#character introduction of all time. im in love with him.

[marblerose-rue]

wyll (as a warrior cat)

[pelcrow]

Joaquin "Jack" Navarro is a lone wolf, cyborg, and quantum physicist with an infamous talent for time-fuckery.

In the 1970s, Jack and Maggie---his wife and research partner---spearheaded the exploration of spacetime manipulation, producing a pseudo-physical albeit unstable manifestation of time. Their ambitions created disastrous consequences, ones that deteriorated Jack's mind to a state of agonizing pain and madness while also garnering transcendental abilities. He lashed out at his family, becoming more like a rabid animal than a man.

His madness was contained by the very rift he created until he fell into the hands of a powerful coalition that seized the opportunity to transform him into a literal killing machine, giving him cybernetic enhancements in order to pursue their own desires of spacetime manipulation and to strike down any opposition. Here, Jack became a violent, remorseless, teleoperated executioner.

After years of this, Jack broke away from servitude when his cybernetic receiver decayed, and he isolated himself on a distant planet where he was able to start putting together memories he had lost in the madness and trauma.

He still carries a cold and violent demeanor, a raging pessimist and bitter man with a penchant for self destruction. He has no idea what he wants, teetering between wanting to restore what was lost and wanting to remain in isolation, knowing he is at the mercy of the unstable time he created.

[heatmiiiiser]

Ggrrr I wish disenchantment was better. I binged it all because I'm sick somebody talk to me about this.

[oukabarsburgblr]

honestly would love a continuation from the karasuno version, but like at the same time i want the seijoh version 😭😭

i cant choose huuu, tho whatever u decides to write im sure it'll be great (still tho karasuno continuation got me vv 🥴🥴)

Bullying the First Year Pt. 2 [ONESHOT] [HQ KARASUNO]

I'll give you both💜 but the seijoh part will probably take a few days since i dont want the seijoh ver. to be an exact replica of karasuno with diff names and i want to finish watching s2 so i can capture their character properly. I hope you enjoy!

FEATURING : DAICHI SAWAMURA, SUGAWARA KOUSHI, ASAHI AZUMANE x male reader

Continuation of Part 1! Set in Season 2 during Away Games. Drabble!

NSFW stuff, DUBCON AF

Find out more under the cut!

"Ne, Sugawara...Looks like you guys finally got along with (m/n) huh?"

The setter who was drinking from his water bottle turned to Tanaka. The second year glancing at the male manager who was being harassed by Hinata about how cool his spike was. Sugawara only tilted his head in innocent faux. "What do you mean?"

Tanaka hummed as he swirled his bottle. "Well...usually you guys have this weird tension. And Daichi doesn't talk to him but yesterday I saw the captain and (m/n) walking home together and they looked like they were fine." Ennoshita chipped in. "So I wasn't imagining it. Asahi seemed like he always tried to provoke (m/n), but now they're okay with each other. Did anything happen between you guys?"

Tanaka and Ennoshita only asked Sugawara because he was the most approachable out of all the third years. The second years have noticed the beef between their manager and the seniors although they only discussed it in secret. Currently, they're at their away training camp in Shinzen and everything was running smoothly, albeit their losing streak and the fact that (m/n) couldn't make it to their first training camp in Tokyo.

It was weird to think that (m/n), who was not even a player meaning he had more time to study, had failed two subjects and had to take the supplementary exam. Although he denied the offer of riding to Tokyo with Tanaka's sister with Kageyama and Hinata in tow. Daichi didn't give much of a response, only saying he would talk to the (h/c).

That same night they heard Kiyoko scolding, and the beautiful manager never gets mad, but oddly Kiyoko was reprimanding the rest of the third years. Although they couldn't quite capture why was she mad but apparently it involved luring and trapping someone?

Sugawara's face didn't falter as he waved off their concerns, assuring the second years that they had a minor misunderstanding at the start of their introduction and it was all settled.

Free practice ensued as Karasuno went on with their respective goals, Sugawara and Daichi doing a synchronization attack with the others although Asahi was nowhere to be found.

"Sorry! Got caught up with something." The ace sheepishly entered the gym, looking eager and fresh to hit some sets. Nishinoya glanced behind Asahi to see a panting (h/c) who was all sweaty. "What were you doing, (m/n)? You looked like you did a major workout!" He teased the manager who only scrunched up his nose and limped his way to the rest of the managers.

"Huh? Is he injured or something? Why is he walking like that-" "Don't mind him! The night isn't going to be young forever. Let's practice!" Sugawara cut off Nishinoya's sentence as he pushed the libero towards the court, his eyes flickering to Asahi getting smacked by Daichi.

"See (m/n)! Told you, you would get along with us!" Hinata cheered behind the (h/c), who didn't say a word as he accompanied Hinata to the third gymnasium, where Kuroo and Bokuto is playing as well as Akaashi and Tsukishima. "Although it seems that you're more close to the third years than I am. Even though I've known them longer..." The ginger mumbled as he twiddled his fingers.

Again, the manager didn't respond as they entered the gym and (m/n) helped them by collecting stray balls and tossing it to Akaashi. Tsukishima would glance at him a few times before getting lectured by the Nekoma captain.

Daichi stared at the gym doors where (m/n) had exited before turning to Asahi. "...I told you to go easy on him." "Sorry. Got a bit excited. He's cute these days, all fidgety around us." "Do you want to blow us over? Cover your tracks, you idiot." Sugawara hissed as he jammed his elbow into the ace's side.

"The others said that we look like we're all getting along, especially you Daichi." The setter spoke as he ignored the crestfallen ace on the floor. "Really? I didn't think there'd be that much of a difference." The captain tapped his chin, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"You were the meanest out of all of us. I guess he was scared of you the most." Asahi propped himself up as he spoke, ignoring the glaring ravenette.

"...he's obedient now. I prefer it that way."

The setter only laughed as he waved them off. "I'm getting dibs on him in the showers. Don't you dare try to join us." He hissed at the two before hopping off to drag Tanaka into another set, leaving Daichi and Asahi to themselves.

If any other normal person would have listened in on their conversation, they would've been creeped out with how normal they spoke as they danced around the topic.

The boy manager of Karasuno, (m/n) (l/n) who has been reduced to a quiet footman for the seniors. Daichi wouldn't say 'reduced' but more to 'tamed'. It was known that the (h/c) is a brash person, especially around people his age but he would watch his mouth more around his upperclassmen...until he gets angry that is.

When Daichi first saw him stumbling through the gym doors, making a scene, he was quite annoyed, reminded of Hinata and Kageyama's first introduction. He thought it would be another rude junior that would ignore him and the obligated seniority but he was impressed to find that he was a reliable manager and an overall pleasant person to be around.

Maybe he was in a bad mood on that specific day, but he wasn't up for playing 'nice' nor welcoming someone new. His players were already a handful, especially the four idiots and he simply lacked the energy to usher someone around in the already socially established club.

Usually, he would apologise the next day, saying his head was clouded but he saw how annoyed (e/c) leered at him whenever (m/n) thought he wasn't looking or the silent curses he would mumble. That ticked him off and he was cold ever since. And when he found out they were neighbours-

"Daichi. Don't you think you're being...malicious to the new manager?"

The captain turned to the long-haired ace. He didn't respond, only raising an eyebrow to Asahi. Sugawara cut in. "What he meant was why are you acting like a little bitch to our new member? Ignoring him and stuff. The others are starting to ask." He teased the ravenette.

Daichi didn't say much, he only stared at his gym shoes and glanced to the (h/c) who was conversing with the second years. He scanned his figure, his eyes wandering a bit too long on his face and frowned. "He's rude." Sugawara wanted to roll his eyes and spite the captain.

"I want to ruin him."

Both Asahi and Sugawara immediately turned their heads to the captain who held a nonchalant look, a foreign expression for him, while still staring at (m/n). "...Or to see him cry, at least." "..."

The setter scoffed. "I always knew you were a sadist, Daichi." The captain only hummed as he knelt down to tie his shoelaces. "Don't act as if you're oh so innocent, Mr. Refreshing." "Shut up." He stifled a chuckle and stood up again.

"So are we gonna do it?" Asahi turned to glance at the (h/c), gazing at his glistening (s/c) and his fluttering eyelashes on his (e/c) eyes. Sugawara rolled his eyes. "I think he already started it." Daichi was silent, his eyes unwavering.

He didn't think much of it back then. Bullying was always a functioning outlet anyways.

Slaps of skin resonated through the small clubroom with a crying naked manager who was too aroused from the heavy thrusts he was receiving. His back was sore against the wooden table in the middle of the room and his throat was parched from all the screaming and wailing he had done.

"You're so adorable, (m/n)." Asahi groaned into the manager's ears, holding him down and kissing down his neck. The (h/c) only squirmed against the strong brunette, helpless against his ticklish facial hair as his hips stuttered against Asahi's. "-'s too much-ngh! Too much fu- achkk!"

He choked as the brunette sped up his motion, increasing his tempo as he felt his release. "You're our junior and manager, (m/n)." Sugawara cooed as he jacked off the (h/c)'s dick. "This is practically your job, don't you think? Helping us release some steam."

(m/n) wailed as he felt Sugawara squeezing him, he shivered as he felt his hole filled and Asahi biting into his shoulder. His pants were getting heavier as he placed his hand across his face. "I-I don't want anymore..." He whimpered as fingers shoved into his ass, digging out liquids that were stuffed deep into him.

Daichi trailed his fingers over (m/n)'s neck as he took Asahi's spot, pulling the (h/c) closer by his waist. "Be good and we'll play nice with you." Partially a lie, the captain was talking about himself. If the manager was compliant, then he'll be gentle. Not that he hated the contrary.

The manager only cried into his hands as he shakily nodded, not that they could see. "Please b-be gentle to me...Daichi- hiks!" He wheezed as the captain pulled him onto his lap, his naked thighs shivering and Daichi only gripped his hair, already holding his favourite spot.

The captain didn't say anything, only crashing his lips on the (h/c)'s who mewled against his mouth, Sugawara and Asahi smearing their hands all over the pair, drowning them in debauchery and temporary bliss.

Ever since then, (m/n) had been more quiet and polite, especially around the third years. Hinata was confused when the (h/c) mentioned about a study group and at that moment something clicked inside the (h/c)'s head.

He tried avoiding the trio truthfully, it wasn't that hard outside of club hours but he dreaded stepping inside the gym or the clubroom. Sugawara was a clever person, always whisking him away to fuck him under a staircase or asking him to stay after practice and would double penetrate him with Asahi inside the storage room.

He would walk home with sticky cum running down his legs or being cleaned by Sugawara who would take his time with him inside the school communal showers. Asahi would only bother him when he was frustrated, either from studies or not being able to hit his spikes right.

Daichi wouldn't join on their frisky escapades. But Sugawara knew that the captain preferred to be alone with the (h/c).

-

Training camp was over, Coach Ukai finished the debriefing and everyone was dispersing to go home in their respective ways in the late night. (m/n) cursed to himself as he accidentaly slipped on a rock. A hand reached out to stabilise him and the (h/c) glanced to see the captain pulling him up.

"Be careful. It's dark and dangerous right now."

They did live close after all.

"...Thanks." (m/n) mumbled as he pulled his arm back, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continued his way. Daichi silently followed, two steps behind the (h/c).

Their relationship had progressed significantly, after...midterms. (m/n) didn't know what to call it. What he had with the other third years. And it was especially passionate with the captain.

(m/n) was sure his body would give out one day, or one of the second years would find out with how frequent they would pull him in an isolated area and was determined to make him cream his pants as much as he could. At first, he resisted and melted every time one of them would shove their deep fingers into his hole or fucked him nice and slow that would made all of his rebellion disappear.

Sometimes, he caught himself looking forward to those moments. Wondering when will one of his seniors pulled him so they could shove themselves into him, letting him drown in that sinful pleasure.

The grey area he was shoved into was suffocating and risky, but lust conquered all and it conquered him.

"Is anyone home?" (m/n) hadn't noticed that they had arrived at the front of his gates. He turned to see Daichi looking at him, the streetlamp next to them illuminating his handsome features. The captain rarely divulge himself with (m/n), not as frequent as the other two. The scariest of the third years definitely had something in his mind.

"..."

-

"Urmmff- mmng haa ah ah anghh!!" (m/n) moaned as he Daichi pounded his penis into the (h/c)'s hole that was so wet and puckered from the unnecessary amount of lube and fingering the captain did. He definitely appreciated foreplay.

Both of them were in (m/n)'s room, on his bed missionary and only the (h/c) was fully naked as Daichi immediately ripped off all of his clothings as soon as they stepped inside his room.

(m/n) wasn't sure why he let Daichi step in his house. His family was gone, visiting their relatives up north while (m/n) was away at training camp. He could've lied to the captain. Rejecting his advances although he wasn't sure it would be as effective but the fact that he willingly let Daichi enter through the gates of his home and let him follow to his room wasn't so much of a wonder.

Daichi huffed as he gripped one of (m/n)'s thighs, giving it a slap as he watch the flesh bounce from the impact. The (h/c) had his arms around the ravenette's neck as his legs was pushed upwards. His hole tightened around Daichi's cock as he cried when the captain began to shove himself in harder and deeper, going in as far as balls deep inside (m/n)'s puckered and reddened hole.

The captain gazed down at the (h/c)'s face, his eyes wandering and scanning his features as he felt his release nearing. "(m/n)." The manager huffed as his own (e/c) stared down black ones.

Daichi leaned down to kiss the (h/c), pressing his lips oddly in a gentle manner but pushing his legs to his shoulders roughly. "I think you should raise your tongue a bit more." The captain stated as he fucked the manager faster.

(m/n) stuck his tongue out with a confused face although his bottom was shaking from all the sex Daichi shoved into him. The ravenette licked and pressed his tongue all over (m/n)'s who was whimpering feverishly.

The (h/c) doesn't know what to do. What to do of him. What to do of them. But for now, all he could do was to play the nice little junior for them. He was also no longer allowed to show support for his cousin at any volleyball event.

Daichi pushed (m/n) into a mating press, making sure his cum filled the manager all the way in, not wanting for any of it to go to waste. The (h/c) whined as his own penis spurted white semen.

The manager could not see him running away from the third years any time soon.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

aftermath

I am literally falling asleep as I write this but I wanted to post it asap. I will fix it dwdw although I felt this didn't align with the first part very well. I'll add tags tmrw. Next up is Seijoh

[uraniumglassgirl]

one thing that has been disappointing for me so far in blue lock is that isagi hasnt really felt “cool” or like imposing at all or even like a protagonist since like chapter 60 and im on like 175 rn. i get he doesnt have to be badass or the center of everything but it feels like every character is like “this is the true guy we need to watch out for! hes making plans from behind the scenes” but most of his plays (when he very rarely does get to have plays) just feel like. flukes. especially in the game against u20 japan like. bro did not do very much aside from at the last minute.

[solzscribblez]

off balance - h. iwaizumi x f! reader

h. iwaizumi x f!reader

summary: after one of the university's gymnasts crashes into iwaizumi's life (and his clinic rotation), he can't seem to stop himself from falling for her (and he's not trying to). unfortunately, she doesn't seem all that interested in him.

OR: the first time they meet, iwaizumi accidentally friendzones the gymnast who keeps showing up in his life without realizing it.

tags: h. iwaizumi x f! reader, university au, strangers to friends to lovers, idiots in love and i mean IDIOTS, miscommunication

warnings (will continue to update): mentions of injuries, foul language, ooc characters, a lot of kys/kms jokes, references to murder (joke), oikawa tries to wingman, mild self destructive tendencies (nothing bad yn is just a problem), im writing this in the hospital tripping on steriods sorry, miscommunication

taglist: 40/50 (open!) please send an ask or reply to be tagged!

chapters:

introductions: beautiful women + the roommates from hell | volleyball freaks + iwa

chapter one: a normal and uneventful shift at the clinic

chapter two: boom boom shrimp

chapter three: coawrd 𓂃🖊

chapter four: intervention

chapter five: noon am

chapter six: coming soon!

[stxneflxwers]

kisses for you. kisses for me.

⋯⁂ summary. what it's like kissing him.

⋯⁂ a/n. short and sweet, barely edited, etc. i just refuse to write professionally now lmao. im so lazy fr. (note: if someone hops into my comment talking about how freminet is "just a child", he's literally described as a young man in his official introduction.)

⋯⁂ characters. zhongli. neuvillette. alhaitham. freminet. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw. fluff. physical affection (kissing).

zhongli.

◈ soft and silky, his lips are well taken care of. and with how one of his warm hands grabs your chin to tilt your head just right leaves your knees weak. and he knows all too well the effects he has on you, but he tries to put those thoughts out of his mind. his little bits of insecurity can leak through occasionally, manifesting in the form of him asking you if he kisses "okay enough for you." and you'll reassure him every time—until he's convinced.

neuvillette.

⚜ velvety and a little damp, he drinks way too much water for any regular human. he's more than a bit nervous to kiss you every time you two do kiss. you almost always have to initiate kisses—whether they're surprise ones or you straight up ask him, he'll blink in bewilderment. he's never going to adjust to the act, is he? well, that's too bad...for him. you're going to cover his whole face in adoring pecks. and he'll return that favor...one day, at least.

alhaitham.

🖊 feather-light and a little chapped, he's quick and to the point (usually.) he doesn't linger too long on giving kisses, lest his heart-rate spikes. he loves your kisses, but he doesn't quite understand why it makes his heart skip beats and his face flushed. when you pass by and give him a quick kiss, he's frozen in place. these reactions are not something he expected of himself, he can say that much.

freminet.

⛈ shaky and cracked, he forgets to take care of himself oftentimes. gets too flustered halfway through the kiss and breaks it off to cover his face, but you can still see how red the tips of his ears are. tear his hands away from his face to kiss him more and you'll surely break him. he stiffens while his eyes widen and dilate, but never does he complain once about getting blanketed in your love and affection. never.

[autistic-evil-xisuma]

image: a screenshot from a th3pooka animation of evil xisuma sitting on their throne.

the incoherent essay in the tags is entirely on you op. for telling me to talk about ex when it's after my bedtime. i was going to say a whole lot more but i ran out of tags so im going to take that as a sign from god to shut the up.

Hey, do me a favor.

Share your opinions on this bugger. /threat

[beddybites]

hi friends! big rant incoming— i want to clarify this isnt targeted at anyone, im just noticing a pattern and im getting a little upset with some of the requests im being sent ):

something that really bothers me is the babyfication of giyuu tomioka. the fandom infantilizes the dude way too much. and its even worse when you throw shinobu into the mix and have her being a maternal figure to him when she herself is an eighteen year old who has worked as a hashira since she was a teenager. she does not need to be put into these situations where she’s taking care of her older peers all the time

i see this happen a lot and i feel its rooted in misogyny whether people recognize it or not. almost always the male characters are thrown into positions where the female character has to take care of them and its really frustrating

shinobu isnt a maternal character at all. to inosuke and the younger ones, it’s different, but if i keep seeing her being a mom to giyuu im actually going to lose my mind. giyuu isnt some uwu depressed baby who cant stand up for himself. he is just as mean as sanemi and obanai. he trained to survive and operate in horrible situations and fight for his life for years. hes a grown man and a hashira. he would not be babied by anyone, especially not someone who he has known since she was around fourteen years old

you may say “well ghostbite dont you do this with mitsuri and obanai”… sure. perhaps i am a hypocrite. but you must remember mitsuri is just sort of like that. she loves cute things and she loves fawning over everyone and everything. her scenes with nezuko. her introduction scene in the hashira meeting with her gushing over everyone. she hand feeds tanjiro pancakes in the recent season. she refers to people as “cutie.” etc etc etc

the difference with obanai and giyuu is obanai is often characterized as a yandere simp who is a huge bully to giyuu and tanjiro. he’s not. i like to put him in deaging situations a lot because unlike everyone else, he’s been through hell since birth. he’s never, not once, had a moment of peace. he had no siblings growing up to protect him— he had no loving parents, etc. he never felt love and he believes he is undeserving of it and should never reciprocate it. so here comes mitsuri, the epitome of love. he takes care of her. he watches after her. he is devoted to her. if something happens to him, especially if it’s a situation where he’s much smaller and weaker and in need of care, mitsuri would drop everything to help him. if it were mitsuri, obanai would do the same for her. it’s in both of their characters to do this. them being in these situations makes sense

i love shinobu. she would not. she does what a doctor does, looks for a cure, checks in here and there, and leaves it at that. she is not giyuu’s “mama.” she is an eighteen year old girl who has her own bucketload of issues. if you need her in a maternal role then use inosuke or literally any of the butterfly girls— the kids she actually takes in and takes care of. not her 21 year old coworker who is more than capable

if anything i think shinobu should be put in deaging situations. have giyuu take care of her instead. mix it up a little. but people are so attached to the idea of having every single caregiver role go to the woman that it’s unlikely we’ll see that

this is not a criticism on giyuu. i love giyuu. but i need people to stop treating him like a defenseless baby, and for people to quit seeing shinobu as responsible for him as a caregiver or a mother

tdlr: please stop asking me to draw or write deaged giyuu stuff. someone else can do that. i dont like deaged giyuu. tiny 21 trio is essentially on hold because of this ): i keep getting nonstop requests for deaged giyuu and im so tired, especially because people are framing it in a “you should replace obanai with giyuu” lens, or adding “mama shinobu doing x with baby giyuu”

it’s tiresome and frustrating. i love to make content for you guys, and i love when its something that appeals to you in a comforting way, but if you want specific content with giyuu— you’re very much in the wrong place. i hate the fandomification of him and shinobu— it makes me uncomfy and sad.

other people are deaging giyuu and putting him in situations— go ask them instead of me. i would rather highlight misunderstood and underrated characters like obanai and gyomei or my own personal faves (muichiro) then constantly loop the same exact character over and over again

all this to say im doubling down on the babybu and babynai and pintsized pillars aus. if you keep asking for baby giyuu and maternal figure shinobu my spite makes me stronger. hashtag let shinobu be taken care of for once. she’s already the doctor for an entire organization give my girl a break

[yanderefarm]

yandere crime lord introduction

cw;; torture, violence, yandere things, nsft

he's finally here. please feast your eyes on him. pretty boy. im amazed at how the three of them really do look like brothers. i was having a really hard time with his hair when i finally to give him curly hair like his brother and its such a good choice. ajax has some curl to his hair too so they all look related.

achilles is the eldest brother of ares and ajax. he's 35 years old.

he has a nicotine addiction and he goes through a pack a week. quitting is more stressful than it's worth so he hasn't tried.

he stays in touch with his brothers. ares more so because ares calls him to hide bodies frequently.

he isn't head of the family yet, he works right under his father and he has a lot of the same power and responsibilities.

he hates violence and as a young boy he was even more soft spoken and didn't want to hurt anyone. now he has no choice and that adds to his stress.

his whole life he's been compared to ares because he's so much softer than his more aggressive brother. this caused him to really develop a complex where he's always thinking about how much better ares would be at everything he tries and then he starts to stress that people will realize that he's just faking being tough and masculine.

he's known since he was young that he likes men but he doesn't want to risk anymore more evidence against him.

he doesn't have time for relationships or a personal life. his routine is basically work, stress, eat, sleep.

this only changes when he's with you. suddenly he doesn't have to stop and remember to eat. he doesn't have to hurt anyone or be threatening. there's no fear of being exposed with you.

his routine with you is torture, eat, get taken care of, sleep.

at first it was horrible, of course it would be. he spent every day just praying he survived. but one day you weren't torturing him, instead you just let him sit in the same room as you.

for the first time he didn't have to be scared or worry about survival and he was certain all his stress would come back to him. but he realized there was no point in stressing; you would kill him sooner rather than later so he could just comfortably be himself.

he started to get closer to you then forming some kind of strange domesticity. he even found himself enjoying the pain, the horrible pain you would inflict would empty his mind of everything but you.

and then you would patch and clean his wounds so gently. you would always tell him when it was about to sting like you hadn't been putting out cigarettes on his chest an hour ago.

he fell in love with you in the 2 and a half months he spent as your captive. it was nice to love someone so deeply before he died.

and then you told him he could leave. he was confused, upset, confused why he was upset. he wondered if maybe you had found out that your victim had developed a sick affection for you and you were so disgusted with him.

he never understood his younger brother's feelings and possessiveness towards everything. he didn't understand how his brother could claim to love something so deeply that he feels compelled to break it. but when you told him he could go he suddenly understood everything.

it was like something in his mind finally clicked into place and he knew he couldn't let you throw him away. he knew he didn't have any power over you but if he could find something you wanted he could force you to let him stay.

he eventually becomes a pay pig for you. he knows that you're willing to do extreme things for money but he usually just pays to go on dates or for kisses.

he calls you a lot whenever work becomes overwhelming. if you don't answer the phone he'll light up a cigarette instead.

everyone thinks he has a girlfriend and he's some dominant guy who's suddenly whipped for a pretty little girl. they don't know he's the wife.

he loves mascot characters. he really loves cute or ugly cute things. he has a cute phone charm he got from ares and it's the only cute thing he allows himself to own. he can use it being his brother's gift as a good excuse to keep it.

ares knows his real personality while ajax still thinks he's a cool stoic older brother

he is very stoic and he can come off pretty intimidating. he'll accidentally glare at people sometimes because he's just lost in thought and worrying about something.

he only smiles when he's with you. whether you're out on a date or he's getting sewn up he'll have a soft little smile on his face.

if you ever tried to abandon him he would use every resource at his disposal to find you. even if he has to be the one to lock you up he won't let you leave.

he's surprisingly clingy in public. he doesn't do much pda but he'll hold your hand the whole time. if anyone looks at you he'll squeeze your hand and pull you a little closer to himself.

surprisingly it actually takes him a little bit to come around to the idea of bringing sex into things. even longer to convince him that he'd probably enjoy sex more if there was a pain aspect.

now he gets turned on as soon as you press that piece of duct tape over his mouth. he's a complete degenerate.

he loves being degraded. nothing is more exciting than when he calls you at work stressed out and you mock his whole crime lord attitude.

never worry about being too mean to him. he will beg you to make him cry.

he got the family sex = love belief. however because of his work with prostitutes he finds love to be cheap. he didn't think he would ever fall in love until his obsession with you formed.

he also inherited the family forced fem kink. he particularly likes to wear frilly lingerie under his suits while at work. he always sends you a picture of his underwear in the morning.

he over hears someone talking about how much they love calling their wife, wife. so he asks you to call him wife once and it immediately gets him hard. he's a blushing mess about it. .

quiet in bed. when hes not screaming in pain. he just gasps and whimpers at your touch.

he has a desperate need to praise you. like a praise kink but on the giving side. he wants to kiss every inch of your skin and tell you how grateful he is for you.

he doesn't say i love you a lot but when he does it's during sex. especially after edging him.

any kinks you want to try on him he is down to do at least once.

[ghxstyfae]

Headcannons of johnnie x strawberry shortcake/ sanrio obsessed reader ! How would their relationship be when they have completely different aesthetics? How does johnnie deal with all the pink???

(Also I love your work sm!!)

Strawberry Shortcake ☆ J.Guilbert

Warnings: n/a

Synopsis: ask

Taglist: @sunflowerleii @dreamcastgirl99

Note: Thankyou so much for the ask Nonnie!! You're the sweetest

You probably met at hot topic accidentally

You was looking for a cinnamonroll plushie and he was filming another shopping video with jake.

You accidentally bump into him and compliment his hair. At first he thinks your just kinda fucking with him

He compliments your outfit too (im thinking something like this, this, or something w these pants)

Jake asks if they can record you and even invites you to film with them for the day, noticing Johnnies immediate crush

You accepts and they film a little introduction for the viewers, and then spend the whole day together, Johnnie being disgustingly adorable w you

You exchange contact info and they walk you to your pink buggy

Johnnies stalking your insta the whole time they walk to Jakes car and getting in the car

Jakes laughing at him the whole way home from how pathetic he was

Constantly stands out when hes sitting on your bed, surrounded by pink blankets and hundreds of fluffy plushies (note)

He knows you lov having fresh flowers, so its routine to buy you a new boquet every saturday. On a couple occasions he got you these sanrio boquets

He likes how easy it is to separate your clothes after a night out (you both throw your things everywhere, but he knows anything dark is his)

When your feeling upset, whiny, or especially your period, hell watch sanrio, strawberry shortcake, monster high, barbie, and even powerpuff girls

Jake has posted pictures to his story, catching the big bad emo curler up with his frilly gf watching Strawbery Shortcake under a pink blankie

He really doesnt mind though

Corruption kink goes brr

All dolled up in pink, pretty and delicate just for him

He would definitely let you tie black bows on his hair, and maybe let you tie one around his 🥜🍆 if u ask nicely

The fans think you guys are adorable

You make videos a lot of baking, shopping, doing your makeup, etc, qne they love when Johnnies helping out (its so adorably out of character)

He loves the pink tho lowkey turns him on

Im sorry its so short sweetheart:( ♡

[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. 

[coolestzed]

Alright, I’ve been holding this inside for years but I’m finally gonna say it.

Misako haters are actually fucking annoying at this point.

They always were to me, but now, they’re just OBJECTIVELY an annoyance. And they need to STOP.

They take literally ANY chance to slander her, even when it’s completely unwarranted. Like, I’d just look at a picture of her on Pinterest, and there’d be multiple comments going "the world’s worst mother". Or I’d see content about Koko and there’d always be comments comparing her and Misako and going like "Koko way better fuck Misako".

I’d even see a fucking meme and people would slander Misako. Like they couldn’t resist.

And that’s not even mentioning his people constantly make her seem way worse than she actually is. Im not gonna quote everything, but basically they act like she never does good things for Lloyd. That she doesn’t care about him at all! And it’s just- so WILDY out of character!! And it’s the same vice versa! I saw a funny Ninjago video the other day with a "your mom" joke and someone in the comments was like "jokes on you, Lloyd would never call Misako mom". I’m just?????? Yes he DOES????? ALL THE TIME???

People just act like their relationship is nonexistent! Like they don’t care about each other, or that Misako doesn’t care about Lloyd! Which is OBVIOUSLY not true!

People claim that she disappears every other season but the only seasons she was absent in are 12 and 13. Also, she has a job. She goes on expeditions. Obviously she’s not there 100% of the time. And she and Lloyd clearly spend time together off screen.

People don’t even acknowledge the reason why she left in the first place. They act like she dropped him off at a boarding school and dipped to take a vaycay. She was literally trying to stop her husband and son from having to fight to the death. You ever think about that? You ever think about how SHE felt in the situation? With her husband being consumed by evil and later being banished, and learning that he and their son would have to fight each other? She was HORRIFIED and GRIEVING! Ultimately she did it to save her family. It doesn’t make leaving Lloyd right but it’s understandable.

But apparently not to almost all of the fandom.

Most of y’all, completely ignore that, and everything else that came after season 2.

Misako constantly being worried about Lloyd in Tournament of Elements and Possession.

Both of them spending Day of the Departed together.

Her getting/building the Destiny’s Shadow as a birthday gift for Lloyd.

How she supported, fought beside, and risked her life for Lloyd in Hunted.

How she wanted to stay and fight with him during MoTO but only went inside because Lloyd urged her to protect the civilians.

Not to mention just their general interactions. THEY’RE ALWAYS HAPPY TO SEE EACH OTHER!!! Do you know how many times they hug?!

And this dialogue here:

"Aren’t you going to kiss your mother goodbye?"

"Mooom, we've-we've talked about this-"

WHAT MORE PROOF DO YOU NEED?!

Lloyd and Misako have a good, healthy and loving relationship. Misako has long since made up for her mistake and they’ve moved on.

Yet THE FANDOM REFUSES TO!!!

EVERYONE, TO THIS DAY, STILL TREATS HER LIKE THE FUCKING DEVIL!!!

I CAN’T EVEN COUNT THE NUMBER OF TIMES PEOPLE HAVE HAD OVERDRAMATIC TANTRUMS FROM HER JUST EXISTING.

IT MAKES ME SO UNREASONABLY ANGRY.

AND THE FACT THAT I’VE SOMEHOW BEEN SEEING EVEN MORE MISAKO HATE DURING AND AFTER MOTHERS DAY IS ACTUALLY APPALLING.

NOT EVEN FUCKING ENDEAVOR FROM MHA GETS THIS MUCH HATE AND HE’S DONE MUCH WORSE TO HIS FAMILY.

IT. HAS. BEEN. OVER. 16. SEASONS. AND. A. MOVIE.

GET. OVER. IT.

*deep breath*

Look, she’s not perfect. Obviously. She fucked up. But who in this series hasn’t? She came back, and she’s made sure to be a better mother to Lloyd. He forgave her, and they have a good relationship now. They’re close.

She wouldn’t be as hated if the writers didn’t do her dirty. Her introduction wasn’t handled the best, and having her and Lloyd have a more in depth discussion would’ve made the reunion and forgiveness feel less rushed and forced. That love triangle with Wu and Garmadon certainly didn’t do her any favors either. 😑

Regardless, her character’s gotten better over the seasons. Again, she and Lloyd and close and have a good relationship.

But hardly anyone acknowledges that, almost everyone in the fandom hyper fixates on that one mistake from years ago. They don’t pay attention to anything else. Like how she’s a better mother, or how she’s just a generally good person.

You aren’t supposed to judge characters or irl people solely on their past mistakes. Especially when they’ve already made up for them. Thats why the "Misako’s a horrible mother" statement is always bullshit to me.

Seriously, Misako’s been a part of Lloyd’s life longer than she’s been absent from it at this point.

The amount of passionate, unforgiving hate she gets is so undeserved and over the top. Too many people are projecting their own issues onto her. Or just being plain hateful. It’s not fair to define her entire character on a single mistake that she’s long made up for.

And it’s definitely not fair to people that actually like Misako. Often times on the few positive posts about her, there’d be Misako haters in the notes or reblogs complaining about her or insulting her, or just stating they hate her but love the content. And that is completely uncool and rude. It’s so unnecessary. You don’t do that, that’s so shitty. The again Misako haters have a habit of spouting unnecessary hate. Like it’s a terminal condition they have.

So, please, for the love of god, COOL IT. Stop and think, try to ACTUALLY look at her character without the veil of blind hatred.

If you still dislike or hate her, fine! But if you’re gonna detest her, at least hate her as she is and don’t make her worse than she actually is to justify hating her more.

And PLEASE stop bashing her at every turn, it’s annoying, upsetting, unwarranted, unnecessary, and just not good.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[mikasaerens]

Shadow and Bone- Season 2 Thoughts

Patrick is EXCELLENT as Nikolai, I can’t believe I ever doubted him, he was killer 

Jesper is incredible, I want to see Kit be famous forever, he’s so charismatic and charming 

Mal and Alina have only platonic, sibling, friendship chemistry

Darklina are far more interesting and compelling and their chemistry is actually more romantic and sensual

One scene of Darklina just talking to each other is far more electric than Mal/Alina kissing 

Tolya and Tamar’s introduction had me on my KNEES bitch

Pekka Rollins is fucking incredible, he’s a great and intimidating and memorable villain 

“Oh my trembling heart” NINA IS SO ICONIC

The Darkling’s intro was incredible, he’s already even more dynamic this season than last

The CROWS ALL TOGETHER, AT LAST!! 

Wylan is absolutely perfect, I had my doubts about him since he doesn’t look anything like I pictured, but the actor is amazing and really stepped into the character 

Wesper under the carriage flirting while getting shot at it is peak romance 

Malina is such a boring relationship fr, I like Mal in the show but their relationship is so passionless and boring, I get it, they’re a “healthy” relationship but that’s not a justification for being a boring relationship to watch, this is fiction not real life, people want interesting dynamics between characters

Jesper calling Kaz his brother and Kaz agreeing and smiling!!!! BITCHHHHH I’m in pain, I love them so much

David is a treasure

I need a spin-off of just Tolya and Tamar bc they were nothing short of incredible, I loved every scene of theirs, they totally stole the show 

THE CUT is the coolest and most badass magic in this magic system 

Kanej were incredible and the BEST thing about the show as usual, they’re my favorite ship of all time and I’ve shipped them for so long now that I don’t have anything new to say tbh but I will say that we got entirely too little of them, we needed more scenes of them- the dream sequence changed my life, I’ve been wishing to see a moment like that between them for years, the “I will have you without armor” entire sequence in the Church was phenomenal but I’m not obsessed with the way it ended with Inej leaving and that weird insinuation with Tolya and Inej was NOT IT. 

Genya is incredible, Daisy’s acting is out of this world, I remember when I first read SAB, Genya was my favorite character 

I feel like Darklina got completely shafted in this season, I liked seeing The Darkling’s complex feelings towards Alina, but Alina’s feelings towards the Darkling are completely different than they were in the book. In the books it was way more complex and intriguing. 

Zoyalai “I could fix him” BIIIITCCHHHHHH IM SCREAMINGGGGG

Alina as queen with Zoya and Genya working with her is BRILLIANT. Jessie’s coronation outfit and makeup is GORGEOUS. 

The ending was fucking phenomenal, with that whole setup for the Ice Court and Alina having shadow powers and smiling about it??? I’m obsessed. I need s3 yesterday 

[analgesic-comic]

A introduction!!

Hey! Im the writer and artist of the comic. so imma give some warnings. First, im working alone in this, and i have other things to do, so updates will be irregular.

Second, i dont want discussions on my comment's specially because this is a Jimmy and Anya centred comic.

I do not condone jimmy's actions, but i love to psycho-analyze deep and conflicted characters, and yes, i plan on making him get better with time, but he will never be a good person, i want people to understand that mean people can get better in the right environments and even if i hate jimmy just like all of you i really want to depict this situation because i see internet as a very judgemental place that thinks people can never evolve

Some Trigger warnings.

-There will be mentions of rape and abuse

-There will be quite a bit of gore, its mouthwashing

-There will be mentions and depiction of suicide and self-harm

Another important adition, im nor creating this because i want people to be empathetic towards Jimmy, his character is about sickness, he is a very toxic person and that's why this is a Alternative universe, a lot of MY headcanons will be added to this and honestly i just want the Tulpar as a found family of 5 (once jimmy gets better) anyway. thank you, first page will be posted shortly.

[ms0milk]

✧ forget-me-nots ✧

trying to pass on some of the appreciation I receive here because it's crazy to break the 4th wall for a second and really internalize how this community is driven by creativity and mutual loving. here's a list in random order of my most dear to me loves + a few nonmutuals whose work i think of often, and the pieces that remind me most of them

when they come for you in the night (thorfinn x reader) | @gardenofnoah

the depth of dive i had to take through your blog to find this is just.. the moment i hit "when you’ve known nothing but cruelty, kindness would surely be terrifying" it was game over. thorfinn came so so to life and this was such a stunnning introduction to your style. youve written so much now and i find myself always totally stunned! but i still always think of this one first. (i give it all to you also spills out of my brain sometimes while im trying to go about the world and was a close contender + this bkg x feral creature little piece of wonderful)

you. that's what happened, you (maki x reader) | @neiptune

you already know, i would be a godless liar if said i didn't think about this weekly; the maki rizz is heretofore unmatched, this piece went above and beyond all req expectations, “hold my hand, they’ll think something’s wrong if you don’t” will be the epitaph on my tombstone. you have the power to make me love all those boys ive never even thought about, and when it was time to write for my actual wife you cracked your knuckles and made sure id never be satisfied by another! (aint that the worst thing you ever heard also reminds me of you sm, eren aot of all people)

unsubtle pro shinsou drabble | @moonbeamwritings

i can feel the heat of shinsou's crush through both our screens it is just perfection!!! what a dweeb. love to send this to myself so its easy to find and reread on the regular

To Shape a Home (bkg x reader) | @kweenkatsuki-fics

not only do the stardew vibes shine through every corner, this fic was carved out with such care it makes the relationship + bkg's growth all the more precious! "yer nothin’ to go nuts over." was an insane introduction and the two of them only got better and better and sweeter and stickier with time (ao3 tagged bc i cant find your beautiful masterlist marquie sosrrrrry)

bittersweet (vash x reader) | @heich0e

i remember exactly where i was when i read this for the first time and I remember how excited I was to find a vash fic after so long loving trigun! i didn't even know the new series had been released yet! this was agonizing, such a soft characterization for both, and the desert was so palpable-- the setting really added so much spice to an already seasoned piece

hanafuda (tanjiro x reader) | @cherryblossomsenpai

way way back in 2022 this was one of the first tanjiro pieces i ever read that really made a romantic argument for him. love his exhaustion, exasperation, fear and relief all wrapped up in one hug "The rest of his lecture is indecipherable," bc he's just crying so hard! total sweetheart, so in character

kirishima drunk girl wrangler | @mechamedusa

dusa🫱🏻‍🫲🏼kirishima ofc your kiri thoughts are unmatched and this one is so quintessential, when i think of him i think of you. he is so wrangler shaped! the perfect boyfriend, your mind is a treasure trove

wedding vows (hashira x reader) | @meowzfordayz

to my very first friend <3 you'd think the piece i associate most with you would be one of giyuus and you write so so impressively much it was hard to decide, but this hashira drabble wrung me by the neck when I first read it, and it still crushes me that your kyojuro isn't a real man i can go outside and hunt for sport. "I have an energy bar in my suit pocket — just in case." a snack for his partner at their own wedding put me down, love your mind always

sleepy rengoku drabble | @vampcubus

my femdom queen! why was it so hard for me to remember which character this was written for? reader's rizz blinded me, thank you for introducing me to dom!reader works bc now every sexy hc i have is filtered through the puppysub filter to make all those big strong boys tastefully more submissive

anything to do with anika~ | @ltadoriyuujl

love your oc, she's such a caring nuclear bomb! loved reading your wonderful chara exploration piece and being able to write for her myself! what a trust fall

the only exception (yuuji x reader) | @touyangel

yuuji is such a boyscout at the end of the world, even in total tragedy he is kind and calm and caring. thinking about "If he wasn’t teaching you how to decapitate something that used to be human, it might have been romantic." this one hurts so so good and very easily convinced me love on him. even with all the choso pieces of yours I adore, this yuuji piece reminds me most of you (this sick choso drabble is a close second!)

menthol (aki x reader) | @cyancherub

the smut hall of fame all time champion on my knees on the floor kicking my feet and smiling, love the characterization in this piece! car guy/childhood friend/overprotective/smoke sess/ so intimate and perfectly filthy. a tried and true classic, this is a blessing

fill my little world right up (aizawa x reader) | @shibaraki

the fic of all time yeah, WHAT a way to be introduced to your writing and what a privilege! this piece is just a beating heart, every action and character introduction felt like a memory, the love was so palpable. reread this one all the time, can't believe it's free, want to bind a copy for my bookshelf

cor unum (sukuna x reader) | @vampyrsm

this was the first writing i ever saw from you and in an effort of solidarity (im finishing a longform fic as well and holy fuck) i've very recently started reading and can already tell how much care you had for this world and its characters. the dedication to setting and history is so cool and rare in reader fics, can't believe you're letting us read all this for free! what a tome, seriously looking forward to it (and this bkg thought abt crowded places! mmm)

i love you more than being seventeen (nanami x reader) | @strawberrystepmom

this fucking guy oh my god, this fic almost put me in the hospital, so so glad you reposted. "hey. I love you." OOhhhHHGoowwAWAWAAAA this is such a timeless character piece-- nanami running away from this word he hates, job he hates, girl he loves, and coming back to it all knowing he'll die and knowing its worth it. i get chills

strawberry stars on my lips (bkg x reader) | @willowser

breaking the rules of speed dating is insanely romantic, probably the most romantic thing someone has ever thought of and this is the piece i think of when i think of your blog. bkg is simultaneously so constipated and so vulnerable i almost feel like i have to cover my eyes for him and it is sugary sweet in the best way. happy hiatus!