#can barely see wtf im writing

[insufferablemod]

😎😎😎😎😎

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[beachboysnatural]

Crash Landing on You the woman that you are

[vancilocs]

fenrir is sad

Night, again. Fenrir was sitting on a lounger staring at the final hints of orange in the horizon, savoring his third glass of wine of the night and thinking about nothing in particular. He perked up as he heard a door in the bedroom open - it was the door to Merope’s study, where she spent most of her time these days, resting, recovering, as Fenrir handled the important business. He hadn’t wanted to go to bed alone, again, so he had waited, if just to steal a moment of her time.

She was sat on the bed as he stepped in from the balcony and shut the door behind him, her back towards him, pulling the blankets over herself and burying her head in the pillow. Fenrir tossed his shirt on the floor and laid down next to her, and clumsily he reached out to place a hand on her waist, like he had done so many times before, to pull her close and to hold - but at the gentlest hint of his fingertips she flinched, yanking her blanket higher and shifting away from under his touch. “No”, he heard her mutter. “Just to cuddle--” “No”, she said again, her voice small and strangled, and he pulled his hand back, letting her cocoon away from him, sitting on his side of the bed alone and stupid. Say something. She liked words; words he had never been good with, words he didn’t know how to use. She didn’t want his hollow affections given with his rough, clumsy hands, hands that knew how to fight but little else. Hands that couldn’t write those words she liked. He picked at his nails as he laid down, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, listening to Merope’s breathing in the darkness. Her breaths were short and shallow, the occasional short gasp betraying the tears she was trying to hide, but eventually she calmed, her breathing becoming slower and more peaceful, and he knew she had fallen asleep. It made him feel a little better, knowing she was at peace for at least until morning. And for me it all starts over again. He felt the anxiety build up again in his chest, in his throat, in his head, and he felt paralyzed. If he fell asleep, he would wake up in the morning and it would be like just another day. He would let Merope rest, avoid the politics and the dumb responsibilities, he would handle those for her while Hassaleh ensured she was on the mend. He’d handle it, no worries, it’s fine. It’s fine. Have you eaten? Remember to rest. Let your mind and body take a break. When can I take a break? He didn’t want to fall asleep and force himself into a new day full of all new questions, expectations, duties from left and right. Every single time someone new showed up to him, asked him some inane bullshit about the taxation of sheep or something, he just felt even more like crying, screaming, throwing something, tearing his feathers out. I just lost my child, my baby, my newborn son. Can’t this wait? He wanted to stay home. He wanted to hold his wife, hold his kids, blessed Ylva was the strongest of all of them, all serious pout and a sense of duty already - I will look after mom, she had said. She shouldn’t have to bear all of this at her age. Fenrir could see the nervous tics in her that he had when he was young, recognized the anxiety, but she wouldn’t let him hold her, just said that she was fine, she would play with Alex, she would sit with mom, don’t worry. But I want to sit with you, too. He got up from the bed and pulled his shirt back on, tossing a comfortable dark cloak over his shoulders before sneaking out of his quarters. Thankfully the doors were quiet as ever, even the lock clunking shut softly when he pushed the door shut and walked down the hallway, footsteps barely audible on the rug under his feet. The castle was silent and dark, to his comfort. No eyes on him, no ears listening in for once, nobody calling for him right this second to settle a stupid dispute between two people who really could have handled it themselves. For once he wasn’t being shadowed by spymasters, his and others’, criticized, scrutinized, torn open to look at his innermost thoughts, nothing sacred and nothing safe, his joy, his fear, his pain and sorrow suddenly everyone’s business. How did Gandr never complain? A click of nails on the tile floor behind him caught his attention, and he turned to see two glowing eyes in the darkness. The darkness took form and a giant, intimidating wolfdog stepped out, stopping just short of eye level with Fenrir as they stood face to face. “Stay”, he said and the dog cocked its head slightly, hearing, understanding. If it was here, its master would not be far, and sure enough, from the dark soon approached another figure. “My liege”, said Dusko, and Fenrir nodded. The knight stifled a yawn inside his helmet. He had clearly just jumped out of bed, having pulled just light robes on himself before dashing out, alerted by his pet. “It’s late. You should rest”, he continued. “Don’t worry about me. Didn’t mean to wake you, though, Sorry”, Fenrir said. “You didn’t”, Dusko lied, his hand scratching behind his dog’s ear. For a moment they just stood there, Fenrir staring blankly at the hallway wall, Dusko expecting orders or a dismissal. Then, like his pet he also cocked his head slightly, and his voice was softer as he spoke again. “Is... is everything in order, my liege?“ “Yeah.” No. “I’m fine.” I need a hug like I need air. Dusko stared for a moment, unsure, then simply nodded. “I will leave you be, then”, he said. No, don’t. “Sounds good”, said Fenrir. “Go back to bed, man.” Please. But Dusko simply bowed, turning away and clicking his tongue, his dog dutifully following and the two disappearing back into the dark. Fenrir was left staring into the nothing, alone again, a deep yearning in him that felt like it was swallowing him whole. He turned and continued on his way.

The air outside was crisp and cool, a gentle breeze tousling his hair, the sound of leaves in nearby trees rustling intermingling into the silence. The yard was empty, apart from a cat doing its rounds hunting mice, skittering out of the way and into the shadows. Nobody there to interrupt or question for once. He walked slowly towards the crypt entrance, not particularly thinking where he was going, just walking without a thought, pushing the heavy door open quietly and in the little light he had from the open door he lighted a candle for himself to see where he was going before he shut the door behind himself and closed himself into the crypt. Candle in hand, he stepped forwards on the stone floor, his steps quietly echoing in the hallway, him passing the newest wreaths and flowers for his son, and finding his way into the second newest crypt. Clean, quiet, undisturbed for years on end. On the other side of the chamber laid his father, on the other side his brother. His hastily cobbled together resting place, the hurried carving of his face, immortalized in stone, silent and cold, no longer there to advise, or support, or hold. Fenrir sat on his knees in front of Gandr’s grave, his candle on the floor next to him, his forehead pressed on the cold stone where his brother’s name was carved. It should have been me.

[billybob598]

Were You Gay-Panicking? (Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader)

IM BACKKKKK!!! Here's my bi-monthly fic :) I'm actually kinda proud of this one, felt like some good writing. Anyhoo enjoy bitches! As always, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! PEACE

Summary: (first time doing one of these) A few months ago, Kyra had no idea who you were. Now? Now, she was gay panicking everytime she was in the same room as you.

Word Count: 4.6K (WTF?!?!?!?!?!)

Kyra didn’t exactly know how to feel about you. Sure, you were Aussie. Sure, you were an amazing fullback who could run forever and never seem winded. Sure, you were quite possibly the sweetest person ever. Sure, you were stunningly beautiful. Kyra paused, her eyes locked onto you as you laughed that adorable laugh at something Katie had said. Okay, the thing about you being beautiful kind of slipped out. It’s not like it’s not true though. You did have this just natural beauty to you, you barely wore makeup, but you still shone in Kyra’s eyes.

 It was crazy that the two of you had never met before. You were roughly the same age, both Australian and now both Gunners. Unlike Kyra, you’re career up until this point had been riddled with injuries and unfortunate coincidences. Despite being an integral part of the Arsenal squad and having a breakout year last season, you were still not chosen for the World Cup, or any national team camps for that matter. Kyra had heard plenty about you from Steph and Caitlin, she had also seen you a bit on a few of the other Arsenal players' socials. You did have an Instagram account, but you rarely posted. Any true Arsenal fan knew who you were, but casual fans and Matildas’ fans probably hadn’t heard of you. You preferred to work in the background, you weren’t a big extrovert and your personality was more closed off so, consequently you weren’t insanely popular with the fans. So, when Kyra officially met you she had no idea how you weren’t the most liked player.

4 months ago

After finishing some of the required videos and finally signing her contract for The Arsenal, Kyra found herself wandering around the grounds. She had a few minutes until she was supposed to be at a press conference introducing all of the new signings, so she figured she could start exploring London Colney a bit more. As she passes through the locker room she hears some noise coming from the pitch. The distinctive sound of a boot colliding with a ball lures the Australian outside. The scent of fresh-cut grass and marking paint rushes into Kyra’s nose, bringing a soft smile to her face. Another ball gets kicked on the other side of the field. Turning her head, the midfielder is met with the sight of the prettiest woman she’s ever laid eyes on. She watched in awe at how your muscles flexed each time you struck the ball, her breath catching in her throat when you turn around. Your beautifully Y/E/C eyes glimmering, the sun hitting them just right. 

“Oh, sorry. I thought the field was open.” You mutter quietly, your face heating up slightly. 

“Uhm, it’s alright. I’m not here to play or anything. I mean-uh, well actually I am here to play, but not right now. At least I don’t think rig-” Kyra stumbles through her sentences until your giggle cuts her off. She blushes at the sound.

“No, I get what you mean,” you both stand there awkwardly, shifting your weight from foot to foot nervously, “Well, I should probably get going.”

“Wait! Uhh, I mean you sound Australian, you are right?” Kyra asks, desperate to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, yeah I am. I’m from Geraldton, you?” Your voice is quiet, but Kyra is already in love with it. 

“Herston, have you ever been?” 

“Yeah, I mean I’ve been to Brisbane, it’s nice.” The conversation comes to a awkward lull, Kyra can see how nervous you are. 

“I’m Kyra by the way.”  She extends her hand out to you. Glancing at it, you smile softly and take it.

“I know, Caitlin and Steph never shut up about you. I’m Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“You’re the Y/N Y/L/N? Holy shit, Caitlin and Steph never shut up about you.” A small blush forms on your cheeks. Kyra swoons at how flustered you look. She takes another second to admire everything about you. Just as she went to speak again a voice from behind her called out, telling her the press conference was about to start. “I’m really sorry, I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.” With one last smile, Kyra begins to back up and then turns and jogs to the man waiting for her. Tentatively, you touch your cheeks where the blush was still, very prominently, there. 

2 months ago

You watch from afar as Kyra, Caitlin, and Steph swing around from the bars singing along to Strawberry Kisses. A smile appears on your face when Kyra lets out a loud, silly laugh. 

A voice startles you out of your love-possesed trance, “You know, you’re really not subtle, like, at all.” 

“Shut up, Beth.” The England national smirks and for the next fifteen minutes proceeds to tease you about your developing crush on the new signing. 

“Okay, Beth, I think she gets it.” Your saviour, Viv, intervenes after her girlfriend makes a kissy face aimed towards you and Kyra. Beth groans and mumbles something about Viv not being any fun. Viv lets you go back to watching Kyra workout/goof around for a few moments before throwing her two cents in,

“You like her? Like, like like her?”

You sigh, “I don’t know yet. Would it be terrible if I did?” 

Viv shakes her head with a small chuckle, “Would it be terrible if you found someone you really liked and someone who is genuinely a good person? No, it’s not that bad.” You roll your eyes. 

“It feels pretty terrible. But, I guess it’s not too bad, especially since she’s never gonna like me back.” The older woman gives you a look, one that screams “you’ve got to be joking right now”. You and Viv had a certain connection to each other. Both of you were introverts on a team full of extroverts, so it was nice to have someone who didn’t mind just sitting in peace and quiet without any of the pressure of having to be “on”. 

“If Kyra liking you back is so crazy, then why is she staring at you right now with literal heart eyes?” Your head whips forward to find Kyra already looking at you. A blush was already creeping up your neck and you hadn’t even held eye contact for more than two seconds. 

Kyra is watching you carefully when your head turns to look at her. Her heart flutters when your cheeks tint red. A sense of pride swells in her chest at being able to make you blush.

“You two make me sick,” Caitlin says from behind Kyra. Steph is quick to shush the younger Aussie,

“They’re just in love, Cait. You can’t stop young love,” she says an annoying smirk tugging at her lips. Kyra rolls her eyes at her national teammates antics. 

“We are not in love. She definitely doesn’t like me, mate.”

“Sure,” Caitlin drawls out, seemingly unconvinced. 

“She doesn’t. I’m like 1000% sure.”

“Then why does she blush everytime you look at her, smile at her, or laugh?” Steph says, amused.

“Wh-What? No, she doesn’t. I think I’d notice.” The two older Aussies share a look, then they grab Kyra’s head and force it to look at you. Your eyes widen when you and Kyra make eye contact, heat already rushing up to your cheeks. She gives you a warm smile which does nothing to help your burning cheeks. Deciding that you’ve had enough biking for today, you step off the bike extremely ungracefully, bumping into everything and everyone. Kyra giggles from across the gym, her Australian friends rolling their eyes. 

“See? You two are so in love,” Steph tries to convince the younger girl. A frown replaces the small smile on Kyra’s face when you leave the gym,

“Whatever. You guys suck.”

2 weeks ago

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” Tony Gustavsson’s calm voice brings you back to reality. 

“Oh, uh, yes sir. I mean, yes coach. Thank you so, so much, I won’t let you down, I promise.” Your voice is shaky and weak. Someone’s warm hand covers yours, lifting your head up, your met with Kyra grinning from ear-to-ear. Returning her smile, you say your goodbyes to Tony and place the phone down carefully on the kitchen counter.

 You were, once again, at Kyra’s apartment. The two of you had grown closer over the past few months, unknowingly both of you had swallowed down your feelings for each other, convinced the other didn’t feel the same. It was driving the rest of the team crazy, and it was about to get worse. Finally, you had gotten your first call-up to the national team.

You and Kyra had been cozied up on her couch, watching a Christmas movie (because it’s never too early to start is it?) when your phone had began to ring. Of course, Kyra had already received her call a few days ago. It was hardly surprising, after the World Cup and with her recent performances for Arsenal she was an obvious choice for the last two friendlies of 2023. You, on the other hand, had long given up your dream of playing for the national team. Being a little bit older than Kyra and a lot more injury prone, your caps for the Matildas stood at a resounding, zero. You had never even been to a camp. So, last year when Tony never so much as gave you a call, you put your Matildas dreams behind you and focused on your club football.

“Who is it?” Kyra mumbles sleepily, she had been on the verge of falling asleep, it was impossible not to. You were perfectly situated between her legs, your head resting comfortably on her chest. The movie did little to distract her from the scent of your perfume infiltrating the hoodie she was wearing. 

“I don’t know, Ky. It looks like an Australian number.” 

“Wait, I know whose number that is.” She says, now fully awake.

“Who?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to hide her smile, “It’s Tony’s. Like Tony Gustavsson. The head coach of-”

“Yes, I know who Tony Gustavsson is! You don’t think he’s calling to invite me to camp is he?” You exclaim, your nerve levels rising as the phone continues to ring.

“Only one way to find out.” 

Standing up, phone in hand, you take a breath before accepting the call. Kyra sits up on the couch, her hands loosening her grip on your waist. 

“Hello?” Slowly making your way to the kitchen, Kyra only catches your side of the conversation. She takes a seat at the counter watching nervously as you pace back and forth in front of her. You pause. It looks like you’re trying to process everything. “Oh, uh, yes sir. I mean, yes coach. Thank you so, so much, I won’t let you down, I promise.” A full-on grin breaks out onto Kyra’s face, she reaches across the counter and takes a hold of your hand. After hanging up, there is silence in the small apartment for a few seconds. 

“So?” Kyra prompts softly.

“I’m going to play for fucking Australia!” You shout excitedly. You both squeal happily, Kyra rushes over and brings you into a tight hug. 

“Now we’re national teammates as well!” Kyra says into your neck, her heart pounding as you laugh your beautiful laugh.

Over the next few days Kyra helps you pack for camp, telling you all of the basic information you’d need to survive while also filling you in on all of the important bits about the team itself. Who’s friends with who, what not to say to this person, why this person acts like this. She was surprisingly helpful. So, when you, Kyra, Caitlin, and Steph boarded the flight to Australia you actually felt pretty prepared. Kyra sat beside you on the flight, chatting your ear off, you didn’t really mind though. It was how your friendship went. Kyra would talk about anything and everything, while you listened carefully, never ignoring her. She found it endearing how you remembered everything she said, sometimes she didn’t even remember herself. 

An few hours into the flight, Steph leans across the aisle asking Kyra if she knew who is supposed to bring them to the hotel when they land. Kyra remembers saying something to you about it so she turns and taps your shoulder. Taking out one of your earbuds, you look at them, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, do you know who’s supposed to be picking us up? I think I said something about it to you,” Kyra asks quietly, so as not to interrupt the other passengers.

“William.” You answer plainly. Kyra nods while Steph watches in shock.

“How in the hell did you know that? You don’t even know who that is.”

“Kyra told me last night, she also told me that she couldn’t wait to ride the ferry to Vancouver Island when we get to Canada.” Kyra blushes. 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” she says, slightly embarrassed. 

“It’s kind of hard not to when it’s all you would take about for ten minutes.” 

Steph has to cover her laugh at Kyra’s mortified face.

“Is that seriously all I talked about last night?” 

“You tend to do that. It’s actually kinda cute.” That last bit slips out before you can stop it. Now, you’re the one blushing. You decide it’s better to look out the window than to keep looking at them. Steph wanted to strangle the both of you. God, you were so oblivious. How could neither of you see that you were head over heels for each other? Whatever, you’d figure it out. Hopefully sooner than later because she had five pounds on you guys getting together before the new year. 

After landing and grabbing your luggage, just as you said, William was there with a car to bring you all to the hotel the team was staying at. Walking into the lobby, cameras point at you four. Kyra and Caitlin grin and wave goofily at them, probably saying something stupid as well. 

Steph smiles and waves happily, “Good to be home, huh?” 

You walk behind them, looking up and waving at the cameras shyly, “Alright?” 

“Hey, Y/N! Wanna do a quick interview with the other first timers?” One of the social media guys asks from behind the phone camera. Kyra stops. You look at her, uncertainty looming in your eyes. 

She nods encouragingly, “Go on. I’ll take your stuff and get your room.” 

“Thanks, Ky. I’ll see you later.” You smile and follow the man heading in the other direction. 

“So that’s the girl you like!” Charli shouts from across the lobby. 

Kyra flinches at the volume of her best friends voice, “Jesus Christ, Charli. Could you be any louder?” 

“Wanna bet?” Kyra shakes her head, not wanting to see how far Charli can take things today. “She’s really pretty, I can see why you like her.” The blonde says in a much more indoor appropriate voice. Kyra just rolls her eyes in response.

After a few good days of training and getting to know everyone, the team was in Canada. Walking onto the ferry with your hoodie drawn tight to you and your toque covering the top of your head, Kyra was bouncing off the walls with excitement and energy. 

“Kyra, for the love of God, please calm down.” Mini says, trying her best to calm the young midfielder down. Her words have no effect, Kyra continues doing laps around everyone. You were walking Sarah Hunter, another player about to earn their first cap, when Kyra gets in front of you and turns backward to talk to you. 

“Hi Y/N! Aren’t you excited about the ferry?” She asks. Her hyperness, you notice, was starting to annoy some of your teammates, specifically Caitlin, who looked on the verge of pushing her Arsenal teammate into the Pacific Ocean. 

“I am, Ky,” you lower your voice so only those close to you can hear, “But how about we tone it down, okay? We have lots of time to be excited, but maybe just chill for a few minutes so they can tell us where to go and what not, how’s that sound?” 

Kyra listens to you, she falls into step with you and speaks a lot softer and calmer. 

Mini stares on in disbelief, “Oh, Kyra is down bad. I mean, she didn’t even listen to me, but as soon as Y/N says something she’s on her best behaviour.” 

Steph shakes her head, “You should see them at Arsenal, it’s unbearable.” 

You and Sarah were in deep conversation about something Kyra couldn’t care less about. She wanted to go explore the ship, but she promised you she’d be on her best behaviour. Kyra is getting antsy and you can tell, she keeps turning her head every time there’s a new sound. You just needed to get wherever the guide wanted you guys to be and then she can do whatever she wants. Just as the team passes the gift shop, Kyra almost bolts. You catch her though, your hand intertwining with hers and securing her at your side. Kyra is taken aback by your actions and blushes profusely. 

In a break in your conversation with Sarah, you lean over and mumble into Kyra’s ear, “I know, Ky. Just hold still for a little longer, okay?” Kyra nods and presses a small kiss to the top of your head. You almost die of a heart attack right there and then. Blushing, you squeeze her hand and get back into your conversation with Sarah. 

“Holy shit, Kyra needs to man the fuck up and ask her out already,” Charli groans a few meters from behind you. Mini scolds her for her language, but silently agrees with her. 

“Fuck me,” You mutter under your breath as Canada scores, again. Surprisingly, Tony had given you and a bunch of other players their first caps. Unsurprisingly, Canada had been dominating the entire match. You were exhausted from having to run up and down the pitch for all ninety minutes. It seemed like you were the only player who wanted to attack, or defend, or do anything at all. You definitely weren’t blaming the other Matildas on the field with you, for most of them it was their first time in their nations jersey as well. You guys were also facing a team determined to get revenge and send off their hero in the right way, so that was not helping at all. What also wasn’t helping was that there was maybe five minutes left in the match, so both teams kind of switched off. No one really cared about this blowout anymore. 

Kyra was chewing on her nails as she watched another through ball to you get overhit and land straight at a Canadian defenders’ feet. She watched as you began your recovery run, eyes tracking the ball carefully. When Quinn tried to thread a ball to Prince you timed your slide tackle perfectly and intercepted the ball. The bench stood up clapping and shouting encouragement to you. Keeping the ball close to your feet, you stood back up and began dribbling into space. The defense were dropping off, determined to keep a clean sheet. Your eyes scanned the field hoping to find anyone making a run. Unfortunately, your teammates seemed gassed. So, you started to pick up your speed with the ball. Skillfully, you dribbled around Fleming and Grosso, picking your head up once again to find Tameka making a run on the weak side of the pitch. You hit the ball, aiming to lead her into the miles of green grass in front of her. She controls the ball in stride and continues driving down the wide right channel. Continuing your run, you jog up to the top of the box hoping to put any rebounds back into the box. Tameka sends a cross into the box, it heads towards the penalty spot, multiple players jump up for it. Ultimately, Gilles gets most of it and clears it out to the top of the box. Right where you are. Kyra stands up. You watch as the ball arcs in the air and starts to drop towards you. It’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. You plant your left foot into the grass, the ball drops and drops and drops. Pulling your right foot back, you wait for it to just drop a little bit more. Now. Straightening your leg, you watch your foot connect with the ball. The ball surges forward while your boot recoils from the impact. Your eyes track the ball as it soars through the air, it slips past the outstretched foot of Buchanan, Amy Sayer jumps out of the way. The goalkeeper tries her best, but it’s useless, the net ripples as the ball buries itself into the top left corner. Screaming is all you hear, you’re frozen in your spot. Suddenly, Mary is in your arms and the rest of the team is hugging you and screaming at you. 

“What a fucking legend!”

“Banger! Absoloute banger!”

“Mate, you’re actually insane.”

“First goal for the Matildas, bitches!”

Tears are welling up in your eyes as you set Mary down. Holy shit. You’ve always dreamed of scoring for the Matildas, all of a sudden that dream was a reality. Mary tugs on your hand and pulls you over to where the subs are screaming and jumping up and down. You laugh. Caitlin and Steph are the first ones to you, yelling at you that you’re a baller or something like that. After they let you go, Kyra is waiting for you. She’s got that blinding smile that you’ve always loved. She pulls you into a hug.

“I’m so, so proud of you, Y/N/N.” Her hands run gently through your hair, you sink into the hug, letting out a sigh.

“Thanks Kyra, for everything. Um, I should go though the ref looks mad.” She nods and relinquishes her hold on you. Jogging back into place, you breath deeply. Finally. You had finally done it. You were a fucking Matilda.

Present Day

The team had gathered for their annual Secret Santa party. This year, it was held at Viv and Beth’s house. All the players were crammed inside the living room, a lot of food had been consumed along with a lot of laughs being laughed. There had been a Christmas movie marathon (2 movies) where you and Kyra had found a nice spot on the couch for the two of you. There had also been a small potluck, everyone brining a small dish to share with the team. Now, it was time for the gift exchange. A few weeks ago, there had been a very formal name-drawing process. There were blindfolds and everything, you were actually kind of impressed at how serious the team took it. You had drawn Frida’s name which you didn’t really mind. You got along with her well, and you were both pretty chill so it was easy to hang out with her. Her girlfriend had helped you track down some Norwegian sweets that you know she loved, you also threw in an adorable polar bear stuffy you found at a cute gift shop in downtown, London. 

Everyone was going in a circle, unwrapping their presents and guessing who their Secret Santa was. So far, there had been some really sweet gifts and some really funny ones. Such as Katie giving Leah a toy keyboard, one that was really meant for two year olds. Katie defended herself saying, “It was appropriate for Leah’s skill level.”

Soon enough, it was your turn. You searched the small tree sitting in the living room for a gift with your name on it. Finding it, you carefully picked it up and sat back in your spot between Kyra’s legs. All eyes were on you as you gently unwrapped the gift, not wanting to be rude and just tear apart the wrapping paper. A gasp escapes your lips, hand flying to your mouth in shock. Everyone asks you what it is. You take it out of its case and hold it up for the team to see. Gasps similar to yours fill the room. A diamond necklace with your first name initial as a pendant hung from your fingers. It must have cost at least £100. You look around the room desperately, looking to thank the giftgiver endlessly. Multiple people shake their heads. Finally, you look behind you, Kyra didn’t meet even try to meet your eyes. Her cheeks were burning red, her hand rubbing her neck nervously. 

“Uh, do you like it?” You could hear the nerves in her voice. You were still a little shocked from the gift, so you stand up abruptly and grab her hand leading her towards the bathroom. 

Slamming the door shut, you whip around to look at your fellow Aussie, “What the hell? Are you insane?” Kyra flinches slightly at your tone.

“Do you not like it? Because I can return it and get you something else,” her voice was unsure. 

“Wha-? Of course I like it! I love it, I love you! But, Kyra this had to have cost a shiton, I can’t accept this as a gift.” You say forcefully, still not realizing what you had said. Kyra had heard it though.

“Wait, did you just say you love me?”

You freeze. Well, you had said that. Not on purpose, though. But, it’s not like it’s not true. Kyra tentatively reaches out and takes your hand in hers, 

“Y/N?”

WIthout even thinking you crash your lips into hers. She gasps, but eventually melts into the kiss, your lips working against each others perfectly. Her hands found their way to your hips, gripping them tightly. Your hands wrapped behind her neck at first before moving into her hair. As you tug on her hair she lets out a soft moan, giving you access to her mouth. Slipping your tongue inside of her mouth, she gently pushes you against the bathroom wall. A soft gasp at the cold tile lets Kyra detach her lips from yours and begin working her way down your neck. She presses wet kiss after wet kiss onto your exposed skin. Finally finding your weak spot, you moan her name quietly. Her perfume, her mouth on your neck, everything about her was overwhelming your senses. 

“Ky…Ky we have to stop, someone could hear us,” you moan out softly as she places more kisses on your collarbone.

“Mmm, maybe. Or we could just keep going?” She smirks playfully at you. Fuck, her smirk did things to you that you weren’t exactly proud of. Rolling your eyes, you pushed her off of you.

“They’re probably waiting for us to continue the Secret Santa. We shouldn’t keep them.”

Kyra groans and drops her head onto your chest. You laugh, and run your fingers through her hair soothingly. 

“Umm, I really like you, you know?” Her voice is muffled against you, but you heard her loud and clear.

“Oh really? I had no idea,” you say sarcastically. She slaps your chest in response. 

“Shut up, asshole.” Another laugh rumbles through your chest. 

“Sorry, sorry. I really like you too, Kyra.” She smiles lazily and leans in for another kiss. 

“Y’know, everytime I saw you I was, like, gay-panicking,” she confesses with a embarrassed smile.

“Awww, were you gay-panicking? That’s adorable.”

“Asshole.”

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[aliaology]

NOW THAT WE DONT TALK

summary: after a years worth of production, she finally releases her single for an upcoming album! pt.1

series masterlist

ynusername

liked by user45, gracieabrams and 183,287 others.

ynusername hi everyone, its been awhile! i took a break and during this break i worked on something i didnt think i could do, write music. i put my heart, tears, sweat and blood into making my new upcoming album, so just for you, im releasing one of the songs now. out now, on all platforms, ‘now that we don’t talk’ can be streamed. small thanks to my brother and my best friends (auston n gracie) who helped me with these songs and overall helping me through my hardships. love u lots.

comments

user this is already so good wtf

user okay but who is this about???

user its totally about trevor zegras right?? like their friendship ended on such bad terms so it must be him!!!

user why dont we just leave the trevor yn situation alone…

marner_93 love u sis, even tho i helped a lot on the song and haven’t gotten my deserved credit ☺️

ynusername erm… love u too!

user she sounds so forced LMAO

ynusername held at gun point lmao

user nah cuz what about jack hughes…

user doubtful

user they dated for like, a few years and hes hella popular, plus her and trevor were friends too

gracieabrams so proud bb 🤍

ynusername 🤍🤍

colecaulfield OKAY LIL MARNER 🔥🔥

ynusername WOOHOO

marner_93 this means you can sing the canadian anthem for the maple leafs 🥹🥹

ynusername yeah id rather not

mapleleafs our favorite marner 🥹🥹

ynusername stop 🥹🥹

marner_93 uh

matthewknies I CALLED MY MOM SHE SAID THAT IT WAS FOR THE BEST 😫😫😫

austonmatthews REMIND MYSELF THE MORE I GAVE YOU’D WANT ME LESS 😖😖😖

user oh my god…

quinnhughes_ 🎶

user ERM WHAT

user with important men who think important thoughts 😵😵😵

user do we think those important men were alex, cole, trevor, and the hughes boys

user their thoughts arent important lmfao

sabrinacarpenter this is art 🤭

ynusername babe you’re art 🤭🤭

user i hope jack knows he FUMBLED

user especially with that new girl…

user babe dont hate on other girls while saying you love yn, because u know she hates that stuff

user UHM? did you not see fiona basically mocking yn on tik tok? shes lucky jack barely uses tik tok fr

user and i hope she releases a second single before the album because babe this is TOO GOOD

user i AGREE!

umichhockey look at our girl go 😻

user erm what

user yn is on the girls hockey team babe

user oh right my b 😔

now that we dont talk!

[damagedcoda6669]

this is stupid

lets talk about this dumb ask for a minute. (leaving them anonymous so they dont get SLAUGHTERED)

ive gotten a handful of comments on my youtube video accusing me of the exact same things, so im gonna use this as an opportunity to teach you HOW NOT TO ACT TOWARDS CREATORS ONLINE. first of all, my financial situation is NONE of your business. i will establish that i pay rent, i have an income, i help synni out financially, but i dont owe you ANY of that information. making an assumption about my private life and then using said assumption to demonize me is exactly the kind of behavior exhibited by the internet growing up which ruined my childhood. you are making an assumption about me and using it to victimize synni and demonize me, two people who you have NEVER MET and in reality you know next to NOTHING about. stop making me out to be the bad guy in every situation, it goes to show that you have learned nothing from my video and are continuing the cycle of birdie hate for no good reason.

second of all, this is fucking ableist. assuming im mooching off of my best friend and being lazy because i happen to be disabled and mentally ill? fuck off. there is no "you need to get your act together" youre not my fucking parent, and also??? i need to get my act together??? you mean stop being disabled??? wtf are you on about??? synni chooses to vent about her financial situation, but i choose to keep that part of my life private. me and synni are in the exact same boat. you know NOTHING about me. for all you know i could be working a 9 to 5 like everybody else, but you never considered that possibility because im disabled. i did say in my video "fuck work" but guess what? people who have jobs also dont like working. synni has expressed the same "fuck work" rhetoric but instead of treating her as manipulative and evil in this situation you make her out to be a victim. we all know why youre talking about me the way that you are.

third of all, its not my fault synni is working 24/7??? its not my fault we're poor??? did you ever consider the economic climate rn??? or think to blame capitalism for making us need to work all of our lives only leaving us with a few hours to ourselves, barely surviving and scraping by? but of course, you dont want a rational answer to why synni and i are suffering financially. the internet always wants somebody to throw under the bus, and it will always be me because you will always see me as a mentally ill dangerous freak. think for yourself, unpack your own ableism. its exhausting.

OKAY BACK 2 NORMAL JACK MODE srry 4 writing a whole bible abt this, i feel VRY strongly abt this. my disabilities have been effecting me so badly ive been considering getting a wheelchair. (dont forget im physically disabled as well!!!) its not FUN 2 not be able 2 do the same things every1 else can (and it certainly isnt fun 2 have 2 explain that 2 ppl who dont care enough 2 understand) but i will never stop advocating 4 myself, becuz i never had any1 2 do that 4 me when i was a kid

[teethondafloor]

Bill Kaulitz x gn!reader ~ Taking off Bill's makeup after a show.

________.✮.________

Year : 2006

Summary --

You and Bill have been best friends for over three years now and are completely inseparable. You two are partners in crime, ready to mock and poke fun at each other any chance you get, and even more ready to comfort each other right after. Tonight, the band happens to have a gig in your hometown, where you and Bill first met. You attend the concert and text Bill after, thrilled by the band's electric performance, when Bill has other plans in mind...

Bill Kaulitz x gn!reader

Cute friends to lovers arc

Warnings --

basic fluff (touching, kissing, etc)

Note --

This took me way too long to write but IM SO EXCITED TO POST IT AA. this is my first tumblr fanfic (I'm sadly a wattpad user) so sorry if it's bad :D

________.✮.________

{{y/n}} : dude! That was awesom! You rocked!

{{BILL}} : I hope. My throat hurts lol. Where r u?

{{y/n}} : headin home. U?

{{BILL}} : WTF no! I want to c u b4 u leave!

{{y/n}} : cope. Where r u??

{{BILL}} : backstage dressing room. I can sneak you in!

{{y/n}} : I will get caught!

{{BILL}} : no! I am comin for u. Where r u?

{{y/n}} : at the exit doors :P.

{{BILL}} : STAY.

{{y/n}} : OK.

________.✮.________

Standing near the exit doors of the venue, I wait for Bill to emerge from his post-show hideaway as I look around the empty room, which just moments ago was overflowing with screaming fans. I gaze up at the dim lights above, now painting the room in a slight yellow wash which my eyes peer at weakly after standing in the dark for almost 3 hours. The air-con is blasted through the room, the cool air brushing up against my bare arms and slapping me in my face momentarily as it passes me and continues lingering around the room.

After spending some time taking in my surroundings, I snap out of my thoughts and feel the hair on my arms rise, reacting to the cool air circling the area. At the other side of the room near the stage, I hear a sudden rummaging sound coming from the corner, casted with a dark shadow. I squint my eyes a little, wondering if it's Bill that's making all the noise. From the loud clanks and banging sounds, I can tell that the person is struggling through their journey. Must be him, I smile to myself. I slide my hands into my front jean pockets, continuously glancing over to the security who are stood by the doors, surprised that they don't hear the ruckus. I look back at the noise, which now grows fainter as I hear soft footsteps tiptoeing into the concert venue.

As I hear this, I notice a tall, dark figure slowly emerging from the dark corner, the black fog lurking behind it. I smile and take my hands out of my pockets, knowing that its Bill from his giant spiky hair sprouting from his head, which is the first thing I see as he steps into the room. He takes a few light steps closer, just enough to keep himself hidden from the security guards scouring around the area. As he comes closer, his face is lit up by the soft lights above us, making the ends of his dark hair glow beneath the light, and revealing his wide smile as he sees me at last. He's so bad at sneaking around, I scoff gently.

Not wanting to be seen by the employees, Bill stays behind the stage and out of their sight. I look up and see as he nods to the ground beneath him, signalling me to walk over to him. My eyes widen and I look over to the security, trying to communicate to Bill that I can't just walk up to him without being stopped. A puzzled look washes over his face and he bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. I point at the watch that's tied to my wrist, knowing that the doors will soon close for the night and I will be kicked out of the building if we don't hurry. Bill looks down at the ground before turning back to me and nodding, determined to get me backstage with him. At once, He runs back into the black void behind him, leaving me alone in the room again. I inch forward a little, wanting to run after him, before I stop myself, trusting that he has a plan.

One of the security guards at the doors notices me when I shuffle forward and calls to me form afar. "Excuse me, we need you to leave right now." Shit, I think. I freeze up for a second as he calls to me, glancing over to the corner for any sign of Bill one last time. Agitated that he fled, I look down at the floor and back at the guard. "Yeah sorry, I thought I lost something." I lie as an excuse for my long stay. Just as I'm about to take my first step towards the exit, all of the lights in the room shut off by the click of a switch, the dark swallowing everything and everyone in the room. All of the sudden, I hear firm and heavy footsteps running towards me from the opposite side of the room. Before I can even put my other foot on the ground, the footsteps are cut off and I feel as someone grabs my hand and pulls me, running back with me latched onto them. As I feel their hand in mine, I instantly know it's Bill, his many bracelets which cover half of his forearm rubbing up against my wrist as we sprint ahead and disappear behind the stage. The security guard is left clueless when the lights shut off, and speaks to the black void, only getting the sound of his own echo in response "...did you find what you were looking for? Excuse me?..."

________.✮.________

With a tight grip on my hand, Bill leads me into a tight alleyway, between the back of the stage and the dressing room which he climbed through before. The space is shielded from any light and trashed with clutter from previous bands performing at the venue. We giggle as we stop before walking through it. "Hey" he says with a smile, huffing from laugher. I can tell he is facing me, even in the complete darkness that surrounds us. "Hey" I say, lightly breathless from the excitement. We both peer through the tight gap, trying to spot an obstacle to look out for from afar, however, the shade absorbs any object inside, turning them invisible. I hear Bill turn to me again, his breath on my forehead. "Follow me, come on!" He giggles as he lifts up our hands which are still in a warm clasp. "Go!" I whisper whilst still laughing, nudging him forward playfully. Bill starts taking long and cautious steps through the alleyway, hesitating a little when he hits any object beneath us. I follow his lead, being cautious myself. I run my hand across the wall as we walk to keep myself balanced. Halfway through the black tunnel, I hear as Bill kicks an object at his feet. Still walking, I bump into his back, causing me to flinch a little. "Dude. what is it?" I whisper to him. I hear Bill rummaging gently through the junk with his feet, clearing a path for us to walk through. He laughs "I don't know, it scared the shit out of me" We both try and hold in our laughter and continue through the gap.

As we reach the end of the alley, a streak of light peers through a crack in the wall, revealing some of the junk that is spread out on the ground around us: Magazines, cigarettes, a white laced bra....I turn my head to the back of Bill's as I speak. "What is this? your sex dungeon?" I say, smiling with sarcasm in my voice. I hear Bill scoff and smile. "If it is, it's definitely not mine." We both giggle quietly. At last, we reach the end and I step back as Bill lets go of my hand and starts messing with the crack in the wall, which to my surprise, turns out to be a secret doorway to the venue's dressing room. He pushes on the heavy object which blocks the doorway, sliding his fingers under it, trying to shuffle it to the side. Seeing him struggle, I step forward and push the object forward to help, successfully forcing it out of the way.

Before stepping into the dressing room, we take a minute to catch our breaths; I lean on the wall next to me, and look at Bill as he pants. We lock eyes and burst into quiet laughter, still a little breathless. "I need to see this stupid fucking room" I say, smiling. I step away from the wall and finally enter the dressing room. The overhead lights gleam, almost blinding me as I step in, forcing me to raise my hand and shield my eyes from them. I look around, never had been backstage of a concert venue before.

A faint smell of cheap makeup and pungent nail polish lingers in the room, the sharp chemical scent burning my nostrils as I inhale it. I admire the lit up mirrors lined up along the wall, covered in stickers left behind by other musicians however long ago. Bill's and his bandmates' belongings are spread across the room, creating a small pile of clothes and bags on a large bean bag, pushed into the corner of the room. "Where are the others?" I say, referring to his bandmates. I turn my head to look back at Bill who steps into the room with his head titled down, before looking around the room himself. "They're at some party right now." He slides his hands into his pockets.

"They went without you?" I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion, knowing Tom would not leave him out like this. "no no...I didn't want to go...I don't even know where it is, and I'm exhausted." He says as he stretches his arms out gently. "Dude!" I exclaim "We could've went there!" I punch him on the shoulder playfully, causing him to shoot his hands up to his face in defence. "You can go! I'm not going" He says with a judgemental look, teasing.

I hover around the room and view the splash of graffiti on one of the walls, seeing the signatures of hundreds of bands and musicians from the past, piled on top of each other into a barely legible scribble. "How did you even find the sex dungeon?" I'm still looking at the wall when he takes off his leather jacket and throws it at me without warning, as he says with a smile "I got bored waiting for Gustav to set up." a look of surprise bursts onto my face as I catch the jacket in my hands, which I then throw onto the pile with the rest of their junk, laughing.

"So, how do you like my dressing room?" He gestures his arms, showcasing the space and waits for my response. "You are really living the life here...I mean damn. "My eyes follow the walls, stopping to observe the space again. I raise my eyebrows. "You can't help but make it a shithole though." I say sarcastically, picking up a pair of boxer shorts I saw hanging from a chair next to me. He gasps and laughs, stepping towards me and snatching his boxers from my hands before throwing them onto the pile in the corner. I snicker when I see his red cheeks, blushing furiously from embarrassment as I infect him with my laughter. "Shut up! They're gonna hear us in here!" He whispers with a smile stretched wide across his face, still blushing. He walks over to me and gently grabs me by my shoulders, shaking me to stop me from laughing. As he holds me, I put my hand up to my mouth, covering it and muffling out the sounds of my giggles. I then push him away playfully, to which he steps back. "Stop touching everything, you're gonna break something." He whispers in a joking tone.

"Especially not your trunks." I huffed from laughter. Bill blinks slowly, visibly annoyed from my teasing. "I'm serious though, don't break anything because they'll make you pay for it." I notice how he avoids my eyes and tries to change the subject. "Oh come on...I'm not that clumsy. They should make you guys pay for trashing this room so bad." I smile. He looks down, smiling at my comment, his red cheeks growing fainter.

Bill walks over to the vanity across from us, cluttered with his makeup and endless hair products. He sits down, adjusts himself on the chair slightly and looks into the mirror, which reveals a tired face, caked in makeup and hairspray, looking back at him. I walk over to him and sit on the counter next to the mirror, kicking my feet which hang from the tall surface. I take a moment to look at him, as the vanity's warm lights glimmer in his eyes.

"The concert was unreal." I say, breaking the thin silence between us. "I'm glad you came back to play here. You're everything anyone talks about round here since you got so famous." I look over to him, rubbing my arm that is propping me up on the table. I feel a little bitter-sweet about Bill's fame. On one hand I am so proud of what him and the boys have accomplished, in like what...a year? It's insane. Though, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss just hanging out. Being able to sit for hours and do nothing together. They always have something to do now, with no time to sit in the moment. The guilt of this pools inside me. It makes me feel like a brick wall that's cutting him off on his path. My biggest fear however, is Bill not knowing how to break down this wall, quietly tolerating my burden instead. "Really? I noticed so many people from school there, I really didn't want to fuck up." He says, now looking up at me with his head resting on his palm. "I'm pretty sure I saw Leon all the way at the back, poor guy got pushed out of the crowd." We laugh.

"As much as I like traveling around and playing, this feels better. I can't explain it." He smiles as he begins to stumble over his words. "I don't know, it only feels right to perform here you know?" He looks to me.

"Nah I get you, and we're glad you did." I smile at him and my eyes are suddenly drawn to his eye makeup, now rubbing off on his cheeks after every blink. "What?" He says and quickly turns to the mirror, now seeing his smudged eyeshadow. His eyes widen in shock, seeing how messy he looks after a show. "Dude, you look insane." I burst out laughing, placing my hand over my mouth as I holler. "Shut up!" He groans, laughing with me "I'm too tired for this".

I control my laughter and wait a moment before nudging one of the chairs at the vanity with my leg, sliding it closer to Bill. I hop onto it, now directly facing him. "Come here." I say. He turns away from the mirror as I grab a dry cotton pad from a pack on his desk and drip some makeup remover onto it, watching it absorb the chemicals. He inches towards me, pushing his hair away from his face to help me, and closing his eyes slowly as the cotton pad touches his cheek, working away at his pale foundation. We sit in silence for a few seconds, enjoying each others company while I scrub at the cosmetics, washing away the excitement and fatigue of the long night that has soaked into it. "Did you really want to go to that party? We could still go if you're desperate." Bill says quietly, breaking the silence.

"Nah..." I whisper "I'd rather be here with you." when my hand grazes over his face, I feel a thin smile spread across his cheeks when he hears my words. He peers at me with his eyes half shut and backs away a little. "Look at you being all sappy..." he smiles.

"Shut up and give me your face." I say, taking a hold of his jaw and pulling his face closer to my reach. He lets out a short exhale, charmed by my boldness. I run the cotton pad across his face, quickly rubbing it over his lips playfully. He smiles again now with his teeth. "That was so on purpose..." He says with his eyes still sealed shut. "What?...no.." I say sarcastically.

After dirtying the cotton pad with his foundation, I grab a second one and move up to his shadowed eyes. "Keep your eyes closed...I need to sort all this out." I scoff, laughing as I poke fun at the mess painted on his eyes that has now somehow travelled up to his eyebrows. I take the pad and a wet wipe for good measure, massaging his eyelids. He swallows quietly "I've really missed you" he says out of nowhere. A little stunned, I continue cleaning him. "Me too." My tone suddenly shifts and you can hear a faint sadness in my voice. "I'm sorry I've been going away all the time, I would take you with us if I could..."

"Don't worry about it...I'm always back here if you need me anyway."

"Well I...don't want you only when I need you, I want you everywhere with me." I'm shocked by his sudden sentimentality, not really knowing how to respond since our usual way of showing love is by bullying each other until one caves in. "I know I know, that's not what I meant." I reassured him.

"I know, it's cool." he whispers "You know...sometimes I wish we wouldn't have to travel for so long, I've missed this." he pauses "Y/n...what if I stay?" He falls quiet, waiting for me to say something to fill in the silence. I look to him, a subtle face of worry crossing my face as I pull myself together. "Dude, stop." I say "Don't be stupid, this is...a crazy opportunity. Getting to travel around Europe and sing, that's nuts....don't let me hold you back...please."

"You're not "holding me back" y/n-"

I cut his sentence short "But what if I am? And you're just not realising it?...I don't want to be that." I blurt out.

"What?..." He opens his eyes, takes me by my wrists and holds me, preventing me from moving. His eyes glare at me. "No...don't do that. You're not in my way, do you understand?" His tone turns more agitated, worried that I'm giving myself a hard time because of his absence. A sudden silence falls between us like a transparent wall piling up and separating us, numbing me to his touch. This time, I'm not the wall. "Have you been worrying about this while I've been gone?" he looks to me hoping I'll say no, but already knowing the answer before the words leave his mouth. "Yeah...a little....a lot." I correct myself "You can't blame me though...I don't see you for weeks, sometimes even months. I know that's not your fault, but I'm allowed to be upset." I say, standing my ground.

"I know, it upsets me too." He lets go of my wrists and slides his hands down to mine, gently holding my hands with care. He smiles softly as he holds me, rubbing the top of my right hand with his thumbs, which makes both of us smile. We take time to comfort each other, acknowledging how hard the situation is for the both of us, yet we pull through. "Well you're here now." I sigh "You're stopping here for a while I heard, aren't you?"

"Yeah, we're taking a break here until we tour in the East." He says "And I'm glad I'm spending it with you." His eyes admire me as he speaks. I shift my hand a little, making him let go, and I return to his smeared eye makeup.

"So how's life without me at your hip?" He smiles as I exhale and roll my eyes, teasingly. "Better than ever." I say, with a sarcastic tone, making Bill gasp. "School's ok I guess, it's a teensy bit more bearable than last year at least." I take a short pause "...I won a writer's award two weeks ago..." I hold my breath as I wait for the buckets of Bill's compliments and praise to flood the room when he hears of my accomplishment. His eyes shoot open and his neck tilts forward in awe, his lips apart. "Are you kidding? That's amazing y/n! Why didn't you tell me??" He pushes me lightly on the shoulder.

"You expect way too much of me..." I shake my head and smile.

"I knew you would win! I told youuu..." he makes sure to rub the fact that he believed in me in my face before congratulating me "Well done, I'm really proud of you y/n..." He gazes into my eyes and gently places his hand on my knee. I observe his movements and quickly glance away, smiling. "Ok you can shut up now."

"Never. How can I when I'm being taken care of by a future author! Maybe I'll let you write my biography when you're as famous as me ;)" He teases, knowing I don't know how to handle compliments, yet he never fails to praise me anyway, just so I know. "Ok enough! Fine, I'm... proud of myself too I guess!"

"That's the spirit!" he taps my knee lightly, taking his hand away and resting it back onto the arm of his chair. I smile and shake my head, a little flustered from his admiration which, I hate to admit, I secretly love. "So how's tour so far? Are you eating well?" I ask with nurture in my voice as gratitude for his compliments. "Of course I am...you care way too much." He smiles.

"And you're right." I reply, playfully.

"I love that you care so much...even when you pretend you don't." His voice quietens.

"What does that mean?" I scrunch my eyebrows at his words.

"I don't know...you're just so...thoughtful. You always know what to do and say and-"

"Yeah right." I smile, a little overwhelemed by the flood of compliments. "Thanks though, I really do try my best."

"And that's enough for me." He whispers, his cheeks turning a faint pink. "You make me good...or feel like, at my core, I am good. I love it." without teasing or poking fun at him for once, I let him spill his emotions out onto the table where we both can see . I sit and listen, gently wiping his eyes with care. "It's so hard to leave you here, stuck in this village. It's so hard to not hear you laugh and sing and dance beside me... It's so hard not to love you for all thise things" I feel his tender fingertips brushing against my knee as he talks, slowing my pace. Before I can reply, his other hand shifts to my second knee and he holds it delicately. "Bill..." I whisper, with a little confusion but an unexpected sprinkle of excitement rushing through me. he bites his lip, pondering what to say next and trying hard not to stumble over his words. He opens his eyes and gazes directly into my mine, seeing all of me. He takes my hand. I feel butterflies nibbling on the walls of my stomach, their fluttering wings tickling me as they desperately want to flee and touch and love. In the moment, I don't know if it's wrong to feel so much love and desire for him, this ravenous craving that eats me from inside. I can only do what feels right, and so I let the butterflies feed.

He swallows gently "I want to care for you just like you do...I want to..." His hand raises to my face, holding me and caressing my cheek with his thumb in small circles. My hand laches onto his wrist gently, weak to his tender touch. The room falls silent, the only sound in the room coming from the lights above us, buzzing, humming on one note to our intimate moment. "Can I..." His voice fades out slightly and cracks from nervousness. "Can I kiss you?"

His words ring in my head, bouncing off of my ear drums and into my throat, leaving me speechless. I hold him for a while, our hands sharing each other's warmth through touch. I glance down at his lips that are slightly open, breathing in the little air between us; inhaling the glass wall that not moments ago parted us. With desire and lust, my eyes look back into his, and I nod gently. He takes a second to process this, before cupping my face in the palm of his hands and pulling me closer to him, until the wall turns to paper and our lips are inches away from each other. As I close my eyes, I feel his plush lips on mine, sharing our sweet taste. The butterflies in me settle when we collide, and the walls around us feel as though they are caving in, trapping us in each other's arms. As he holds me, I feel cared for. Safe. Warm.

He kisses me delicately and then again with more passion, before pulling away to let me breathe. As he leans back, his mouth curves into a sweet smile, his lips now stained with my light lipstick. I laugh as I notice his red tinted lips, stained with my evidence. I take his hand again, locking my pointer finger with his. "Looks like I'll have to clean you up again..."

"What a shame..." Bill whispers sarcastically, a wide smile pulling apart his rosy cheeks, now matching his lips.

________.✮.________

Tysm for readingg :)) <3 this was so much fun to write

I'm currently working on a 12 part Bill Kaulitz x fem!reader fic on wattpad and I've published the first part!

teethondafloor on wattpad

Zuźka

[d1s1ntegrated]

new blog! welcome! sorry this is forward, don't mean to overwhelm ya, but.

can you elaborate on the whimpers?????? on the shiggy hcs??????? you've got me interested now.

might as well get you used to having horny asks bwahahaha

omg hai. yes i will elaborate i was gonna do that anyways but TEEHEE ill put it here ! also wtf why is everyone awake rn i wasnt expecting all the activity already

im actually so surprised, thank u guys wtf???

some nsfw shiggy hcs pt1

he's really whiny, he makes the sweetest little noises when you touch him, and he just cant help but get overstimulated fast because of how badly he wants it

literally sounds so pathetic sometimes, moaning and crying out for you to let him fuck you, or fuck him depending on how hes feeling

before u met him he was a virgin (one of my favv hcs tbh). when you two finally went all the way, he tried to pretend he was a hot shot but came as soon as you touched his d1ck. (it was hot tho, kinda boosts the confidence, yknow?)

greedy as fuck. wont stop until he's spent.

really skilled fingers (hes a gamer, duh)

sometimes he takes his gloves off and teases you with his bare hands, he loves seeing you squirm and panic underneath him, but you both know he'd never actually hurt you.

sensitive neck, earlobes, and nipples

pierced nipples (hot af)

100% switch obviously

loves biting ur thighs/ass, and leaves big pretty bruises on your inner thighs before he goes down on you

speaking of, certified munch- he will eat it like hes STARVING because he loves the noises you make and loves seeing you under his thumb like that

still cums really fast sometimes, he gets embarrassed ab its cute as fuck

loves under-the-desk head, bro feels like a god when u suck him off when hes gaming, he doesnt even bother to mute the headset

can you tell i had fun writing this or what

i have severe shig brainrot i love you tenko shimura

[angelskills]

day 3 of asking for skibidi toilet pwop with Toji

a/n: im never doing this im gonna shoot myself WTF IS THIS i dont get why yall expect me to this sort of shit.... anyways here ou go, i need a break from writing serious smut and college.

Skibidi Kaisen

warnings: very very suggestive, slightly nsfw, they do it with a toilet, ntr warning…..

characters; Toji, you, skibidi toilet.

intro: you have been so sex-deprived and you need it.

You and Toji barely get to spend time together. It was a Saturday which meant you both didn't have work. You guys were cuddling on the couch, watching YouTube shorts on Toji's phone. You and Toji thought Skibidi Toilet was cringe but it was secretly growing in you. But, in a different way. You were in bed next to Toji while he was asleep and you were scrolling on Youtube Shorts, looking for recipes for a fun breakfast tomorrow. Until a skibidi toilet video suddenly popped up on your screen. It turned you on for some reason and you could feel the dampness in your panties. With you and Toji, you guys were lacking intimacy. On weekdays and Sundays, you both are out all day working. On Saturdays, you guys just cuddle and chill. You guys haven't fucked in such a long time, you can almost cum from grinding on anything.

You almost felt guilty for your body reacting this way to Skibidi Toilet, Toji was your husband! Why is Skibidi Toilet making you feel this way?

You had to go to the bathroom. Sighing, you got up from the bed, and walked towards the bathroom.

You sat on the toilet, scrolling on your phone still. You were thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow if you even have time. You sigh, thinking about how sex-deprived you are.

Until you felt the water in the toilet splashing around. You got scared and looked back. A man with very short hair and weird-looking eyes. It was Skibidi Toilet. You jumped from the toilet to the floor, your butt still exposed.

He poked his head out of the toilet, looking at you with a seductive grin. He could see your arousal dripping on the floor just as you saw him.

"Oh? Is that how you feel about me?" He smirked, poking his head out even further, stretching his neck to reach down to your face.

"S-skibidi toilet..." You looked to the side, your face turning red.

Toji woke up from all the moaning and whimpering noises from the bathroom and noticed you weren't sleeping next to him. He immediately got up, panicking. Was someone fucking his wife?

He rushed to the bathroom, breaking open the door.

It was Skibidi Toilet, his head placed in between your legs.

Toji was furious. Even mad, irritated, and annoyed. His wife was cheating on him with a fucking toilet.

"Y/N, what the fuck?!" Toji yelled.

Skibidi Toilet looked at him, jumping towards him.

Toji was about to punch him until...

He realized something. Skibidi Toilet was attractive. He had a sharp jawline and hair that suited him perfectly. Toji could feel the bulge in his pants. He gulped as Skibidi Toilet looked up at him seductively. He tried to palm his boner to hide it.

Was he actually getting hard from a fucking toilet? That man was unbelievable.

"What? I can see your bulge. Stop trying to hide it." Skibidi looked up at Toji, stretching his neck to reach up to his face.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head before backing up to leave the bathroom. He turned around.

Then Skibidi Toilet suddenly bit his butt. In a way that sent jolts of pleasure right to his cock. He groaned, taking a deep breathe. His dick got even harder from that

"T-toji?" You asked, noticing he stopped walking.

There's no way. Your eyes widened as Toji turned around, unzipping his pants to release his rock-hard cock.

[chipchopclipclop]

i have finished death mark 2...... thoughts.....

general thoughts is the overall story was.... BAD. LOL.

I'll start with the good. The interactions between Yashiki and alot of the returning cast i really liked, the writing especially in the first few chapters. An example being alot of Yashiki and Daimon's chatter, especially the whole weight of saving lives things that comes back at the end, alot of it was quite sweet and heartwarming similarly between him and other mark bearer characters.

^^^ BEST CG EVARRRRR....

I liked the choice of Hiroo and Mashita being the two that come in when he's at his lowest, their curtness and refusal to take his attitude was really refreshing, felt really like what he needed at the time lol. In that same vein i enjoyed his characterization alot in the early-mid game, and how it develops. He's such a sensitive guy lollll and it comes through well with how much he cares but near the latter chapters it kind of.... sours.

Though there were a few new characters i liked his interactions with, Abe and Maruhashi specifically i found endearing of the new cast, Alot of them just Die. Or theyre Hime and Michiho AKA the bane of my fucking existence with this game.

They are the two pushed front and center and it is truly its worst aspect, as characters they're shallow personality wise and though you could say that about others in the cast, them being in love with Yashiki on top of it makes it so much worse.

They barely have any scenes where they actually properly interact and feel like they bond at all but for some reason im expected to believe they're suddenly in love with him?? -and in the end they were also dead the whole time, and not even themselves. So it wasn't even real, and somehow any of this is meant to hold any weight to the audience...?? explaining it as the ghosts being desperate for him instead doesnt really make it.. any more compelling (lol the scene at the end where hes like maybe they just wanted those beautiful normal school days they spent by me.... when did that happen yashiki)

I understand Yashiki is probably saddened by the deaths of two young girls but they're treated with so much more weight and gravitas than anyone else in the cast and its so unearned, especially when alot of the other ghosts are somehow way more compelling in that aspect.

He also becomes borderline ooc around them like in what world am i expected to believe he emotionally dumps his burdens on the two highschool girls he barely knows because of how sad he is when hes got like how many other people he knows FROM THE OTHER GAMES he could do that with...????? (AND BASICALLY DOES... ALREADY...?) and it lifts his heart like truly wtf was i reading. HE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT.JPG

Chapter six is really where it falls off the cliff with this, after hanging out with Hiroo, Mashita and Yasuoka and solving that case they just dissapear from the narrative for a day so he can......... hang out with michiho...?? i couldn't even enjoy murder yashiki in this game because of how ludicrous it felt that the rest of yashiki's companions just dissapeared to make it happen, and no one calls or anything lmfao. I cant imagine how much more compelled i would have felt if he was dealing with that situation with any of the other three around instead of HIME. LIKE I AM ACTUALLY SO INCENSED ABOUT THIS SCENARIO BEING RUINED SO HARD WHEN IT COULD BE SO GOOD BUT I DIGRESS (RIPPING MY HAIR OUT) (CRYING BC I LOVE BLOOD AND HORROR)

Even the first two games weren't as bad as writing women as this!? EVEN IF I HAD TO SEE MASSIVE TITS ON SCREEN THEY WEREN'T TRYING TO JUMP ON YASHIKI AS WELL AS A CENTRAL PLOT POINT (lol kakuya) congrats exp you have outdone yourself with the misogyny.

To continue on the topic of new characters, it feels like so many of them were given so little screen time to make you actually care about them. For how prominent Abe is he barely actually does anything, and Maruhashi instantly dissapears when shes no longer a red herring. On top of this game basically killing off any other character that appears, its hard to get invested in them as characters at all.

You have no opportunities to actually effect their fate as you do in the other two games, so there's even less attempt to immerse you there. Horikoshi comes the closest behind the other two but its because her case with Hanako was easily the strongest and most resonant of the game (lgbt win). Its not even like this is the first time Yashiki saves the lives of kids and bonds with them after, especially with the caveat of being a teacher, like how did you fuck this premise up so bad.

They either needed to commit to more scenes and writing in general to attach you to the new characters or just not have any returning ones show up so prominently if they're not also going to further interact with them.

The overall mystery suffers for it, and while i like the twist of the doll being helpful in this game actually, it is so easy to guess michiho and hime are the departed, and i already didn't even like them so it doesn't hit at all emotionally. Like, i was not feeling very betrayed or anything lol.

Further critiques -> though running around is very fun, the horror in this game really didn't at all compare to the others with the loss of that first person perspective for alot of the exploration, sad.

I also feel like we got more horny shit than we did in NG which is also like lol one step forwards two steps back. Even the gore wasn't as good............... kind of mid in every regard there. I did like the mushroom and scissor stuff, but the bugs and mold ended up just kind of ..... eh...

Mary continues to be the best antag in these games, she slayed and she continues to keep slaying. The sisters were really kind of a letdown in the end, especially since i think i could have enjoyed it if they pulled them off better.

As for my yaoi cocaine score though thats a 10/10 they made yashiki and mashita meow and hiss like cats in this game for some reason, i genuinely think that shattered my mind a little.

I also can't believe they gave us these two panting in unison asmr as well so you could make your own [REDACTED] if you wanted. The departed getting jealous mashita was standing next to him in that one confrontation too like she's calling him a homewrecker..... lol...... also the part where mashita jokes abt him keeping the gun and if you make yashiki go 'then i will 😇' and him immediately backpedaling like okay i was kidding. give it back. very moe very powerful.

I feel like the entire time mashita was on screen he was basically acting as yashiki's brain to keep him from getting too lost in his emotional attachments, truly everyone needs a bitch wife to keep them sane.

TL:DR this game could be so good (average) if it wasn't so fucking badDDDDDDDDDDDD easily the worst entry in this series...... dont buy it unless its on sale for 4 bucks (this applies to every game) or just watch in on youtube lol.

anyway. beautiful yashiki collection. I CANT BELIEVE MASHITA DIDNT GET A BAD END CG ACTUALLY < / 3 BUT YASHIKI'S IS REALLY GOOD < / 3 SMALL WINS < / 3

[austinsastrology8991]

> NUMEROLOGY THEORY < get mad

This is easily my most controversial post. but if you want to watch me spit in numerology face, then please read away

Alright i love my numerology. But i think its complete bullshit. Ive read so many sites and intepretations but they just say the same shit everytime, but when they explain themselves im like wtf that barely makes sense - for example life path 3 is jupiter, and it means; creativity, communication, inspiration. And i guess it makes enough sense to not question it. but i question everything, and i think we can do better than that >And thats where i come innnnn >>> 1 sun : MERCURY - Mercury is the first planet of our solar system, the sun aint a planet it just bright - all life path 1's dont act sunny at all, they act smart and calculated and they are 'independent' but the concept of the sun is not independent - the sun loves to share - mercury is independent, because to have an opinion requires an independent thought from others perspectives. - 'goal orientated' - so we all just don't care about our goals? bull shit fuck that, sounds like a mercury thing to only care about ur own opinion anyway - the sun likes to share and be the 'star' 1 energy don't it focused (like mercury) 2 moon : VENUS - the moon is not about the other (2 people) moon is technically a selfish energy, its about how you feel (yes people make you feel s type of way, but if you lonely, you gonna feel like shit anyway) venus is more appropriate planet for 2, becasuse 2 people requires diplomacy snd sharing, not the moon, the moon acts as a reflection, but it is not diplomatic, its selfish (but adorable) it takes 2 people to love and thats what venus all about, thasts why 2 should be venus (not 6 i'll get into dat) but this one should be pretty straightforward 3 Jupiter : EARTH - Jupiter is abundance and it could be 3 but theres a better answer for jupiter (coming up) 3 is earth because 3 is the holy trinity, god clearly loves earth the most, so its 3 okay, and everyone likes 3 (apparently) 3 is creative - there is no planet more colourful than earth - 3 is communicstion (everything on earth makes a lot of noise) and its inspiring - everywhere you look theres something inspirational on earth - you cant say that about any other planet - the rest of them just got a surface i guess 4 Uranus : Mars - whoever made up 4 as uranus imma slap the shit outta. 4 is a stable number (4 corners to mske s house) 4 is stability -4 is the emperor in tarot - uranus is nothing like that uranus is a crazy as fuck boiiiiiii. mars is far more appropriate, mars wants something it gets it (like emperor, in tarot) also a square is a 4, and thst mskes sense for mars because he all about conflict and competition. also they practical and sensible, and if your as bold as mars, your dsmn right you better be pracitcal or your gonna look like a fool and mars dont want thst.

5 Mercury : Jupiter - i understand 5 is about adventure and exploring, but its so much more fitting for it to be jupiter than fkn mercury. you see how dumb this shit is now??? look at the bigger picturre yall; numerologists didnt study the planets and it shows. 'change and progress' thats jupiters schtick, well hell its a little uranusy but mercury is a stretch. also everyone likes jupiter snd thsts why he 5 - he in the middle because everyone like him 6 Venus : Saturn - now ik your thinking saturn is karma and karma is infinite so it should be 8. well no your wrong, karma is not infinite. its however much you do you get back > think about how you draw the number 6 - you write a line (you do something) and it comes right back at ya (the cirlce bit). its also the lovers because saturn got a ring and everyone wanna find their special person to put a ring on > also saturn loves you, but he loves smacking you too. just like someone who loves you 7 Neptune : Uranus - ok this one does make some sense... because its about solitude and introspection... but anyway it took god 7 days to make the world - and the creation of the world changed the game you could say (like uranus is about change) - it also makes sense for uranus, because to change the world, you gotta observe it not be apart of it (to understand how it works) but you know what neptune does make sense here, so i get where they coming from

8 saturn : Neptune - wanna know what actually infinite? your spirit, spirituality, GOD IS INFINiTE - not yo karma - jesus fkn christ lawd save us and please forgive me for saying yo name in vain as many times as i do but WAT DA FUCK HAPPENED - Ik its associated with being a boss or a leader but to me its about achieving yo dreams, the real boss is someone like 6 or 4 (saturn - mars) and ik you thkink 6 is about love - but yall got no clue how much strength and fortitude it takes to love and it shows, thsts why saturn slaps you in the face as often as he be do > A leader must be in tune with god or they gonna get cancelled and not be givin leadership (dont forget who in charge you little shit)

9 Mars : Pluto - "embarking on a lifelong quest to quench an insatiable thirst for growth and new experiences" um okay - so how tf is that mars? mars is thirsty, but he dont care about growth he just wants some pussy. BUt pluto... now that makes more sense. Pluto wants the truth no mstter the price, and our life path 9's are on a infinite journey of digging and digging and thats what pluto do. pluto will literally put himself in jail just to see whst it feels like, mars will just fight everything, to attain his goals. pluto willl let you punch him to see how hard you punch. Stay dumb - yes i made this up - just as the old numerologists made it up - you dont have to believe me, thats why i dont believe in you.

I also believe if god is real, why wouldn't it be simple? why not correlate each number (and there only 9 numbers - excluding 0) why would it not be in the order god intended it to be?

[ma3mae]

MAEEE AAAA I NEED PART TWO OD YOUR "NO BRAIN, JUST HORNY" HC AKSJDJDDJ

Make a part two??🥺🫶Maybe Chuuya and Nikolai?

No brain, just horny! 2

Summary: Oh no! Your bf's acting all hot! What to do??? (Chuuya, Akutagawa, Nikolai, Fyodor)

Genre: fluff, crack, bit suggestive 🤓

Warnings: TO HORNY JAIL WITH YALL 💀✋

A/N: ANOONNN WKDJEKHFKS HERE U GO, SWEETIE 🤩🤩🤩 how can yall find rat man hot, idk man 💀 his parts rly short bc I CANT WRITE HIM so see it as a small extra 💀💀 not proofread btw 💀

Part 1

Nakahara Chuuya

😳 yall wanna get railed by this man, huh??

Cant blame u tho 💀😭 😭

honestly i think his reaction would prob depend on his mood, lowkey like rampo

Just that his reaction would be a bit more intense EHEH

idk if hes kinda busy at the moment and annoyed bc work is being a hoe, hed prob be all impatient like "Damn, doll. Im barely holding myself back as well so just wait a bit, will ya?"

As much as hed love to indulge u immediately, he still values his work yk 😔😔😔

ok yk what would be funny tho? Like he told u he'd be having a meeting at his work place and honestly, its not hard enough to know where it is bc its like legit one of the highest buildings (idk maybe even the highest???) in yokohama lmaoo

And you've been waiting for him to come back home after two weeks but noooo, he has to report everything to his boss 🤓🤓🤓🤓

so you're like "alright, im horny and been waiting for too long."Guess where we're going yall 😋😋😋😋???

TO HELL

Jk nah but we makin our way over there and lets just say they only know u as "the love of his life who def shouldnt be messed with if they wanna live" bc he'd go haywire AS HE SHOULD if anything happened to u 💀

Anyway we know when the meeting's being held so oopsie, we "accidentally" manage to find him in the hallway with some of his colleagues

"Oi, isn't that your girlfriend over there, Boss??" not only tachihara but everyone's confused on why u r even there??

Chuuya just whips his head around and doesnt know if he should just yeet himself outta the building or be happy to see you bc

YES

YES HE DID MISS YOU BUT WHY ARE YOU THEREEEE??💀💀💀💀💀💀😭😨

its especially bad if our boy still hasn't told you what hes actually doing bc no way in hell wants he to drag u into that shi 💀

Anyway you're just too excited so u ignore his to tomato face with a twitching eyebrow and you start to jog towards him but damn tf is that???

OF COURSE theres a bump sticking outta the carpet SMH SUE THE CLEANING STAFF😋

And obviously we all know whos gonna trip on that

But as embarassed as he is, your future hubby will make sure that you won't end up on the floor 💕💕

all you feel is a slight gust of wind and you can only open your eyes to see his gorgeous ones

"Don't just fall for me every time you see me, doll." LMAO thats so corny and he actually gets even more red when he realises wtf he just spouted out of his mouth but he couldnt help it 😭

Especially when hes holding you bridal style in his arms and you can feel him subconciously squeeze you tighter against him bc he missed his wifey

and we are just too whipped to stop ourselves from saying "Chuu chuu, i just couldnt wait anymore. Can we move this to our place? I'll be anything you want, even just a hole for you, mkay?"

HAHAHAHA WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS 💀

thats the EXACT question that goes through his mind as he just stares at you like 😳

But he cant deny that it made him feel hot, even down there a bit...

"Come in when you're done, Chuuya." is all you hear from HIS fking boss as he just sends the both of you a smile as he enters the room before closing the door

Help our man, hes so TORN

All he can do is take a deep breath, trying to stop his face from heating up bc its already hot enough as it is

He'll gently set you down but still keeps a secure grip around your waist with one arm

His gloved hand tilts your face slightly up and all you see is a sea of blue

Letting his gloved thumb slowly glide on your bottom lip

"You really like teasing me. Dont'cha sweetheart? Just give me 15 minutes and then we'll be at home. Honestly might scold you for your little stunt but it's not like you don't like that, right? But I gotta say...."

cherry sweet lips lock onto yours for what seems like only a second before feeling them on your forehead

"I did miss you pretty much...and I'll make it up to you. Thanks for your patience, love."

now YOU'RE the one who's face is about to explode and that annoying ass smirk of his isnt even helping u but oh well

He should be lucky that you're so in love with him and that his handsome looks always manage to hold you back from yelling at him out of embarassement 💀😳

He gives you a peck on the lips before giving you on last squeeze

"Only a little bit longer, okay? Will give you a proper kiss when we're at home."

He makes his way back but stops "Also I love you but please... wait at home next time. No need for anyone to see your cute ass here. Only mine to look at, yk.." the last part kinda gets muffled under his breath as he tilts his fedora down to hide his heated face but welp, ofc u heard everything 😋

Anyway, you let him go to his meeting with a wave with ur hand bc he did promise to make it up to you and your body would be tingling with excitement until yall get back home for yk what 😋😋😋💅

Akutagawa Ryunnosuke

ngl he'd make a similar expression to this pic here 💀 like hes fking constipated or smth

Give my man some time pls bc its his first relationship and he needs some minute to get it through his head that you feel sexually attracted enough to him to yearn for him, broo

"Can't you just... wait until we get home? Why now?" SKKSKS you think he sounds so pissed but hes just so confused 💀😭😭

lmao just came up with a ridiculous scenario

idk some random wannabe gang is stirring up some trouble in yokohama

And how do u resolve this problem as fast as u can?

By sending one of ur best men there who legit just slices them all in mere secs 😋

but wait whats that?

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

You just stare wide eyed at your boyfriend as he stands there infront of the mall, choking the living shit out of what seems to be some weird thug

"Ryu, what are you doing here?"

He just clicks his tounge out of annoyance and casually tosses the man to the side as he makes his way towards you

Stopping infront of you, you only see his furrowed eyebrows and the annoyed look on his face

But if you look closely, you'll see a glimpse of worry in them💕

"I could ask you the same thing. Didn't I telll you to stay at home? And specifically to not enter this area?"

You can only sheepishly laugh at his words and the huff at your answer wasnt that helpful

"Well, the mall here had your favorite tea on sale and I really wanted to surprise you with it!"

He just puts a hand on his face as you peek over his shoulder, only seeing whips and bits of rashomon dealing with the thugs while you boyfriend seems somehow unbothered by their presence, hell he was legit not even aknowledging them at this point 💀

"Let me just finish this real quick and then I'll take you home."

"But I still have t-"

A glare from him immediately zipped your mouth shut, deeming it unnecessary to argue with him any further since he could be very very stubborn

"Just stay behind me and wait."

If you had to be honest, watching your bf just casually beat the shit out of 20 or more men without even breaking a sweat made you feel really hot

He might be stoic, blunt or whatever everyone would call him but at the end of the day, he'd make sure you're well protected and cared for, even if it would take some nudges from you to guide him

He was a fast learner after all in every aspect of your relationship

And it wasn't until he poked your forehead that you snapped out of your trance, your face beet red and only for him to raise an eyebrow at you

"Don't tell me you got sick from just being outside for a bit? I really don't know how someone frail like you had managed to live for so long."

Harsh words yet the gentle press of his hand against your forehead was telling a different story

"Hm, you aren't heating up that much. But I'll still be taking you home."

"Can you stay with me then? Because honestly, watching that fight somehow made me really horny."

🤨 > 😳

"Are you kidding me? How does watching me beat the shit out of some random wannabe thugs make you horny?"

You can only groan at his answer but couldn't keep the smirk on your lips from growing as you noticed the red hue on his cheeks

"It's just hot to see how easy it was for you to just casually fend of all of them. Not to mention, that it's always nice to have a reminder what a strong and reliable lover I have. I'm just really lucky, I guess"

Ah, you smart vixen.

Always using his praise kink for your advantage and oh boy, he knows

But he just can't help his rising pulse at what your words just do to him

"W-Why-? Y-You-???"

Suddenly he grabbing your hand, he turns his body away from you, only his back in your sight as he continues to walk

"Ryu, are we walking ba-"

"Told you I'm taking you home. Someone has to make sure nothing happens to you since you probably wouldn't even know how to defend yourself."

"Aah, I see. Well I'll be sure to thank you properly when we're at home." 😋🤩

A hitched breath and his grip tightening around your hand really made it difficult not to laugh at him

Well, atleast it was nice knowing that you weren't the only one eager to get home asap 💀💀

At the end, you thanked him as promised and he made sure to make you feel safe as always

"Oh, thank you for the tea... I guess.." he'd mumble in your ear as he pressed your back against his chest, his arms tucked comfortably around you. 🤭

Nikolai Gogol

erm 😨 how about no?

Do u not value life?

Jk but his goofy ass would NEVER let u rest if u even show him a tiny bit on how horny you are 💀💀💀💀

bro's like "ew human desires, they only bind u" lowkey (not as hard as fyodor but yk what i mean)

but hes sadly down bad for his future or maybe already wifey so 😉 how could he 😉 say no 😉

like idk lets say for whatever reason u r also part of their rat gang 💀 and its honestly a big headache to endure his weird and annoying antics every day

But thats what made u fall in love bc u have bad taste 😋😋😋 same tho

is prob gonna tease u about that too like "Oh, Y/N~ So many men out there and yet you still chose me?? Either you're just very desperate or you just don't care at all! But don't worry, I'm more than happy to be the one who's on your mind all day 🤩🤩🤩" he says as he's casually bombing a whole building and kills hundreds of people 🤩

Thats for sure gonna be blowing ur mind for weeks 💀 IM SORRY

throw him into a trash can or smth 💀 jkjk maybe im not 💀💀

anyway back to the scenario 💀

lets say hes as always acting like the 🤡 he is and disrupting everyone's life by being plain annoying

Ok so fyodor threatened to kill him for the 100th time? Check.

Sigma's crying in his office bc he just escaped random pairs of scissors flying at him for the whole day? Check. someone has to cut that atrocious hair away, okur💀💀💀

Getting hit by gf after randomingly stealing kisses from her?

Che-

"But why won't you let me kiss you, Y/N????"

Dodging his attempts for what would seem the 30th time for the day, you hastily continued to make your way to Sigma, a box of self made cookies in your hand.

"You've been harassing everyone for the entire day as always! And don't get me started on what you tried to do to Sigma!"

You could only hear a whine as fast footsteps tried to outrun yours, you wanting nothing but wanting to somehow lift Sigma's spirits up since no one else would make their time to comfort him after the inhuman pranks your boyfriend couldn't refrain from doing

"But he's just so funny, you know! How could anyone resist not teasing him all day?!"

"Teasing doesn't mean endangering his life! Only because YOU don't like his hair!"

"Hmm, but won't you atleast give me one kiss before you go?"

"nope, never. Bye!"

Aah, you really shouldn't have challenged him 😨

"Well, then I guess you won't be needing that then!"

"Huh?"

A

"NIKOLAI GOGOL?! GIVE ME THE FUCKING BOX BACK!!" only hearing maniacal cackling quickly distancing itself from you, as he ran away with the box in his hand

Ah, he really was blessed with the perfect ability for him

Too stubborn and annoyed to realise his intentions, you quickly followed him, the urge of wanting to punch him pulling you towards him like a magnet

"A chase is what he wants? Okay, he'll get it." 😋😋

Knowing immediately that he made it too easy for the both of you as he nonchalantly laid on your shared bed, crumbs on his cheeks as he enjoyed your cookies, his mask casually laying next to him.

"You are more than an annoying child, you know that?"

"Yep but I don't care! Also how dare you only make cookies for your friend when you've got such a loving partner like me!"

A groan slipped out of you as you walkes over to him, earning yourself a "HEY?!" as you snatched the box away from him

"If you wanted some, you could have just asked like a normal person. I wouldn't have minded sharing some and Sigma probably not."

"Ugh, like a normal person? You know that's just boring~ buuuut if you really want me to then-"

You felt a pull at your wrist, making your chest hitting his as you landed on top of him, affectively stradling him

Both of your hands at the side of his head as you tried to lift yourself up, yet the arm around your waist stopping you, your faces only mere inches away from each other

A smirk splayed on his face as he wiped the crumbs away from his lips with his gloved thumb

Pressing it softly against your lips, the movement ingrained in your body as you opened them without any protest

a low chuckle at your cute actions as you licked the crumbs of his thumb before releasing it with a soft 'pop'

"Is that normal enough for you, my dove?"

Not letting the heat on your face and body stop you from throwing remarks at him, you merely stated "That wasn't asking, just plain seduction at this point."

Letting his eyes trail over your body and the hands next to him, tightly clutching the sheets only spurred him further on.

"Well, I've got your attention now, right?"

"You're lucky that I love you."

"Isn't it good to know we're both obesessed, dearie?"

A whine left his lips as you tucked at his hair at that statement, grazing your teeth across his neck before harshly biting on it.

"Well, then end what you've started then."

"Gladly."

Getting hit by Y/N after randomingly stealing kisses from them? Hair pulled, make out sessions and more after annoying them? Double Check.

Fyodor Dostojevski

💀 im dead, you're dead, we're all DEAD

ok jk he wouldnt kill u bc even if he wont admit it immediately, he loves u 😋

but why would u feed his annoying god complex like that 😨😨

but guess what 😋 youve always had bad taste so why not be together with a terrorist 🤩

Ur only dates would be either sitting in his stinky room full of computers as hes been sitting there for days and you're chilling on his lap

or yall actually go outside to ruin someone's life 💅

and honestly, what better way to confirm that humans r horrible af when he sees you get turned on by his horrid acts 💀💀💀

"I just took a life infront of your very eyes and all you say is how hot that is? Well, aren't you ruined to the point of return? But that's what makes you so interesting, I guess."

UGHH IDK HOW YALL CAN LOVE HIM 💀💀💀

i think it would be rly difficult to actually turn him on as well at first

Or catch him off guard tbh bc all you'd get is a condescending smirk of him just teasing you

He'll prob also just call u out about how horny you are but its ok bc he loves having that effect on you 🤩

"Is it seeing someone's eyes lose their light? Killing the gifted because the world would be purer without them? Tying them up and choking the life out of them? Or is it because I am the one doing these acts? Planning it all out, only for you to witness it? How about I'd do it to you, hmm?"I FEEL ITCHY AFTER WRITING THAT 💀

tbh it depends how "horny" u r tbh bc he'd prob make you beg for it first by just telling u off n stuff until you cant take ir anymore

Like if you want him then SHOW him how much you want him 🤩

he prob has not that much of a stamina but he'd make up for it with technique what am i writing rn😭😭😭😭

anyway you'd def be satisfied but he'd prob make you work for it first before tending to ur "needs"

im crying i hate this

😭

A/N: DAMN already hit 400 followers?? thinking of maybe doing smth for that, idk what tho. Got too many ideas 💀 and lmao sorry for the radio silence 💀 writers block and life, we love it.

[kakujis]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓… ☽

geto vers | baji vers

synopsis: when your husband and best friend are targeted by a hitman, the aftermath leaves you in shock. but suguru has always instilled one line into you: forever has no meaning unless you're in it.

warnings: gn!reader, vampire!suguru, vampire!choso, vampire!satoru, hitman!toji, character death ( + resurrection), depictions of blood and violence, almost blind devotion, a bit angsty but also fluffy.. but also not really? idk what to tag this as LOL, canon divergent (gojo n geto are attacked much later in life), you have no clue they’re sorcerers 👍, swearing, sfw, if choso is ooc im so sorry idk barely anything about/cldnt get a read on his character from one episode djknj

ft + wc: vampire!suguru x reader, 3.2k

tags: @enchantedforest-network, @em1e (u guys should totally read em's necromancy fic btw)

a/n: hi! idk wtf this is, this is just how i deal with chara death i think? this idea came to me when i realized i was writing two fics about dealing with grief (baji fans are u here ?) and wrote nearly 2k for both in one sitting haha. anyways, i feel like atp i'm edda from ffxiv coded except suguru is 1000x better than avere. if you'd like to listen to her theme, it's here. thank u to wallaby for proofreading!

there is something about the morning light, filtered through the white blinds that you’ve forgotten so many times to replace, that feels just like a hug. it’s this light that kisses your eyelids and pulls you out of bed faster than your mother on a school morning. 

you’ll yawn, then stretch, pulling your arms up and over your head arching your back as you do. then you’ll get up, set up a pot of coffee before heading off to brush your teeth and wash your face. and you’ll pretend that you don’t see the eyes, red and shimmering, from the shadows in your closet.  

“go to bed suguru,” you sigh, before lightly pressing onto your puncture marks, hissing when they’re still tender. “it’s morning.” 

“i could fix that… if you’d let me.” he responds, the hinges of your door creaking ever so slightly before you gasp and rush to close them before the light bleeds in. 

“don’t!” you snap, hand trembling, “don’t… you dare.” 

you crouch down, before slotting your pinky into the smallest slit you can with the door still providing adequate coverage. before long, his cold finger entangles with yours and you smile. 

“by the way babe, when are we moving?” he jokes and when your eyes finally adjust to the dark, you can see him stretch his limbs, hands entangling with your hanging clothing. “it’s pretty cramped in here not gonna lie.” 

“well… i put in that application a few weeks ago and they did get back to me… so soon. we just need to go through the final steps.” you reply, fighting the urge to crawl into that small space with him and sleep the day off. 

when it comes to suguru, you’d do anything and everything, from the hairs on your head to the tips of your toes, you pledged yourself to him fully. 

“gonna go to work?” he asks and you nod, albeit with a pout. he snickers when he sees your expression, “aw, don’t cry. i’ll be right here.” 

you bite your lip, trying your best not to draw blood because you know. you know that suguru will always be right there, whenever you need him. 

you made sure of it. 

-

his name was choso. you remember the night you met him after a round of drinks at the bar. he was nice, if not a bit quiet, and loved to talk about his siblings. suguru and satoru talked aimlessly with shoko while you made new friends. it was a fun little past time. 

you don’t remember how you left the bar or how he even convinced you to follow him out. your mind muggy as you followed him, like a moth to a flame, down a back alley before you finally snapped to your senses and shoved him off before he could make a move. it wasn’t until you saw the razor sharp pearly whites of his teeth that you stopped. 

you asked him what he was, but he simply shrugged, asking, “have you ever dreamt about being saved from someone or something?” 

you nodded, of course you did. everyone has. 

“then that’s me. something you can dream about.”

it was a cryptic message, but a message you got nonetheless. choso was not of the day, flourishing under the midnight sky. but for some reason, he wasn’t necessarily scary. in the small amount of time you had spent, he seemed to listen to you and your woes. gotten to know a little bit of your family history, and perhaps decided you would do better with his. 

you remember hearing suguru’s panic laced voice calling out for you and you spun around to call back out. turning back, choso was gone. with a hand placed on your shoulder you were pulled into a tight embrace. 

“where were you?” suguru asks, nearly crushing you in the heat of his body, “almost lost my mind trying to find you.” he glances behind you, eyes scanning the alleyway in search of something or someone. 

“honestly… i don’t even know how i got out here,” you mumbled into his shoulder, hands trailing the familiar sensation of his clothing. “can we go home?” 

“yeah, i’ll just let gojo-“ 

“no!” you exclaimed, the uneasiness in your stomach now palpable, as you balled your fists into the fabric of his shirt, “let’s go now, please.” 

he blinks, before nodding, “okay, yeah, okay. let’s go home.” he presses a kiss to your forehead, almost like a seal of protection, before he’s throwing his arm around you and walking you home. 

you don’t ever recall meeting toji fushiguro. it was just another night out underneath flickering street lights, outside the same bar where you met choso, the street familiar yet empty. your husband smoked into the evening air, the scent wafting over and tickling your nose. 

“no offense, satoru, but i didn’t listen to a single thing you just said.” he stated, lips curled up into a smirk with the cigarette dangling between his fingers. 

“good,” satoru snorts, before glancing at you, “i wasn’t asking for their opinion anyway.” 

you feign ignorance, perking up and asking, “hm? what were we talking about?” 

“man the two of you are so fucking annoying.” he whines, head hung back as you both laugh. 

“care for a third opinion?” a voice asks and you gasp, jumping back. 

the man was tall, handsome, with dark hair and a scar on his lip, wearing a simple outfit of a tee and sweatpants. he seemed otherworldly as well, just like choso. maybe, it was the aura he exuded, more like the lack of, but it set your hairs up on end. 

suguru was quick to pull you behind him as your fingers instantly grabbed onto his shirt. 

“don’t really care for a stranger’s opinion,” satoru drawls, glancing over the tips of his sunglasses. but you can read his body easily, a culmination of friendship over the years. it was screaming: danger. 

“c’mon, don’t be like that. why don’t we introduce ourselves then? i’m toji.” he said, sticking his hand out for a handshake. but neither satoru nor suguru moved to grab it, instead they tensed, waiting. 

“suguru.” satoru whispered, a command with only one word. he understood exactly what it meant. you don’t remember suguru being able to run so fast, the force from his pull almost knocking the air out of you. nor do you remember satoru being able to fight so efficiently. 

you do remember suguru hiding you away and making you wait, even when you tried to hold onto him, he assured you it’d be fine and made you wait. but seconds ticked into minutes, long, monotonous minutes that made the pit of uneasiness in your stomach bloom into a festering bouquet of chrysanthemums. 

“suguru?” you called, stepping out into the dreary moonlight. no response. 

“satoru?” you tried again, quietly walking back towards the area they were in originally. it’s strange how quickly the night changes, how suddenly the flickering street lights aren’t an annoyance but one of your only sources of comfort, as if the dark can swallow you. 

“suguru,” you call out again, voice teetering on a breakdown and eyes scanning the desolate street.  “please res-“ 

you stop suddenly, the sickening squelch of something warm pooling beneath your feet halts you. you feel sick as you start to take in shallow breaths, eyes following the stream of ichor until it reaches its source.

suguru. 

you remember dragging his lifeless body down that familiar back alley. knowing that anyone would be able to see that trail of blood and find you. the darkness of that alley covered you, looming over you like a guardian, while the scent of trash almost, almost, covered the sharp tinge of iron that permeated the air.  

you propped suguru up against the wall as best you could, your body still thrumming with adrenaline. “just gimme a sec, okay?” you mumbled through tears, knowing that he couldn’t hear you. “i’ll figure it out, just like you always do.” 

you’re not sure why you were compelled to scream out that name, but maybe it was because in your dreams, he appeared when you least expected him too. 

“choso!” you screamed, waiting for a brief moment before you filled your lungs with air once more and tried again. “choso!” 

nothing. 

choso!

still nothing. 

and when nothingness almost consumed you, taking you into it’s ghostly clutches, you felt it: the sudden heaviness in the air. 

you feel like you screamed for hours, the name tumbling off your tongue and into the moonlit air like a siren song. just a little less pretty. in reality, it was probably only a few minutes before the brunette arrived, dark rimmed eyes and all. your new guardian “angel”. 

“he looks pretty bad if you ask me.” he started, already crouching down to your level, before reaching up to brush the red coated strands away from suguru’s face. “looks pretty dead.” 

“fix it.” you whispered, continuing even after choso shot you a look. “fucking fix him.” 

“what makes you think i can do that?” 

and in that moment, you feel compelled to tell him about the dreams that you’ve been having lately. the ones where he’s in them, beckoning you to stay under his protection. call for me and i’ll be there. 

but you keep it simple, too pressed for time. “you’re in my dreams, right?” you answer. 

he’s quiet, face softening as he mulls over your words. “good to know.” his eyes wander over to the crimson trail, that bleeds from the streetlamps to your waiting spot. “he’ll probably find you.” 

“toji?” you ask and he nods, “i don’t even know why he’s after us.” 

“he’s not after you, he’s after him.” he says, cupping suguru’s face, dribbles of blood falling from his mouth, and you twitch, almost reaching out to snatch his hand away, “he’s never liked sorcerers.” 

“sorcery…?” you mumble, glancing once more at your lifeless husband. 

but you’ve never heard that word, believing that magic cannot exist, that what you saw could not be explained so easily. there is no magic, only reality, and what is this but such painful, excruciating reality that sucks the air from your lungs and the color from your eyes.

choso dodges the question, “well then. let’s get out of here.” before he places a palm on the back of your neck, sending you back off to dream. 

there’s a voice that pulls him out of the light. low and drumming, it snaps him back into the present and out of his stupor. he sits up, scrambling to make sense of just where he is and who is talking to him. the bed he’s in is similar to a hospital bed, although the white sheets are now stained red. 

“… stay out of the sunlight, feed only when you’re hungry, animal blood counts, it just doesn’t taste that good,” choso continues listing things off, not taking into the account the shock etched so firmly into suguru’s face. “you can feed on them and if they ever wanna turn, let me know, i’ll teach you how to do it.” 

suguru whips his head around, spotting you sitting in a chair with blood covered and bruised knees, the sweat and tears now dried on your face. you glance up at him, giving a little wave and a tired smile. he notes the dried blood that seems to be caked even under your fingers. 

“what the fuck did you do to them?” 

“you mean, what did i do to you?” the brunette retorts. “you wanted to stay together, right? now you can.” he answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk. but suguru’s not sure if he’s asking him or you, the one who smells so much sharper and sweeter than he remembers. you also smell of blood. so much blood that he can hear it coursing through you with each thump of your heartbeat. 

and like a moth to a flame, you stand on wobbly knees, the pads of your feet hitting the floor in sluggish steps as you pad over and throw yourself onto your lover. 

“don’t be mad at me,” you whisper, your eyelids fluttering as you try to fight back your tears. “i thought i could figure things out like you always do… because i always rely on you, right? i was too scared to be alone.” 

he’s so cold now and you’re so unbearably warm, the perfect juxtaposition of your souls. although he doesn’t need to, he takes a deep breath, before pulling you into his embrace. 

“you’re cold, sugu.” you mumble, yet you press harder, deeper into his embrace. 

“is that a turn off?” he jokes because he can’t be mad at you, not now and not ever. and any fragments of anger always dissipate like a puff of smoke. you giggle, before finally giving in and crying, digging your nails into his stiff skin. you cry until you can’t anymore, going limp and falling asleep in his arms. 

suguru’s gaze shifts upwards, as he holds you protectively, one arm wrapped firmly around your lower back, the other on the back of your head, fingers laced in your hair. 

“so, no introductions?” he asks, trying to be friendly, although the intonation in his voice betrays him. it’s first time meeting such a strange man, who can blame him? 

certainly not choso, who responds in turn, “my bad. you can call me choso. i fixed you up on their behalf.” 

“and satoru?” he asks, scanning the room to see if he can find the familiar white tufts of hair. 

“is fine,” choso replies, before jutting a finger out towards you, “they made sure to cover all the bases.” 

suguru shifts you in his hold, pressing a kiss to your forehead, that familiar seal of protection once again placed within your being. but also, as thanks for trying to keep everyone safe.

“then, where is he?” he asks while the other sighs and points over to another bed in the corner. dark eyes follow and the familiar tufts of silver hair peek immediately confirm it’s satoru. 

“he’s gonna wake up soon too. i’ll fill him in on the details.” before suguru can reply he’s cut off, “you should go soon, before the sun rises.” 

“am i actually a vampire?” 

“vampire, dracula, nosferatu, the undead. you can choose whatever you want.” 

“… i see.” he pauses, glancing back at satoru’s sleeping form before deciding he’ll be fine on his own. “we’ll be going then. …thanks.” 

he places his feet on the floor, still wearing his shoes from earlier and starts to walk off, cradling you in his arms. 

“when you feed, geto, don’t overdo it. or they will die.” 

he stops mid-step, gripping you tighter in his embrace, his brow furrowed, before finally walking off. 

you really should’ve taken a photo for satoru of the realtor’s perplexed expression when only you showed up to a three bedroom home, insistent on your need for space. 

when you do get that house, situated so nicely in the countryside, away from the buzz of the city, you think about what life would be like if you changed. if you no longer saw the sunlight. but you shake your head, pressing your fingers up to your neck once more, rubbing over the now scabbing indentations. 

you know suguru can’t feast on you forever as your body ages and his does not. but the thought of him feeding on someone else makes your stomach turn. 

“woow,” satoru hums, breaking you out of your trance as he takes in the new home, “not bad! not bad at all.” 

you smile, “thanks, satoru. i wanted to make sure you had your own space too.” 

“whats the third room for?” he asks, peeking his head in as he saunters around the new home. 

“office space.” you reply, “remember i work from home?” 

he nods, replying, “ooh, makes sense,” before he’s suddenly in front of you. his once crystalline blue eyes, now a deep crimson. “can i get a quick snack? i’m hungry.” 

“always so insatiable, satoru.” you tsk, rolling your eyes, but hold up your wrist anyway.

“not my fault you just so happen to be the best tasting human around.” he says, smiling against the thin skin of your wrist. 

luckily for you, he’s fast, the pain is almost nonexistent beyond the prick of his fangs but you still shut your eyes, waiting for it to be over. and when it’s over, gojo thanks you for the meal with a large bow before leaving to settle in his room. 

it’s so different from suguru who plans out the days that he’ll feed, keeping you in his clutches for what seems like hours as he sips away at your blood, making sure to maximize the experience.

the blood loss always makes you so dizzy, dizzy and pliant. he likes to watch over you afterwards, splayed against the sheets, fingertips running over your veins as if he’s painting over them in hues of ice. 

in your half-conscious state you never notice the furrow of his brow as he contemplates turning you every single time. you won’t last forever, too fragile, too soft, too alive. and suguru believes that forever only exists if you are in it as well. he asks you one night, while the house is almost too still, if you’d stay with him forever. 

“… of course…” you murmur, head dazed and body heavy, “always, sugu.” 

“even if you lose yourself?” 

“i can’t… lose myself if i’m with you.” you smile contently, reaching out to him with one shaky hand. 

“then how would you feel…” he asks, fingertips snaking up the veins of your neck, “if i turned you?” you shiver under his touch, eyelids fluttering not only at the sensation but also the low timbre of his voice. 

“turn me?” you mumble, pressing your hand against his, encouraging him to continue carressing your skin, “like… choso did with you?” 

he grins, albeit a small one and nods. hand now exploring the curves of your face, “just like that.” and while his hand is ice cold, it sears your skin with his touch, a testament to how deeply you’ve fallen. 

you pout, finally relaying your fears, “won’t you feed on others though?” 

“you want me to starve?” he jokes, still running his touch over you. 

“let’s go vegan.” you hum, your consciousness starting to drift until the thrum of his fingers. 

with your eyes closed you don’t catch the expression on his face, but you catch his laugh, drifting down into your ear. “i don’t know if that’s how it works, honey.” 

“animals...” you mumble, breaths becoming deeper with each passing second. “like humans… but diet… is how choso… explained it right?” 

he smiles, letting you fall deep into sleep. he keeps his hand intertwined with yours, knowing that even in dreams you hold onto him as if you were awake. he thinks you look so beautiful in the moonlight, better even than the moon or the stars themselves. 

and he is so sure, that forever cannot exist, if you’re not in it. 

[hwasfeatherduster]

WHY AM I JUST NOW SEEING THAT YEOSANG UPLOADED 4 COVERS?!?!

YOU ARE TELLING ME THAT THIS MAN, THIS MAN RIGHT HERE, GETS 1 LINE PER SONG?!?!!? PRISON TO WHOEVER DECIDES LINE DISTRIBUTION.

We need to start a riot. Like Ateez is underutilizing this man drastically. And dont give me the "Ateez doesn't make this type of music so it doesn't fit his voice". Ateez has proven that they make whatever type of music they feel like on the random Thursday they decide to sit down to write a song. And I am not blaming any of the members, I am blaming the producers, engineers, etc because they are the ones deciding who gets to sing what parts and that was provided on their Golden Hour Recording BTS YouTube video.

He is not given anything! What he is given is not even the bare minimum and I feel like Atinys have been gaslit into thinking that either

Yeosang can't really sing

His deep voice isn't fit for the type of music they make.

Clearly both of those are not true and this playlist that he put together proves it. He has an AMAZING and gorgeous voice. Honestly put him on some of those OSTs that Jongho does. Make more ballads (AND ACTUALLY GIVE HIM LINES IN THE BALLADS) wtf is actually happening! Im livid right now.

And also, these videos and his covers were uploaded but "unlisted" why were they unlisted?

( “Unlisted” means that only people who know the link to the video can view it (such as your faculty advisor, preceptor, or friends to whom you send the link). An unlisted video will not appear in any of YouTube's public spaces (such as search results, your channel, or the Browse page). and yes I googled it cause I have never seen something like that before.

Why did they not get promoted as the original birthday upload? wtf is happening with Yeosang. Why is he being treated like he isn't talented.

PLEASE GIVE YEOSANG SOME LOVE AND SUPPORT AND SHARE THESE VIDEOS!!!