eremikayearner

[eremikayearner]

Just remember, it was confirmed by Yams that Mikasa has a habit of taking and wearing Eren’s stray clothes and that Eren lets her do this.

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ eremika and cloti are literally just two sides of the same coin.

[eremikayearner]

xabi’s tactics if rin accepts the bid / x link

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ i promise you, if the universe ever allowed me to get my hands on these men, they would fear me for all the feral things i’d let them do to me.

[eremikayearner]

Reminiscing rn.....

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ never forgetting my dream last year where i held eren’s hand and told him i was his most devoted believer.

[eremikayearner]

me staring at the search bar trying to decide which fictional man I’ll read about tonight:

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ good looking boy will forever be dedicated to lo’ak.

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ he’s real to me.

[eremikayearner]

the question ‹𝟹 isagi yoichi

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, your friend isagi yoichi from class wants to get to know you. what better way than through your favourite book?

╰┈➤ nerdsagi, shy!reader, wc : 1.6k

banner cred : @wwasa_bi on pinterest :3

༺☆ 𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ you’re not good at making friends. that’s one thing about yourself that has never changed in all your years of living. it’s difficult to connect with people, to understand social cues, to keep up with conversations. but it isn’t really that way with isagi.

isagi yoichi, a cute and sweet boy in your class who’s the star player on your school’s football team, happens to be really easy to talk to.

isagi is much different than you thought he’d be. when you’d believed he’d be brash, rude, cocky and selfish — he’s quite the opposite. he’s driven, polite, understanding and talkative.

he’s nerdier than you’d have ever thought. he’s kinder than you’d have ever believed.

so here you are, in class with him beside you, yapping away animatedly as you kept up with your homework. as you scribbled down equations, his voice drew you into his world of soccer, engaging you and grounding you all at once.

“but technically, that movement turns the 4-3-3 into a 3-2-5, lets the wingers stay high and wide while the midfield dominates.” isagi explains, pushing up his square-framed blue light glasses with his index finger, drawing a mini map of the field on his own little sheet of paper.

you lift your head, your glossed lips curving in an amused smile. you look over his little diagram, before flicking your eyes up to his.

he’s pretty, you can’t help but think. big beautiful sapphire eyes, a cute face, an adorable nose and soft lips — he’s quite pretty. he’s even prettier with that twinkle in his eyes when he talks about his interests, even behind his little blue light glasses he insists on wearing to protect his 20/20 vision.

isagi’s cute.

you look away, feeling your cheeks flush a little when your gaze lingers a moment too long. “so does that 3-2-5 shape help break the press faster?” you inquire.

“exactly!” he exclaims brightly, his smile ever so pure. “it overloads the midfield and opens passing lanes, so the press gets stretched and easier to beat.”

he pipes down, looking over at you with that sweet and pretty smile that almost looks like he’s got a secret he wants to tell. he tilts his head at you, his dark silky hair flopping adorably along with his movement. “you know, for as much as i talk, you never really want to talk about yourself, y/n.”

your cheeks turn pink with his insinuation. you tuck your hair behind your ear as you finish up a math equation, your voice comes out soft. “i don’t really like talking about myself.”

he props his elbow up on the desk, resting his cheek in his hand as he gazes at you with those calculating and kind eyes. “i like when you talk about yourself.” you can see him through the corner of your eye, that soft curve of his mouth that could have put angels to shame. “i wanna get to know you more, y/n.”

maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you in that soft and open way he always does. or maybe it’s the way that he looks absolutely adorable with the way his hair is flopping adorable and his glasses are slipping down his nose. perhaps it’s the way you like him more than you’ve ever liked any other boy. but maybe it’s the way he seems to like you more than you’d have ever thought.

isagi watches you curiously, leaning closer as you gently look through your bag, then pull out a novel.

you look at him finally, offering him the book to take into his hands. “this is my favourite book.”

isagi’s larger calloused hands find the edges of the book, his fingertips just brushing yours. he takes the book gingerly in his hands, as if he’s afraid he’ll break it.

“maybe reading it will help you get to know me a little better.” you say quietly, letting your hands fall into your lap. your cheeks burned as he looked down at the book in silent awe and calculation. giving someone your favourite book to read felt like cracking open your soul and allowing them to take a look inside.

isagi looks at you finally, and oh. his smile is dazzling. he pulls the book into his chest, his own cheeks painted a sweet light pink, bright against his porcelain skin. “thank you, y/n.”

the bell rings, your saviour.

you lift yourself up from your seat, slinging your bag over your shoulder, isagi rising with you.

he looks incredibly endearing like this. with those beautiful midnight eyes glittering even under his square-framed glasses, his mouth pulled into that gorgeous smile, his fingers clutching the book to his chest and his shoulders drawn closer together as if to cradle the book.

“i’ll annotate it for you.” he says, his voice caught on a nervous breath.

damn him for the shy smile he brings to your face. “i can’t wait to read them.”

༺☆ 𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ༺☆ 𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ༺☆ 𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ༺☆ 𖦹⋆｡˚

༺☆ 𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ you don’t see isagi much after that. caught up with football practice and games, for the next couple days you only catch him in the halls; smiling and waving at you before being swept away into his busy life as a striker.

it’s not until he catches you off-guard in the hallways, breathless and with a nervous smile. only then do you notice the book in his hands. and to your surprise, there’s adorable soccer ball themed tabs sticking out of your book — eighteen to be exact.

you feel your features soften, your heart melting as you take the book from his hands with gentle hands. “isagi..” your voice is far away to your own ears, as if lost in a dream.

the sun streaming in from the windows paints you both in a light gold, outlining you both in a soft aura of sunlight.

he laughs nervously, reaching an arm behind him to rub the back of his neck. his face is already flushing pink, your fingers prying open the first tab. “i tabbed the parts that reminded me of you.”

your lips part, your lashes fluttering in surprise as you look at the scene he’s tabbed. a scene of a girl being described as beautiful. and on his tab, the letter W written in electric blue ink.

the breath leaves your lungs as your stomach flipps. “isagi..”

isagi doesn’t espond, only watches you with nervous and affectionate eyes, his glasses slipping adorably down his nose.

you flip to the next tab. a girl being described as intelligent. the letter I written on the tab.

“oh my god.” your words are whispered, your heart beating a million miles per minute in your chest. you can hardly breathe when you go to the next tab — a girl being called perceptive. the letter L.

your hands trembled. with every turn of a soccer-themed tab, a letter was written on it. each scene a description of someone beautiful, of someone kind, a gorgeous metaphor, paragraphs about understanding, perception and belief. and on each tab, each letter spelled out—

you look up at him, your eyes shining and your glossed lips parted and your breath caught in your lungs.

he smiles shyly, looking at you like you’ve got the stars in your eyes. “will you go out with me?”

butterflies erupt in your lower abdomen, wings flapping against your ribcage, fluttering their wings against every inch of your body. the butterflies make their way to your heart, batting their delicate wings against the quick beat of your heart.

you feel as if you’re lost in a dream.

“yes.”

isagi’s smile has never looked prettier.

illuminated softly under the sunlight, isagi looks straight from a fairytale. his hair’s outlined in gold, his glasses glint under the rays, his deep blue eyes seem to glitter and his smile seems to shine brighter than the sun.

“really?”

you can only nod wordlessly, your lips lifting into their own shy smile. you can already feel your cheeks burning pink.

he looks like he wants to touch you. his hands are flexing at his sides. he makes an excited breathy sound, forcing his hands to relax at his sides. “o-okay, good. i—i’ll text you tonight then? d-does friday work?”

“y-yeah.” you nearly curse yourself at the high and nervous pitch in your voice. “friday works.”

he nods, smiling like he’s won the goddamn world cup. “okay. i’ll text you tonight.”

you hear shouts from down the hall, glancing over his shoulder to see his teammates leaping around, hooting and jumping on each other excitedly.

isagi laughs nervously, the tips of his ears burning red. “i guess i should go then.”

you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips, bringing your hand up to stifle the sound.

he backs away as his friends call his name behind him, his eyebrows drawing together and his eyes softening at the rare glimpse of your smile and laughter. “please, give me more books to read that you like.”

you lower your hand, your smile contagious. “i will.”

you watch as isagi backs away with a winner’s grin, turning around to catch up with his friends. you watch as a boy with yellow highlights swings his arm around isagi’s neck, bringing a hand down to ruffle his hair. you hear a gasp, then a shout from him.

“she said yes!”

his teammates erupt into cheers and hoots, all of them rushing to tease isagi as they walk down the hall. you can hardly hide your giggles now.

amongst the chaos of his teammates, isagi manages to look back at you one last time — as if he were making sure to steal your heart. and there it was. that smile that looks like he has a secret he wants to tell. he’s told you one secret now, so now he’s got you wondering : how many other secrets does isagi have to tell?

[eremikayearner]

women with deadpan humor get behind me. a man is about to miss your joke and explain that what you said is not accurate

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ kuroo who always makes you hold his hand during every argument. with every shouted word, with every scoff, with every glare, your hold on each other’s hands tightens. until mean words and raised voices die down into whispered apologies and arms wrapped tightly around each other.

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ eren, geto and light are cut from the same cloth.

[eremikayearner]

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ my alter ego is shidou ryusei. mentally, i’m oikawa tooru. emotionally, i’m fushiguro megumi. spiritually, i’m eren jaeger. that pretty much sums me up.

[eremikayearner]

you think you're in a casual, no-strings attached sexual relationship with ushijima, quietly agonizing over your unrequited romantic feelings. he thinks you've been dating since the first time you slept together

[eremikayearner]

can u write a jealous sex fic with bachira except ur like lowkey dumb when it comes to guys flirting with u and u think they just wanna be friends?

hi ! hope i wrote this okay :3 i’m so incredibly sorry i took so long, i hope this makes up for it even a little bit :<

sweet dumb girl ♡ྀི bachira meguru

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, you’re oblivious to your own beauty and the effects of it on the people around you such as your boyfriend’s teammates. your happy-go-lucky boyfriend bachira meguru, suddenly isn’t so happy anymore. in fact, he’s rather jealous.

╰┈➤ p in v (lol), light bondage, edging, breeding (lowkey), slight degradation (??), you’d think bachira’s the naïve one but this time you got him beat icl, wc : 2k

banner cred : @kimimocha on pinterest :3

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ bachira just can’t handle having a sweet ‘n pretty girlfriend who just can’t fucking comprehend the effect she has on the guys around her.

so he's got your wrists bound tight by a little silk ribbon and tied to the bed frame, your thighs, tits and throat marked with pretty hues of plum and dark mauve, and his hands wrapped around your waist hard enough to bruise.

and of course, he's pounding into your sweet pussy like he's trying to fucking split you open.

sex with bachira is always chaotic, unexpected, exhilarating and above all, special. he's always one to make you feel good, safe, beautiful and treasured, no matter how soft, rough or unpredictable he can be. but tonight ; something's different.

something's got him fucking riled up.

he's panting hard, his bangs damp with sweat and falling in his eyes, his biceps straining with how hard he's gripping you, his muscled chest and abs glistening with sweat, his canines flashing as he nips down on his lower lip to keep those pretty little noises from escaping — shit, he's never been quite like this.

“i’m still your favourite, yeah?” the words fall from his lips, harsh, almost needy. and something unfamiliar.

his thumbs rub soothing circles on your hips as he pound into you, his cock repeatedly slamming into your sweet spot and causing your whole entire body to tremble with bliss.

you tug against your binds, the silk digging into your wrists as your trembling thighs draw together around his waist. and oh, god. the moans he rips from you are so fucking filthy ; high-pitched, cute 'n sweet as saccharine.

his words are breathless, a hint of desperation and anger within them, lashes low over his hazy honey gaze. “c’mon, pretty, you know i am.”

you're too fucked-out to even properly formulate reasons for his tone, or even begin to decipher why, just that he's hitting all the right fucking spots and making you feel like you're in heaven.

but bachira's relentless.

“say it, pretty." he rasps out, nails digging into your hips, the harsh sound of his hips snapping into you echoed off the walls. his tip kisses your cervix, and you nearly pass out.

he’s in you so fucking deep, so fast, so hard, so needy, so mean ; fucking you like he’s got something to prove. something he wants to rip from you and imprint in you all at once.

your cunt clamps tightly around his cock, pleasure coursing through you — threatening to ruin you. your back arches off the bed with a sweet moan, his thick cock sliding in and out of your messy little cunt that’s just struggling to take him in. shit, he nearly fucking whimpers at the sight.

"say i’m your favourite.” he demands, his once bubbly voice now low and quiet.

the words are tumbling out of your wobbly glossed lips before you can even understand what you’re saying. “you’re my favourite, meg!”

oh, there it is. he’s gonna make you cum just like this. hardly even played with your needy pussy like he always did. you want to feel embarrassed for cumming too quick, but bachira always just makes you his sweet little dumb mess.

you cry out as your orgasm approaches you much too fast — too much for you to handle.

“yeah?” and then something changes. his voice is rough. rougher than it’s ever been with you. his pace and thrusts are punishing now, too fucking much, and nearly painful. you can’t even help the helpless moan that escapes your mouth, and somehow this only seems to darken his mood. then he says it. “even when you let my teammates eye-fuck you and flirt with you like some little slut?”

then he rips your orgasm away from you, almost cruel in the way he pulls out of you almost entirely for a moment — and oh, god. the whine of pure desperation and panic in your voice twists his heart.

“n-no!” you gasped out, tugging against your binds.

but he doesn’t slide back in. no, he waits for a moment, just to hold off your orgasm, then he slams his cock into your needy cunt once more, ripping the breath from your lungs.

"is that what this is?" his thrusts are mean, too fast for you, too hard, but fuck, your messy little cunt only got wetter — sucked him in tighter. and bachira notices this. he grins at the sight, huffing out a breathless chuckle. "you wanted to get fucked like this?"

his mind flashes to the way you’d been with his teammates. laughter and jokes quick on your tongue, smiling at their compliments and clearly obvious attempts at flirting with you — as if you couldn’t tell they were flirting at all. the way you’d been playing with the hem of your skirt — as if you couldn’t see the fucking way they’d been devouring you with their eyes like animals.

"were you trying to make me jealous?" his voice is almost incredulous, in disbelief that his girlfriend could have possibly made him jealous on purpose.

but your immediate whine of ‘no’ has his brain short circuiting. thinking. searching your desperate, needy and frightened eyes. could you really be that naïve?

"i-i didn't know!" your voice trembles, a mess of whimpered words broken by the harsh rhythm of his dick pounding into your cunt. “jus’ wanted to m-make friends!”

you whined his name, eyes falling shut as you arched up against him, tugging at your binds, pleasure and pain colliding deliciously through your body.

he looks down at you, and there’s a flicker of fascination in that gorgeous golden gaze. you’re a mewling, whiney, desperate mess under him, beautiful in all your vulnerability and desire and he thinks to himself ; how can someone so breathtaking not realize their effect on people around them?

it’s ridiculous. you’re lying.

"yeah, is that right?" his voice is rough, a drag through his throat as he holds back a groan. a rough hand slides from your waist, roams over your soft body till he reaches your tit. he brushes his thumb over a deep mauve-violet mark just above your nipple. almost hisses at the way you whine and arch into his touch, a sob on your lips. his tone is ever mocking. "sweet girl didn't know? sweet dumb girl didn't know how beautiful and fuckable she looked in that little skirt her boyfriend bought her?"

he’s never been like this before. never so angry. so condescending. so mean.

"p-promise!” you whine out, a pretty moan escaping your mouth as you felt the thick head of his cock reach even deeper into you. it was maddening. the way he talked to you, the way he fucked you, the way he held you, the way he marked you; like you were really were some sweet dumb girl that had forgotten who she belonged to. “don't be m-mad, please!"

then you feel pleasure ebb away into a dull buzz in your body when he slows his thrusts till he’s got his cock buried in your needy little cunt to the fucking hilt. his new form of torturing you.

you can’t help the whine that bubbles to your lips that sounds almost like a sob.

"m'not mad, honey." he says, his voice so soft and tender, revelling in your sweetness, neediness and naivety. you whimpered as he pressed gentle kisses to your neck, lips kissing over every harsh and dark mark he’d imprinted on your skin. you whined as his lips pressed to yours, so innocently, so innocently that it almost seems like he’s forgotten how his cock is nestled and throbbing inside you. but you take his sudden sweetness hungrily, melting into him, losing yourself in his softness, just as you feel the ribbon slipping from your wrist. bachira had untied your binds in one swift motion.

"you like this though, don't you?" warm calloused hands you know better than your own come to cradle your face. you gasp when you feel his cock begin to slide in and out of your messy pussy, in and out, little by little, more and more. with each tantalizing and purposeful thrust inside you, he presses sweet little kisses to your face, fucking you and loving you all at once.

it’s intoxicating. this push and pull. this unexpected chaos. the thrill of angering him, confusing him, and amusing him.

he rasps out the words, a knowing smile on his lips. "you like knowing i'm a fucking jealous wreck, right?"

bliss numbs your mind as it finally begins to overwhelm you rapidly. your sensitivity and need are being pushed to their limits and being drawn out to their fullest by your boy. and all you can do is lift your trembling arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

"i know you love this." he’s looking down at you adoringly, and that’s when he starts to pick up his pace.

bachira’s nearly at his limit, and he wants to get you there now. he wants you to fucking cum and fall apart around his cock so hard that it’ll be the only thing you’ll be able to think about when another man ever tries to flirt with you again.

his head drops to the crook of your neck, groaning as he catches a glimpse of the way your pussy sucks him in, coating his cock in your sweet juices and milking him like you’re trying to fucking suck him dry. a broken moan leaves his mouth at the sight.

the sounds you’re making are fucking filthy. from the sloppy wet sounds of your cunt being pounded, to the pretty moans and whines of his name from your mouth.

"yeah, shit, so pretty. so fucking pretty, y/n." his voice is rough, needy and possessive. his eyes are on your pretty face, watching every fucked out and ruined expression — and it’s sick. it’s absolutely sickening how he delights in how fucking ruined you are for him. ruined because of him.

he mutters under his breath, ‘no man deserves this’, losing himself in the addictive and perfect feeling of your slippery tight walls, going faster, harder, rougher, needier.

“you’re only mine. my pretty girl.” with every thrust of his dick and with every sound from his mouth brings heaven closer to you. fuck, he’s desperate to bring it to you. “isn’t that right? c’mon, say it.”

your fingers slip into his hair, fisting in the chocolate brown locks, ecstasy blurring your vision and your thoughts. the words are tumbling from your lips dumbly. “m’yours, meg!”

“that’s right. good girl. you’re all mine. my y/n.” your fingers claw at his back, clutching him to you harder, your voice high-pitched and broken — your sweet cries and pretty face buried against his neck. he can feel your cunt squeezing around his length with every wet and filthy pound into your pussy — and shit, now he knows he’s got you. he grins now, cocky almost, panting against your skin and rutting into you like he’s trying to create a deeper space for himself inside you. a space only he can ever reach. a space only he can fucking fill. his voice is a warning and a promise all at once. "make sure you remember who you fucking belong to."

with a sob that almost sounds like a moan, pleasure turns your vision white, crashing over you and ripping through you. you tremble, whine and gasp under him, clutching him tighter as you pull him into heaven with you.

he groans loudly into your skin, spilling thick white ropes of his cum inside you. he shudders apart, your warm wet walls milking every fucking drop he’s got left in him — whimpering as he felt his balls empty into you.

it’s nothing but your gasps for air, the sweat slick and sliding against your skin, the dull throb of his cock inside you and the soft flutter of your cunt around him that slowly draw you back down to earth.

"next time you talk to them, i want 'em to see these marks, yeah? know who your favourite friend is." he presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. his voice is ragged in his throat, but back to being full of affection and whimsy. your sweet happy bee returned. “wear that skirt again, honey. you look beautiful in it.”

[eremikayearner]

Could you please write another hyoma fic? The two you have up are so good!

hi there :3 i wrote smth so lmk if u like it ‹𝟹 i am so incredibly sorry for how late this is, i never forgot about you. your request means the world to me ‹𝟹

forever mine ‹𝟹 chigiri hyoma

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, you and hyoma have been best friends since as early as you could remember. but feelings change and emotions spiral out of control, a growing sprout that had once been a tiny seed. nows the time to figure out whether or not that sprout will wither, or bloom into a pretty flower. a confession will do just the trick.

╰┈➤ chbsf!chigiri x fem!reader, love confession, wc : 2.3k

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ chigiri hyoma isn’t the kind of boy you’re supposed to fall in love with. at first glance, he seems like the perfect kind of boy a girl is supposed to fall in love with. he’s intelligent, athletic, talented, quiet, observant, and above all beautiful. the kind of beautiful that made women and men alike envious and starstruck. why shouldn’t you be in love with him?

what they don’t know about chigiri hyoma is that he’s moody. he’s not one to communicate. he’s jealous and at times, selfish. he gets upset easily and shuts himself away. he wipes his tears away with the heel of his palm. he’s protective and possessive – even if he claims otherwise. he likes braiding his hair when he gets bored. he always has snappy and sassy remarks. he laughs with his whole heart when you slip, catching you just before you can fall. he’s picky with your outfits, but once you pick out something he likes, he’s always right there to zip it up, button it up or slip it on your shoulders for you. he only smiles during a match when he spots you in the crowd. he hugs you tightly after he wins a game – spins you around in his arms if he scored. 

he carries you home on his back when you walk home from school together whenever you complain that your feet are tired. he swipes frosting on your nose teasingly whenever you eat cake. he lets you lean on his shoulder whenever you’re falling asleep. he has a shared playlist with you that he listens to 24/7. he lets you play with and style his hair. he holds you and whispers sweet nothings to you when you feel as though the world is falling apart around you. he watches you with the softest and sweetest gaze when you help him with his leg care. 

chigiri hyoma is a boy crafted from chaos and hopes, a boy you have to truly know, see, and understand to fall in love with. and that was your exact issue, unfortunately. you had fallen in love with hyoma for exactly who he was. your misfortune is that he’s your best friend of twelve years – the one person you’re never supposed to fall in love with. 

you aren’t allowed to feel this way at all for your cherry haired princess of a best friend. hell, you should never feel this way for a friend at all, much less your best friend.

but you feel it. god, you feel it, and it hurts. 

you feel it now.

in the safe confines of your pretty pastel bedroom, you sit on your bed watching him in all his perfect porcelain doll beauty. those pale slender fingers you know better than your own are tangling through his silky cherry red strands and pulling it up into a half-up half-down hairstyle. he’s got his red hairtie you both share between his teeth and looking into the mirror with quiet concentration. 

his eyes shift to find yours in the reflection and instantly you suck in a small breath, averting your gaze. 

it’s a cool spring friday and you’ve just come home from walking from school – a typical hyoma-y/n routine since you could remember. there should be nothing special or different about these walks but there is. it’s in the soft brush of your hands when you walk too closely together. in the way your eyes seek each other’s but someone looks away. in the way your gazes linger on the other for just a moment too long. in the way his arm wraps around your shoulders to pull you into his side after you shiver. 

there’s something stirring between the two of you – something you’ve attempted desperately to ignore and pretend away. a string of tension that had been pulled taut between the two of you – so taut it could burst any moment. a breath held that suffocated and ached within your heart and lungs. words slippery and heavy caught on your tongue. 

he must know. you think to yourself. this is the result of a friendship that’s been silently tarnished – a love not returned in full. that’s what this tension must be, you believe. you’re nothing but the frightened sprout waiting to get plucked before you can even begin to bloom. 

hyoma finishes tying up his hair, the silence a soft thick blanket that has fallen over you both. then he makes his way over to the edge of your bed, your matress dipping under his weight a little. you draw your knees closer to yourself, suddenly a little self-conscious of the traces of him all over your room. posters he’d bought for you of your favourite bands and shows plastered on your walls. little trinkets, keychains and stickers up on your desk and some littering your walls. the soft pastel colour of your room itself, painting with the help of your parents and hyoma himself. the plushies that littered your bed, most that he’d bought you. the soft colour of your sheets and pillows – chosen with his help of course. your manga shelf, littered with little figures which some were either bought with him or by him. it suddenly feels too intimate – the way he fills every crook and cranny of your life with his presence. 

she must know. hyoma thinks to himself as he looks at the way you’re settled against your pillows, almost tucking your face into your knees. that’s why you’re shying away from him so much. that’s why you’re too afraid to look at him – are you afraid of what he feels for you? 

his heart twists in his chest as he looks at you, the emotions and feelings he’d hidden for so long becoming too overwhelming. too much for him. too painful to look at you and keep calling you his best friend. 

you finally muster up the courage to meet his gaze, lowering your knees and letting your nervous hands slide into your lap. there’s a certain way he’s looking at you with those pretty pink eyes, an unspoken whirlwind of emotions – a mystery about chigiri hyoma that you for once cannot even begin to uncover.

his lips part and you can’t help but notice how soft they look now. tinted a soft blush pink, courtsey of the bubblegum flavoured chapstick you’d let him borrow on your walk back home. you look away, just as he catches on, his voice a little weaker than it’d been earlier.

“y/n, i -” he pauses, the words caught in his throat. you meet his eyes again – willing the pounding of your heart to slow (it’s no use, if anything, looking him in those pretty eyes makes it even worse). he swallows, finding the words. when he says them, they come out slow, almost hesitant. no. calculated. “i want to talk to you about something.”

your heart drops at the words. you feign nonchalance, extending your legs, your calf nearly brushing up against his thigh. you try not to inhale sharply at the miscalculated movement, butterflies fluttering in your chest as his eyes fall to your bare legs.

“about what?” you questioned, tilting your head a little in false confusion.

he pursed his lips, then poked his cheek with his tongue, as if trying to prolong his next words. you could feel it in his stare. he wasn’t buying your little innocent act.

shit.

“i just…” he trailed off, looking down at his hands in his lap and nipping on his lower lip. he let out a soft breath, and that’s when you held yours. here it comes. “i feel like things have been tense between us.”

you frowned, your lungs feeling like flowers – wilting and crumpling under the unexpected pressure and heat from sunlight. but you pretended it away. pretended it away just as you’d pretended away that string of fate pulled taut between the two of you – too afraid to take the risk. “i’m not following.”

you note the frustration that crosses his features. he’s looking at you with those intense pink eyes and seeing through you. seeing into you. “don’t play dumb. something’s been different between us for the past couple months, and i know you feel it too.”

you let out a soft breath that barely breaches the silence between the two of you. but from the way your eyes are locked on each other, there’s anything but silence. he’s cradling your heart in his hands, imprisoned by chains of fear, and with gentle fingers, he’s tearing them down.

he looks at your lips for a moment, notices the way you don’t even inhale. a deer caught in headlights.

he takes the lead, carries your breath for you.

“i can’t.. i can’t keep doing this.” he speaks, the words laced with strain. he wants to speak more — his tongue tied and the words stuck in his throat like honey. “this weird pretending thing. and the tension.”

those eyes you’ve looked into countless times pull you in with their magnetism, dragging you into the well of secrets within his gaze. it’s a dance with him, a call of your name, a plea whispered against your skin, a tangle of hands in your hair, a run and chase. you don’t even feel it, but you’re leaning closer to him, letting him draw you in.

“i have to tell you but i…” his lips part and your stomach flips when his eyes slide down to your mouth longingly. the breath leaves your lungs and your heart leaps in your chest as hyoma, your best friend and the boy you’ve been in love with for longer than you can remember, lifts his eyes and looks at you like you’ve got the stars in your eyes. stars he wants to burn touching. his voice is a raspy sound in his throat, coated with strain and need. “fuck, let me show you.” 

then you feel warm calloused fingers cup your face and soft sweet lips pressed against your own. 

it doesn’t feel like a kiss.

it feels like a supernova of emotions.

your hands reach up to touch him, fingers tangling in his hair, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt – pulling him closer. your lips part against his mouth in a soft gasp and he swallows the sound, mouth slanting over yours. his mouth is warm and chasing yours, his kiss feverish, needy and full of desire. it’s a collision of stars, his fingers sliding into your hair further, deepening the kiss, a hand bunching in the fabric of your skirt, your nails dragging against his scalp, your grip tightening on his shirt, your body arching into his touch, his body connecting with yours, your air becoming his, your hearts racing as one. 

his kiss tastes like forbidden dreams, secrets and your strawberry bubblegum. 

he pulls away then with a gasp, breath ragged, pupils blown wide with desire as he looks down at you. Your hair splayed out against the pillows in a halo around your head, your lips wet and glossy, your chest rising and falling with each breath you dragged desperately into your lungs, your eyes looking up at him with every emotion you’d hidden for so long. love, admiration, respect, understanding, longing and desire. his eyes reflected your own. 

“i’m in love with you.” he breathes, his hand tightening in your hair – his words dragged from his heart. “so devastatingly in love with you. every second i’m with you it feels like i can’t breathe ‘cause the feeling’s eating me up inside.” 

your heart races in your chest, butterflies erupting in your lower abdomen at his words, gasping in a breath. your mind seems to melt as time slows and stops and speeds up and focuses right in on him all at once. His hair falls around you both like a veil, his face ever so devastating. wrecked with the release of his secrets and forbidden desires, a face you’d seen in your dreams countless times.

he never once pulls his gaze from yours, his fingers softly touching and twisting in your hair, his voice raw with every secret he’s hidden from you. every wish, dream and hope he’s ever had drawn from his soul and into his voice, into his eyes. “i can’t be friends with you anymore. not when i love you like this.” 

with a kiss, every wish, dream and hope you’d ever had had come true.

“i don’t wanna be your friend either, hyoma.” the words are like a prayer. “I’m in love with you too.” 

his lips are on yours again, hotter this time, softer this time, as if he’s letting every confession he hadn’t made pour into you. It’s an exchange of secrets, of dreams, of wishes, of wants and hopes. it’s every ‘i love you’ you’ve ever said spoken all over again through the kiss.  

You managed to breathe out against his lips. “i wanna be yours. i’ve wanted to be yours since forever.”  

“good.” he presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand sliding to cradle your face. “M’yours, y/n.” he pulls away just enough to look down at you again – your gorgeous angel who you’ve watched grow, change, lose, gain, live and love. your gorgeous angel who’s finally answered your prayers and broken his silence. his voice is low, another secret he’s sharing with you. “i’ve been yours since forever.”

he falls into you again, limbs tangling, hearts colliding and souls entwining. 

sometime in between, a smile curves his mouth against your lips. his voice is soft, that cocky and playful tone you know so well within his words. “i like knowing you’ve been forever mine.”

your breathy laughter is a challenge, your hands cupping his face, the words spoken against his kiss-swollen mouth. “like?”

“love. love, y/n.”