#and even though he sucks a lot and used to suck even more in the past I still don't regret loving him now

[beautifullilacsky]

It was late, and he had to go to work early again tomorrow. Though, when he mentioned that he was trying to fall asleep after asking me if I am tired, I wanted to help in a way. So, I offered him a massage. Little did I know it wouldn't help him sleep soon at all. We started talking more, and at one point we talked about which parts of my internship I enjoyed, and which I did not. Based on the fact that I am enjoying the designing part, he thought it could be a nice idea to look into jobs in that region. Yes, he was right; I told him about the job that I found interesting; UI/UX designer. I explained it a bit, and he said that the back-end part sounded more like programming. Then, I hesitated for a moment but decided that this is the exact moment to say it. I guess I had been a bit scared. A bit scared he'd find it useless, or out of character, or ... I don't even know. Anyway. Now it was time to spill how I figured that for (a part of) this job, programming might be needed, or a plus. So, that is what I've been learning for the past 2 weeks. He asked what exactly I was learning, so I explained the app and the languages that I was working on. He fairly noted a couple of times that I was getting shy, which, I was. He said I really didn't have to be, asking me to come lay besides him again. "Are you doing it because of me? Or because of the CC thing?", I was happy to assure him that no, I did not learn this for him. He thanked me for telling him about what I've been doing these days. I thanked him that eventho he knows that people aren't using these coding languages, he didn't demotivate me. According to him, it is really good to know the basics. I don't remember the exact order, but I do know he told me I was cute uncountable amount of times, accompanied with many back kisses. Also quite a few "I like you"'s.

"You know, if you want, you can use my desk or we can get you another monitor". I hesitated a bit, being my comfizone self who is afraid the double screen will be so good I'll not want to live without it. He said he can only offer, and I said it'd actually be nice. "Okay, we will look into it tomorrow afternoon then". He also kept his appropriate distance, while showing me his support, by saying that if I had any questions, I knew who to come to. Yeah. If anyone can answer my questions, it's him. Mt smart smart boy.

Anyway. I thanked him for listening and I apologized for keeping him awake for long. He didn't mind it at all. Instead, he was grateful. He went on to touch me. "Hey, boyfriend, have you looked at the clock?". He again, didn't mind. He was awake, and so was I. If I wanted him to stop, he said he would, but I honestly didn't. After he went down on me for a while, I pulled him back up. He kissed my neck and asked me if I was okay. I was, but I felt the time pressure, making it harder for me to reach that point, putting even more pressure on, etc etc. "Oh no. You don't have to feel pressured; all you should do is enjoy. We have all of the time in the world, okay? Take all the time you need. Really, don't feel pressured", he assured me multiple times. I asked for teamwork, which allowed him to softly tell me more loving words, such as saying he liked me, how I was hot, and how I was being a good girl. After I finished, he asked me if he should stop, and that I could say "no" to the question if it felt good. He sucked on the skin of the area between my neck and collarbone as I came for the second time. That was insanely intense. He already thought I did the first time, but now I actually did start crying. He held me, making comforting shushing noices, "go ahead, let it all out. It's okay, you can cry".

A lot of back kisses, sweet words and a tiny bite later, I fell asleep into his arms. Sjeesj, he made me feel SO SO insanely safe and loved. He said all of the right things, and knew exactly what was going through my brain, using that info to calm me down. He owns my heart, and I wouldn't want it any other way. I am so sure that it is safe in his hands.

[minicookiedemonx]

HEAT OF THE MOMENT

Hi my writer name is mini, I used to write a lot of smut when I was younger but lost interest. But I’m back with a bang! I hope somebody enjoys this. This is my first post to this community and I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read so far! I don’t know how to set mine up too look as cool as everyone else’s :p.

Edit credit @ myself

Summary: Fem reader POV; You cause a scene at a local bar causing Officer Gojo to escort you off the premises. The reader is alluring, seductive and teasing him with lust. Causing Officer Gojo to then lose his composure and disregard protocol.

Warnings; rough, jjksmut ,gojosatorusmut ,NFSW , outdoor sex, authority-kink, creampie, nofluff , gojosmut, gojoxfemreadersmut, hair pulling, fingering, breast sucking.

Word count; 2k

The bar was alive with chaos—laughter, shouting, the clinking of glasses—but none of it compared to the scene you were making at the center of it all. You weren't even sure how it had escalated this far, but the combination of spilled drinks, a bruised ego from the guy you'd argued with, and the bartender's exasperation had turned a fun night out into something more... memorable.

"Miss, you need to calm down," the bartender said, his patience clearly worn thin.

You rolled your eyes, leaning on the counter with a playful smirk. "I'm calm. Maybe you're the one who needs to relax. How about a drink? On the house, perhaps?"

Before the bartender could respond, the door to the bar swung open, and in strode Officer Gojo Satoru. His presence commanded attention instantly—tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an air of authority that clashed with the cocky smirk he wore so effortlessly. His uniform fit him a little too perfectly, and his white hair, pushed back in a carefree style, gleamed under the dim lights. He slid his shades down just enough to scan the room with those piercing blue eyes.

You froze for half a second, watching as he approached with a slow, deliberate stride. The murmurs in the bar quieted as he stopped in front of you, towering over you with an air of unshakable confidence.

"Miss. Y/N," he said, his voice calm but edged with annoyance. "I heard you've been causing some trouble."

You gave him your most innocent smile, tilting your head as you looked up at him. "Trouble? That doesn't sound like me. I'm just having a little fun."

His gaze was unamused, his smirk faint but sharp. "Yeah, well, your 'fun' just earned you a call to the police. So, either you come with me quietly, or we can make this a lot more complicated."

You couldn't resist pushing your luck. "Come on, Officer. You don't really want to arrest me, do you? You've got those gorgeous eyes, that perfect jawline—wouldn't you rather stay here and let me buy you a drink?"

The bartender audibly sighed, but Gojo didn't flinch. He leaned forward just slightly, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his voice dropping lower. "Flattery doesn't work on me, sweetheart. Try again."

"Oh, but you can't blame a girl for trying," you said, your grin widening as you let your eyes linger on him just a little too long. "What about a smile? Surely I can charm a smile out of you?"

Gojo's lips twitched, but he didn't budge. Instead, he grabbed your wrist gently but firmly, his grip unyielding as he straightened up. "That's enough. Let's go."

Your grin faltered for a moment as he pulled you away from the counter, his calm yet authoritative demeanor leaving no room for argument. Still, you couldn't help yourself. "You really know how to kill the mood, you know that?"

"You'll thank me later," he replied dryly, his voice laced with sarcasm as he led you through the crowd. His hand on your wrist was firm, but not harsh, and you couldn't help but admire the way he handled you with such practiced ease.

As you were escorted out of the bar, you glanced over your shoulder, tossing a playful smile his way. "So, Officer, do you do this for all the pretty girls, or am I just special?"

He rolled his eyes, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're definitely... something."

Once outside, he released your wrist but positioned himself squarely in front of you, his imposing figure blocking your escape. His shades were now perched on top of his head, those sharp blue eyes boring into yours.

"Listen," he said, his tone serious. "I'm going to give you one chance to walk away and go home. No more scenes, no more trouble."

You crossed your arms, tilting your head with a sly smile. "What if I don't want to go home? What if I want to stay out here... with you?"

His jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw his confidence waver. But then his smirk returned, more smug than before. "Y/N, I've got more patience than most, but you're really pushing it."

You stepped closer, just enough to challenge him. "Or maybe you like being pushed."

His expression hardened, his voice dropping low. "This isn't a game."

"Oh, but it could be," you whispered, your voice dripping with mischief.

"Alright, Y/N," he said, voice low and steady. "Here's the deal. You're going to calm down, and we're going to the station. No more games."

You smirked, leaning your back against the cold brick wall behind you. "Games? I think you're the one making this more serious than it has to be. I was just having fun, Officer."

He stepped closer, his broad shoulders cutting off the light and casting a shadow over you. "Fun? You think dragging me out here in the middle of my shift is fun?"

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a playful grin. "I didn't drag you anywhere. You came all on your own. Besides, maybe you like this more than you're willing to admit."

His blue eyes narrowed behind his shades, which now sat low on his nose. "I told you to stop pushing me."

You shrugged, unbothered. "And I told you I don't think you'll do anything about it."

That was all it took. Before you could blink, Gojo spun you around and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, pressing his body against your back with enough force to make your heart race but not enough to hurt. You could feel his member betray his non-intrested demeanor by rubbing into your ass. You could feel how deeply excited he was- even if he didn't want to admit it.

"I warned you," he said, his voice dangerously low, his breath hot against your ear. "But you just can't help yourself, can you?"

You met his gaze head-on, unflinching, your smirk still intact. "What can I say? I like seeing you lose control."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked like he might snap. But then he pulled back abruptly, releasing your wrists and stepping away as though the mere proximity was too much. He reached into his belt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

"You're under arrest," he said coldly, his voice hard and professional once more.

Your grin only widened as he spun you around, snapping the cuffs onto your wrists with practiced ease. "Aw, Officer, you didn't have to go to all this trouble just for me."

"Keep talking," he muttered, steering you toward his patrol car as he read you your rights.

He opened the back door and guided you inside, his touch firm but careful. As he climbed into the driver's seat and started the car, you couldn't help but notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly.

The drive to the station started in silence, the hum of the engine filling the air. But you couldn't resist.

"So, Officer Gojo," you began, your voice lilting with amusement, "is this how you spend all your nights? Arresting harmless bar patrons and pretending you're not ridiculously attractive?"

"Y/N," he warned, his eyes focused on the road, his voice tight.

"What?" you asked innocently. "I'm just making conversation. It's not my fault you've got this whole 'hot cop' thing going on. You must get this all the time."

He didn't answer, but you caught the way his jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the wheel tightened.

You leaned forward as far as the cuffs and seatbelt would allow. "You know, you're kind of cute when you're pretending to be all serious. I wonder what it would take to make you crack."

"Stop," he said through gritted teeth.

"Stop what?" you teased. "I'm just talking. It's not like I'm doing anything wrong. You wouldn't pull over just because I said you had nice eyes, would you?" Gojo ignored you and you sighed with annoyance. You weren't going to give up that easily.

"Honestly the way you pressed me against that wall back there...made me kind of hot. You know...down there?" I spread my legs open slowly, unsure if he could see me do so but regardless they opened wide.

Officer Gojo remained silent, determined to remain calm and collected.

"So hot that when I go home tonight, and I touch myself, I might just think about that to get me off," you paused for a second. "Do you like the thought of that? Me all alone in my bed, circling my clit while moaning your name," you rolled your head back onto the head rest and jokingly moaned his name, "Ohh Officer Gojo,  just saying your name makes me so wet."

That was the last straw. Without warning, Officer Gojo pulled the car to the side of the deserted road, the tires crunching against gravel as he shifted the car into park. He got out and made his way to the back door, opening it furiously, meeting your gaze with extreme frustration in his eyes.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and rough as he leaned closer towards you through the door. "I've been patient. I've been professional. But you just don't know when to quit, do you?"

You smiled, unbothered by his sudden intensity. "Maybe I just like getting under your skin. Seems like I'm pretty good at it."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before leaning closer, his face inches from yours. "Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're asking for?"

"Trouble?" you echoed, your voice soft and teasing. "Is that what you call this? Because I think you're the one who's in trouble, Officer."

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a moment before he closed his eyes, as if trying to collect himself. But when he opened them again, all the restraint was gone. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

"Then show me," you challenged, leaning forward just enough that your lips nearly brushed his.

Officer Gojo groaned, low and guttural, before finally giving in. His lips crashed against yours with a desperation that sent a jolt of heat through your entire body. The cuffs on your wrists pressed uncomfortably against the seat, but you didn't care. His hands were on you—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as though he couldn't get enough.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. "You're going to be the death of me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough and raw.

You smiled, still breathless. "Well, at least you'll die happy."

His lips collided with yours once again, meshing together with ease, you slipped your tounge in and his eagerly fought yours for dominance. One of his hand slide down from your face and under your shirt, onto your breast, gripping it tightly before pulling back and pinching your nipple.

You moaned into his mouth as he played with your breast, the excitement building inside you began to pool onto your panties. His lips remained locked onto yours as his hand travelled south before hiking up your mini skirt, revealing your black laced thong.

He pulled back to observe you, his face flushed as he panted. "You're going to get me in so much trouble," his fingers slide over your aching core, making sure to stop and focus on your hardened bud with a few quick circles.

You eagerly bucked your hips into his hands, whimpering for more. "Fuck you're so fucking wet," he groaned, using his fingers to push your panties to the side before running his fingers between your slits again as you oozed onto his fingers.

His thumb traced your clit, sending shivers throughout the your whole body as you felt the crisp air meet your wet core. Exposed and open, the only thing you were worried about is how soon you could get Officer Gojo to fuck you.

"You're such a fucking slut," Officer Gojo panted huskily, "willing to give up your pussy just to avoid jail time," he smirked dipping a finger into you, causing a loud gasp to escape your lips. He hummed at the sound, "But if you let me fuck you like the slut you are, it might work out for you." Officer Gojo stated with a smirk, locking eyes with you.

Your head rolled back with ecstasy as you felt his fingers curl in an upward motion behind your cervix. His fingers were so fucking long and they were hitting all the right spots. You were a gasping, moaning mess, you gazed down to Gojo to see his eyes locked onto your pussy.

Watching as his fingers moved in and out of you with an urgency that signaled he was having just as much fun as you were. He looked up at your gaze, locking eyes with you.

His gaze was no longer cold and harsh, but filled with desperation and lust. He added another finger before he starting pumping into your pussy effortlessly. The cuffs were digging into your wrist behind you, it stung but you could care less- it honestly made things hotter.

He observed you as he finger fucked you into oblivion, the way his fingers curled inside you had you craving for more. You wanted him-no needed him inside you. You turned your gaze down to his crotch and saw how tight the fabric around his dick had gotten.

The sight of him made you moan out desperately, "I want you inside me, I need you to fuck me," you said, panting inbetween words. He chuckled at the sounds of your desperation, "and...why should I do that" gojo stated with a low seductive tone, slowing the pace of his fingers.

"Because I'm your dirty little slut," you say with a smirk on your face, locking eyes with him as you pull his fingers out of you and latch your mouth around them, licking them clean.

Officer Gojo groaned at the sight and quickly grabbed you out the backseat and slammed you against the car. He pressed his chest to your back as he pinned your arms on top of your lower back.

His hips bucked into your ass, aggressively grinding his harden cock against your rear end. All this foreplay had riled Officer Gojo up to the point he felt as if his cock would burst from the seams if he didn't relieve himself soon. He kissed your neck as he pulled down your skirt and panties in one swift movement.

You heard his belt unbuckled and Officer Gojo undo his zipper rapidly. You went to turn around and greet his member but he roughly pushed you against the car. "You stay right there and look pretty while I fuck the shit out of you," he sternly stated, you nodded your head like a good girl.

He bent you over before spreading your legs, you felt him line his tip up with your aching core. He slapped it against your harden clit, causing you to hiss with desperation. You were so sensitive down there, however, you couldn't help but crave for more. He teasingly slide it between your slit, back and forth slowly before plunging deep into you.

You didn't get a chance to see his dick before it entered you but by the way it filled you up told you everything you needed to know. Officer Gojo moaned loudly as he entered you, taking his time with the first few strokes. Embracing the feeling of your tight, wet pussy griping all around his cock. It was almost too much for him to handle.

He began pounding into you with no mercy, the sound of skin clapping echoed as it blended with the sounds of the crisp breeze and eerily silence of the night. Officer Gojo was unfolding right in front of you, and you couldn't help but join him- fucking him had me  ecstatic.

"Fuck your pussy is so tight baby," Officer Gojo cooed as he gazed down, watching his dick slide in and out of you. He bit his lip in admiration, " and it looks so fucking good on my dick." He slapped your ass harshly while thrashing into you, you gasped at the sudden movement but quickly became the moaning slut gojo had turned you into.

He took a handful of your hair and pulled you back, finding ways to penetrate you in ways you have never imagined. You could hear Officer Gojo attempting to restrain himself from moaning loudly, whimpers left between his parted lips. The sounds drove you absolutely insane, you didn't take him for a whimper but you were loving every second of it.

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this to you," gojo stated, slowing his flow and pumping at a slow rate. "If you weren't such a desperate, needy fucking slut, I could be home by now." You moaned quite my as he fucked you through his lecture.

"But instead you have me in the middle of nowhere, losing my mind over how fucking good your pussy feels," and just like that gojo went right back to pounding you with no mercy. He needed to feel every inch of you, better yet- he needed to fill every inch of you.

You don't know how but he found a way to fuck you faster, even rougher, at this point no noise could espace your lips as he had fucked you into another dimension and you could barely process how good his dick felt inside you. You felt a familiar knot building in your lower abdomen.

"If you keep fucking me like that, I'm going to cum," you said breathless. A light clicked in Officer Gojo, his cock twitched in response. "Go ahead baby, be a good slut and cum all over my dick as I fill your pussy up," he was also breathless, he voice slightly cracking.

He pounded roughly into you until your pussy grasp and pulsated on his cock, triggering for him to spill every drop of cum inside you. It felt good, it felt amazing cumming on top of him as he filled you up. You were convinved there was no better feeling than fucking officer gojo.

He stepped back and pulled himself out of you, tucking his member back into his underwear and redressing. You turn to look at him, your face covered with red and beads of sweat. A smirk lacing your lips,

"So officer Gojo, are you still going to arrest me?"

-

HOPE YALL ENJOYED! MORE TO COME!

[blushingbubbles]

last-orgasm storytime -- sorry it took me a bit to write but it is...long

Sooo last night (1/31) was the last orgasm i’ll have for likely all of 2025, and i’m still fuzzy from it.

Still. It’s *checks clock* 6pm as im writing this. Still fuzzy. It happened like 18 hours ago.

The last free orgasm I had was on January 10th, and I didn’t even like it. It was rushed and short and unearned.

On February 1st, I entered long-term denial, and I wanted to cum one last time before it started.

In fact, I wanted to cum so badly that in exchange, I added 180 days to my denial. But because I added those 180 days, I started to fear that the orgasm wasn’t going to be worth it.

The last free orgasm i had sucked. I panicked that this next one would suck too, that I’d traded 180 days of denial just to regret it.

and hahahaha

i would trade 1800 days of denial for what i got on 1/31.

wc: 2600 (lol) | *exempt from forbidden words rules, and if u try to punish me for this post that i worked very hard on i will block you*

⊹₊⟡⋆ leading up ⊹₊⟡⋆

Sir & I talked on the phone for two days prior to the 31st. The first night we just talked, which got me used to his voice in my ear. The second night we talked a bit and played a bit, which made me more comfortable with his instructions & flow in a scene, which was wonderful. I would’ve had a difficult time relaxing with him if it’d been our first time speaking. But it wasn’t. It was our third, so I felt really safe & comfortable going into our call. 

The morning of the 31st I told him about my dream that centered around worshipping his cock. I told him how needy it’d made me. Sent him a picture of how wet I was. He praised me for it...and then told me I wasn’t allowed to touch until he called that night. At all.

Rude. (i kid)

To make matters worse, he sent some incredible nudes with an instruction to look at them once an hour every hour. This left my imaginative mind with some wild running fantasies. Excerpts from our messages started with “god im like whining” /  “you look so soft” end devolved to “it’d be so fuckimg easy for you to breed me” / “wanna be so full of ur cock i struggle breathing Sir” 

Believe it or not, I actually had no problem with not touching – it was like a given. He told me to not touch so even though I was feverishly horny, touching was out of the question.

The thing I had a problem with was the anxiety. It kept trying to convince me that he was going to forget or get distracted or cancel (he touched base about once every other hour to humor my feral messages, which curbed that anxiety well).

When I was making dinner though, the fact i was going to cum for the last time in 2025 that night started to get to me.

The anticipation became too much to sweep under the rug and I decided to tell him. The convo looked like this:

hi | my heart's beating really really fast In a good way I hope! i think im just excited but it does feel like anxiety It's a lot of anticipation. i dont knowwwwni dont know | It's a lot of anticipation Don't worry bubbles, I'm going take good care of you. | I'm adaptable | We'll get you what you need | You needn't worry about it, I'll be there with you and for you

 (i totally cried happy tears)

⊹₊⟡⋆ the beginning ⊹₊⟡⋆

im all fuzzy again lol. Sir called. We chatted about our days and how I was feeling. He asked what I’d laid out (a vibrating egg, a dildo, a clit suction toy). I made a joke about having a hairbrush on my bed, but it was strictly for brushing my hair before he called. He laughed and agreed there was no need for the hairbrush because we’re not in high school anymore.

First, he asked me to spread my legs to the corners of the mattress. Because of my anxiety, he knew without me asking to go really really slowly, and I'm grateful for it. He took time warming me up and talking to me in the first minutes.

He told me to repeat lines back to him -- repeating lines makes me very pliable, and that night was no exception. I might've repeated I like to show off for Sir 20 times. Afterward, Sir wanted me to spread my pussy for him too, so I did.

But then he said, "little more," which made me think he had cameras in my room. I told him this and he reassured me that he didn't. Instead, he's just inside my head. <3

The night is very hazy. I wrote this with a lot of assistance from him, but this is one thing I remember clearly: everything Sir said was a specific instruction.

He didn’t say “I want you to tease yourself” and then wait for me to explain how I teased myself. He said “take your left hand and drag it up the inside of your left thigh. Slower. I’ll give you the rhythm.”

There’s a time and subject for the “I want you to tease yourself.”

I am not the subject. So it's never the time. I’m always afraid I’m doing something wrong, so I ask clarifying questions – “like ___? Or should I _____?”

But each of Sir's instructions were to-the-letter. Because of that, I never had to worry about doing something right or wrong. There was no ambiguity, there was just the instruction.

I'd already surrendered to his dominance, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to turn my brain off entirely.

At first, he didn’t incorporate the toys. It was nails on thighs and fingers spreading wetness around.

In his words, he was playing with his food.

Eventually, eventually, I was allowed to focus on my clit. Even longer after that, I was permitted to insert my fingers. By this point, with the lengths to which he was dragging it out, I started to whine (which was exactly where he wanted me).

After that, the vibrating egg came into play.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the middle ⊹₊⟡⋆

I’d told him the day prior what countdowns do to me and why, and he incorporated them at every milestone of the night.

With the toy still off, Sir told me to run it up and down my slit. Then I had to hold it at my entrance, adding pressure without allowing it inside. He counted me down and allowed me to insert the toy, then counted me down again to turn it on.

I don’t know how it happened. I sincerely – I don’t know. After a while he gave me a break, and I checked my phone to make sure its battery was still alright and found that an hour and a half had passed. He thought my surprise was cute.

In his words: “I'm glad you're having such a good time, but this night is FAR from over."

Sir told me to get my clit suction toy out and lay it on the bed in front of me, as if to tease me. Keeping the toy turned off, he told me to press it where I usually liked it the most. Then he told me to lift it off. Then place it back on.

Once I had a grasp on exactly how to move, he told me once the toy was turned on, he would give me a number, and I'd have to hold the toy on my clit for that many seconds--but he had me do the counting.

We started on low -- the toy has like 8 settings, so the first setting is usually never enough for me to even really feel? But after all the teasing and build up, I thought for a while I might've been able to hit an edge with it.

He made me hold it on for 3 seconds. 7. 15. Between every number, the toy hovered over my clit so I could hear it and feel a whisper of it, but it wasn't enough to give me any sensation or pleasure.

According to him: I demonstrated incredible self control. Despite how good the toy felt, I always put it down when he told me to, and only when he told me to.

He had me turn it up 2 notches, and I'm pretty sure this is where the last of my comprehensive thought left me.

I literally -- it's so hazy after this, I have no idea. I know he toyed with me just like that -- making me count up to 5, 12, then 7, then 3. He continually reminded me that I wasn't allowed to cum. He also reassured me I absolutely wouldn't be punished for pulling the toy off before reaching the requested number.

The most important rule was to wait for him to give me the orgasm--everything else came second.

There was a stretch of time that I was hitting an edge by 1 -- like the moment the vibrator got too close I was chanting I can't, I can't, I can't.

It felt like an eternity of me going absolutely stupid while teetering on the edge of orgasm.

He gave me a water break after the "I can't," chanting, and this was approximately our conversation:

"You can't?" no Sir, I can't "Why can't you?" bc i don't have permission "And you need permission, don't you?" yes Sir i do i need it "You need it because you don't have a choice, isn't that right?" yes Sir that's right, I don't have a choice "Say that again." i don't have a choice, Sir

That last line was repeated 10+ times

It was incredible. He had me edge myself for him. over. and over. and over.

and over.

and over again.

In his words: It was about 38 edges in just as many minutes.

I remember going nonverbal. I remember him telling me to be clear with the numbers, and I recall that being the hardest part -- because my lips and tongue no longer wanted to work. 

Babygirl, you're mumbling again! I need you to speak very clearly into your mic.Yes Sir, i understand

I started to get fuzzy. If you remember the old-school televisions -- whenever you would turn them off, that collection of static hovered across the screen. You could collect the static in your hands?

I felt like I'd swallowed it. That static blanketed my mind. My tongue was numb. My mind was buzzing. I was incoherent. I've never felt anything like it.

⊹₊⟡⋆ the end ⊹₊⟡⋆

From beginning of the call to the orgasm was over 2 hours. 2 hours he teased me. Denied me. Played with me until I was on the edge and made me wait there. I felt what was left of my brain disintegrate. turn to mush. slip out between my thighs.

(thank you Sir for helping me to recall this part)

Babygirl, you've been perfectly obedient for me tonight. (a long drawn-out whine) I'm very proud of you, of your self control. Are you sufficiently fucked out? Is your head all fuzzy now sweet girl? Can you even understand what i'm saying or are you too much of a brainless whore? (generally affirmative and giggly slut noises) I think you've earned your orgasm. *voice cracking* really? You have my permission to cum. We are going to change the rules of play now. Do you understand?  Yes Sir, I understand, thank you.

There was more in there, but I can't remember when -- he asked me if I still wanted it, and i didn't know the answer anymore. I wanted to say yes -- i wanted it so badly, but I was so fuzzy all i could think was only if you want me to.

Like I was no longer in a space that needed the orgasm - i only needed to make him happy.

it was the same game. hold the vibrator on the clit for the number of seconds he wanted. But the rules had changed. This time he would do the counting ( i loved the counting )

and this time, I was allowed to cum.

however -- the count didn't end when I orgasmed. the count ended when the count ended, and I had to keep the vibrator on until then.

he started with 3 seconds. Before this, I'd been hitting the edge in 3 seconds. But knowing I had permission to cum it felt different -- stronger of an edge almost?

The count ended.

Sir stressed again that I was allowed to cum. Then he counted down from 5 seconds? Or maybe it was 10?

The edge was right there, but the orgasm still felt so far away. The release was being stubborn. Maybe my body didn't feel like it was real?

He said again

Babygirl, you're allowed to cum. Sincerely.

Then he counted down from 20, dragging each number out to his liking.

Maybe I was scared of cumming too soon and overstimulating myself? I'm not sure. But my orgasm held and held and held. It did not want to release.

It sat like a boulder on a cliff, just one breath from falling off and giving me what he ordered. But it didn't budge, and there wasn't anything I could do. I was getting upset with myself by the time he hit 12.

When he hit 10, I discovered the issue.

It wasn't enough for him to give me permission to cum beforehand. I needed it while I was on the edge. The realization hit me so hard I would've fallen over had I been standing. With the time counting down, the pleading spilled from me. I don't even remember what came out of my mouth. He told me it was very very pretty though.

He had reached 6.

Please Sir i need your permission, I need you to give me permission again. I need it I need it.

Cum for me babygirl.

Relief was simultaneously like lightning and a flood through me, and it shoved the stubborn boulder right off the cliff.

There were 2 waves to the orgasm. The first wave was on the "5," the second was when he said "2."

After the second one I kind of blacked out a bit.

But I sincerely don't.....recall...all I know was it was (bar none) the most powerful and most perfect orgasm I've ever had <3

⊹₊⟡⋆ after/care ⊹₊⟡⋆

I cried. i had a feeling i would -- the anticipation + my anxiety + the orgasm was a huge release. my tears slipped into my headphones and they started to fizzle and crack out on me. He told me to stay in bed, but I wanted to find my other pair.

He was right to tell me to stay lying down -- I got dizzy when I stood up.  

He praised me for how good of a job I did which made me want to cry even more. I thanked him like a million times. He thanked me a million times, and he told me to drink my juice.

We talked about all 2 hours of the call. From the teasing to the egg to the counting to the vibrator to the permission to the begging. He filled in some hazy spots I'd already forgotten in my edged-out state.

I stressed that I wouldn't have changed a single thing about it. I had a lollipop, and i fell asleep talking to him on the phone. IT WAS PERFECT AND IM SO GLAD I TRADED 180 DAYS OF DENIAL FOR IT I'D DO IT AGAIN IN A HEARTBEAT.

[nugatorysheep]

What your favorite SU character says about you but it's just mean as fuck

Steven — How is being a mentally ill, people-pleasing queer going for you? Did your mommy issues and anxiety resolve themselves yet or are you still avoiding therapy?

You either disliked or were neutral about him until he got a neck. You think Future is peak cinema (correct) and can't understand why everyone else hates it. You have a better grasp on this show's characters and themes than most of the people who watched it.

Connie — You were likely the gifted kid in school but a total burn-out now. You either see a lot of yourself in this character (How are those helicopter parents of yours doing? Have you gone no-contact yet?) or you're a normie and boring to sandbox with. Probably both.

You've got a lot of Feelings™️about her and if people don't agree it causes Problems™️. In case no one has told you yet, stop caring what other people think. Your constant virtue signaling to appeal to other normies is a crutch that's just holding you back. It's okay to have fun!!

Stevonnie — You want to fuck this character, though you'd never say that out loud. You like Steven and Connie; maybe you like one more than the other, but you like both at least a little. If you're using them for shipping you're the only person in the entire fandom doing whatever hyper-specific ship you've latched onto.

Rose and or Pink — You really suck as a person! Or you used to suck but you've gotten a lot better and we stan! If you're the former you almost certainly have terrible takes on this show (but not in the way people might think), sorry, I don’t make the rules. Either way, you gotta stop finding ways to bring her back, dawg. She's gone.

Greg — You're a man (positive) and gay as hell. Gentleman on the streets and a fucking freak in the sheets. We stan. Pop off king <3

Garnet — If you headcanon her as acespec she is not actually your favorite, Ruby and Sapphire are your favorite, but you like them both equally so you just say you like Garnet. If you headcanon her as anything else you're definitely shipping her with one of the other gems, probably Pearl or Jasper.

Amethyst — Super chill person. Would be in most people's dream blunt rotation. You're a live and let live kinda guy and I respect that, but you also have no hills you'd die on so you're not the first person anyone goes to if they need serious support. You can get away with misinterpreting this character (on purpose or accidentally) because it's hard to say things about her that most people won't just shrug at and go "yeah that sounds right I guess"

Pearl — You're annoying as hell. You see yourself in this character and that's not a good thing. Your social media presence gives off the same energy as every white woman's Instagram profile. If being a victim was a contest you'd take home the gold.

You think everyone is out to get you. They're not.

You think you're being persecuted. You're not.

Most people who see you from a distance and don't know better think you're alright, so you're probably pretty well-liked in public. The only people you will get along with in close quarters are all walking mean lesbian stereotypes.

Peridot — You're annoying as hell for a different reason. You see yourself in this character too and that is a terrible, terrible thing.

She's your pfp on every website and app that will allow it. Your lifeblood is this fucking character and e v e r y o n e will know it. You're weirdly possessive of her and the hyper specific headcanons you made for her (even if you don't say that) despite every grass-fearing autistic person on the internet projecting onto her, so ironically you don't like other Peridot fans, which always ends up with you sitting alone even on websites with millions of people on them.

90% chance you're a furry, otherkin, therian or think you have DID. You think you're misunderstood, and in some ways you are, but the reality is most people don't speak dog and don't have the time or energy to learn. You need to go outside and learn to speak cat whether you want to or not

Lapis — You don't like Peridot fans or kinnies, which is weirdly in-character. You're the biggest hater but you don't hide it and I can respect that. You think Lapis is a victim, but you're only half right. You would probably fall for propaganda if it was dressed up fancy enough.

Jasper — You want to fuck this character, full stop. There's a 50/50 chance you're chill af or the most insufferable person on the planet. If you're the former you're friends with a lot of people. You float easily from one group to another, but a jack of all trades is a master of none, and you're no one's first pick if they're looking for someone close. You probably hate Lapis and her fans but you should really just let that shit go ngl

Spinel — You need therapy (derogatory) and you're making that everyone else's problem. Despite the clown aesthetic you're not very funny to be around and you should get a better sense of humor. You project onto this character way too hard and it shows in your fandom habits and headcanons, but most of the time that's fine

Like Spinel, you're a little two-faced. Some people pick up on that right away and some don't. The people who do hold you at arms length until you make it clear which clown you'd rather be. You hate it when people ship Spinel with any character besides your favorite pairing, but you'll never say that out loud unless it's a ship the people you're talking to don't like.

Blue Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or a minor who doesn't actually understand anything about this character yet, and would immediately fall for any and all forms of propaganda

Yellow Diamond — If you think she is wearing a helmet you're a man (derogatory) and you expected things out of SU that were never gonna happen. If you think it's just hair you have a much better grasp on this character than 90% percent of SU's fandom and I'm platonically kissing you on the mouth.

White Diamond — You're a man (derogatory) or an incredibly based and sexy queer.

The Zircons — You like Ace Attorney, or would like it if you haven't played it yet. You're making them kiss sloppy style. UwU

Lars — You probably didn't like him until after he died. You will defend this boy with your fucking life. Also you should just…. go watch Star Trek if you haven't. Seriously what are you doing—

Sadie — You're an oddball. Very lax though. You have complicated feelings about Shep

Peedee — You're a little quirky, a little freaky, but you're too scared to just say that. You desperately need some fun in your life, but the people around you make that difficult. Eventually you'll find the folks that are worth hanging around. See you on the flip side :)

Ronaldo — You're the type of person this character is based on and you take it in stride. If you're shipping him with Lars, you're the only person who's opinion on this character matters.

Kevin — I dunno who hurt you but you have a terrible taste in men. You only have fun in bed if it involves a damn near human rights violation

Mayor Dewey — You're normalbirb

Any other townie — This is a trick question! No one has these as their favorite lmao

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

She was acting out games again. Somnus watched, though he crossed his arms and shook his head while still watching her, as if he was an adult not believing antics that a child presented to him.

So her childhood bedroom was right next door? Had this been part of her chambers, too?

Curiously he stepped through the door – and it was a similar feeling as when Gilgamesh hit him with a shield in training. But this was a mental shield. And it was colourful. And cluttered.

Somnus’ eyes widened a little and he did not know where to look at first. There was just… so much.

“That is all yours?”

How could one person own so many little things and trinkets? It was not even that everything was immeasurably valuable and only luxury. No. There were a lot of small bits and pieces that had no monetary value – but surely a sentimental one to Aerith.

Somnus sucked in his breath, turning in a circle and trying to take in more – though it seemed where ever he looked, things only multiplied.

It was… magical in its own way. But too much. He would never know how she even found sleep in here. Was her mind not constantly jumping from one thing to the next?

“That is… a lot.”

Maybe a vague comment like that was the best course. He did not want to insult her. He just was not at all used to this kind of decoration habits. The halls and corridors of Lucis were very straightlined and simple.

“… I think Gilgamesh will be quite alright here.”, he mused, throwing her another grin. The giant Shield would not want to stay here. And imagining him in this bed with all the pink and blankets and pillows… it would be a picture for the gods.

Though there was one wall that had Somnus stepping closer. This, he wanted to look at. Countless scrolls and pieces of parchment, drawn on and painted. With so many scenes and magical happenings… it looked as if the entire wall was a mural to tell the story of a life. Her life.

“Did you draw all of these?”, he asked, his fingers gingerly smoothing out one rolled in corner of a picture. If Somnus ha dto guess, it depicted Queen Ifalna, holding a smaller Aerith on her lap. It looked divine. “You are a master artist…”

There was little need to guess where Aerith was. As always, she found a reason to talk, and talk, and to talk and talk. Each room they breezed through, she managed to have something to say, alerting the guards of her returned presence long before their eyes sighted her.

She confidently led Somnus through to 'their' door, even swept out one of her arms in a flourish to invite him further inside. Her heel swept the door then and it closed with a soft click, a moment of silence spreading out, one that she finally didn't rush in to fill.

"Yeah, this is ours." Aerith echoed, allowing time for that sentiment to sink in. She glanced around. There were so many memories in this room... but it looked as though it had been wiped completely clean in the time that she had been gone. Now it stood as a blank slate. Ready to be filled with a new chapter.

His smirk only threw her for a moment. Her curiousity swiftly changing to amusement. "Oh?" she asked, as if that had been a challenge against her. Hands folded behind her back, Aerith approached the door that connected on their left, even pausing at it to politely knock.

"Hello? Gilgamesh? I hope you don't mind the imposition, Somnus wanted to inspect your temporary living quarters." It was just teasing, underlined by the look she threw over her shoulder to the Prince. "He isn't saying anything. I think he's amazed by the artwork."

Finally putting an end to the little charade, and to the build-up of what he must think her room must look like, Aerith grabbed for the door and gave it a simple push open. She strolled inside the bedroom so easily. It was, after all, her most familiar place in the world.

There was something set down upon every single surface. And, to her gentle amusement, there she found her travelling trunk. Her eyebrows shot up at the sight. "Ohh. Guess dad told them where they could shove this." she lightly commented, stepping around the trunk with a hum.

"Of course, I am a generous partner, if you would feel more comfortable in... your personal hell." Aerith offered with a laugh, unable to keep a straight face as she motioned around for him. "You're welcome to this bed should you want it."

[boyswillbebuggsorsomething]

Sick Days

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Summary: Spencer takes care of you while you’re sick.

Warnings: Sick R, vomiting, brief mention of R having joint pain & pain in their bones, so many commas, R has no physical description other than having hair and looking sick/tired, written while sick and barely able to focus, NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

A/N: I’m currently sick and crave comfort so here’s this. Because I’m sick and in pain though, this may not be very good quality. This is very self indulgent so the way R’s sickness presents is the same as mine (and I am disabled & chronically ill), which may not be the same as yours. But anyways, this is my first short little sickfic ever.

Word Count: 673

.....

Getting sick sucks for anyone, but you were convinced that something somewhere had to be against you to make you feel like this. If you could ignore the god-awful ache in your bones and the creaking of your joints anytime you moved, you couldn’t ignore the horrible feeling of throwing up your guts every time you so much as drank water. 

God was simply against you, it seemed.

Luckily, you weren’t alone in your suffering. You had your lovely, kind, amazing, extremely germ-averse boyfriend who was going through his own hell with the germs you were surely spreading through your apartment with every breath. If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d feel bad for him, but in your sickness-addled mind, you could only manage extreme gratitude for his presence. 

“Hey,” Spencer whispered softly as he approached you where you were splayed across the bed with your favourite mug, full of tea, and medicine in pill form as you refused to take the liquid, “It’s a chamomile and ginger blend,” he explained as he handed you the tea, “Both are proven to aid in minimising nausea and relieving sickness and are commonly used as parts of remedies for colds and the flu.”

“I know, love, thank you,” You smiled weakly, though you clearly looked as terrible as you felt based on the small wince of a smile he offered back. 

Despite the kindness of the gesture, you really didn’t want to induce any more vomiting and began to set the cup down on the side table before Spencer stopped you.

“At least drink some with the pills, dry swallowing medication can cause a lot of harm to your throat,” He nudged the mug back towards you and placed the pills in your hand. In turn, you nodded, giving him a tightlipped smile as you placed the foul tasting pills on your tongue, washing the medication down with the honey sweetened tea.

“Thank you,” You murmured again.

“You don’t need to keep thanking me, I want to take care of you,” Spencer smiled kindly, pushing your hair out of your face and resting the back of his hand against your forehead.

“But I’m all gross and sick, and I don’t want to get you sick too, because you hate germs and you do important things everyday so I don’t want you to get sick,” Your words were much less eloquent as they could have been as you fought against the brainfog of illness to explain.

“While that may be true, I love you much more than I hate germs,” He paused briefly before smiling wider, “And if I help you get better, you will stop being sick much faster which means less germs in the long run.”

You manage a small huff of laughter and nod in response.

“Do you want anything else, or would you prefer if I just let you sleep?”

“I’m tired, but I want you to stay,” You groan.

“I can stay.”

“Will you lay with me?” Your question was hesitant, not wanting to expose him to too much of your sickness, because as much as he said he didn’t mind, you knew who you were dating and germs were not his thing.

“Of course,” Spencer’s voice was soft and kind, and the small glint of hesitation in his eyes disappeared as he looked over your sickly form. 

He shifted the blankets out of the way and laid beside you, his warm body instantly comforting even given your current condition. You inched towards him, resting your head against his chest with a soft sigh. Spencer’s hands rested atop your body after a moment, holding you close to himself, one hand rubbing your arm gently. Despite the pain wracking your body and the way your stomach turned with any food or drink you consumed, the exhaustion that wormed its way into your bones took over, leaving your eyes heavy and your body relaxed against him.

Being sick is definitely the worst, but having Spencer with you made it so much easier.

[nionom-art]

Gonna guess that Chloé’s My Daddy Will Hear About This powers are a lot more bluff in MC than canon. Like he acts more like a politician that has a successful career in a capitol city than cartoon politician infinite influence. If a teacher actually calls her bluff and calls him he acts more like someone who is both not a spineless mook and actually cares about his daughter’s wellbeing. Or at least looking as a reasonable responsible parent to the outside looking in

I’m planning on having Andre be just as spineless and corrupt as cannon (as best I can). The thing is though, realistically Andre can’t over use his position as mayor against the school. If he did, and the school fought back, there’s a high possibility that the fight could be taken to court- and that he would lose the case against the school. That would look bad for his career, and possibly even get him voted out of office, so he needs to pick his battles more carefully than that.

I noticed that in cannon, the only person at the school that actually bends to Chloe and Andre’s will 100% of the time is the principal, Mr Damocles. (This would especially make sense if Andre was monetarily supporting the school in some way- Mr Damocles would want to suck up to him, but the teachers likely wouldn’t even care, seeing as the money isn’t even going towards their salaries anyway).

We’ve seen in cannon Chloe complaining when Mrs. Mendeleiev puts Chloe and Sabrina in a group with Marinette, but Mrs. Mendeleiev just tells Chloe to deal with it- and Chloe does. She doesn’t even threaten to call her daddy- probably because she knows it won’t work. Andre would have very little authority to force Mrs Mendeleiev to bend to Chloe’s will on this, and it wouldn’t be worth pursuing in the first place for him. Instead, when they got home, Andre would just promise to buy Chloe something nice to “make up for it”.

So in my au, Chloe definitely does tell her daddy about the seating arrangement, but this is probably one of those situations where Andre would rather just buy Chloe something expensive instead of trying to argue with the school and Mrs. Bustier, who would have a very good counter argument for him. It’s just not worth it for him.

[bonedo-enthusiast]

subby!sungho 𐂐◯𓇋 (psh)

desc: just a drabble about sungho as a sub! :>

warnings: sub!sungho x dom!reader, eepy sungho, mention of oral and jerking off (sungho receiving), mention of p in v, hickies, gn!reader, + lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 509

since sungho works out, i could imagine that he would come home so tired–not to mention all the dance practice he has to do. :( 

i don’t think it’d be too often that he gets turned on, but maybe it’s the way that you care so deeply for him on a particularly long and tireful day.

you’d cook him dinner and bring it to him in bed, urging him to rest.

he just finds it so so endearing (and hot!) when you’re domestic with him. :(( 

so he’d be shyly asking you if you can give him some special attention.

i don’t think he’d like to be too vulgar so he’d be kind of embarrassed if you asked him for clarification or if you teased him.

he’d already be a bit embarrassed since he’s outright asking you for sex in the first place. >.<

when he’s so tired and needy like that, i can so see him being a pillow prince. (special thanks to berry for that prince sungho drabble 🫦)

he would love it if he didn’t have to do too much work but even though he’s tired, i still think he’d be big on foreplay!

he LOVES receiving hickies–they’re just so pretty to him, especially with the way they contrast against his pale skin. i think he’d like them most on his collarbone area!

sungho gives me the vibes of someone who likes to wear minimal clothing around the house because that’s just what’s most comfortable to him, so half the work would already be cut out for you. 

he does not moan as much as, say, jaehyun, but he grunts and groans a lot.

especially when you suck him off–his dick is his most sensitive body part, after all.

there’s just something about the way your mouth feels around him that really gets him going.

i think halfway through he’d forget he was tired, and would start trying to buck his hips into your mouth because you just make him extra needy. :( 

tired or not, one thing he absolutely loves is touching you.

whether he’s being a pillow prince or not, he has to have his hands on you in some way–usually your hips or ass. 

he does love sucking on your boobs, loves how soft your boobs feel against his face. 

for the most part, though, he just lets you have control over him since thinking is extra hard when he’s tired. 

even if you jerk/suck him off, he still wants to be inside you at the end of the day.

as much as he loves your mouth, he loves your cunt even more.

loves watching you ride his dick, having you facing him so he can watch the way your boobs bounce. 

i also think he’d wear his glasses around the house a lot, so i could imagine his cute glasses getting crooked as he’s getting fucked and the lenses fogging up.

he’d keep on trying to fix them but it’s no use and he’d eventually give up and UGH it would be the cutest sight. :(( 

a/n: my first exclusively sungho post yay! what a cutie <333

[mqriuss]

Now playing: Bonus track - Everything I Want

from 'bad girls that haven't been caught' series

an extra ramble post about rindou and reader dating stuff

playlist | series masterlist

rindou would always be late to school and no one cared, everyone stopped caring after a while. but ever since he started dating you, he's always early just to wait for you at the gates so you could walk to class together.

ran also doesn't care about being late to class but rindou is usually there to make sure he doesn't sleep the whole day. well now ran has to make use of the annoying alarm clock since his little brother decided to be a boy in love. good for him i guess, he'd think to himself.

i think that's how everyone would figure out something was happening between you two. one day, rindou just decided to be super early to school and is just standing around by the gates. people were already whispering and looking at him, but it doubled when you arrived.

"what the hell?" you froze and rindou looked up from his phone. he grinned upon seeing you, taking out an earphone. "why are you early? this is so weird, oh my god."

"hey, can't help i wanted to see you sooner," he said, chasing you when you started walking ahead of him.

"get away from me, you're not rindou! what did you do to him?!" you picked up the pace and let a smile appear when he laughed.

everyone immediately starts talking, and the word spreads like wildfire. which you obviously expected. you had more reason to hide your relationship with rindou compared to your ex, but this time will be different.

you didn't like basketball—even before fumio, you never liked it. you hated it even more after him. but it's not so bad anymore. it's not so bad when you're at the outdoor court, alone with rindou, watching him do a bunch of tricks that he said would "make the crowd go wild if he was on the team." it's not so bad when you're in his backyard, playing with him and sometimes with ran too.

rindou was a better and more patient teacher than fumio. it's something you didn't expect from him at all. patience. fumio tried playing basketball with you too, but he hated it because you sucked so bad and he'd try to teach you but he gets pretty emotional when you can't get it right. when you look back on it you think, why didn't you just dump him at that moment?

now that you're with rindou, he plays basketball with you just to spend time together. it didn't matter that you weren't that good at it, he'd never get frustrated with you and i mean, how could he when you seem to be having some fun? yeah. you think basketball's fun with rindou now.

your favourite moment has got to be when he carried you on his shoulders in front of the hoop, giving you a closer distance to throw the ball in. he's not that tall so you couldn't just dunk it in. because of that, the moment wasn't as cute as he was imagining, but you were giggling over sitting on his shoulders and feeling taller and getting the ball in more easily. the moment wasn't as cute as he was imagining because it turned out to be even cuter. it's really just because of you though.

for a while, you made it clear to him that you wanted absolutely no pda in school and he respected that. so this was causing a lot of discussion among other students—were you dating or just really good friends? "but why is y/n friends with the delinquent to begin with?" not many people knew about the times you tutored each other so it was still a pretty huge surprise when you started appearing around the school together.

it was an even bigger shock when on white day, rindou came to school with a little bouquet of your favourite flowers and a burned cd with songs that reminded him of you. it had "for y/n, on white day" written on it. (your valentines day gift for him was a lot more subtle, so not many people had connected the dots at the time).

ever since that day, showing affection in school started small. rindou would sit by your desk just to chat or sit in silence with you as you ate lunch together. he'd also share his earphones with you, letting you listen to all the playlists he's made about you, or songs he just likes at the moment.

then you started holding hands. and sometimes he'd have an arm around your shoulders as you walked. everyone is still in shock whenever they see you two together. it was just, such an unlikely pair. smartest girl in class with a delinquent, no one can wrap their heads around it to this day.

the kicker is that some of rindou's grades had went from Fs and Ds… to Cs, and you don't even tutor him that much. he started paying a bit more attention in class, maybe because he started gaining a bit of interest in some subjects after hearing you ramble on and on about actually interesting things you've learnt in class.

now all you need to know about fumio is that he started dating the first year manager but it lasted like two weeks before she finally realized how shitty of a boyfriend he is. and when that didn't work out, he tried talking to you again, thinking you'll obviously want him back again if you had the chance. besides, your parents love him more than they'd like rindou and your classmates ship the two of you anyway. you two will always look great together.

but he was so fucking wrong. rindou meets your mom for the first time when he walks you home after school and she had gotten home from work early. safe to say, she prefers the boyfriend who helps her do the dishes, isn't picky about the food she makes and compliments her cooking instead of comparing it to what the private chef at his home is making. your mom loves nothing more than seeing rindou stuffing his face with rice and katsu, speaking with a slight mouth full, "ma'am, this is michelin."

and your dad prefers the boyfriend who doesn't treat you as competition all the time, and listens to him ramble about all kinds of stuff in the living room. turns out, they don't care that the new boyfriend has tattoos on his body or dyes his hair and has piercings. he's good to you, and your family. fumio's got nothing on rindou. he's everything you want.

Previously on the playlist:

08 - Greenlight

[websterss]

AT THE END OF THE DAY — JOAQUÍN TORRES

REQUESTS: Joaquín Torres: the reader is his girlfriend. He is always overprotective of you. One day, you're in great danger, and he has to save you with his falcon title rn. After saving you, he holds you the entire time. @tsunchani

WARNING(S): angst, fluff, slight gunshot wound

WORD COUNT: 3,642

PAIRING: Joaquín Torres x fem!Reader

A/N: I've been having a hard time finding my writer's voice again and Emy told me to just take the leap and post my fics. So I hope you guys enjoy the story.

MASTERLIST

"How'd you even manage to sit us front row?" Sam questioned as he watched Joaquín walk down the white house's halls with ease and familiarity.

"Her..." Joaquín's grin grew as you spotted him coming your way. You dismissed the agent you were discussing a report with and made your way over to him and Sam. Sam was stunned into silence as he watched the interaction between you two fall into place.

"Hermosa." Beautiful. Joaquín muttered softly with a chuckle as he pulled you into a quick kiss. Your faint giggle makes his heart flood with warmth.

Oh. Her.

Sam mouthed as he looked away from the public display of affection.

"Ya mero terminas?" Are you almost finished? Joaquín asks you.

"Yeah, I just need to give a quick debrief then I'm all yours. Oh, which reminds me..." You hold your finger up as you pickpocket two clearance badges. Two red lanyards now dangled before Joaquín as he grabs them from you. "You'll be needing these if you even want to think about sitting in for the president's presentation."

"Sweet!" Joaquín ha-ha's as you place it over his neck and then extended one out to Sam who was waiting to be finally introduced.

Your smile fades as your eyes widen with realization. "Oh my god-"

"Mi amor, you don't need to-" My love.

"Holy shit it's...I mean you're Captain America!" You look over at Joaquín for reassurance. The nod he gives you only further sends you into fangirl mode. "It's Captain America Joaquín..."

"Most people just call me Sam, sweetheart." Sam chuckled as he extended his hand out to shake yours.

"I'm a huge fan. Thank you...for your service I mean, and to this country and saving the world." You cringe at yourself. Joaquín bit back a smile as he looked between you two. “That– sounded a whole lot better in my head.”

"Sam this is my fiancé, Y/n. She has level 10 clearance and the President's not second but most requested personnel. And can kick my ass any given day." You furrow your brows at him, smacking him on the chest with the suck of your teeth.

"Hi..." You grow timid under Sam's gaze. "Y/n." You gesture to yourself.

"You have a fiancé man?" Sam looks over to Joaquín with an incredulous gaze.

Joaquín hums and lifts your hand to display the ring he proposed with. You grin and point with your finger at your ring.

"Look at you, man!" Sam's gaze flickers between your two grinning faces. If golden retriever and innocence were a person the two of you embodied it perfectly. "I can see it." Sam nodded to himself as he walked ahead of you two.

Your brows furrowed in question as you watched him walk off. "See what?"

"I don’t know. I’ll ask him about it later. I’ll see you there okay.” Cupped your face and sighed into the kiss he planted on you again. Your shoulders fell as you melted into the kiss. You raised your hand and gently cupped his cheek's right side. Though any passerby could distinguish the rate at which the kiss was leading, you took the initiative and pushed him away, placing your hand on his chest gently. He huffed with a huge grin as you swiped your thumb gently across his lower lip. Trying to rid him of your lipstick. More so the obvious smeared coat of your lipstick on him. You laughed as you continued to rub it off, even grossing him out by licking your thumb lightly.

“Hold on I missed a spot!”

“Mi amor, esta bien. Just leave it. Let them know who I belong to.” My love, it’s okay. He cheekily bit back a laugh.

“Who is rubbing off on you, trouble? Oh my god. Go get out of here before you're late,” You shake your head in disbelief. "or I'll beat you up."

“Bossy,” Joaquín mutters to himself. You feign a step forward your fist feigned, raised up like you’ll sock his shoulder. He laughs as your imitation tactic, pretending to flinch as he laughs at you, walking then to where Sam is hovering, lingering against the wall as he watches you two. The two idiots, happily in love. He couldn’t fight the grin that made its way onto his face.

“Te quiero!” I love you. Joaquín calls after you. You grin and look back over your shoulder.

“Muchisimo!” So much. You exclaim. The click of your heels fades with that of your turned back. You made a left at the end of the hall and then you were out of his sight. Joaquín couldn’t help the swell of his heart soaring. He grins down at his shoes and then looks up timidly at Sam. He rolls his eyes at the chagrin and cheeky smirk he receives.

“So when you said you weren’t wanting to look for a relationship-“

“-I was referring to no longer needing to look.” Joaquín clarified, pocketing his hands. “Cause I got her…”

“And here I was like a jackass trying to set you up. I’m sorry man.”

“It’s all good. We laughed about it the other day.” Joaquín gestured over his shoulder.

“So it’s that serious huh…you happy?” Sam slapped him across his left shoulder. Still asking even though he had a whole show of your love and affection towards one another.

Joaquín squinted at the question. His grin widened. “Was the ring not enough evidence?” He teases. “I can call her back here if you want. I’ll even dip her this time!”

“No, no need. Damn…I’m happy for you Joaquín.” Sam clasped his shoulder. “You know doing this sort of thing for so long. It gets lonely after a while. Hell, even I’ll admit it. When you’re too far into the job, into the crime-fighting and saving, you forget about the one thing you’re dying to go after…”

“What’s that?”

“Love, my man. And you hit the jackpot. You hold on to her as long as you can alright. I know with the jobs you both do there’s bound to be a few bumps in the road but hold on to that. Cause in the end that’s the only thing that’s gonna matter.”

“She’s my everything. Mi todo.”

“Yeah? Alright kid, hold onto your todo and don’t let go. Come one we gotta go greet Mr. P-R-E-S-I-D-E-N-T.” Sam spelled out with a smirk. A bit of a swagger in his step. Joaquín’s laugh broke out as he fell in step with Sam

-

Sam had clocked all the closest exists as soon as he and Joaquín had sat down with Isaiah. He also had noticed the subtle flickering gazes you spared Joaquín long ways from the other side of the room. Your head slightly tilted to the right to meet his gaze every once and a while. You radiated a sweet grin as you switched your surveillance back onto the President.

Everything had been going great until Isaiah stood up. You watched as he flung one of your agents against the curtains. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at the glass the President was inside.

You hurried forward raising your hand to your ear to call for backup when you clocked another man reach for his belt. "He's got a gun!" You yelled and slammed your weight into his side. A shot rang as soon as your bodies collided. Then panic in the room escalated as everyone began to run and try to leave through the exits. The glass above the President had shattered causing him to duck and shield his head.

Joaquín's fight mode kicked in the second the first shot rang out. He set his eyes out for you, keeping low as he started making his way through the panic of people.

“Y/n!” When he found you, you and the man who shot the gun were staring off, each of your heads turning to the flung weapon on the carpet. You lunged for it first. “Y/n!”

Joaquín had followed after you, but he flinched back when another shot rang out. You and the man both froze. Joaquín stood behind you not knowing whether you had been the one hit. But when the man knelt in front of you toppled over, he felt his shoulders fall in relief.

When the man fell, Joaquín rushed over to you. He pulled you back and wrapped his free arm around your waist as his other hand came up to your face to inspect you.

"You okay? You okay?" He muttered as he gently cupped your chin and turned you so you were facing him. It took you a second to register it was him. You nodded in response. You glanced over his shoulder watching in horror as Isaiah threw another agent.

"I-Isaiah?" You gasped, you looked around watching another one of your men escort the President out of there. It was pure chaos. His heart was still racing. He pressed his head to yours quickly before having you both stand up. He looked around the room, eyes falling to Sam. Their eyes met in a silent conversation.

"Get her out of here!" Sam ordered. "Both of you!"

"Let's go." Joaquín didn't hesitate to grab your hand, pulling you through the sea of people. He pushed and shoved his way through the crowd, his gaze set on an exit.

When he finally broke free of the throng of people, he stayed low and kept you close. You hadn't seen his counter-surveillance kick in since the Flag Smashers, ensuring your safety and his at all costs. However, your resistance against his grip on your hand made it difficult to keep moving forward. He looked down at your interlocked hands and could register your hesitance to continue with him. "I could see your gears turning, what?"

You looked back from where you came from, then looked back to his gaze. "I'm secret service Joaquín-"

His free hand came up to grasp your chin as he lifted your gaze to his. His jaw was locked as he stared you down, not wanting to hear what you were about to say. "No-"

"I got my orders the same as you do." You defended.

"I don't care about orders." Joaquín shook his head as his grip on your chin tightened. "Your job isn't more important than your safety."

"It's the President of the United States!"

"And it's you. There are a lot more people who can protect the President. He'll be fine. Trust me." The sound of distant gunshots made Joaquín's grip on you tighten.

You closed your eyes. Knowing he'd argue with you until you subjected him to the couch for the night. He never knew when to stop prioritizing you over the world. You loved and hated him for it.

"Just listen to me." His grip on your chin eased as his thumb brushed your cheek. "Por favor, mi amor." Please, my love. He knew he was using the right words that pulled on your heartstrings. "Just think about it but not right now 'cause we got to go-" He had looked up in time to see a geared personnel aim their gun right at the two of you. It unsettled him that he had grabbed your waist, tugging you closer as he dropped and rolled the both of you to the ground. Your scream hit his ears as the shot hit the spot where you were previously standing.

"Oh my god!" You screech as you both scramble up on your feet.

The two of you started booking it when shots were fired in your direction again. You were both running low toward the exit when one last shot hit your arm and stopped you in your tracks. You cried out as you grabbed at your shoulder as you fell, but it was enough for you to be vulnerable. Joaquín turned around when he heard your wince and the sound of you collapsing. His blood ran cold as you fell to your knees. "No! Hey no, you're okay. Come on!"

"S-So that's what that- f-feels like, good to know. What the fuck!" You moaned out in pain as Joaquín helped you to your feet again.

"That's good you're still cracking wise on me. Always a good sign." He tried to keep you calm to keep you focused. His heart rate had spiked and he felt his own blood boiling as he watched your wound bleed. His only thought was getting you as far away from danger as possible so he could tend to your arm as soon as you were safe.

"Shut the hell up, Joaquín." You gritted your teeth. He finally saw the front doors come into view once you rounded another corner.

He knew your tone too well to know not to comment back, but he chuckled to himself as you neared the exit. "Just trying to keep you in good spirits, sweetheart." His grip on your waist tightened protectively as he started pushing you forward faster. "Almost there, I got you-"

"Stop right there! Hands up!" You and Joaquín froze as the S.W.A.T team pointed the ends of their guns at you.

Your heart dropped as the team came into view, and the moment he felt your body stiffen, his jaw clenched. A silent curse passed his mind as his right hand went up slowly and he took a step forward to block you from the threat. "Don't shoot. Lieutenant Joaquín Torres, Sam Wilson's second in command, sir. Y/n Y/l/n, secret service. She needs medical attention." He gestured to himself then at you.

"Joaquín, it's a shoulder wound…" You scoff quietly at him.

"They don't know that," He whispered back to you, his right hand remained raised in the air.

The captain's eyes narrowed as he observed your body language with a hint of suspicion. Then his gaze flickered down lower to your shoulder. There was a growing stain of blood staining the sleeve of your blazer. "We got a medic on site. You can be examined there." The captain informed. "Let them through!"

"Thank you," Joaquín said in passing as he curled your arm around his shoulder once more.

The two of you passed the armed men swiftly. Once you were past them, Joaquín picked up his pace a little more as he hurried you outside. He could see the mentioned medic site and caught the attention of a first responder by raising two fingers in the air swiftly. He walked over to a bed and set you down on it, slowly uncurling your good arm from around him.

"Injury?" The woman came forward, inserting blue gloves over her hands.

"Upper arm. A gunshot wound, she's been hit in the shoulder." Joaquín answered, stepping back as the EMT gently pulled your blazer back to reveal the extent of the gunshot wound. You winced as the fabric was pulled against your wound.

"The bullet will need to be removed. What's your pain like?"

“On a scale of one to ten: like I want to punch him." You groan as you grit your teeth, feeling her poke and prod around the wound.

"That's not rare." She smiled at you trying to ease the tension you were holding. "Most patients in your current situation say they want to strangle someone so I'd say you're gonna be alright."

You hum in response, but you still keep your eyes locked on somewhere else. "Is there any way you can check her head for a concussion-" You both look back to Joaquín. "She's not usually the joke-cracking type." Joaquín teased.

You roll your eyes as you look back to the medical. "Ignore him. He's overprotective of my well-being."

She laughs at the banter between the two of you as she moves to clean up the wound area and apply some numbing solution to the surrounding area. The moment the antiseptic wipe comes into contact with your skin, your shoulders tense from the sting. The medic notices your reaction. She then proceeded to pull out forceps, then turned to you. "I'm sorry, but this is probably going to hurt."

"Well, how much worse can it get?" You wince and turn to look at Joaquín. He walked up to the bed and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand reaching for your right hand instantly.

He bit back a laugh as he smirked at you, but his concern was obvious. His hand twitched as if it had a subconscious desire to pull you in closer. The medic then began to prod the bullet wound, causing you to gasp and wince.

"I promise it'll be over soon…" She tried to comfort you. "This is the worst part."

"I thought getting shot was the worst part?"

She chuckled, "That's a given." While you focused your mind on something else to try and ease the pain, she continued to poke and prod around the wound. She found her mark and then pulled out the bullet swiftly. The pain lasted for a few more seconds because of her fast work, but after that, you began to feel a numbing tingling sensation. "There we go." She nodded.

"You did good, mi amor," Joaquín reassured you as he gripped your hand again. "That wasn't so bad.

You took deep breaths as your heart rate calmed back down. You managed a smile as you looked up at him. The medic then started to disinfect the wound and bandage it up to stop it from bleeding.

“Yeah cause a gunshot wound is nothing compared to having your orbital broken.” You lean in his chest.

“Broken orbital.” The medic questions.

“Long story.” You brush it off.

“You’re good to go. Take these,” She hands you some painkillers. “Get some rest, and make sure to keep changing the dressings to reduce the chance of infection.”

“Will do, thanks for everything.” Your face shows your gracious smile.

“Take care you two.” She dips her chin in goodbye before rushing over to another patient.

“Well that was fun.” Joaquín quips as he walk over to stand in front of you. His grin widening as he brushes back some baby hairs.

“Our best date yet.” You chuckle.

"Mm, I think I prefer the one where we skip work tomorrow and lay in bed all day." He wrapped his arms around you gently, pulling you just a little closer to him. "Besides, I thought you loved a bit of adventure in our life," He teased as he ran his nose along the side of your cheek.

"Yes but you know not like this, Joaquín." You sighed into his touch.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his heart, not wanting to admit that seeing you injured had terrified him, and he was trying to play it cool. He just had to keep reminding himself you were alright.

"I can hear you spiraling." You breathe out a faint laugh

"Not spiraling. I'm totally fine, and-" He fumbled over his words as he met your gaze again. He pressed his forehead against yours, taking deep breaths to steady himself. "I'm spiraling cause you scared the hell out of me."

"I never mean to. You know that. It comes with our jobs, Joaquín. Our lives are constantly on the line."

"Yeah, I know that." He sighed as his hands moved to rest on your waist. "Doesn't make it any easier though…"

"I don't think it ever will."

"No, I suppose it won't…" His thumbs idly rubbed back and forth along your waist, and the silence that settled between you grew thick.

"You can't save us from everything…" You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek.

He hummed and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled back. Despite being comforted by your touch, he couldn't shake off the fear that had settled in his chest.

"Can I ask you something?"

He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he wanted to voice his worries. But ultimately, he decided it was better to get it off his chest.

He took a deep breath, "Do you ever consider… quitting? All of it?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to upset you.

"No, though somethings I imagine what a life of peace looks like. Though I wouldn't want to start that reality without you. Until we're both ready for that cliche of white picket fence life. You don't want to give that up right now though, I can see how much you love the thrill and adventure, so neither do I."

His expression softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He knew you knew him so well, which made him love you even more.

"You're right, I don't want to give it up right now." He admitted. "But the idea of a quiet life does sound nice, especially if it means spending more time with you without worrying that something could happen to you every second." He murmured as his hands shifted to rest on your hips. "But it is just a job at the end of the day."

"One you love." You teased.

"Oh, I do love it…" Joaquín smirked as he dipped his head to press a kiss to the soft skin of your neck. His gaze shifted to look at your bandaged shoulder, a faint frown appearing on his face just for a moment. He lifted his hand slowly and gently brushed his fingers along the edges of the bandage, careful not to cause any pain to your wound.

"But…" He whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "I love you more, mi amor." He added as he pressed a sweet kiss to your skin once more.

[r3d-ca9]

OHG HI HI HELLO HELLO

1. Because of Bloodwing and Talon, I usually associate him with vultures!! Something like a bearded vulture, usually. Or other birds of prey.

2. I'd make him a necklace or draw him something!! He's not used to receiving gifts, and isn't too picky, so he'd like pretty much anything I got for him. But a handmade item would mean a LOT more to him, for sure.

3. Exploring Pandora, poking around for secrets and loot. Although if we don't have the energy for that, nothing beats catching up on some drama shows. 😫

4. Y'know.....we uh. Don't really have a house. WHOOPS. I'm gonna say...he'd love any chores involving taking care of the birds, of course. S tier chore. And...just like me, he'd probably HATE dishes. Because dishes suck ass.

5. Oh hell yeah. Dude's basically a stunt driver. If you can successfully survive driving on Pandora for any period of time, you get an A+ from me.

6. Fuckin...hawk screech. You know, the one people always use for eagle noises, even though it's not an eagle sound LMAO.

7. He hates being online. It's stressful. It's dumb. He hates the shit other people post. BUT....maybe, yeah.

8. Mmmmmmm....I wanna say...no...I mean, maybe at some point he did? But he's too cynical for that sort of thing now. Besides...it's more satisfying to view relationships as this thing you work really hard for, rather than some magic that happens out of your control. Soulmates may not be real. But it doesn't mean love is any less powerful.

9. Super casual like, the same way I do everything LMAO. "Hey guys. This is my boyfriend. And these are his birds. Ain't that fuckin' sick? Hell yeah."

10. 👀 cough cough

11. They both seem cool and intimidating, are actually enormous nerds. 👉😎👉

12. It's a toss up between red and green!

13. Also pretty casually! Although. A bit more shy about it. They'd probably know already, or have suspicions, and then be like "I FUCKING KNEW IT"

14. Okay, see...he'd. He'd wanna say something that he thinks is cute. Which isn't a lot of things, maybe a baby bird or some shit. But the OBVIOUS answer is a skag, because I'm very dog.

15. Chocolate. Anyone who knows me at all knows that chocolate is the way to my heart. (Also jerky.)

16. We don't really do pet names? At least, I...haven't really thought of any decent ones. Probably a simple "babe", I guess?? (SORRY MORDY, THE CUTE AND CRINGE PET NAMES ARE RESERVED FOR MY IRL HUSBAND 😤😤😤)

17. 👀👀 COUGH COUGH ............ nah i'm messin', he really loves just chilling!!! Life on Pandora is chaotic, messy, and stressful...any chance to just sit and do something low-key is always appreciated.

18. Acts of service, for sure! Helping me solve problems, getting stuff for me, comforting me, he just likes checking on me and making sure I'm doing well!!

19. My winning personality 🫡

20. GRAH, I don't know. I guess he likes how resilient I can be, and how even in the face of stress and danger, I still try to crack jokes and break the tension for the benefit of those around me. He has a hard time seeing the brighter side of life sometimes, and so do I, but I'll be DAMNED if I'm just gonna sit by and let despair swallow me up.

21. Oh my HEART. I don't think he's much of an artist, but I will fold it up and keep it in my wallet forever, no matter what it looks like. <3

22. Mordy doesn't really like eating, so no. He only eats what he has to, so I would never try to snatch any snacks from him, tbh. I am actively throwing protein bars at him.

23. Lol. Red. ❤️

F/O Ask Game!!

A list of questions to answer about your f/o!! You guys can just go down the list and answer them all (I'd love to see it!!!) in a reblog, orrr you can reblog and have others ask you these questions in your inbox! Have fun!! PR.OSHI.P, NOT FOR YOU!

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them? 

What is your favorite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Would your f/o fight someone online? 

Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

How would you introduce your f/o to your friends? How do you think that would go? 

What's the first scenario that comes to your head when you think of being with your f/o?

What dynamic would you use to describe you and your f/o? 

What color do you associate with your f/o? 

How would your f/o introduce you to those they care about? How do you think that would go?

What animal do you remind your f/o of?

What would your f/o get you for Valentine's day, if anything? 

What does your f/o call you in their head? What do they call you aloud/to others?

What does your f/o like doing with you the most? 

How does your f/o show their love best? 

What's your f/o's favorite feature of yours?

What're your f/o's favorite personality traits of yours?

If your f/o drew you, how would you describe the art piece?

Does your f/o share food with you?

What color would your f/o associate you with?

What?? Who's tagging their friends again?- not me... I just really wanna see yalls answers. Formal invitation lest you become worried I don't wanna see it. @jpeg-indulgence @starshakez @moxanji-real @frankys-wife @katsenbergs-soulmate @katanahusband @fl0ralsxgar @one-winged-dreams AND LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS.

[uselessmoonlight]

Stranger part 19

Reader is Telemachus' friend, and when he leaves for his "diplomatic mission" he asks her to watch over his mother. Later, once the king has returned, she stumbles upon an injured Poseidon.

Previous / series masterlist / character sheet / next

Content specs: she/her pronouns used, afab reader, Platonic! Telemachus x reader, Epic!Poseidon x reader, possible OOC!Poseidon, Polites’ daughter! Reader, unrequited love, blood, fighting, nudity, illusion, possibly more?, trying to avoid using y/n, slowburn, suggestive themes.

Please check out the poll at the end of the chapter!

Two young adults were sat in silence in one of the rooms of the palace, an owl sat in the windowsill, ready to both intervene, and relay information to her mentee and friend, and his wife. For an hour neither spoke, not knowing what to say, but time was ticking as guests of the palace trickled in, coming from far and wide for the celebration.

Awkwardly, Ónoma started the conversation. “So, you like me.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed about it.” Telemachus answered, somewhat angrily.

“I am disappointed though.” She stopped him from interrupting her. “It’s not because you are not good enough or anything, I just thought that, for once, I wasn’t just a woman, a potential partner to someone. I thought it was just friendship, true friendship, but now I don’t know.” She trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

“We are friends, you are more than just some girl, that’s why I like you.” Telemachus started, but Ónoma cut him off.

“I don’t know if I can trust your intentions. You are the greatest, sweetest, most thoughtful friend I’ve ever had, but I can no longer tell if that’s because of who you are, or if it is because you wanted something more from me.” She explained. “And it sucks, because I don’t want to paint you as some manipulative mastermind, but my mind can’t help but wonder. It’s not far-fetched either, because your father is a known wordsmith and you’ve been taken under Lady Athena’s wings as well.” She paused. “I don’t want to hurt you by suggesting that you could’ve done that, but you must understand why I might think that.”

The prince was silent, speechless even. Matters of the heart are truly the greatest challenge one can face. After a long pause he came to a conclusion. “Perhaps it’s best if I keep my distance for a while, to get over it, you know.”

“Or we could find you a nice princess tonight.” She offered hopefully. Both of them knew Telemachus’ solution was the best one, but neither wanted to go without the other. Through the years they’d developed an almost co-dependency.

“It’s worth a try.” He replied, taking her hand and holding it to his chest for a moment. It only broke his heart to hear her suggest considering other women, but for now, with her hand near his heart, it ached a little less.

When the two friends got to the main hall, the party was already in full swing. Ónoma felt entirely out of place amongst the royals and nobles in attendance. She spotted Odysseus talking animatedly with a man she assumed to be Diomedes of Argos, king Nestor was also easily recognizable, his age a dead giveaway, but aside from that she could not conclude who any of these people were.

Most of the man’s comrades from the Trojan war were no longer amongst the living, so she wondered if he himself even knew these people, or if this party was more strategic than she’d first thought. An opportunity of diplomacy, under the guise of celebration. The man had relied on Xenia a lot during his journey.

The last people to arrive were easy to recognize, Helen’s beauty was easily recognizable, and Menelaus was, well, Menelaus. He was not unpleasant, but there was something off about him. At least he wasn’t his brother, Ónoma would not be surprised if Agamemnon had a spot in Tartarus. All that she’d heard about the man was rather unpleasant.

The celebration had gone by surprisingly well; Ónoma had had a discussion with king Nestor, the man truly had learned a lot in his long life and had some meaningful insight in certain things. Diomedes had approached her, asking about her role in fighting off the suitors commended her bravery. She’d let the sexist undertones slide, not wanting to get in trouble with him, but she’d appreciated the praise none the less.

Menelaus had mistaken her for a palace slave, and she’d awkwardly redirected him to the servants. She did not receive an apology from him, but his wife had been pleasant enough. Their daughter had been even nicer, Hermione had been able to marry the man she wanted to after the passing of Neoptolemus and had been thriving ever since. After speaking about her with Telemachus, however, she learned that she was not a fan of the girl, with what she’d tried to do to Andromache.

Polycaste had been incredibly pleasant company. She’d ended up talking of her troubles with the daughter of Nestor, leaving out some details, but the girl had had interesting views. Her father’s wisdom had clearly rubbed off on her. Perhaps she’d be a good match for Telemachus, the two of them seemed to get along quite well.

Even more surprising had been the actions of the Ithacan king, he’d apologized to her and had proceeded to boast about her to the other attendants; how she’d defended his wife, gaining the aid of a God in doing so, how she was vital to the workflow of the island and of her duties in the temple. Perhaps this was his attempt at making things right after his previous actions, but Ónoma did not appreciate all the attention, even if she recognized that he had good intentions.

Telemachus did not appreciate the attention his friend was getting either, sure he’d promised not to act on his feelings, but that didn’t mean they no longer existed. Competing with a God was bad enough, now there were other princes, even kings vying for her attention. not that she showed interest.

At the end of the night Ónoma had danced more than she ever had before, being unable to refuse any of the men who’d asked because of their status. She all but ran home the second she was able to do so. she was dizzy and exhausted and promptly passed out the second her head hit the pillow, still wearing the fancy clothes and jewellery.

A/n: If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know. I might mess up, but you can always check out the tag "epic the stranger saga" as all works related are tagged with this.

I might make a spin-off/ alternate ending series, since this series is nearing the end. let me know if you'd be interested in the following:

Taglist:

@apollos-dodgeball-target

@barrythestrawberry041

@darling-eos

@doodle-with-rhy

@glaciuswduo

@hardbarbarianfox

@h0ne4bee

@isla-finke-blog

@keikeiluvyou

@missam

@suckerforblondies

@trashcannotbealive

@visha1965

[chisubi]

safe in your skin — s. haruchiyo

content. fem!reader, timeline 0 spoilers, unhealthy relationships, suicidal ideation, implied／references to substance abuse, unhealthy coping habits, mild sexual content, unreliable narrators

word count. 12.3k

note. the original timeline has been stuck in my head for a long time, ever since it was first mentioned. . i think it is the saddest timeline :c

despite the tags, i think this piece is quite gentle ? sanzu is very soft in this, but in his own way !!

Here lies his grave. Soon, Haruchiyo will make this his home.

The metal bar is uncomfortably hot against Haruchiyo’s hand, the feeling of blood dripping down from the way his fingernails dig more and more into his reddened palms, the moisture makes his hold on the rail loosen.

If he falls from here, he would probably die, he hopes.

Just like Shinichiro-kun, he prays.

It has been five years since Manjiro and Shinichiro have passed. Their deaths — since those cold funerals. A lump forms in his throat as the tightness in his chest refuses to loosen. The realisation that they’ll never come back to him hits him once again. It comes as a surprise to him that he’s still alive, without them — if he can even call this being alive.

If he were to let go right now, he’d die, or he’d survive and be in a coma if he’s (un)lucky. Society has no use for a useless person like him — an unwanted boy, he has been reminded of this many times before. He has no family, he’s been in and out of juvie twice already, and he has never had a legal job (no place would willingly hire someone like him, at least for legal purposes). Nobody willingly wants to be around a teenage dirtbag with an ongoing criminal record. He keeps his hands dirty just to keep surviving — for what, though? He would be doing society a nice favour if he were to remove himself from it.

Haruchiyo only wants to see the two of them again, to see the rising sun, the only remedy to relieve him of this emptiness—

“Oi, don’t even think of fuckin’ letting go.”

Oh, Baji. . .

(His prayers are not met, forever denied, just like they always have been.)

Haruchiyo lifts up his head, throwing Keisuke a spare glance. Sharp eyes noting that he doesn’t look or sound too happy. It’s obvious in the way Keisuke’s dark brows appear frowned more than usual, lips pursed with rough hands curled up into tight fists. There’s fresh blood smeared on Keisuke’s knuckles, he is bleeding, too. He must’ve gotten into a fight earlier, Haruchiyo thinks, he is quick to assume. Keisuke is always like that, he has always been.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You never showed up to the cemetery.” Keisuke’s words are sharp, like they always have been. His tongue has never once not been sharp — cutting into places Haruchiyo doesn’t want to feel. There is a lot wrong with him, Haruchiyo knows he has problems that he doesn’t want to acknowledge or accept, but he also knows that Keisuke didn’t mean it in a literal sense (not this time at least). “I waited an hour for ya.”

“I messaged you earlier, said I was gonna be late.”

“I don’t like using my phone, you know this. You should’ve called instead. I thought you were at home shooting it up or somethin’.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke? It sucked.”

“No,” Keisuke replies. “It wasn’t one.”

It’s hard for Haruchiyo not to roll his eyes at the assumption — the accusation. Keisuke acts faster than he thinks, harshly grabbing Haruchiyo’s forearm, and he winces at the sudden movement. It will leave a bruise on his pale skin; he’s always easily bruised. He sighs, grip tightening against the bar as he hops back over — back to Keisuke's side, to the side of the living. Reaching into his sweater pockets, he notices that his handkerchief is missing.

(This fact makes him notice that the cuts from his nails sting a lot — they don’t hurt as much as the wounds he receives from street brawls, or the sparring lessons he once took as a kid, back at the Sano house, but he’s still hurting. Hopefully these light cuts don’t get infected by the rusted rails.)

“Well, that was one time,” he snaps back defensively, pulling away from Keisuke’s grip when the boy doesn’t show any sign of letting go. “Move it.” He barks.

“That’s what they all say before they get addicted and shit.”

Haruchiyo sneers, “I didn’t even do the shit you’re saying. Learn to mind your own business, Baji.” It really was the only time that he had been caught, opting to do things in the comfort of his own room, Keisuke appearing that night was unexpected.

Keisuke is too dramatic for many reasons, always feeling and acting intensely, which Haruchiyo knows is steamed from genuine worries and his gold heart, though that seems to annoy Haruchiyo even more. He has never once asked Keisuke to care about him. It’s bothersome. Gross. His stomach turns and twists in ways that make him feel physically ill. Keisuke has always been like that. (He always will, deep down, in the walls Haruchiyo doesn’t want to unlock and see, he knows this.)

Silence rains over them as the two boys stare down at the water. It’s not a pretty view. It’s murky and dark gray and dead fishes can be seen floating on top. Nothing worth stopping to see. People barely come over here now, rumours of the dead haunting this bridge scares keeps everyone away. Haruchiyo’s hand twitches as he starts to fiddle with his fingers. It’s hard for him to stay still, especially with all these thoughts running through his mind. Too many thoughts that he can’t fully process, each one comes crashing before the last could settle — most being ones he doesn’t want to hear or remember, and he only knows one way to block them out.

Keisuke stands too closely beside him, his body heat seeps through his clothing and Haruchiyo feels uncomfortable with his close presence. He kicks Haruchiyo’s loafers with his leather boots, his heart tightens and sours knowing Keisuke is reading him — his hidden and jumbled thoughts, temporarily knocking them out of his head. Keisuke reaches into his loose pockets, taking out a pack of cigarettes. It's a brand new pack — the Seven Stars brand Shinichiro would always have on hand. His favourite. Haruchiyo’s first cigarette was that brand, stealing a cigarette from a pack that Takeomi had forgotten at home, choking on the deep bittersweet smoke.

From his peripheral vision, Haruchiyo watches as Keisuke opens the package to take out a fresh cigarette and jams it in between the cracks on the ground (Keisuke thought about giving Shinichiro the entire pack, but someone would definitely steal it — cigarettes are getting more expensive these days. He still despises smoking, he really, really does. It’s disgusting and Keisuke can’t stand the taste of them, but the smell of seta makes him so nostalgic of a time that will never come again. He is a hypocrite for sneering at how Haruchiyo drowns himself in substances, when he searches for the familiar taste of Seven Stars from time to time), he lights it for him, too.

This is a tribute to their late brother.

They watch the setting sun, waiting for his cigarette to fully burn out.

—

You move away from your childhood home into a small, cheap studio in Tokyo. It is smaller than you are used to, but just enough for one person. It feels more spacious than you’ve ever known. You’ve waited a long time for this.

To escape that house and everything that suffocated you.

You take a deep breath; here you are free.

While walking up the steps carrying stacked boxes, you run into something – or rather, someone – causing one of the boxes to drop, you wince hearing something shatter inside. You pray it’s nothing of importance.

“I am so sorry—” you exclaim as you look up, freezing at the close proximity. You’re met with piercing blue eyes; eyes so void of emotion, similar to when winter arrives and frosts over the neverending sea, he keeps a locked gaze, and you almost find yourself captivated within. Almost. “Um, uh, sorry. Are you okay?” you stammer over your words, internally cringing at how lame you sound.

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is light and cold, it suits his appearance — his eyes. However, his hair reminds you of the cherry blossoms that are about to bloom this spring. “Nobody is helping you?”

“No, it’s just these boxes left. . . Oh—”

The boy bends down to pick up the box that had fallen, looking up the steps. “Which way—? Ah, you’re the one who moved in next door, right?”

You nod your head, and without any other words he brings the box and sets it down in the apartment for you. Not only is he pretty, he is also kind for helping you (—which is something most people probably would’ve done, this is nothing special). He leaves before you get the chance to thank him and you feel bad about it. You didn’t get the chance to catch his name, either. You can’t help, but feel disappointed.

You check your phone, flipping it open to see no new messages or calls, your email is empty, too. You almost sigh, it’s not like you expected your mother to call — this isn’t anything new. Your phone sits heavy in your hand.

—

You never see your neighbour around again. The door to his apartment is always opening and closing. You can hear him coming home late at night, around three or four in the morning, sometimes slamming shut which wakes you up from your needed sleep, and you can’t help but wonder what someone is doing out so late — working, perhaps, that is the most logical and obvious answer.

It’s a few days later when you bump into him on your way to your afternoon classes, or so, you think it’s him. The moment you look up it’s someone completely different.

A boy who vastly contrasts him in appearance.

With long black hair, and sharp eyes that shine gold underneath the morning sun. They’re very beautiful, warmth radiates down onto you just from looking into them. Yet something swirling in those eyes that you cannot quite pinpoint. A white bandage sits on his cheek, light bruises littered across his face that add to his intense appearance.

He says his name is Keisuke and he lives here with his friend. You assume his friend is the pretty boy from the other day.

The two of you walk down the apartment together and he talks to you the entire time before parting ways, his speech is rather brash compared to most people you know, however he seemed quite nice. There’s an air to him that feels warm and comforting. You know better than to harshly judge someone based on first appearance. And you can’t seem to forget his boyish smile that he flashed at you before walking away. It suits him and his shining golden eyes very much; he looks like the sun.

Everything gold radiates off of him.

—

Keisuke’s lip is busted once again. A matching black eye to go with. Blood runs down his temple and connects to the stream running down his mouth. However, he wins in the end, like he always does. Out of all his matches, he’s only ever lost three times.

Betting on Keisuke always means receiving extra cash, however, if he loses, they lose a lot.

Haruchiyo watches as a crowd of junkies immediately swarm Keisuke, and he sighs as he takes a swing of his drink. This always happens, and it’s a good thing because they all get hyped up to the max, and sometimes, some guys are willing to pay for dinner. He and Keisuke never say no to that.

He catches sight of someone similar amongst that crowd, and once they catch his stare within seconds, she’s pushing away from Keisuke.

You look familiar, very familiar, and Haruchiyo doesn’t understand why someone who looks so pure like you is here in this sketchy place. An underground bar where delinquents and nobodies hang out, sell drugs, and fight for quick cash. Someone like you doesn’t belong in such a dirty place. Well, Haruchiyo learned from a young age, even the most angelic of faces can appear sinister when you are no longer needed.

“Hi!” Your sudden appearance and cheerful greeting comes unexpected.

“Hi. . .?” Your smile drops almost immediately, and Sanzu doesn’t mean to look or sound unfriendly, but he doesn’t understand why you would come up to him. He hates talking to strangers.

“Oh, do you not remember me? I moved into the apartment next—”

Ah, right. “I remember you.”

A smile automatically falls back on your face. “Oh, okay. That’s good.”

He shrugs, looking around the room at nothing interesting. Where did Keisuke go? “I guess so.”

You stand next to him, taking the empty spot next to him, without a word.

When you attempt to make small talk, he lets you, barely answering, but enough to seem polite. You don’t seem to mind, continuing on speaking to him. And before he knows, he gets lost in the conversation with you, pulled down, you’re magnetic.

It all comes too unexpectedly. Haruchiyo doesn’t remember what happened.

Really, he doesn’t. And a kiss is all it takes, before everything begins to spiral, it’s a whirlwind.

Haruchiyo doesn’t know how it happened. He’s never done this before — always withering at the contact of others, never liking the way cold hands touch his skin. His lips slam against yours, it’s more of a punch than a kiss, and a small noise escapes you — something Haruchiyo recognises as not out of pleasure. He knows.

“Be—be more gentle,” you tell him when he pushes you against the cold, restroom wall.

“My bad,” he mumbles back. He, more gently, grips your forearm as another form of apology.

He can’t understand why he’s doing this, especially with someone he doesn’t know. Your hands are under his shirt, running over his stomach and his heart races. Your hands are smaller than his, softer, warmer, too. And he thinks it’s the liquor running through his veins — your veins, he can taste it when your pretty lips meet his.

He doesn’t know you. He knows you live next door and you did mention something earlier. Something about you being one of his dealers’ friend’s younger cousin. He thinks it’s something like that (and he doesn’t actually care).

Hissing at the sudden contact, biting down on his bottom lip to hold back a groan. Your hand is wrapped around him, moving up and down too slowly for his liking, so he ruts up into your hand before coming undone far too quickly, and his initial embarrassment is forgotten when you don’t say anything, you only giggle while tilting your head up to kiss him.

Shock runs through him, chills run down his spine, yet something feels too warm inside — it’s recognition, almost like it is something familiar that he’s known and lost so long ago.

It’s not long after when he has you bent over the counter, dress scrunched up to your waist, your pretty panties pushed to the side as he pushes himself into you. His movements are nearly robotic and awkward, you don’t say anything about it though, only thrusting back on him. He watches the foreign scene unfold from the mirror, his ocean eyes capturing your blissed out expression in the mirror, and his stomach flips. You feel so soft. So, so soft against him, he grips your hips harder, feeling as if his legs might give out, he leans his body over your back, pressing an awkward peck on your lips when you look up at him, lasting less than a second before he pulls his lips from your soft ones. Kissing feels awkward. It is far too intimate and you seem to crave it. Haruchiyo hates the feeling. He thrusts into you faster, chasing after his own high. It feels euphoric.

Losing his virginity in a grimy washroom – one of the last places he’s ever wanted to step foot in – is the last thing he’s expected. But now he’s here with you, a girl he only knows the name of. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him these days. Perhaps, he’s just desperate to feel something. Forever chasing the high to feel alive once again.

—

Somehow, you are almost all he thinks about lately. Usually in the morning or late nights. He hasn’t seen you since then. Nor does he really want to. Haruchiyo doesn’t think he is the sentimental type — he’s never had anything of his own to feel sentimental about.

“Oh, you missed again, Sanzu. That little pink head of yours is in the clouds tonight, hm?” Ran Haitani is smiling to himself after witnessing his poor play. His fingers are busy chalking up his cue stick and the sound of his brother snickering makes Haruchiyo roll his eyes.

That detached and arrogant look in his eyes reminds Haruchiyo of him. Those eyes that have always looked down at him — Ran has the same look in his eyes and a matching [irritating] lazy smirk that Haruchiyo wishes to smack off of his face with the cue stick in his hand. The scene flashes dark red, beautiful and bright.

“I guess it’s our win again. As expected, right, brother?” The younger Haitani chimes in with a similar grin — one more boyish and wide. He shows more teeth than his brother, but carries the same arrogance. Sometimes, Rindō is cool to hang out with (which seems as a given from how the two of them hang out alone from time to time), but Haruchiyo usually finds him infuriating.

“That’s right, Rindō.”

“Fuck off, Haitani.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at us for your shitty plays,” Ran says as he leans against the table, still chalking his cue stick — he does this after every single shot: always making a show out of it when it’s not needed at all. “Ever heard of hating the game, not the player?”

Haruchiyo rolls his eyes for the nth time tonight, “You always have some stupid shit to say.”

“Huh?” Ran looks at him in disbelief before laughing, “don’t be a sore loser, Sanzu. I was only teasing. Loosen up.”

“That’s what I mean by stupid shit. Whatever, man.”

“Mhm, whatever you say. Let’s play another round before heading out.”

Rindō perks up, “The loser has to pay for our drinks later.”

He hates being around these two pretentious assholes, but one of his acquaintances introduced him to them. They sell good shit and give him a good deal every time so it’s hard for Haruchiyo to find another dealer as good as them. He got trapped in their web. The Haitani brothers continue to make jabs at him throughout the night whenever they catch him staring off into space. Rindō remarks it’s probably because of a girl, and despite denying it, Ran teases him about it. Whatever.

Losing his virginity to you isn’t why Haruchiyo thinks about you, it’s that he can’t get the image of you taking him so well out of his head (and the way you smiled so sweetly at him afterwards, you were kind.) The sensation he felt had his mind dizzy, a new high he’s become addicted to. It’s an obsession at this point, not with you, he clarifies to himself every time, just sex. His hand cannot replicate the hot and tight feeling of being inside of you, and that’s how he finds himself coming back to you, knocking on the door of your apartment, instead of going out to a club with the Haitani brothers.

(“You owe us, asshole.”

“I will later,” he simply says. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

Ran smirks as he elbows his brother. “Stuff,” repeats Ran as Rindō lets out a long, mocking, ‘Ah’, at the indication.

Haruchiyo doesn’t say anything anymore. This is why he never talks to them about anything personal. They’re just a bunch of annoying pricks.)

The sky is pitch black, and doe-eyes stare up at him. Stars shining within. He takes in your sleepy form, hair a mess and pajamas that don’t match. He almost smiles, he wants to.

You wait, before deciding to say, “Hi, Sanzu. . . Um, is there something you need?”

“I just, uh, I came to say hi,” he lamely makes up an excuse that neither of you buy.

“At two in the morning?” you ask teasingly, opening the door a little wider, inviting him inside. You look a little sleepy, hooded-eyes and a pretty smile looking up at him. He recognises this look (just barely) from the night before. You want to kiss him.

“Oh, yeah. . .” he dumbly replies. “Yeah, I was out, and yeah.”

He sounds stupid, he knows. You know, but you continue to smile.

You offer, “Wanna come in?”

Your hand reaches out to him — you don’t touch him, your fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt, lightly tugging him towards you. Barely. You wait for him to move. And so, he gives you what you want. His hand falls to your waist as he stumbles inside, lips locked, kicking the door shut behind him.

—

Haruchiyo comes knocking more and more. He stays overnight, and he sits at your place without the intention of sex. He doesn’t get mad when you decide you aren’t in the mood for it, either.

You do most of the talking, he listens, and you come to learn that Haruchiyo talks a lot at times.

You think he is cute, really cute. You really like him.

—

Nothing good comes from being with a guy like Haruchiyo, you know this, you really do. You’ve met many boys like him before. Troubled, reckless, and cruel. Cold, scarred, and lonely. He is not a good guy, and the crowd he hangs around is no better. But somehow, you can’t stay away, like a moth to a flame, you are always drawn to things you shouldn’t be.

Beneath it all, he is a sweet guy. He treats you well, you think, better than most of the people you’ve met in your life. Always following you around when you go out, saying it’s dangerous for a girl to walk alone. You think he is a little overprotective, but you also know he is only looking out for you. You think Haruchiyo is sweet, really sweet.

The layout in their apartment is the same as yours. It’s a lot cleaner than you imagined for two young men living together — a recipe for disaster. However, surprisingly, it is almost spotless, despite the few pieces of clothing laying on the floor or hanging on the couch (ones you believe to belong to Keisuke).

Haruchiyo’s room is spotless, not a speck of dust in sight. You eye the old nametag on the uniform on the wall, ‘Akashi Haruchiyo’. Akashi. Sanzu. Haruchiyo. (Sanzu, Sanzu, Sanzu.) You don’t mention it, you sweep those questions away into the back of your mind, it has nothing to do with you.

A pack of cigarettes that always seems to sit on the counter, new and never used, carefully cared for as no spec of dust is seen, you can’t help but wonder why, yet you never find yourself asking. It’s a strange feeling, when you know you’re not supposed to ask or do something without being told, the boundary you cannot cross.

“When will Keisuke be home?” you ask while clicking the start button on the rice cooker.

His silence draws out longer than you are comfortable with, your lips are pursed, wondering if you had said or done something wrong. There is no way you did. You know this, however, your nerves slowly eat away at you the longer the silence draws on. You can’t stand silence like this, the only thing you can hear is his breath mixed with yours and your rapid heart. “He will be home later. Baji usually comes home late, so he won’t be here to eat with us.”

A silent breath of relief escapes you, that anxious tension vanishing from your stomach. “Oh, okay. Then, I’ll pack up the leftovers after and leave it for him to eat once he gets home.” Now that you think about it, Keisuke really is always out and about. He is definitely more outgoing than both you and Haruchiyo combined.

“Sanzu—”

“Haruchiyo,” he interrupts. “Call me Haruchiyo.”

“Okay, Haruchiyo,” you test out his name with a roll of your tongue, and he hums to himself, quite pleased with how his name spills so naturally from your lips, and you bite back a smile when you notice the expression on his face. Your face feels warm. “Where are the rest of your pots? Is this all? I think it might be too small for all three of us. . .”

“Yeah, I think that’s it. Nobody ever really uses the kitchen much. We just eat out most of the time.”

“Oh, well, let me go grab one of the pots from my apartment. Gimme a second,” you say before going to your apartment to look for a bigger pot.

Haruchiyo just watches you cook, or so you think he is, because sometimes, it looks as if he’s lost in his thoughts, even with his eyes on you.

You end up spilling personal things with him, something you have never done with anyone before. You don’t know why. Haruchiyo just listens to you in ways nobody ever has. “My dad never treated me right as a kid. I can barely remember what he looked like, not angry, sober.” He hums. “My mom, well, she is probably doing better now since we’re both gone. . .”

He asks, “Do you miss them?”

“No,” you reply a little too fast. “No, not really. Sometimes, I do think about them, though.”

It’s too complicated, you think. Your feelings get so jumbled up, and you don’t understand them most of the time.

“So, what about you, Haruchiyo?”

“What about me?”

“You know. . .” you trail off, hoping he understands what you are trying to ask (you know he knows), but he doesn’t say anything. “What is your family like? I would like to know more about you, um, if that’s alright with you.”

“There isn’t anything to know,” his curt reply is enough for you to know that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and your heart sinks in disappointment. Maybe it shows on your face, Haruchiyo is silent for a few seconds before adding, “I don’t have any family, so there’s nothing for me to tell you.”

“Oh, sorry for asking. . . I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Don’t feel bad about it, pretty. You were just curious about me, right?” he asks this plainly, yet there’s a tug on the corner of his lips that lets you know he is happy that you want to know more about him. You nod your head and his smile becomes more prominent, he looks so innocent when he smiles. “I am curious about you, too.”

“I know.”

“Oh, you know?”

“Mhm, I know,” you cheekily reply and even the sound of his chuckle is enough to cause your heart to race. You can’t help that you are so simple, so easy, Haruchiyo makes you so nervous, yet so seen and comfortable. “And when you ask me, I tell you.”

Haruchiyo smiles. “I know you do.”

You believe it to be inevitable, the way you often find yourself pinned underneath him. Something about him is so addicting, you keep wanting more and more. The sound of moaning and skin slapping echoes within the room, it’s obscene, and adds to the erotic scene. He’s unable to contain himself, taking you on his couch the very chance he gets to, and you just let him. You love how he makes you feel, he has you seeing stars — chasing one after another.

He stills his movements for a moment, curious eyes staring down at you; those empty eyes of his are lust-filled and all you can see in them is you. He wants you and only you. You are eager to give yourself to him, to let yourself fall into his arms, completely letting yourself be swept away. You want him, too. He definitely knows this.

“You said he treated you like shit, right?” he says this, and you stop your movements, too. “If I were—were around then, I could’ve taken care of him for you.” The implication of it has your blood turning cold and your fingers wrap around his shoulders as you push him away a little, so you can look at him more clearly.

Those words are spilled so sweetly, like the way he kisses you before he leaves your apartment, or when you wake up beside him during the late mornings to find him still there, gazing at you as if you hung the stars. His words sound so sweet, just like when he tells you about how good you make him feel, they sound so sweet, and it’s not.

You think Haruchiyo likes you. You know he does.

“Th–that’s not as romantic as you think,” you say, voice breathless as you try to steady your breathing. And he’s already dead, you don’t say it, you don’t need to.

“No?”

You shake your head.

“Haru, move. . . Please.”

Haruchiyo hums, and you demand this time, nicely, of course.

“Yeah? Fine. You are so spoiled.” Haruchiyo is quick to give into you if you beg sweetly enough — if you say you need him, and only he can make you feel this way. But he always gives in. He moves, just like you asked — he moves in and out of you painfully slowly, it’s taunting. You whine at how it misses that one spot you desperately need it, yet the pleasure he brings is still, strangely, enough all at the same time. All you can think and see is blue and white swirls, and Haruchiyo, Haruchiyo, Haruchiyo.

“Think you like that idea though, tightening ‘round me like this. Oh, shit—” he chokes on a moan, then heavily sighs.

“So perfect for me, you’re mine. Say it for me.” Strands of his light pink hair falling onto your face, it tickles from the way it brushes against your cheeks with every move. Soft like cherry blossoms. His hand slides up your wrist, placing his hand over yours, your fingers tightly interlocked. “Please, baby. Y’know I would do anything for you, right?” You nod, even though his words are barely registering through, your head feels fuzzy.

He starts slamming his hips into you, you moan loudly as he repeats it again and again, his movements becoming sloppy. You’re too sensitive, overstimulated, it’s almost painful the way he keeps himself in you — it hurts, yet a familiar pleasure builds in you all over again. “Tell me you’re mine. Mine. My girl.”

“I am yours, Haru. All yours. Want nobody, but you. . .”

The moment those words spill from your lips, Haruchiyo immediately cums between choked moans and curses, and warmth spreads inside of you. He clumsily thrusts a few more times, leaning down to close the small gap and kisses you. He smiles down at you so innocently, cheeks red, bruised lips. He asks if you are okay, and you nod, pulling him closer.

Your fingers trace over the scar above his eye, faded yet deep. He leans into your touch. You find it ridiculous how pretty Haruchiyo is. His eyelashes are thicker and longer than yours, you find it unfair. He is so beautiful, you’ve never seen someone as pretty as him before.

“Did it hurt?”

“It used to, but not anymore,” he softly sighs, “feels good when you touch me. You’re so soft and warm, it makes me feel at ease with you around.”

“Me too,” you breathe out.

You know you are falling in love with him. Even if it is something like whim, because he is the only one who listens, understands, and hasn’t abandoned you. You like Haruchiyo. You are falling deep for his pretty blue eyes and the sadness that consumes him like cocaine.

Your beautiful boy.

(He whispers that you are like an angel as you drift off to sleep.)

—

You wonder if it would be presumptuous of you to assume that you are Haruchiyo’s girlfriend. Because technically, you are. Without words exchanged, things have turned out that way, and you think it must’ve been inevitable (Keisuke always refers to you as Haruchiyo’s girl, and Haruchiyo never says anything about it). You are Haruchiyo’s. You feel like Haruchiyo is yours, too.

“Are you two fuckin’ stupid? You’re just asking to get pregnant,” Keisuke huffs while rolling his eyes.

“Keisuke!” you exclaim, hitting your hand over his mouth with a glare. “Shush, lower your voice, please,” you lower your voice, glancing around in hopes nobody had heard him. A few judgmental glances are thrown your way, and you groan, wishing to shrink away. “We’re in public. . .”

Keisuke grabs your wrist, pulling your hand off his mouth as he stares at you. His face isn’t littered with bruises and cuts these days. No white bandage to stop you from seeing everything on his face. He looks a little exhausted these days — you assume from lack of sleep.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately lowering his tone into a low whisper like you had warned him to. “Are you that stupid?” he repeats and you loudly scoff.

“That’s why I just bought the pill.”

“You also bought a pregnancy test a few weeks ago,” he retorts, and you bite your bottom lip at a loss for a comeback. You didn’t actually think you were pregnant, you were only making sure. “I am just saying, keep letting him do it raw and knock you up. Can’t even take care of yourself, so how—”

“I can,” you interrupt, “I can take care of myself.”

“Right, barely. Haruchiyo is fucked up in the head, how could you even take care of a kid?”

You glare at Keisuke. “Hey, don’t talk about Haru like that. He’s your friend.”

“Like I said, I am just trying to look out for you two. Don’t be so mad.”

Does he actually see you as someone so incapable?

Obviously, his words make you mad when you originally weren’t, he can’t keep his mouth shut sometimes, and he makes it up by buying yakisoba for you.

The three of you are barely getting by. Birds of a feather, they say. It’s a shitty life, you all know, but some moments are worth living for.

It’s not so bad when you aren’t alone.

—

“I saw Senju earlier.”

“And?”

“Nothin’. She says hi, though, asking if you’re good and stuff. She probably misses you. You should reach out to her or something.”

Haruchiyo sneers at the idiotic thought. There’s no way in hell he will ever talk to any of them again. Over his dead body — he’d rather die a million times. In the corner, he sees your head perk up at an unfamiliar name, sending the two of them a curious look.

He hopes you won’t ask, he knows you ask anyway.

“Who’s Senju? An old girlfriend?” The moment those words leave your mouth, Keisuke is making gagging noises, your eyebrows pull together as you turn your head towards him. “What’s so funny?”

“Younger sister,” Haruchiyo corrects your assumption.

“Hey, you told me you’re an only child,” you reply with a frown — a small pout to your lips. You look so adorable like this.

“That’s because she isn’t family to me.” He can feel bronze eyes burning into him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing important.”

You slowly hum, not saying anything else, but Haruchiyo knows you understand him. Not wanting to step into a dark space that he doesn’t want you to know. He wonders why you’re so accepting of this – of him – even after catching him in a lie. He can tell you’re somewhat upset, too. But he knows you won’t mention it and he finds relief in that fact. Keisuke remains silent, too. His understanding is different, it’s familiar, rooted deep into their souls.

“Where did you go today, Kei?” You’re quick to change the topic and that’s one of the reasons why Haruchiyo likes being around you so much.

“I was just out with some friends,” he replies. “We went bowling, then took a ride around town.”

“Aw, bowling sounds fun.”

“You should join us next time.”

“To go bowling? I am not so good, it’s been a while since I’ve last been. Plus, I am not sure if Haru would want to go. . .”

Keisuke smugly grins, gold eyes flickering from you to him. “Yeah, but he would go anywhere you wanna go.”

“Is that true, Haru?” You turn your attention to him, and Haruchiyo shrugs.

“Maybe, it depends,” he replies, though the obvious and right answer is yes. He would do anything for you. Diving deeply into the depths of heaven and hell — wherever you want to take him. You and Keisuke both know this, because you both glance at each other and laugh, already discussing a date to go bowling.

Haruchiyo doesn’t join in on the conversation anymore, he grabs the remote in front of him and mindlessly flips through the television channels.

Keisuke has been distant lately. He is trying to change. He says he always remembers his mother crying in front of him for the first time, something he never wants to see again. Haruchiyo could never relate to this feeling, he doesn’t know what it means. He is trying to get an actual job — a normal job, like what normal people do. As if they weren’t both raised in the same shithole. Keisuke and Manjirō were the lucky ones — they always have been chosen by the stars above.

Keisuke fights in underground clubs every Friday for money, and Haruchiyo — he sells cheap cigarettes and substances to messed up kids like them. They’ve been doing this shit since they were in middle school. That has never changed for him. Haruchiyo knows he’s being left behind once again. By everyone he has ever known. Even Keisuke is moving on, to a life with people he doesn’t know and to a future he cannot see. It’s only a matter of time before you leave him, too. You are too bright, too lovely. No matter how much he digs his claws in you, it won’t be enough to keep you in place.

Even the ghost of Shinichiro doesn’t visit him anymore, and he’s left alone back at the doghouse once again.

—

Lately, he returns home to the same scene: just you and Haruchiyo cuddling up together. Stuck together like super glue.

Haruchiyo’s eyes are always a little clearer when you are around, awake, gazing at you with honey dripping from them. He’s seen that look in those sappy romance films his mom used to watch.

The image of you is captured so clearly within those crystallized eyes, trapped within. Keisuke isn’t stupid enough to not notice that Haruchiyo’s feelings for you are not normal. Society’s version of normal, anyway. Haruchiyo has always been weirdly obsessive and desperate at times; he’s seen so, with Shinichiro, Mikey, and now, you. It’s not normal, but is it so bad? Haruchiyo is beginning to breathe again in the form of you; light glimmering in his lifeless eyes when you say his name, you cover his wounds with your warmth, and love has always been a complicated thing.

Later that night, he and Haruchiyo make a run to the convenience store, and along the way home, they stop by an abandoned park and smoke a joint together — nobody ever stops by here, so there’s no worries in their hazy minds.

“I think I am in love,” Haruchiyo admits as he sucks on a strawberry popsicle. His favourites haven’t changed since they were seven.

Keisuke takes the last hit of the joint before dragging it out on the concrete. “Yeah, no shit, dude,” he replies, “everyone can see it.”

Haruchiyo grins, all teeth and wide, his eyes closed. “No, like I am fucked. So fucked, Baji.”

When he asks why, Haruchiyo is zoning out — Keisuke is buzzed as well, so it’s not like he cares. Haruchiyo is lying on the ground, head in his new leather jacket, staring long and hard at the night sky above, he isn’t here right now. He is a thousand miles away.

After, what seems like a long time (in reality, 20 minutes), he asks again. “No, but like why?”

“If she ever leaves me, I’ll kill myself.”

He says it so casually, then laughs so loudly, it sounds like he’s crying, and Keisuke ends up laughing, too. They laugh, and laugh, and laugh like it’s funny — like it’s nothing.

“No kidding. You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Settling down with deep breaths, he just confirms with a vague, “Yeah.” Pauses, then adds, “She makes me feel alive.”

Keisuke doesn’t doubt it one bit. Haruchiyo is crazy, and obsessed with you. Like a stray dog finding shelter again — you’re his sanctuary in this corner of the world. But is it so bad? Keisuke has never been one for relationships, it’s too complicated and time-consuming, but that is what love is. It’s everything worth the trouble.

Love is so strange, and it keeps them alive.

—

It’s happening again.

He’s stuck there again with no way out.

Mud is caving in on him, he’s choking, and can’t breathe or see anything. His body thrashes around, searching, searching, searching for another body. His hand reaches another — mummified. A black void consumes his entire being.

(He thinks he can hear a calling of his name — it sounds so familiar, like the warmth of his blanket from his childhood.)

When he awakens, he’s drenched in his own sweat, head pounding, electrified down to the rough pads of his fingers.

Haruchiyo downs a couple of pills.

—

You get a call from your mother. It comes unexpectedly, and you almost let it ring until the end, stunned.

Of course, you scramble to answer her call. “Hello? Mom?”

The line is staticky for a moment, and you wince. “Hi,” her voice sounds breathless. “I, um, I did not expect you to pick up.”

“Oh, yeah. . .” You don’t know what to say, but your heart is racing unbelievably fast. You have so much to say, but you can’t form any of them into words.

It is awkward, painfully so. It is the entire call, but you both try to talk, stumbling over each other when silence hits for a little too long.

She is doing well, much better than when you left, and you are glad. You think you are doing better than before, too. She mentions that she met a new man — one kind, one who treats her well, and works at a bank. Her last man was a piece of shit, somehow as bad as the first, he made your miserable lives even worse, and was in it for far too long.

She says she would like it if she could see you, and maybe you can meet him, and you choke. Getting introduced to someone new is too sudden, seeing her again is too soon, and what if she didn’t love him? Or if he doesn’t love her. He could be like the last one. A phony. She doesn’t know, you wouldn’t know. You think you are overreacting, you know you are, but you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to feel.

“No,” your voice is too quiet as you try to control the shakiness of your voice. “Not yet, but soon.”

“Okay. I do not want to force you, nor does he. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.”

“This isn’t something you need to thank me for.”

You almost cry for some reason.

Before the call ends, she tells you she would like to call you again; you say okay.

—

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. You understand, and try to respect his space.

Every time he needs his space, he comes back seemingly happier, and he always takes you out despite hating being outdoors around strangers for so long. You learn he is very good at bowling, the two of you beat Keisuke and his other friends quite easily, despite the blond one mentioning he was a professional bowler earlier on (Haruchiyo whispered in your ear that he was definitely lying).

At the arcade, he wins you a giant plushie from an old cartoon, and he tells the others to win their own when they start asking him for one. With his remaining tickets, he trades them in for a ring pop – strawberry, your favourite – and slides it onto your ring finger with a cheeky smile, there’s red coating his cheeks. You mirror his smile, and drag him into a dark empty corner to kiss him. His hand is immediately sliding underneath your shirt.

“Haru, we’re in public,” you warn him as you break the kiss to lightly glare at him to behave.

“It’s fine, it’s only a kiss,” he replies, pulling you back in to deepen it. You melt into it.

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. Especially, when he is high, he doesn’t like when you’re around.

One time, he’s collapsed onto his bed, he mumbles that he wants to see you, despite you being right there.

You can’t help, but worry.

Sometimes, Haruchiyo doesn’t like to see you. He gets so busy with things, and Keisuke says he doesn’t know — but you both know what he is up to. Sometimes, he doesn’t talk to anyone for two days. He stays trapped in the walls of his bedroom, or in places nobody knows of. This behaviour grows more and more frequent as the weeks go by.

Haruchiyo comes to see you, he always comes back to you. He says he wants to rent out a dvd to watch with you, and you bury your head into his chest, and cry.

He frantically asks what’s wrong, ever so weak to your tears. His hand rubs gentle circles on your back as he cradles you closely. “Talk to me, baby,” he coos.

(It’s hypocritical, you think.)

“I miss you,” you tell him.

He chuckles. “But I am here with you.” For now.

For now, for now, for how long?

—

Haruchiyo is falling.

He’s slowly falling down, down, down.

You force your eyes open every time you watch as he is drowning down those little white pills a little too fast, crushing them into powdered stardust, chasing after a star that has been long gone — he will never reach it. Not now, not in another lifetime.

You wish you knew what it was; the very thing Haruchiyo desperately needs to see — that very thing he can’t think of long enough before he drowns himself into something (anything) once again. In a strange way, you think you know. It comes in the form of the cigarette pack that sits awkwardly on the corner of the coffee table, unused and gathering dust (you’ve seen Haruchiyo smoke the same brand during the late nights when he thinks you are asleep, bitterness as he awakens with dread, and a similar scent lingers on Keisuke’s collar, too), to the unspoken sadness that chains them together, that same distant look that is reflected in their eyes from time to time.

It’s too much, too fast, Haruchiyo will slip through the gaps of your fingers if he doesn’t slow down.

You watch as he spills and arranges the substance into a straight, thin line. Your presence gone unnoticed, except for the intensity of your stare, which he finally (finally, finally, finally) notices you and his open door that he rarely ever forgets to close.

“Leave me alone for a moment.” He nods his head toward the door, yet you don’t move.

“Haru, you already did it earlier, isn’t this too much in one day?”

“It’s not—baby, just leave me alone for a minute. Please.”

You know how Haruchiyo is. He doesn’t like anyone seeing him like this, before, during, or afterwards — his one minute means four hours.

When you call his name, he snaps. That wild dog from the apartment above begins to bark, vibrating through the thin walls of the apartment. The owner screaming for it to shut up. He lets out a slow exhale, standing up, “God, why is it always the same thing with you these days? I ask you nicely and—and you don’t listen to me.”

“Same thing with me? I am just checking up on you because I care—”

“I never asked you for that. I didn’t. . . I’ve told you before not to act like that.” What makes it hurt is how Haruchiyo tries to keep his voice light and soft like he always does with you. His jaw is clenched, and pauses every few seconds to take a breath. He gets agitated far too fast. He cares too much about treating you gently, but he doesn’t even realise he’s being mean; uncaring about what you have to say, uncaring of your feelings, he doesn’t care that you just care about him.

Your eyes are stinging. You bite down on your bottom lip, harshly, trying to keep your tears at bay. “You’re being mean. You don’t have to say it like that, I mean well.”

“I wouldn’t if you just minded your own business.”

You don’t think you will ever get through to him. Even if you kneeled down, and begged him like a dog to stop, he wouldn’t understand. You sniffle, body betraying you as tears are edging to fall, you don’t want him to see you like this — you don’t want to see him like this.

Haruchiyo deeply sighs, stepping closer to you, he gently grabs your forearm. You think it would be a comforting gesture, if it weren’t for the fact that he deliberately steps into your space to make you step back, one step closer to being out the door. He wants you gone. “It’s nothing new. Gimme a moment to myself.”

“You want me to leave.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t look at you when he says this. That stupid little white baggie has his attention — his complete attention the moment he gets you out of here. Not living, not dead, no interest in his life.

You taste iron in your mouth. “You want me to leave,” you repeat, exaggerating every word with a crack of your voice.

Haruchiyo yells this time, his patience has always run thin. “Yes! That’s what I keep fucking telling you.” He quickly shuts his mouth and runs his hand over it, swallowing his regret. A tear rolling down your face is enough for him to sigh, he hates when you cry (not when it’s not out of pleasure), he hates arguing with you, and he mutters that he’s done.

He doesn’t push you out. He doesn’t comfort you. He doesn’t close the fucking door.

He walks back to his table, sitting down, rearranging the powder — he doesn’t care. He wants you to watch.

You bitterly tell him you’re done with this, screaming that you don’t care anymore, you’re done, done, done. You don’t even look to see if he lifted his head to look at you when you shouted those words, or if his nose was glued to the table instead. You rush out without closing his bedroom door; you slam their front door shut, it echoes in the apartment’s empty hallway.

A sob echoes with it.

Haruchiyo doesn’t come knocking on your door after. You don’t seek him out, either. A fight between the two of you has never occurred before, not like this, only annoyed remarks exchanged that were resolved by sweets and kisses. Days pass without any contact, you leave your apartment at different times, and you wonder if it is over now — all over a stupid, little fight.

—

With midterms rolling around, you don’t have time to focus on Haruchiyo, your relationship — the remaining ashes of it. You don’t know, you don’t want to know, you’re afraid to know. Your grades have gone down, and you need to focus on getting them back up. On some days, Keisuke attempts to mention Haruchiyo; sometimes, you get mad, sometimes, you grow silent and shake your head, and on other days, you’ll cry at the mere mention of him.

Haruchiyo’s birthday passes without you ever knowing. You hear it from Keisuke when he lets you ride behind him on his motorcycle to your part-time job at an old dvd rental from the 80’s. These past few days, he has been picking you up once you’re done, too. He is kind, so sweet, but you know Keisuke is mostly doing this because he cares too much (and he is worried about Haruchiyo more so than you).

You lie, and say you don’t care that Haruchiyo’s birthday passed, who cares about his stupid birthday? And there’s a shock that runs through you when you realise that you never even knew his birthday — he couldn’t even tell you a simple, little detail like that. Either way, you refuse to swallow down your pride, not this time. If Haruchiyo cared about you, even a smidge, he would’ve come knocking on your door after you left or called. But he hasn’t done that, he’s done nothing for weeks. Keisuke laughs, louder than his roaring engine, and tells you it’s fine, because Haruchiyo has never once celebrated his birthday since way back then, he doesn’t believe or see joy in such things anymore. Your heart aches, and suddenly, for a split moment, your resolve vanishes.

(Always too weak when it comes to him. . . your poor, beautiful boy.)

He drops you off in front of the store — looking ever-so empty inside, nothing new. His heavy hand ruffles your hair, you glare at him, swatting his hand away. “Stop, you are going to ruin my hair,” you complain with a pout.

“Don’t think so much about it. It’ll be fine.”

(It’s fine, it’s fine, everything will be okay.)

Before he drives off, he says, “I’ll pick you up later. See you.”

Your co-worker comes up to you during your shift. He’s a sloppy guy around your age that you’ve spoken less than ten words to. You glance down to his nametag, Takemichi, then to his unkempt black hair, and faded acne scars adorning his cheek. The smile he gives you is both awkward, yet strangely warm. When he asks if you are alright, you just stare at him in confusion.

“Oh, sorry—I, uh,” he begins fumbling over his words, and you sort of feel bad at how put off you are. “You don’t look too well, so I thought, uh, that you are sick or something. . .”

You force a smile, trying to ease his nerves. “I just haven’t been getting much sleep.” It is not a lie, so you don’t feel guilty. “Sorry for worrying you.”

He apologises, too.

So, apologises come easy for some guys. All the ones you’ve known never do.

You wonder if your sorrow is that noticeable — if you are someone so pitiful. It feels worse knowing that it is apparent to people who don’t even know you, and you feel more pathetic than usual.

Life goes on, as it always does. Painfully slow. Days turning into weeks. The seemingly never-ending gray skies, and smoke clouds greet your every wake.

—

Your mother calls again this evening. She calls more often now, and these calls last longer every time you talk, despite the awkwardness that still surrounds the phone calls. The familiarity of her voice is enough to ease you, it’s almost comforting, being forced back to a time when it was only the two of you at home. Just you and her, forcing laughter and smiles, but you were truly happy during those moments, until the familiar creaking of the old wooden stairs and heavy footsteps shattered the rosy glass once again.

The screams take over.

Your mother is a curious woman, very curious. She remembers everything you mentioned, even briefly, even things from when you were only five. She asks you about the boy you told her about before (all shy and giggly), and your nails dig into your palms, eyes darting around your bedroom. From the floor, to the pile of worn clothes in the corner, and an old music box your father had gifted you on your fourth birthday — music doesn’t play from it anymore. The pink ballerina had broken off when you had dropped it, and you super-glued together again. It doesn’t play music anymore, you don’t know why you kept it. It doesn’t play music anymore, you don’t know why you keep it on the nightstand next to your bed.

You tell her you aren’t so sure anymore.

(Your head is spinning.)

“I am sorry, dear. Boys come and go. It is always like that while growing up, but one day, the right one will be there for you,” she says gently, so softly, cradling your wounds. Yet, you wonder why you don’t feel comforted at all. “You are still young and beautiful. Don’t you worry so much.”

You simply agree, “Yeah, I guess that is true.”

When the call ends, you wind up the music box for the first time in years. No sound comes through for a second, and then the first few notes play before going silent — she dances in silence, spinning around and around and around. You watch her dance in the silent echo of your room for a long time, rewinding her before she completely comes to a stop every time.

The memories go round and round.

—

Keisuke basically forces himself into your apartment without an invite, and says, “Wow. You look like shit—I mean, bad. You don’t look good.”

He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, he is just honest with his friends. You don’t look so hot, and he has to let you know.

“Gee, thanks,” you sarcastically reply as you force your head into your textbooks.

So, you ignore him when he speaks sometimes. Keisuke has learned not to mention Haruchiyo to you, especially to how badly you reacted last time, even now the words are threatening to spill from the tip of his tongue. He tries his best not to. (God, you both are so difficult. He thinks he is going insane.)

After a while of making himself at home, he asks, “Wanna go out somewhere with me?”

You glance up from your textbook, asking, “Where to?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

And without hesitation, you follow him out the house.

So, maybe setting cars on fire and smashing windows with brinks would be a little too much for you. He assumes you wouldn’t want to run from the cops, even if that is a part of the fun. Luckily, his buddy, Kazutora, showed him a spot where they can legally smash things to pieces — not exactly the same thrill, but it’s probably fun, and surely, you would enjoy it.

And you do. You smash everything in that little room and almost trip over yourself a few times while at it.

Keisuke finds it pretty fun, too.

—

After many rejections, it’s considered a miracle when Keisuke gets accepted and passes an interview. It’s been. . . a long time since he got fired from his first actual [legal] job. Honestly, Keisuke still believes he wasn’t at any fault, because what asshole throws a cigarette out at a gas station, right beside the gasoline tanks? That asshole was asking for a beating, and Keisuke only hit the man once. He saved the place from blowing up, if anything, he deserved some reward money. Instead, he gets fired by the lousy, old, ugly manager who sneered that it was only natural that a kid like him couldn’t handle a job.

He said he was lucky the cops weren’t called.

He was the lucky one considering how Keisuke didn’t sock his crooked teeth right out of his mouth right then and there.

(That old prick will get what’s coming for him, Keisuke hasn’t once forgotten his face.)

He knows he needs to start doing something with himself, because once he does, he’s going to make things right with his mom again. Though, it might end up ending the same way as they have been for the past few years. They’re closer compared to most single moms and their sons, Keisuke thinks, and he knows it’s hard raising him — it’s never been easy, because he doesn’t listen. He picks fights, he stopped attending school when he was fourteen, he stays out until the sun comes out, but he tries, he really does. Over the years, her disappointment and frustration builds on her face and it’s enough to make him burn and scream, leaving the room so he can no longer see that look on her face.

He vividly remembers that night, all too well, when he came home to apologise for his behaviour with his mother’s favourite flowers – marigolds like her eyes – and her favourite dumplings that he heard his pops’ used to buy for her when they were younger. Yet before he could say anything, he hears her sobbing through the door, and Keisuke makes a run down the stairs of the apartment complex. He runs, runs, and runs until he’s out of breath.

(Haruchiyo opens the door for him. He’s done so every single time without question, but those eyes of his never leave him — eyes are cold as they silently interrogate him, leaving his insides bare, chills run over him.)

He’ll make things right with her again. She’s his only mom, and he misses her.

Lately, he comes home to Haruchiyo looking like this. Fucked up with dilated eyes, winter freezes over him, hazy and lost like Janurary’s storm. Killing his own mind – himself – for even a few hours with a sense of peace. It’s all pure white laced with a gold rush; a feeling so divine that Keisuke knows he can’t save him.

Haruchiyo is drowning.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. Who else would if he doesn’t? (His mind drifts back to you.)

Keisuke takes a deep breath as he marches over to his limp figure on the couch. “Again. You are like this again, Haruchiyo. You need to slow the fuck down.” His words sound too familiar. (“Keisuke, I’ve told you this how many times now?”) Grabbing him by his shoulders, he shakes him, “Oi, Sanzu, wake up.”

He shakes him again. Roughly.

Haruchiyo groans slowly. “I hear you, Shin—” His heart drops at the name, at the ugly and pitiful sight of Haruchiyo. “—Keisuke, very, very clearly. . .” His words are spoken slowly and slurred, and his eyes are wide open, yet unfocused on anything. Ugly and pitiful, his dear friend.

“I am being serious, Haruchiyo. Listen up.” Keisuke inhales sharply, attempting to ease his nerves. He counts to three in his head, twice — something he had learned from a doctor when he broke his arm as a kid. One, two, three. In and out. “What about your girl?” This catches Haruchiyo’s attention, so Keisuke continues speaking, “You know she doesn’t like this right? She just can’t say it ‘cause. . . Like, you heard about her old man right? He fucked up and then. . .” And he can tell his words are falling on deaf ears, it’s pointless, yet he continues to try to reach out to him.

Truthfully, Keisuke would rather be talking to you about this. But every time he mentions Haruchiyo’s name, you get mad at him like he was the one who did something to you. He doesn’t know the exact details of what went down between the two of you; neither of you wanting to say anything, not even blaming each other, just saying vague words. It just adds to his annoyance, because it was obviously some dumb mistake, and if you two were normal and knew how to talk, it would all be good again.

“Say something.” Silence. “Haruchiyo.” More silence. Keisuke grits his teeth, the tip of his fang scrapes against his bottom lip. “Why are you like this? We’re just worried about you,” his voice comes out quieter this time, choking on tenderness, and he hates how he sounds at the moment.

“I know,” says Haruchiyo eventually. “I fucked up. ‘m fucked up. . . And I—I just don’t know how to make it go away.”

“Just cut out the bullshit,” Keisuke replies. He expects Haruchiyo to punch or kick him, to push him away and to fuck off — to call him a busybody, a good-for-nothing loser who failed junior high, a screw up who is just like him — he usually does in moments like these. However, he doesn’t.

“. . . I know.”

“Do something about this. Talk to her.”

“I know, Baji.”

“Okay.”

Keisuke frowns. He can't even laugh or snort or joke about how pathetic this is. His heart is aching at Haruchiyo’s vulnerability — a side he’s only seen when they were little kids, back when they lost Mikey and Shinichiro. Something about it is different this time, and he can’t pinpoint the reason. He just settles on awkwardly wrapping an arm around the taller, yet thinner and frail body beside him, and attempts to keep him grounded as his mind floats far, far away.

There has never been any use in catching him; he’s always known how to run and slip away.

He says, “It’ll be fine. Trust me. We’ll be fine, just like we always are.”

He whispers those words again for good measure, unsure if those words were meant for Haruchiyo or himself. Keisuke almost promises, and Haruchiyo doesn’t respond for another two hours.

—

A constant banging wakes you from your afternoon nap on your only day off from both work and university (you finished all your assignments early, too), and you angrily drag yourself out of bed, still half-asleep. Opening the door, you answer, “What—” and all that annoyance vanishes once your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and see who it is. “Oh.”

You almost bitterly spit out, “Why are you here?”, but your heart betrays you, racing at Haruchiyo’s sudden appearance, then slows to a pace that aches your very core. All at the mere sight of him.

Before you can slam the door shut, he sticks out his foot and jams it in between, forcing the door to stay open. “Stop—don’t, don’t do that, alright? Don’t be like that, and let me in,” Haruchiyo says, his voice rough and tired. “Let me inside, please, baby. You need to listen to me, please.”

You bite your bottom lip at his pleading and keep yourself pushed up against the door, not looking into the large gap, you can’t meet his eyes or face or him. You end up asking, “Why are you here?” Your voice comes out small, you’re tired, so damn tired — body no longer pushing against the door, and Haruchiyo is swift when taking that moment of hesitation to let himself inside before you had the chance to change your mind.

He takes a step towards you, and you don’t move. He gets close to the point the skin of his hand brushes against you. His body’s cold. “I just wanted to apologise,” he tells you. “I didn’t mean it, any of it. I just—sometimes, I lose control over myself and do dumb shit.”

When you don't reply, he repeats, “I said I was sorry—still am. I didn’t mean any of it that day.”

You breathe out, “I know, I heard you. . . Your apology sucked, it was really, really bad.” Haruchiyo nibbles on his bottom lip, teeth running over dry, peeling, red skin; blue eyes wavering, yet never leaving your face (you still won’t meet his anxious gaze). “But I know you mean it. . . That doesn’t mean I am still not upset or hurt by what you said.”

He visibly eases, shoulders dropping with a silent breath of relief, and he apologises once more.

“I am scared to lose you, Haruchiyo,” you admit, it’s nothing new, but you have to tell him. “I keep thinking, what if something happens, and—like what would I do if you. . .” your words trail off shakily and you swallow the lump growing in your throat. You don’t want to curse the thought to life. Haruchiyo sneers, loudly and sharply, at your unsaid words, they don’t pass him by.

“It doesn’t matter,” it sounds too rough, too soulless, too regardless when he says this. “I mean, it won’t happen.”

You firmly argue, “But it could, Haru.”

“But it won’t. Believe me.” He grabs your hand and places it in his as he gives it a firm squeeze. “I, uh,” he sucks in a shaky breath before speaking, “I want to be better for you. You’d be happy, right? Like we could. . . Yeah, I could try for you.”

He would like to, he means. And you know he would, all to keep you happy. But you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. However, you and Haruchiyo are barely nineteen, barely adults, bad with words and love, but the feelings you have for each other are real, and so overwhelming. If you both try, everything will be alright — Haruchiyo believes this, and you do, too.

“How you live is up to you, but we can figure things out together,” you say to him. His thumb brushes over the skin on your hand. “Please, just let me be here for you. I care about you so, so, so much, Haru. Don’t push me away. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I won’t.” As you smile, he does, too. “I care about you, too, y’know? It drives me insane.”

You know, and he knows that you know.

You pull him towards the couch to sit down and talk, the atmosphere much more relaxing now. “You never called me.”

“I wanted to,” he admits, his hand falling onto your knee as he rubs it unconsciously. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

You shake your head, placing your hand on top of his. “No, I was waiting for you.”

He smiles, a little sad, and you can’t help but notice that he seemed to lose some weight. This worries you as he is already thin. Both your hands reach up to cup his cheeks, sunken and bones, as you pull his face closer to yours and you press a kiss to his lips for only a second. “Have you eaten yet? I still have leftovers from last night that I can reheat.”

There’s not really much left, probably only five bites at most, but it’s still something.

“No, I already ate,” he declines with a lie, but you let it pass. “Let’s just take a bath instead. Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.”

Haruchiyo runs the bath like he always does, the temperature is always just right when he does it. When you slide into the bath, a soft moan escapes your lips at the warm contact. Haruchiyo takes off his clothes, gets in, and settles behind you. He pulls you into him, back against his chest, arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close.

You lift your head to look up, and Haruchiyo’s face is expressionless, but the look swimming in his eyes is undeniably love. It couldn’t be anything else.

“What is it?”

“I really meant what I said before, y’know. Most of the time, I—I just don’t feel like my own person,” he continues quietly, “I never wanted to make you cry.”

You twist, barely, due to the lack of space in the tub, and get a better look at him. Pink strands all over his face, you brush it away with your hand, tucking a strand behind his ear. The ocean stares back at you.

You snap yourself out of it, before you get lost. “It’s okay, Haru, really.”

He says your name, so softly, such a gentle sound — your soul is weeping. “You are the only thing that is precious to me, I need you, okay? I can’t live without you.”

Your head is swimming; if your apartment had a shower instead of a bathtub like your old place did, you would’ve been unsteady on your feet. The feeling intensifies the longer you stare at him — drifting off to sea.

You tell him, “I am sorry, too. I just worry about you, Haru. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I know, and I am right here with you, baby,” he gently says (his promise of devotion, no other deserving of his worship). “And I am all yours. Only you.”

A silent ‘forever’ follows after his gentle kiss to your temple. His arms wrap around you, his bones digging into your gut, and you lift your head to kiss his cheek, then one over the faded pink scar running across his eye, then another to his soft pink lips. Haruchiyo is beautiful, everything about him is so beautifully blue.

“So, you forgive me, right?”

His hand taps your thigh, twice, a silent indication between the two of you meaning: open up. “Yes,” you breathe out. You let him in, you always do.

“Good,” he says as his other hand runs across your stomach, up to your breast, and he gently squeezes. His lips brush against your ear, his breath tickles, you can’t help, but smile. “We are in love, baby. No matter what happens, it won’t change a thing between us.”

You can’t imagine a life without Haruchiyo, or what it was like before him. You don’t want to. And so, you tell him just so. He pulls you impossibly closer as his head falls into the crook of your neck, smiling into your skin as he presses a delicate kiss — as soft as a cherry blossom petal passing you by. You love him, you love him so much. Even when he is about to fall, you will be there to catch him. Whispering this sweet oath on repeat, Haruchiyo receives each eternal promise with his lips.

—

Somewhere, he is drowning.

Sinking down, down, down to a place no man can reach. Water turns to mud, white static fills his ears, gasoline and cigarettes sting his eyes and nose; he returns home.

Somewhere, he is drowning.

But not here. You are his anchor.

[freyito]

you asked for gallagher asks and as an official gallagher simp and death denier i am here to oblige. how about gallagher finds someone flirting with reader while they were waiting for him and gallagher gets all pouty and jealous as he picks them up and takes them away bc theyre his partner dammit!! i am a firm gallagher is a clingy baby in a relationship believer

✭ pairing(s): gallagher x gn reader

✩ inspo: Real Man by beabadoobee

✧ a/n: i took a little bit of a different direction with this... but its still jealousy all the same :D!! i, too, think he's clingy... but also like scary dog privileges and all that yk...

also! i have a strawpage now!!! i mainly made it for my selfship blog (that i'm still regrettably working on) BUT ITS THERE!!! ITS A THING1!! and also ASKS ARE OPEN NOW!!! YAAAAAY!!! remember to read my rules for asks... and since this seems to be a common theme, i DONT write for fem reader :), just gn and male. i also dont answer nsfw asks on this account.

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, the guy is a creep, mentions of alcohol, guard dog gallagher -> puppy gallagher p much, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.4k

ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴ

He finds it laughable that some people would even try. Gallagher knows full well what the people of Penacony are like, and yet he never expected for such things to happen. Or, for him to get as jealous as he did. Even if it was clear that you were the apple of his eye, when you and him were very clearly having a nice little conversation– about a date, no less.

Now, he understands that a lot of people– even you, when he first met you– thought Penacony was the perfect paradise. Underneath all that glitz and glamour, though, it was the lowest of the low, the highest population was the sleazebags. Assholes who would swoop in and try and charm their way to your heart, only to run off with all manners of things you wouldn’t want to part with. Or, they would try to use you, take advantage of your better heart. The smarter ones stayed around the longest, sucked you dry of all your possessions, wealth, and even kindness, and left without a word to find their next victim to drain.

But the bolder ones of that population; those are the ones that truly pissed Gallagher off. Like the asshole in front of him, leaning in so close to you that you could smell the alcohol on his breath, hurling all sorts of pick up lines and sickening names at you that bordered on insults. There was no way this man was that bold. The fact that he’d look over at Gallagher every couple of seconds, the fact that he would even include Gallagher in such talk was horrendous.

‘You’ve got quite the fine catch, here.’

‘Come now, I ain’t as bad as he is, I promise.’

‘I can make all sorts of dreams come true, sweetie.’

‘I’m sure your man here wouldn’t mind sharing a little…’

If Gallagher wasn’t on the clock, he’d make sure this man would get his jaw rearranged. But he isn’t a brute, and he’s much more sophisticated than that. Though, he believes if he shows this man mercy, he’d go find some other poor soul to harass. Then again, it is also his job to make sure such things like this get punished. How unfortunate for this man to have no Bronze Melodia to read him his last rites.

With a superficial grin and barely restrained anger, he leans over the counter and catches the man’s attention. He doesn’t say much, if at all anything. He really only gives the guy a look, furrowed brows, a scowl, and the man quickly got up from his seat and ran off with his tail between his legs. 

Once Gallagher’s sure the man has given you two enough space (and is avoiding anyone else in the bar), he looks over at you with a much more docile, gentle smile.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice a low, near comforting purr. He reaches for your hand and takes it in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“I’m fine,” You nod, “I just think he could definitely brush his teeth better.”

“Well, if you want me to kick him out, I don’t mind doing that,” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Or worse. Whichever you prefer.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I promise,”

“Okay, okay. But the offer still stands,” He looks back over to where the man ran off too, finding him huddled in a booth, as far as possible from the bar. Yet, the man was still nervously staring over at Gallagher, his earlier bravado completely dissipated. Gallagher meets his eyes for a moment, and he can see the man flinch.

You follow Gallagher’s gaze for a moment, before he cuts you off with a kiss to your cheek. You open your mouth to say something, but he catches your lips with his, pressing a borderline sensual kiss to your lips. You don’t protest, and melt into the kiss. You could ask yourself why he was doing this, seeing as he was a man who would stop PDA at holding your hand. Usually, the kinds of kisses were reserved for your privacy… or when he wants to make a point.

When you pull away, you feel your head spin a little. Gallagher chuckles and squeezes your hand, looking back over to the booth. Before he cna gauge the man’s reaction, he realizes that Siobahn has rounded to the bar. 

“Oh, shift change, perfect!” He hums, pulling away all too quickly to greet Siobahn and clock out. You raise your eyebrow as he does so, downing your drink and standing up. 

Normally, he finds an excuse to stay just a little longer, just one more drink, and so on. But now, he’s keen to leave. Which you don’t mind, but you can’t help but wonder why he’s like this. Either he wants to get off the clock as soon as possible so he’s not liable for what happens to that man, or he wants to whisk you away from that man’s sight and make sure you feel better. Both are quite endearing, in their own ways.

He rounds the bar counter, coming to your side and placing a hand on the small of your back. He ushers you out of the bar with a soft ‘c’mon’, making sure to stay close to you. You were practically hip-to-hip with him, every now and then his hand would reach for your shoulder and pull you in closer when someone looked at you for a second longer. It’s kind of cute, the way he’s protective of you. At the same time, he feels more like a clingy puppy, nosing his way into your hand when you give someone else too much attention.

When you two get home, Gallagher scoops you up in his arms with a grunt of effort, he makes his way to the couch. You don’t even have time to react, all your mind can come up with is a giggle as he sits down, setting you down in his lap. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder, hands splaying over your stomach.

“Mh, just like how it's supposed to be,” He murmurs, an air of… nostalgia in his voice?

“What do you mean by that?” You tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. In turn, he hides his face in the crook of your neck, muttering something you can’t quite catch. His stubble paired with his words succeeds in only making you laugh, squirming in his arms.

“Noooo…” He whines pitifully, pulling you up closer against him, like your squirming was an attempt to get away. “Lemme just hold you. For a minute. Max. Please?”

“I never said you couldn’t, you’re just–” You squirm again, reaching up and cupping his face. “– making it impossible to sit still.”

“M’sorry,” He apologizes for no particular reason. After another moment of hiding in your neck, he finally pulls away and leans back against the couch. “Y’know… I could’ve punched him. Probably still can, bet that asshole’s still at the bar.”

“I told you it was fine, I’m fine,”

“I know, but the offer still stands. I could find him in an hour. Or less.”

“Well I appreciate the thought, but I’d rather you not resort to violence,”

Gallagher tilts his head further into your palm, looking back up at you as if to verify that what you said was true. You simply look down with a smile, and his face softens, accepting your answer.

“Okay. But you know if anyone does anything like that you can tell me, right? Even if I'm at work and you’re… shopping, or whatever, you can call me. I can play the hero. I’d like to, you know,”

You laugh and lean back scratching at his scruff. This earns you a soft ‘hmph’ in return, eyes closing with satisfaction. He’s happy if you’re happy, it’s always been this way. Gallagher knows the beauty he holds in his arms at this very moment, and that knowledge gives him quite the ego boost. He’s a humble man, and he always does his best not to let pride or anything of the sort go to his head. But he can’t help it when some people get too cocky, when he’s able to chase them away with just a look. Not that it was enough for him– clearly, he had to make his point– but there is a certain pride to keeping one’s lover safe, and letting someone so bold know just who your heart belongs to.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[wereh0gz]

Random headcanon

Sonic as werehog suffers from back pain and is generally more comfortable moving on all fours instead of walking on two legs because the transformation is more suited for quadrupedal movement and not bipedal

That's why he looks like he's slouching all the time he physically cannot stand up fully straight without being constantly uncomfortable

[patches-of-thistle]

everytime i think about thistle and like. my blog and stuff, i kinda ponder what itd be like to have white hair. and longer hair too