye open, the blue iris looking up at you.

❛ Did you want to talk about it? I'm here for you. Always am. ❜

You asked only to be greeted by a sleepy head shake. His face just nuzzled further into you. He just wanted your affection and soothing words to calm his fears. To calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his brain.

© 2024 liminarystars - all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate or plagerise my content.