#hoping to do that once im healed
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penisbilt · 29 days ago
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waving hello everyone so uh sorry for just kinda up and vanishing for um. months and months and months. i kind of exploded and then died and then lived briefly and then died again. but with the days getting longer and me being brave and being outdoors more (Even Though its starting to get real wintery outside) it feels like im coming to life again AND developing social tendencies for the first time in uhh ummmm. so anyway yeah hi i can almost handle the thought of communicating with other human beings again in the near future, stay tuned
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nabaath-areng · 8 months ago
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Half assed screens, but some of the glamours I might will use for Ieeha throughout the journey of Dawntrail!
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ernest-shackleton · 14 days ago
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The last one of my brothers has reached the point of no return w my mother and I'm so happy to have all my siblings back :3
#i know the bitch is still stalking meeeeee#but at least she cant do shit abt it!!! eat Shit forever and die#all the misery she ever wished upon me and us shall be put upon her thousandfold!#all the misery she ever INFLICTED upon us. apparently she got physically abusive again too. i hate her so much#i hope she suffers unimaginable agonies as she finally faces the consequences of her actions. knowing her she'll live to a hundred#and i want her to have a bad time every single second of that horrid pathetic little existence#may she choke on her lies. may regret and shame weigh her down until she sinks through the earth into hell directly#ive only just started to feel good abt my cello playing bc thats where here evilness hit me the most growing up#i will never forget when we got 18/25 points at the second round of a music competition and she said#well that was 'a reach into the toilet' not well translatable but you get it.#we were 11.#i hope some sort of apparition shows herevery single horror she inflicted upon us. bc you know she doesnt remember lmao#i want her to be paralysed by woes and sorrow forever. 25 years and counting of abuse. way more if you count all our lives separately.#thats closer to 70 years of suffering inflicted between the 4 of us. let alone the burdens we have to carry all our lives.#im just glad i get to rebuild my relationship w my siblings now bc i knew once they got a taste of what it's like to.. Not Be Trapped#With Her. they'd become normaler. just like i did. the timelines r different for them than for me. but yeah <3#to heal together <3#quip
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the-ultimate-wifeform · 2 months ago
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#that urge to delete everything and disappear is hitting again.#sometimes it feels like having an online presence is more harmful than it is good.#if im going onto a website or a platform and getting upset more times than im not whats the purpose in using the site.#cant just up and cut everyone and thing out of my life though#that would hurt so many good people#no running. not again.#and yet i cant help but feel responsible for it all. i cant help but get upset about everything thats happened this year.#i cant help but feel like im fundamentally broken. that i cant heal or be better.#i dont know that i deserve to sometimes but i keep trying and trying#i feel like i owe it to others in a similar postion#how would everyone ive known feel if i was just. gone one day?#what if i died tomorrow.#what would happen to the people i care about#my pet cat#do i even really know what it means to care about others anymore?#do i do it right or do i ruin everything i touch.#maybe it would be better if i stopped trying. gave in. just once. im so tired.#just stopped trying. after all ive always been told i was never any good.#screaming into the void. doing all i can not to give into these harmful urges against myself all the time.#i want to be loved and cared for. i just think sometimes i dont know what that is.#maybe i cant learn. maybe i cant heal.#then again maybe i can. i guess maybe thats why im still here.#i hope someday i can believe that im truly cared for and that i won't be abandoned again.#losing people makes you feel jaded and hurt. although i understand why what happened#happened.
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phagodyke · 8 months ago
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looking up info on keloid scarring is so helpful. thanks man I didn't think of trying that one
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#well actually that kind of is relevant bc ive been trying to find more info abt tattooing keloid prone skin#which is effectively opting to wound urself. but everywhere is just like if ur keloid prone ummm. Don't do it 👍#theres not enough known abt keloids to predict if theyll be triggered or not by the healing process like it depends on so many things#i mostly get them from acne scars. but they dont always immediately appear sometimes its weeks or months after#n once u get them theyre permanent. treatments for them have a 100% rate of recurrence n will grow back bigger if u try to excise them#and they cant be tattooed over like other scars bc they dont hold ink n the irritation can cause them to get bigger too#it depends a lot on the tattoo artists skill/experience ig like u have to know Exactly how deep ur tattooing + how the wound will heal#bc if healing triggers keloids. well ill just end up with permanent scarring instead theres nothing i can do if it happens#which honestly might still look cool but its unpredictable bc they tend to extend past the original wound. n it wouldnt scar uniformly#urgh. i should probably talk to a gp n an actual tattooist abt it. i could ask to get like a rly small tattoo to test how my skin reacts#pointless thinking abt rn anyway cuz im not gonna get one any time soon i have some other shit to sort before that#but it would be so frustrating if i cant i have so many tattoo ideas i do rly want them.... :-(#ah well whatever.. im just procrastinating doing shit i need to crack on bc i cant spend another entire weekend doing nothing#after a month n a half of being on meds i feel like theyre becoming less effective. my task paralysis n focus is getting worse again :(#like its taking more and more effort its been rly noticeable at work. hoping its just bc of general mental health or poor sleep or smth#and not that im building tolerance or smth bc man. what else can i even do if that happens#this is gonna make me miserable to think abt so lets go do smth else!#at least i woke up feeling tons better today 💪💪💪 storm passed baby#.diaries
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sharkdays · 1 year ago
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i dont think im staying up for the new year (im exhausted) so here's my wish: 2024 will be kind to me, to you, and to us
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prodkeiji · 2 years ago
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ep 9 is a lot to process uhm
#well yang kindaaa went batshit crazy (only bc of that fucking cat whos the real antagonist all along) but im glad she still got herself tgt#ruby is obviously gonna live i think. but yea its implied but idt shes gna use cresent rose anymore 💔💔 LIKE NOOO CRESENT ROSE WAS SO OG#also what the actual fuck is going on w the fight scene like????#okay i get why neo has no reason to return anymore BUT JAUNE FALLING?#LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ROOSTER TEETH IS HE DEAD DONT YOU DARE KILL HIM OFF I FUCKING SWEAR#i hate that fucking cat so much bro hes so annoying i want him DEAD by next week once the final ep drops#but if he dies ... does that mean neo will die to since shes the vessel :(#as much as i hope thats not gna be the case it's a bitttt inevitable? pls let me have my delusions of neo having her redemption arc pleasee#anyways go ruby do what makes u happy 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 as much as i love cresent rose if not using her anymore is what makes u heal +#+ happy i will have no complaints do whats best for you baby 🥹 ueueue i love her sm#no but what if she just uses summers weapons to kill off that cat#and then when they go back to remnant it's back to cresent rose (im delusional)#it's very impossible looking at rubys situation now but hey one can dream yk#SPEAKING OF SUMMER I WAS VERY SURPRISED WHEN I SAW HER IN THE FIRST BIT#i wish they showed her face like cmon why is rt acting like we didnt see her face in that one season like?? 🙁 let me see the pretty mother#AGAIN WHAT THE FUCK IS RWBY V9 EP 9 it felt like some type of filler ep 💀 not that i hate it but it was kinda short to me#season finale next week better be good or else im gna be so mad like we did not just see neo getting POSSESSED all 4 a bad ending 4 the szn#on a side note: i hope we get to see the others again pls pls pls i NEED renora development 😣😣 my og childhood bffs to lovers 40k words +#+ mutual pining and slowburn romance (it took them 8 seasons to kiss)#rwby v9 spoilers#this was so long to break down damn sorry for the typos i am not redoing all of these tags just to correct them
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moons-among-distant-stars · 8 months ago
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gonna scream and cry actually
also shoutout to this iterator playlist for going so hard and being the thing i loop for hours on end
(more in the tags cause i'm a coward)
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#screaming crying throwing up#pebbles i am not as strong as moon#i dont think i could forgive you#but gods#thats so argh!!! im gonna scream#was crying /not really to my friends about pebbles in saint's campaign just last night#was sobbing over the moon and pebbles rubicon dialogue again too#but also like aaa five pebbles how could you but also i get it#how could you do this and you were so far in#any lost ground would have felt like failure to you#and when you have spent your everything to work towards that#when you have damned yourself and the ones you love to pain and suffering and isolated yourself so entirely#you could not possibly back down or give up until it was too late#it is that he was once a god and also a child#and now he is in the cold and the snow#and although he cannot feel it we wish to give him lampterns and warmth and company#and so we sit while he plays a distorted song he does not remember#and if you freeze he asks why you stayed#also i think that by the time of rivulet's campaign pebbles has accepted that what he did was horrid and hurt so many and i think that is#one of the times he acts truly selflessly (at least in canon)#because he has killed his big sister#for a goal that he failed at because of he desperate plea to live#and how could you not hate yourself after that how could you bare to face her#so you send her your heart in hopes that you may make a small small dent in the anger and hurt and pain you have caused#pebbles please forgive yourself#it is the only way to heal#but he will be nothing but a puppet without strings by the end#with barely enough consciousness to talk
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radiotorn · 9 months ago
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having to restrain from saying anything when my dad dares to say that men get paid LESS than women. in what world. are you out of your fucking mind old man.
#ow.err#IN WHAT WORLD ARE MEN PAID LESS THAN WOMEN.#like. i shouldnt be surprised he said that bc he watched and/rew t/ate and jo/e rog/an so like. of fucking course he'd think that.#but like dude. you have no idea what youre talking about.#and there is NO WAY im gonna even try to tell him otherwise bc he is. loud. yk.#im just gonna. leave that there. bc its not my responsibility to 'fix' my parents as much as id love to try.#its just not my responsibility. and itll prob just end in me getting screamed at anyways since they wont listen to me or anything i say#cuz im still a kid in their eyes ! ! ! !!!! ! ! so cool ! ! ! ! ! !#almost 20. father doesnt think i know how to wake myself up w/o being woken up by someone else.#SO INSULTING BTW. i always get up on time. no matter what. nearly 20 and he thinks im a fking child still#both my mom and dad do but my dad does it in an 'underestimating' me way and my mom does it in a 'tries to overly coddle me' way#you know? i dunno. i dunno. i wanna move out but money is so fked rn. and idk how to do like. anything. so im just...#gonna do my classes and try to get a nice job and save up for awhile before i actually move out to my own place#im also kind of scared bc idk if ill have the. will to care for myself once i move out. like im worried ill just let myself die#sso. things to. work on before i get out of here i guess. but the thing is this environment will not let me heal. ahhh !!!!!!!!!#the only way out is through!!! through and scared!!!!!!!!!!!! tmrw marks the start of my life potentially starting to change. for the bette#but still changing. and oh man. im very nervous. its scary#cuz like. i didnt think id live past like 12 ??? so to be almost 20 and very behind on 'adult things' is. scary?daunting?#it all almost feels unreal. like im reaching a part of my life i never thought id actually reach. it feels like ive been living on#borrowed time since 12 so now im like. damn i have to live dont i. i have to actively make this life worth living now#some days i still worry itll be my last but ... im just gonna try to take it one step at a time. its all i can do.#be as prepared as i can. and take it one step at a time. i clutch onto the hope that my life will get better#and i clutch onto it with an iron grip. because damn it. it has to get better than this. it has to.#wow this got derailed. oh well my poast my rules.
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adambomb82 · 1 year ago
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hey hey hey it's ol hickory ham mike
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happywitch416 · 2 years ago
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One would think with all the pain I live with that I would not turn into the world's littlest bitch when I have extra pain but damn. I think knee pain so bad your legs shake too much to walk in both knees is probably enough to put most people out.
I'm just so well adjusted to pain that I won't pass out.
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racingmiku2018 · 2 years ago
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hrgrhrge i shouldve gone to sleep hours ago
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wishi-selfships · 5 months ago
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^^ how I felt reading this btw
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冬に死ぬの方がいい (I'd rather die in the winter) / denji x reader
genre(s): strangers to friends to lovers??? not fully lovers yet because it’s at the end so it's like kinda ambiguously romantic ig, angst with a not too angst ending!! hurt/comfort SO heavy on the hurt/comfort omg... also despite the tldr there is no death here like for the most part
warning(s): spoilers up to the end of public safety saga, canon divergent and timeline inaccurate at points because i haven't read csm in AGES, explicit depictions of SA and like near-death poverty because denji actually cannot catch a break um????? no explicit nsfw tho also not fully and completely proofread i will be editing as i go when i spot mistakes
wc: ~6.6k
tldr; dying in the winter doesn't seem so bad after all
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Do you know what it feels like to die?
In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he thinks he does, as the planks of termite-infested wood and sheets of metal collapse into his shed without warning in the dead of night, the blizzard of winter snow unrelenting in its advances. He dreams of the coldest winter he’s survived, a splinter of decayed, rotting wood knocking him awake from his half-slumber, before crumpled rubbish attacks him from all directions. His arms scramble around Pochita to hunch over his motionless, sleeping body as boulders of wood and rusted metal hammer at his back. Purpled, blistered fingers swat and claw at the rough patterns etched into the planks, skin ripping as Denji crawls into a foot of snow. 
In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he curls up against his temporary home- the glass window of a convenience store, too afraid to enter. People come and go, crinkling bags of plastic shrugging into protective arms, parents tugging a little harsher at their children, who point and slobber at his ghastly figure, partners who hold each other’s waists a little closer as they pass.
“What a poor guy.”
“Fuck, that scared me.”
“Is that guy dying or something?”
Dying. Do they know what it feels like to die? 
Denji’s head is hung low when plastic wrap lands on the back of his skull. His fingers, frozen stiff, swipe at the glossy packaging, before a fleeting moment of warmth graces his frozen fingertips. He doesn’t look up to the sound of plastic ripping, or to the hand that slips a heat pack into his arms. He doesn’t look up when someone kneels to his level, and his vision trains further into the ground when they offer him half of a steaming red bean bun in a paper packet beside his body, their eyes peeking through the gap between his knees. 
“Sorry, that’s all I have.” 
He doesn’t make a sound when a bottle is twisted open, doesn’t move when they grab his hands and begin trickling water from their thermos onto his fingers. He only winces as the blisters begin to thaw, steaming as the remnants of wet snow melt beneath his feet. 
“I hope we never meet again.”
Denji only looks up as you turn to depart the store, etching into his mind the person that moves further from him with each step, and the eyes that meet his own, but only between his knees, and the fleeting touch that may have just saved him that night, in the seventeenth winter of his life. The person who had to see his shrivelled, curled up figure, and had to feed his dried, crusted mouth with half a red bean bun that still sits on the ground beside him, and had to touch his bleeding, puss-filled, blistering fingers to thaw them.  
He too thinks he would rather die in the cold of this winter than meet you again.
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Die, Denji does, but only in the eighteenth spring of his life, when the blisters on his fingers have 
scarred into hardened skin, and he has found himself a new shed to spend his nights in. He dies with a chainsaw cord through his chest, and it’s a million times less painful than he once believed, at least until the dying pump of Pochita in his heart almost begs for mercy. Suddenly, his chest feels just a little too heavy, and he realises he’s never known how warm blood was until it drowns him in pools of sticky, metallic red. When two strong arms reach out to hold his collapsing body, he’s sure that he knows what it feels like to die. Denji’s limp figure hangs motionless in your grasp, and you frown at the mess of dried blood that paints his toothed head in specks of brown. This is not somewhere safe for him.
Denji opens his eyes with his head in someone’s lap, bumpy roads jolting him awake from his unconsciousness. He stares into the back of the front passenger seat, warm fabric beneath his cheeks as he inhales the air freshener of the car and raises his hands to his eyes. The hardened skin of his fingers seems to have scabbed and fallen off, leaving him with hands more akin to that of a teenager. A normal teenager. He senses something else, something toying with his matted strands of golden hair. Fluttering touches stir and spread on his scalp, a whole palm nuzzling into the top of his head and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his lips. 
“We’ve got another hour to go. Sleep more if you need to.”
There it is, the voice that haunts him in his sleep and chases him in his waking hours. The voice that tells him he did a good job after every hunting gig, snickers with him when he cheats the yakuza out of a sleazy hundred yen coin, lulls him to sleep at night with the promise of bread, and butter, and honey, even some jam. The voice that he remembers all too well, and can’t seem to run from, no matter how hard his mind races. 
His mind freezes, but his body betrays him as his head turns in your direction, vision meeting the full face that hid behind the cover of his knees on that winter day, when he swore he knew how it felt like to die. He once envisioned his death to be silent, frozen in his final breaths into the winter sky. Then, he thought of it as a mess of red, putrid blood flooding his orifices as he drowns in a dumpster of sliced up human remains. Now, by some miracle, he lies in the lap of a familiar stranger, staring back at their gaze that remains unchanged from the one they shot at him between his reddened, shrivelled legs, exactly one hundred and fifty four days ago.  
Denji isn’t completely sure if he knows what dying feels like anymore.
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There is vomit in Denji’s mouth. There are mouthfuls of grainy, soured bile that barge through Denji’s lips as he sits on the ground of a restaurant, arms pulled into his chest. Himeno’s grip on his jaw is unshakeable, no matter how hard he thrashes and gargles, doing anything he can to separate himself from her. She pulls him closer to her as she continues spewing all the food she’s consumed throughout the day into his throat, and his eyes dart toward you, who grimace in disgust at the horrific scene that ensues before your very eyes. 
Do you know what it feels like to die while still breathing?
Denji wants to die. He wants nothing more, than to really die here on the ground, somebody else’s vomit spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yet the way your eye twitches at his pathetic attempts to free himself, and the wandering of your gaze between Himeno, who just refuses to let go, and Denji, who can’t seem to force her off, sends him to the depths of hell before he’s even lost consciousness. There is no empathy in your gaze, only disgust. Denji once thought that having to touch his frostbitten, rotting body in the winter was the most shameful thing that he could put you through. He thinks this is tenfold worse. He glues his eyes shut, praying for this all to be over, and just misses the slam of your soda can into the wooden table, and the shuffling of your feet towards the combined bodies of himself and Himeno. The weight of Himeno’s suffocating grip lightens, and Denji is just able to wriggle out of her grasp, before he’s falling again and his head hits the ground. 
You watch the pool of puke that spreads beneath Denji’s cheek, seeping into his hair and sticky with bile and spit. Himeno babbles on, half a jug of beer in hand, and eight empty ones in front of her. You wince, tugging at Denji’s sleeve. He is motionless, blacked out, and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. How did he, of all people, end up here? You look around at the people that surround the table, all of which bear lines of jagged scar tissue beneath the rolled up cuffs of their shirt sleeves, across the skin of their faces, along their huffing chests. You touch the scar on your shoulder through your shirt, scratching at it through the fabric. The itch does not fade, gradually becoming more and more intangible, yet so obviously present. This is not a place for people like Denji, or you, or anybody with half a will to live. If eighteen years of training and living under the public safety sector has taught you anything, it is that you never want to be near this place. You did not save Denji’s life last winter for him to let something as wretched as this line of work ruin it once again. You did not reminisce about him on the way home, half a red bean bun in hand, praying that he might find solace in this perverted world, only to have him return to the root of all things depraved. You did not scream for three days straight, the speech devil clawing open the skin of your esophagus at every breath you took, just to watch him jump into the stomach of another devil, giving up whatever little shred of sanity he had left. 
Your hands come up to form shapes, fingers twisting and jabbing at each other in sentences of sign. 
Makima, should I take him home with me to Aki’s?
“I’ll taaaaaaaake him…!” 
For somebody who is clearly far gone, Himeno is quite perceptive of what others around her are planning. Makima smiles, waving you off, and you frown. Grabbing your soda, you leave the restaurant without a word. Nobody else follows.
In the eighteenth spring of Denji’s life, he wakes up in a bed for the first time. His body sinks into the soft, linen sheets that cover the plush mattress, and there’s a weight that sits comfortably above his chest. He isn’t sure what it is, yet it wraps around his sweaty body like a cloud, threatening to lull him into slumber against the midnight that settles in a blanket of blue and ribbons of silver through lidded blinds. He does not want to die here. For once, Denji decides that he will bask in the rare warmth of a quilt on his chest, and the smoothness of silky fabric beneath his arms, his body finally relaxing after eighteen years of endless running, reluctant hunting, cold slumber on planks of wood and chewed up, moulding mattresses. That is, until, a familiar body crawls onto him from where his feet lie.
“Hey… Denji.” He freezes, the bed transforming into a bed of nails and pinning him down like needles that stab through fragile, fluttering wings of butterflies on framed planks of wood.
“Wanna sleep with me?” Himeno’s hand comes up to hold Denji’s cheek, creeping impossibly close to his flushed chest. 
This is what he wanted, right? Every night, as Pochita drifted to sleep on Denji’s shrivelled chest, he would tell him that getting laid would be the greatest honour of his life, wouldn't he?
But Denji wants to scream and cry, until his throat goes hoarse and his ribs crack under the pressure from the sheer exertion of his lungs. Himeno comes even closer now, and he can smell the bitter beer and putrid puke that laces her mouth. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t speak either, as her lips begin to pepper across his face, and along the shaft of his neck. Her kisses send his throat in a frenzy, panicked wheezes and groans vibrating into her mouth as she takes his Adam's apple in an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t breathe, and his legs won’t move to save him as her saliva dribbles down his neck, into his frantically heaving chest. Denji is frozen in place as Himeno peels off her sheer shirt, and he almost chuckles dryly, the concussion from before throbbing at the side of his skull. Safety? Comfort? A roof over his head, a house that won’t collapse even from the strongest of winds, a place to sleep in that won’t end up twisting his back? How audacious. Who is he kidding?
Denji thinks he should have just chosen to die when he woke up in this bed. 
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The day that Makima catches wind of Denji’s incident with Himeno is the day that he is moved to Aki’s residency. At the click of a key turning in a lock, you walk out of your room groggily to see a figure in the dark, who drops a half-empty duffel bag onto the ground at the doorway. Denji shrugs backwards as you flick the lights on, arms coming up to cover his eyes. The flat is warm, smells that he doesn’t know wafting into his twitching nose as he removes his hands from his vision to look around. You stare at Denji, who wanders around the kitchen counter, eyes searching every surface for something, anything. 
“We have leftover curry, if you want it.”
There’s that familiar voice again, calling out to him, offering him food, and safety, and a roof over his head. He turns to you, and you nudge your head towards the fridge, hands in the pocket of your hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t make a sound, or say a word. He simply glides towards the fridge, pulling it open and rummaging the racks for a plate of leftover curry rice. The clanks and clinks of glass dishes on plastic stirs the Hayakawa residence awake, Power swinging the door to your shared room wide open as the handle slams into the wall with a thud. Aki’s room remains closed, but you hear an abrupt hiccup from the other side of the door.
“What is this thing doing here! Why is it taking my food!”
“He needs food, Power. Plus, it’s not even yours. Go back to sleep.”
“No!”
Power huffs, and you forcefully shove her into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking the lights back off. Denji unwraps cling wrap from the dish, balling it in his fist and tossing it aside as he searches for a spoon, metal utensils clashing against each other in wooden cabinets as his impatient fingers sift through forks, and knives, and chopsticks. Upon finding one, he travels to the couch, where you are sitting with your legs manspread lazily. The black screen of the television reflects the two of you on the couch; Denji’s tired arms reeling spoonfuls of cold curry and meat into his mouth, and you watching him eat, hands clasped and elbows propped up on your thighs. He lets each bite linger on his tongue for a little longer than it has to, savouring this new sensation of proper food in his mouth. Then, he wipes his mouth on his rolled-up sleeve, and sniffles at the realisation that his stomach is no longer throbbing and growling dully.
“Do you want to sleep?”
Denji doesn’t respond. He thinks you have hidden away the last two words to that question. He would rather die than hear confirmation of it.
“You can take my bed if you want. I can take the sofa for now.”
He doesn’t get up from the couch. Instead, he drops the spoon onto the empty plate, and feels his body tip sideways. His head lands in your lap again, the same way it did in the company car, on the day that he died for the first time. Your arms shoot up to accommodate him, body tensing as his hair hits your leg. He sighs, small snores eliciting from his nose as he passes out on you, still clad in his work suit. You tug the windsor knot of his tie loose, before running your fingers through his blonde locks, and rolling your head back over the edge of the couch. You can only take a guess at what happened with Himeno the night before that rendered him so unresponsive. So unlike the brash, boisterous version of him that beamed at Himeno’s offer of a french kiss, before having puke forced into his mouth. You cringe at even the thought of it, taking note of Denji’s little hums in his slumber, limp arms hanging off the couch and feet dangling off the edge. Swiping a thumb across his lip, you collect the curry that remains around his mouth, and he jolts unconsciously in his sleep, before relaxing against you again. Wind whistles past the glass windows of the living room, and it’s almost as if Denji shivers at the sound of coldness, even if it is blocked by the four walls that surround him. Your hand on his head moves to cradle his jaw, which shifts periodically as he breathes in, and breathes out. You hope that he can stay like this forever.
Another hiccup sounds from Aki’s room, Power kicks and flails at blankets in muffled thumps.
You bring your other hand to your mouth, parting your lips against your thumb to take a first taste of the untouched plate of curry that was supposed to be your dinner.  
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“She even touched my shoulder! My shoulder, guys!”
On a windy night of Denji’s eighteenth autumn, he beams at the dinner table, grains of rice spewing from his stuffed mouth as his chopsticks wave and swing in the air. He hits you in the face, a piece of limp spinach slapping onto your cheek from his utensils, and Power screeches, jagged teeth bared in her maniacal laughter. You side eye him, picking the vegetable off your face and silently shoving more rice into your mouth. You’ve noticed the skip in Denji’s step upon his return to the Hayakawa residence, the dusty blush that lines his cheeks as he grabs at the fabric of his shirt around the shoulders, and sniffs it, the bashful giggles he gives himself when he waves you off for asking him what’s got him in such a good mood. Knowing your line of work, that won’t last, no matter how hard you try to speak it into existence. 
“Yeah, she touched your shoulder. We get it.”
“No no no, you don’t. I think she likes me! Like, really likes me!”
Denji slams his hands onto the coffee table now, shooting up to defend his proclamation of love on behalf of some random girl. You sigh, opting for a piece of beef from the plate in front of you. On your tongue is soft meat, savoury sauce, sour, putrid dread. Aki shoots you a glance from across the table. He watches your eyes widen for just a glimpse of a second, and nods, a mutual understanding clearly reached between you two. You take a fistful of Denji’s shirt, yanking him back down to ground level, and he pouts as you shove bundles of spinach and ladles of sauce into his bowl. He bites his thumb, gnawing and nibbling as his chopsticks pick aimlessly at his meal.
“Stop biting your finger, Denji. That’s gross.” You grab his wrist and pull his thumb out of his mouth.
“Nah, I made a promise to Makima.”
“Makima?”
Aki chews on his rice silently at your question. Denji stares at his nail, jagged and peeling from biting on it constantly. 
“She’s the one for me. That’s why she told me to remember how it feels when she bites my thumb.”
At that, your palm makes contact with the back of his head, knocking it forward. Denji wheezes, the wind knocked out of his windpipe at your sudden attack. Aki shovels individual grains of rice into his mouth, clearing his bowl. Power joins in your antics, hands chopping at his body even after you’ve stopped to glare at him. She gets bored of your inaction quickly, scratching her ass as she leaves the table for the shared room. Denji’s eyes are trained onto his bowl, the food looking less and less appetising by the second. 
“She did what?”
Denji stretches his palm in front of his face, inspecting it as if it was some antique object. His chest sinks, feeling your eyes burn holes into the side of his head. Makima promised him love, and sex, and everything he has ever wanted. He isn’t sure why it seems so wrong to you. You once told him you wanted him to find someplace safe, no? Where do you think he would be, if not for Makima bringing him in on that fateful spring day?
“Well, she let me cop a feel because she cares about what I want. Even said she’d grant me any wish if I got the gun devil.”
“She does not care about you, Denji!”
Denji scowls, hands waving erratically as he searches for his words. Aki leaves for the kitchen sink silently, the sound of running water serving as a backdrop to your wordless fury. You slam your hands onto his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. His eyes meet yours, and he sees something that Makima, that other girl from today, Himeno, Power, Aki, none of them have shown him before. Desperation. Fear. Worry. 
“You know what? Go back to that girl you met in the phone booth. Do what you want, just don’t get me roped into your shit. And remember, I told you so.”
You shove him away, retreating into the shared room. That night, Denji sleeps on the couch instead of you. He doesn’t think about the girl from the phone booth, or Makima. He dreams about the day that you thawed his frostbitten fingers outside a convenience store, the day that had him thinking he knew what it meant to die, but really had no grasp on it. 
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Denji learns the taste of flowers in the eighteenth autumn of his life, when shoves an entire bouquet of them into his mouth in a cafe. The petals turn into mush on his tongue as he chews and swallows them. He waits for some girl that tried to bite his tongue off and murder him two days ago, sitting alone on a bar seat in a bustling coffee shop. Stares and murmurs ensue behind his back, couples and friends alike glancing at his pathetic figure that waits for a fabricated promise, flowers stuffed in his mouth. He tastes the bitterness of the flowerbuds, the type of bitterness that seeped through his veins when she kissed him, and ripped his tongue from his mouth. The type of bitterness that he can’t seem to fully carry, even after she tried to blow him up. The type of bitterness that is covered by the sweetness of flora, which somehow still makes its way through to his sinuses. Like recollections of how she showed him how to swim, laughed at his awful jokes, taught him to read and write, and turned all shades of red and pink at his flirtations. Rose-tinted recollections of a military trained spy, whose very purpose was to blush on command, laugh on command, lure him into emotional investment, before biting his tongue off, slashing his wrists open, and ripping his heart out of his chest. 
He doesn’t like the way these flowers taste. He throws the half-eaten bouquet onto the ground of the cafe, and pushes his way out of the shop. 
When Denji returns home, you are squeezing whole bottles of throat medicine into your mouth on the living room sofa. He points at his throat, and pretends to pull a pin from his neck. You nod, clawing at the air around your throat. He shoots you a thumbs up, unsure what to say as he faces the consequences of his fortunate victory against the bomb hybrid from the night before. You wave him off, eyes never meeting him as you mouth, it’s fine, I’ll be good. From across the living room, he catches the blood that coats your entire bed of teeth, the dark, deadly shade of crimson splattered across your lips. He hears your screams again, and again, and again, as he stands in the doorway. Blood curdling commands coming one after the other, he can almost feel his throat rip open with every word, taste the blood that you cough up after finishing the bottle of throat medicine. 
Walking towards the couch, he plops down beside you, his weight creating a dip in the soft fabric. You pretend to pull a pin at your throat, and point at Denji, who sighs hopelessly. You falter, brows furrowing at his disappointment. For the weeks leading up to today, Denji had not removed himself from Reze- some unknown girl he met in a telephone booth. He had beamed about his advances to you- namely regurgitating a saliva coated flower from his mouth magically, and you had listened patiently, fists gripped by your sides. He told you he wanted to run away with her, after all this mess and carnage was over, only for her to become the root of another senseless massacre. Your hands move to form shapes, sign language that Denji has picked up on throughout the past months of living and working alongside you. His skills are scarce, yet he just makes out what you are asking.
Beach, girl, run?
He shakes his head, back hunching in defeat. She didn’t care about his heart, only the Chainsaw devil’s. Even her blushes and laughs were rehearsed to perfection. 
“She didn’t show up to the cafe anyways.”
You frown, hitting Denji’s chest with the back of your palm, eyes still not meeting his own. He bites his thumb, and you slap his hand away from his mouth without even looking. Signing furiously, your fingers contort into a flurry of shapes. Shapes that Denji can barely decipher, but understand just enough to feel your disdain. 
No biting… unbelievable. Makima, Reze. Gross... 
Denji smiles weakly, wiping his thumb on his blood-stained uniform. Your teeth are bared until the tips of your canines just peek through the opening of your lips, before you retract them and gnaw your bottom lip meekly. He takes in the corners of your worried eyes and irked brows, and he thinks that even Pochita feels a little guilty in the way that his chest seems to beat agonisingly with every pang, like a nail burying itself into his heart at each pump. You punch his shoulder, finally taking a good look at his haggard figure, before reaching for another bottle of medicine and twisting the cap open with a click. You gargle and cough at each swallow, splatters of blood spitting into a white tissue from your throat at each sound you make. Suddenly, Denji wishes he didn’t throw the flowers away at the coffee shop. Maybe a few petals could ease the pain too, because he’s sure it’s the petals he ate that are making him feel a blooming warmth in his chest right now.
“You don’t have to be sorry. Plus, you saved my life out there yesterday. So, thanks.”
You smile at him with your lips pursed, and Denji hopes that he doesn’t die before you find your voice again.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
In the beginning of Denji’s eighteenth winter, he slashes a chainsaw through Makima’s body. He watches her cut up, mutilated organs fall to the ground, throwing the chainsaw next to them. There is no pity, or rage, or overwhelming sadness. All he can do is stare, coated head to toe in her blood. He takes her skin, and bones, and organs in a plastic bag, inhales blood that smells akin to rat shit and bile. He walks into a new apartment, devoid of the Hayakawa name that was once engraved into the tin mailbox of his old home. It is empty, no one greets him on the couch as he walks in. 
He throws the bag of remains onto the counter of his new kitchen, bought with the money left in Aki’s will. He’s sorry, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel anything right now. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Aki is dead. Power is dead too. He should feel something, at the very least for you, who was wheeled onto an ambulance as he picked up the remains of Makima with his bare hands. 
Denji eats dinner alone at his new coffee table, also bought with the money from Aki’s will. He shuts his eyes, and pretends that Power is bickering with him. He can almost hear her frenzied shouts, feel her hands slap his back, and his head, and his chest. Aki should be sitting across the table, sipping his tea mindlessly, or lighting a cigarette and filling the room with nicotine. He shoves Makima’s flesh into his mouth, swallowing without so much as chewing on it. The idea that he is shovelling human flesh into his stomach while fully human makes his skin crawl and stomach flip. He wants to throw up. His eyes water at the grooves and fibres in the meat that etch themselves into his tongue. 
He squeezes shut his eyes even harder now, instead envisioning you beside him. You, who force strings of vegetables into his meals at dinner. You, who speak only when needed, and rarely in sentences that drag on for more than you deem the need to, and showed him how to live on with half a red bean bun and a thermos. He has never known the curves of your body like the rest of his prospects, never thought to try and learn them either. He doesn’t know of your past, or your present either, really. 
Despite that, you know the shrivelled figure of his past, his habit of thumb biting, his fear of sharing a bed, his disdain for spinach over any other vegetable. And when you spat at him, I told you so, you were right. Himeno wanted him to fuel some petty, one-sided feud. Reze ripped his tongue out of his mouth, only to apologise, before snapping his neck and leaving him in the dust. Makima, the one who swore to give him sex, and love, and safety, and purpose, everything he could have ever wanted, binded him in a dog’s collar so he could watch as she tore Power in half from the torso. All Power wanted was to give him a cake. 
You confuse him to no end, but something sits between the two of you for certain. Something that shrouds his heart in a warm glow, one that almost calls out at him to keep it there. A glow that creeps up to his mouth when you can’t speak, threatening to spill out of his lips and into yours so he can heal you, for once. But the glow always seems to turn into poison that leaks back down his throat. He swallows his words, bites his lip, bites his own fingers. He doesn’t know how it feels to die, only because you’ve shielded him from it all along.
The remains of Makima have been consumed. Denji throws the plates and bowls into the sink carelessly, his chopsticks following suit. When he swings open his cabinet to two new boxes of throat medicine, he can’t help but stare at his purchase. He really only had you in mind when he filled the cabinets of his new apartment with the only familiar thing a grocery store could offer. Maybe he should give you a visit soon.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
In the eighteenth winter of Denji’s life, you learn that he is afraid of living. Your backs against the sheets of your hospital bed, the two of you stare at the ceiling light that blinks periodically, just as it has for the past week that you’ve been here for. Its flickers have gradually become more erratic than the days before. You stare at the familiar cracks that spread from beneath the light bracket towards the rest of the ceiling, arms behind your head. 
“Does it still hurt to talk?”
“Just a bit.”
He hums in understanding, continuing his aimless staring. The hospital television whirs in static and vague sounds of people speaking behind the two of you, and you shift in place, the bed sheets wrinkling and shuffling beneath your body. 
“Can I tell you something?”
You nod wordlessly.
“I’m starting to think I can’t live anymore. Like this whole devil thing has made me less…human, I guess.”
“Why?”
Denji clicks his tongue, hissing a sharp inhale through his teeth. 
“I don’t really see the point in touching tits, or having sex anymore, you know? Like, all those things that I thought I wanted so badly, they didn’t make me feel how I wanted to. But then, I’m not sure how to live. Shouldn’t I live so someone can love me? Is that not what everyone lives for?”
You glance at him, the messy blonde hair that presses into the mattress, lousily tucked white shirt that creases around the waist, eyes that once were zealous turned tired, unfeeling. You pull one hand out from beneath your head, the one that doesn’t have an IV drip attached to your index finger. It travels to Denji’s crossed arms, untangling them from each other so you can grab at his hand. His fingers are unresponsive until you give him a squeeze, then another, then a third, and they finally relax against your own. He turns, meeting the eyes that peeked through his knees in his seventeenth winter. Eyes that look at him with worry, whether he is sitting at a dinner table, beaming about some girl whose flirtations have blinded his rationality, or if he is curled up against the glass door of some convenience store at midnight, breath stagnant and frozen in the winter air. 
“Do you think they loved you, Denji?”
His vision travels to the mattress beneath him. He thinks they did, or maybe they didn’t, or it was somewhat in between love and indifference, or whatever that’s supposed to feel like.
“I don’t know. They all wanted chainsaw man’s heart. But nobody wanted mine, you know? Nobody ever wanted Denji’s.”
You give his hand another squeeze, and he feels another pang in his chest. This is what it feels like to die, Denji thinks. Not blood gushing from his chest, or being frozen solid as people walk past his crouched body, but knowing that his efforts to become worthy of appreciation have only amounted to being used for his power. This is what it feels like to die, a hollow boy with nothing left in his chest but a devil that pumps blood for him. Even his heart is a contract that he has to follow. 
“I didn’t save you a year ago today for you to think that, Denji.”
Your weak elbows try to prop your body up to look at him from above, before they collapse back into the mattress and elicit a hiss of pain from your mouth. It’s by some miracle that you’re even alive right now, and that your throat has healed enough to make out short sentences. Short proclamations like this, that you’ve waited so long to make. Denji catches your fall, a palm cushioning your elbow. His hand is still in yours as he shifts to look at you properly. 
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want to know?”
He opens his mouth, and his scrambled words get caught in his throat. So, he nods, the bags beneath his eyes relaxing. You let go of his hand, instead running your fingers along his chest and laying your palm flat on his heart. It beats in rhythmic thumps, steadily pulsing on the lines of your hand. 
“What are you feeling right now?”
Denji’s mind is a jumbled mess, yet he can clearly tell what he is feeling. “Warm.”
“Are you nervous?”
“No.”
Your hands move to the back of his head, scratching and rubbing at his scalp with the pads of your fingers. Denji leans into your touch, eyes still trained onto your own. His heart continues to beat steadily, and he feels something building up around it. Something that has his breaths getting heavier, and his vision of you becoming even clearer than it already is. 
“What does this feel like?”
“Nice.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
Your hand makes its advance to his cheek, cradling it gently. Dusty pink scatters across his face, and Denji has to remember to breathe. In, out, in, out. Your thumb swipes across the dark bag beneath his eye. He thinks this is bliss, so unlike the drooling, panting mess he used to be for Makima, or the bumbling, fake persona he played up for Reze. He is more sober than ever, and his hand hovers over your body. He doesn’t want to just cop a feel. He wants to touch every inch of skin that you inhibit, trace over whatever scars you might have accumulated from the trials of time, plant kisses wherever you want him to, whenever you want him to. 
“What does this feel like?”
“Can you stay like that?”
“Sure.”
He reaches for your wrist, holding onto it like a lost boy in a crowd. His fingers feel for smoothed scar tissue in your palm, around your knuckles, on your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his face to take a look at the lines that etch themselves into your skin, lips hovering just above your fingers.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod. He starts on the scar of your palm, one that you earned during a fight in the early days of your work. He kisses the fleshy scar that slashes across your hand, peppering along its length. 
“Can I keep going?”
“Yeah, keep going Denji.”
His head dips to the faint white lines that decorate your arm, from your wrist to the connection between your forearm and bicep. His hair tickles the sides of your arm as fluttering kisses plant themselves into each poisoned, torn open line of your skin. You squirm, hospital gown coming loose on one shoulder as the cool air of the room hits the scar that reaches from your shoulder to the dip between your collarbones. Denji notices, and pulls your arm away from him.
“Can I?”
You wince, the scar beginning to itch and throb.
“Please, do it.”
His fingers trace along the jagged scar, before he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, and moves along to the centre of the dip just above your chest. You roll your head back to give him space, and he kisses up your neck and onto your jaw. He’s inexperienced, nose bumping into your flesh when he comes up to look at you again. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you answer his question for him as you pull him into you. The glow in his heart rushes from his chest to his mouth, but his teeth bump into yours, and you pull away. It tastes like your blood, the blood that has saved his life more times than he can count as you rip your throat open for him. He wants to taste it again as much as you want him to.
“What does that feel like?”
Denji knows what it means to die now, but he thinks he’s starting to understand how to live too. If this day, in the eighteenth winter of his life, is what dying and being reborn feels like, he would rather die in the winter when his time comes.
“I think it feels like love.”
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author's note:
guys this took SO LONG i really do not have what it takes to do a longfic in 2 days anymore after that tsukishima one... but im so proud of this tho like i had so much fun writing it and i love my baby boy denji so much omg also wishi i am so sorry it took this long to come out but i hope you like it sososoosososososos much
anyways tags!!
@wishi-selfships @staraxiaa @kuroppiii @akaakeis @iiwaijime @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @catsoupki
209 notes · View notes
marauder-misprint · 13 days ago
Note
happy 500 followers i’m so happy for you!!
can you write 62 for the dialogue prompt with remus? maybe she’s james’ sister and a flirt just like him. bc jealous rem ✅✅ they’re dumb for each other but sooo oblivious
Thank you for the request ❤︎
I definitely had a moment writing where I was laughing to myself. You flirt with Remus for years: James has no problem. You say one flirtatious line to Sirius: James asks what's wrong with you.
What you need
Remus Lupin x Potter!reader
2.9k words
cw: fluff, mutual pining, angst
You and James were dual threats. Quidditch stars, academic weapons when you chose to be, friendly, attractive and flirtatious. He had his sights set on Lily and you had yours on Remus. Your methods, however, differed. While James showered Lily with compliments and asked her out daily, you had a more gentle approach. You were drawn to Remus, plenty happy to just sit in his presence. You showered him with compliments as well and made him the center of your world, but you felt that, like Lily, he didn’t reciprocate your feelings. 
You didn’t let it deter you though. You knew he was more reserved than the rest of the Marauders. You decided you would play the long game and wait. He would ask you out. Eventually. 
You collapsed next to Remus on the couch in the common room with an exaggerated sigh. You leaned your head on his shoulder to see what book he was reading.
“The various color changes in the wiggenweld brewing process are essential to the process and without them, the potion will be rendered useless. Substitutions, while appropriate in other potions, will drastically reduce the effectiveness,” you read over his shoulder. “Merlin, Moony, what are you reading? I know Slug didn’t assign this.”
“Just reading up on healing potions. Never know when you’ll need one,” he said.
You hummed and adjusted your body so you were closer to him. 
“Must be something more interesting going on now, though, right?”
“Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail all have detention.”
“I know,” you laughed. “Maybe we could do something! You know, just the two of us!”
You tried to not sound too excited at the idea. It was a rare opportunity that the other three had detention while you and Remus got off scot-free. 
“Oh, well, I was planning on reading…”
“You could read out loud?” you suggested, desperate for some attention from him. “Maybe I’d learn something.”
“No good at reading out loud,” he mumbled.
“It’d be good practice, Moons. You know I won’t judge. Plus, you have a nice voice.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his face turn a pink hue. You nudged him gently. 
“Come on, read to me,” you sang softly. 
Remus, feeling flustered, stood up.
“Please excuse me,” he said, leaving you on the couch alone.
You watched him retreat to his dorm with a frown on your face. Once again, it hadn’t gone as you had hoped. This wasn’t the first time you had alone time with Remus and he left just after you made him blush. You grumpily moved over into the spot he previously occupied. It was warm and faintly smelled of him; it was the second best thing right now. 
It didn’t take long before Lily sat down in the squashy armchair near you. 
“Why the long face Potter?” she asked. “Missing brother dearest and the troubled gang?” 
You made a face at her, earning you a laugh. Oh, how James would’ve smiled and stared if he were here. 
“They aren’t all in detention, Lils,” you told her.
“Well, you’re not. That would be at least one.”
“Ha,” you said dryly. “No, um, Remus is upstairs. Reading.”
“Huh. Doesn’t he usually read down here when they aren’t around?”
“Mhmm.” You took a deep breath. “He was for a bit.”
Lily nodded. “You’re in his spot, aren’t you?”
“Maybeeee,” you replied quietly, turning your face to look at the fire. “Smells like ‘im,” you added in a mumble.
She laughed again. “Potter, you’re doomed.”
You looked back at her so she could see you roll your eyes and then you returned your gaze to the flames. You knew you were doomed. You would follow Remus to the ends of the earth. You sat next to him whenever you could. You knew how he liked his tea and which quill was his favorite. You knew his ranking of tables in the library, the ones best for studying alone, studying in a group and prank planning. You knew which sweater was the comfiest because he wore it after every full moon. You adored him and he couldn’t seem to stand to be alone with you for more than a few minutes. 
“So, what’d you say to him?”
“What?” Your head snapped back to Lily.
“He was reading in that spot and now he’s not. What made him go upstairs?”
“I asked him to read to me.”
“That all?” 
You nodded, with a confused look on your face. If Lily thought it would’ve taken more to chase Remus away, perhaps something was up with Remus that you didn’t know about.
“Bit strange. I thought he would read to you,” she said lightly. Then she pulled out her own book and waved it in front of your face. “I could read to you if you want.”
“Not the same and you know it. But, if I were James…” you teased. 
“If you were James, I’d be up in our dorm avoiding him.”
Like Remus is doing…
“You read. In your head. I’m going to the pitch... I need air.”
---
When you went to the pitch alone, you used it as a time to think, to clear your head. Did you need to practice because Gryffindor was playing Slytherin this week? Yes. But you also need to think. You’ve loved Remus for years and, well, something clicked while you were flying. He just didn’t like you that way and you had to make your peace with that. 
You started small. You didn’t sit next to Remus at breakfast although you still had his tea ready for him when he arrived at the table. A look of confusion passed over his face when he saw you sitting between Sirius and Mary. He didn’t say anything about it, nor did anyone else. 
Your next step was more direct. You sat next to Otto Bagman in your first class instead of Lily. That caught the eye of some people. Even more so when you let your hand linger on his shoulder longer than you should have and flashed him your brilliant smile. You laughed loudly at his lackluster jokes. 
During the next class, you chose Stubby Boardman. And Gildeory Lockhart in the next. And Gideon Prewett. And Bertram Aubrey. Each got your flirtatious treatment. None made you feel like Remus did, but it was nice to have their attention. 
At dinner, you pulled a move that none of them were expecting. You sat between Sirius and Mary like you had at breakfast. But you sat closer to Sirius than you usually did. It was a closeness you reserved solely for Remus. 
The boys were discussing their next prank and determined that they would need to sneak into Slughorn’s private stores first in order to pull it off.
“I think Sirius should be the distraction. He’s got something super captivating about him, don’t cha think?” you said, leaning forward a bit. 
You flashed him a soft smile as you rested your hand on his shoulder. If you hadn’t been looking at Sirius, you would’ve seen the glares that he immediately received from both James and Remus. 
“Don’t know if Slug is particularly captivated by me, love,” Sirius said, looking down at you and matching your soft smile. Then a wicked glint appeared in his eyes as he turned back to the boys. “But, running in yelling about an exploding potion down the corridor? See how fast the old man can run!” 
James’ expression changed in a flash. He slammed his hand down on the table.
“Brilliant, Padfoot!” 
Remus, on the other hand, let his glare hold longer, only dropping it when Peter addressed him, asking him to repeat what they needed to get from storage. You remained close to Sirius for the rest of the meal as you offered your ideas for getting past Slughorn and for the actual prank. When you excused yourself after you finished, James followed you out of the hall and walked with you back to Gryffindor Tower.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” he asked.
“Obviously.”
“So then, what was that back there? What’s going on with you and Sirius?”
You stopped walking in shock. You spend years flirting with Remus and no comments from James, but one comment toward Sirius and now he’s suddenly concerned with your love life? James turned to fully face you and you frowned at the concern on his face.
“Nothing. There’s nothing between me and Sirius,” you said, sounding a bit incredulous. 
“Then what the bloody hell was that comment at dinner? He’s like super captivating, he he he,” he mimicked in a falsetto.
You took a calculated step toward James while reaching for your wand.
“I do not sound like that.”
“What was the comment for then?” he repeated the question for the third time. “You don’t flirt with Padfoot.” 
You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. 
“I had… a moment of clarity. Obviously, Moony isn’t right for me and I’ll get over him with whoever I need to.” 
You huffed before stalking away from your brother. He stood there and watched you leave, utterly shocked by what you said. Obviously was a strong word in his opinion. He thought the obvious thing was the effect you had on Remus; Remus was hopelessly in love with but too insecure to do anything and you were waiting for him to make a move. 
You continued to flirt with the boys throughout the rest of the week, with Gideon being the main recipient. Being a fellow Gryffindor and on the quidditch team gave him an easy foot up over the rest. James didn’t say anything more to you, really just being glad it wasn’t Sirius but still showing his concern nonverbally from across the room. 
When he could, Remus would find an excuse to leave whenever you were with Gideon. He couldn’t dismiss how sick it made him feel. Somehow he had been the one receiving your attention for so long that he didn’t realize how much of his day was actually spent with you around, and he didn’t realize how cold he’d feel without your warmth. Instead, he now had to watch Gideon bathe in your compliments and subtle touches. Remus hated it. 
When the weekend came, the whole school descended on the quidditch pitch for an exciting game. Gryffindor versus Slytherin always brought excitement. Every student donned either green or red, even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. The game was a compilation of incredible plays and dirty moves. In the end, Gryffindor pulled through as your seeker caught the snitch. Usually, after a Gryffindor win, you’d search for Remus’ arms the moment you landed, but this time was different. You immediately found Gideon and let his arms be the ones to wrap around you and spin you around. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You didn’t mind that it wasn’t Remus; it was nice to be the one receiving the doting for once. 
Gideon’s attention followed you all the way back to the common room for the party that ensued. You knew you had eyes on you - you could feel them. In the past, after a win, you’d have one drink in your hand and you’d nurse it while hanging around the outskirts of the party with Remus. You’d maybe do shots with James because no win was possible without the Potter Twins. This time, however, you were not standing around the edge of the party with Remus. Nor were you nursing a singular drink. 
You were multiple drinks in and dancing with Gideon. His hands were traveling your body and you made no moves to stop him. You just kept moving to the music and taking sips of your drink. 
Remus felt like throwing up at the sight. He had half a mind to walk up to you and tear you away from the ginger. He knew you could do better than Gideon, but if asked who, Remus would want to say himself, but was he better than Gideon? Once again, Remus let his insecurities get the best of him; he retreated to his dorm unable to watch you dance like that with another guy who wasn’t him. 
You finished your drink and felt Gideon lean into your ear. 
“Do you want to celebrate somewhere more… private?” he whispered. 
You smiled at him before saying, “Refill first!” 
James had been keeping an eye on you and Gideon for a while. He didn’t like the way that Gideon was touching you, just as much as he didn’t like how much you were drinking. You were certainly not in your right mind. He intercepted you on your way to the drink table.
“I’m cutting you off,” he said curtly before leading you to the stairs. 
You pouted but allowed yourself to be ushered up to his dorm. In your head, you planned to sneak back down to the party the instant that James left you in his dorm. Once inside, he brought over to his bed and you sat down, crossing your arms. 
“You need to sober up a bit. Um, here’s a water. You know extra blankets are in my trunk. Loo’s over there. Got your wand? Need anything else?” 
You groaned in annoyance. “I’m fine, James,” you slurred. “But you know what I actually need.”
“Hm? What’s that?”
“To get over these damn feelings for Lupin!” you basically spat. “Can’t very well do that if I’m up here, can I? He won’t ask me out, won’t kiss me, can’t stand to be around me. Why you stopping me from moving on?” 
“I-I…” he stuttered, trying not to look over at where Remus was sitting on his own bed with wide eyes. “I’m preventing you from making a decision you might regret.”
“James… James, James, James. I’m fine. Just let me get over being in love with Remus.”
James can’t help it. His eyes flickered to Remus. Yours immediately followed where his went. Remus was staring at you with a faint blush on his cheeks. Because why did you just say that you needed to get over being in love with him?
“Shit,” you muttered, falling back onto James’ bed. “Now I’ve said too much.”
“I’m… going to leave… and let you two… talk,” James said slowly, trying to sound casual and topping it off with snaps and finger guns.
“You’re… in love with me?” Remus asked nervously.
You made a noise that’s a mix of a scoff and laugh.
“Only been bloody head over heels for you for years, you twat.”
“You’ve been,” he muttered, not quite believing you. 
“A girl can only flirt so hard,” you said with a heavy sigh. 
“You were flirting?” 
“With you. For years. Keep up, Lupin.”
There was a slight pause before he said softly, “You don’t call me Lupin.”
“I didn’t when I was in love with you.” 
“Was?”
“Moony, Merlin’s fucking beard,” you exclaimed, propping yourself up on your elbows briefly. “Did you not just hear me tell James that I’m trying to get over you? You clearly don’t like me back so stop making it harder!”
You let yourself fall back onto James’ bed with a ‘humph.’ You stared up at the canopy. Then you felt the bed sink next to you and you don’t need to look over to know that Remus has joined you. 
“You actually like me?” he whispered. 
“If I have to say it one more time, I swear, Moony, I will curse-”
“You like me.” This time it was a statement. Remus doesn’t believe it yet, but he didn’t need you to finish your threat. “And it’s real. Not a prank or cruel joke or anything?”
You rolled onto your side so that you could see him.
“Stop pretending to be dense. It’s been hard enough coming to terms with you not liking me like that.”
“No!” 
You blinked at him with a confused expression.
“Um, I… I do like you. Like that.”
“Remus… don’t tease me right now. You can’t stand to be alone with me for more than a minute.”
“Because I don’t trust myself to not kiss you.” He swallowed and allowed his eyes to flick down to your lips. “It’s easier to control myself when James, or anyone else, is around. But when it’s just you and me, and you say those sweet things… I just…”
“Those sweet things,” you repeated with quiet laughter. “You mean my flirting?”
“Yes. That.”
He stopped talking for a moment. He reached out to caress your face. 
“I just thought you could do better than me.” 
You scoffed at the idea that someone was able to be better than Remus.
“But seeing you with Aubrey, Lockhart, Bagman… Prewett…” Remus sighed. “It was hell.”
“So, what you’re saying is you’d like me to keep flirting with you and only you?” you asked softly before your teasing nature returned. “I don’t know about that, Moony. I might need something in return.” 
“Anything.”
“Ask me out?”
“I… I can do that.” He cleared his throat. “Would you do me the honor of going on a date with me? Hogsmeade, next weekend?”
“Of course, you idiot,” you said before placing a quick kiss on his lips.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
You hummed.
“Never flirt with Prewett again. It was nauseating.” 
You laughed. “Just kiss me until my brother comes back, Moony.”
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stnkiconverse · 2 months ago
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Hii :3 could I have sum of the creep boys (Ej, Toby, Jeff, Masky and Hoodie) with a reader who likes marking (bites/cuts/hickeys) their thighs? Pls and thank u 💛
This has been collecting dust in my drafts for months, im so sorry bby, i just needed to have my masky and hoodie headcanons in place before posting this😭😭
Also- Ik you said thighs, but i did mention some other places, i hope you don’t mind :3
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E Y E L E S S J A C K
Jack is surprisingly unbothered by your habit. He views it with a mix of curiosity and amusement, often analyzing your techniques silently. (like this = 🤨)
"Hmm. Is this an attempt at branding? Or is this just for fun?" His DRY ASS humor makes it hard to tell if he's teasing or genuinely questioning.
He’s not fond of pain but does not shy from it either. The marks don't bother him, they heal faster than you think anyway.
If you center the attack on his thighs, he'll arch a brow and say something quick and sarcastic, like, "I'm honored you've chosen me as your personal canvas."
Jack has super sharp senses, so he's super aware of your touch. If you bite or leave cuts near sensitive spots, hips, or neck, for example, he might tense for a moment but never stop you.
His favorite places for you to mark? His shoulders or his ribs. He finds the sensation grounding in a strange way, though he'll never admit it. (he moaned once)
If you tease him about it, he'll deadpan: "Just don't expect me to reciprocate. My claws aren't…delicate." (😏)
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T I C C I T O B Y
Toby is a little awkward about it at first, not used to someone being so physically affectionate in such an intense way. But once he gets used to it? He's all in. (fucking weirdo 😒 / lovingly)
He doesn't actually feel pain like others do, (obv) so he lets you go wild without flinching. "You're gonna have to try harder than that to leave a mark on me," he'd tease, looking down later to grin at the faint bruises or bites.
If you target his thighs, he might giggle a bit, kicking his leg. "That tickles, stop- stop!"
Neck and collarbone marks fluster him the most. He'll try to hide them with his hoodie but secretly love that they're there.
Sometimes, he'll encourage you in his chaotic way: "Oh, you missed a spot. Try here!" and point to random places like his back or ribs, sometimes even shoving his wrists in your face 😭😭
If you ever leave too many marks, he'll grin like a maniac and joke: "Guess I'm your chew toy now, huh?"
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J E F F T H E K I L L E R
Jeff would be cocky about it, but secretly flustered. He'd smirk and say something snarky like, "Didn't know you were that desperate to get your hands on me," but the redness creeping up his neck gives him away.
He doesn't mind pain and might even enjoy it a little. If you bite too hard, he'll laugh and go, "Is that all you've got? You're gonna have to try harder."
Loves when you leave marks on his neck, it makes him feel a twisted sense of pride. He'll strut around the manor like a smug idiot, showing them off.
His thighs are a sensitive spot, though he won't admit it. If you target them, he'll squirm slightly and mutter, "Don't get any ideas..." but he won't stop you. (bcs he likes it 😏)
If you leave cuts or scratches, he'll trace them with his fingers absentmindedly, secretly loving the way they look.
"You're turning me into your personal art project, huh? Not that I'm complaining."
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T I M / M A S K Y
Masky (Tim)
Tim is not immediately comfortable it, especially if it's in a more vulnerable spot like his neck or inner thighs. He'll tense up and grumble, "What are you doing?" but he won't push you away :3
Over time, he warms up to it, especially when he realizes it's your way of showing affection. He won't admit it, but he finds it oddly reassuring :p
Marks on his shoulders or upper back are his favorite. He won't say anything, but you might catch him subtly glancing at them in the mirror (😏)
If you bite too hard, he'll sigh and mutter, "You know I have to cover that up, right?" while pulling on another layer of clothing (i love him guys)
Surprisingly, he doesn't mind if you mark his thighs when he's sitting or lounging. He might roll his eyes but secretly enjoys the attention.
"You're a little too into this, you know that?" he'd say with the tiniest smirk, though the faint blush on his face betrays him.
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B R I A N / H O O D I E
Hoodie (Brian)
Brian is surprisingly chill about your habit and takes it in stride :D
He'll joke, "Do I look like a notebook to you? Or is this some modern art thing?"
He's not huge on pain, so if you bite too hard or draw blood, he might flinch and gently push you away. "Careful, I'm not indestructible."
Loves when you leave hickeys or gentle bites on his shoulders or chest. He finds them oddly comforting and will trace them when he's alone, smiling softly.
If you go for his thighs, he'll laugh and tease you: "That's bold. Didn't take you for a thigh person."
Occasionally, he'll play along and say something like, "You missed a spot," pointing to random areas just to see you flustered.
Brian enjoys the possessive nature of your markings but is too reserved to admit it outright.
Instead, he'll say something teasing like, "Guess I'm yours now, huh?"
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I hope this was good enough!! :D
sorry to keep you waiting so long 😭
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esotericbluntbaby · 27 days ago
Note
hear me out. . . high sex with hamzah😍.
he’s so hot.
sneak
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hamzahthefantastic x reader
description: a rough date causes bad decisions to be made. upset, you decided to call your ex, who also so happens to be one of your closest friends, to smoke with you.
mentions: smoking, drug use, angst, smut, happy ending, nsfw!
woahhh first smut fic.. don't worry for those who are getting tired of smut fics! i will continue to balance out of fics with a mixture of sfw and nsfw, with the sfw most likely being angst!
--
the dating scene simply wasn't for you.
sure, you've dated people in the past, though, you knew always that they were supposed to be temporary in your life. you had the mindset of acceptance when it came to temporary and permanent; the concept of allowing things to happen and allowing everything to fall into place as if a higher being would spin a wheel for each and every outcome of your life was common for you to think about.
however, the date you went on made you wonder about how thin the line is between permanence and temporariness is.
you thought the date went well. you both arrived at the purring lady on time; the bar's ambient lighting amplified the romantic tension between you and him. in fact, the night flew past without much awkward silence. you thought you knew him quite well by the end of the date, wishing him a safe ride home and kissing his cheek.
about to text him about a second date, which you urgently hoped for, you realized the texts were green; he had blocked you without a single explanation.
so, you were currently sat in your apartment windowsill eating ice cream and gazing out the window at the city's skyline. the sense of comfort from both your home and the area around you allowed you to heal from the night a bit faster; almost as if the sole action was the tylenol to your dating scene headache.
being honest with yourself, you were hoping to bring him home. you found him attractive, almost as if he was on the cover of some obscure magazine. your date was the kind of person that you'd see once and the sheer image and thought of them would wrap around your head like the bandaid to the loneliness that overtakes you. you wouldn't mind being touched by him. however, he's gone now, so the bandaid was ripped off.
scrolling through your text messages, you realize hamzah texted you. the relationship that you and hamzah had used to be romantic. in fact, he was one of the people who taught you that some people are permanent; though you aren't together anymore, you still remained close. you would be lying if you said you didn't really feel anything for him anymore. no matter what, you think you'd always be a simple text or phone call away from him. no matter what, you think you'll always have some level of feeling towards him. though, some resentment will always be there; he was still the reason you tried to find love in dating apps instead of that whole friends-to-lovers deal.
hamzah
10:43 pm | yo
10:43 pm | how'd it go?
you
11:24 pm | ehhh
11:25 pm | i thought it went well
11:24 pm | i guess he didn't bc im blocked now lol
11:24 pm | fuck me for trying to get back into dating again
hamzah
11:26 pm | r u okay?
11:26pm | im like here if u need to talk abt it
11:26 pm | or i can js come over
11:28 pm | we can smoke it out
11:29 pm | i got the mango wraps that u like
you
11:29 pm | i thought u didn't like the mango ones
hamzah
11:30 pm | i dont
11:30 pm | but u do
you
11:30 pm | doors open for whenever
hamzah
11:31 pm | dont leave ur door open wtf lock it n js unlock it when im there
11:32 pm | what if theres a murderer on the loose
you
11:33 pm | holy shit hamzah
hamzah
11:34 pm | sorry coming
--
thankfully, you didn't get murdered by a man in a mask wielding an axe.
hamzah and you were currently on your couch, eyes ruby and lidded with the weed in front of you guys glistening in your lines of sight. hamzah began to roll you a blunt using the mango wraps you enjoyed; he never, ever allowed you to roll on your own. he always preferred doing it for you ever since you both found out that each of you use weed as a pastime for boredom. however, for you, it started to morph into a way to stop hurting. the date from tonight wasn't the first date to have gone "horribly," in fact, it was a sequence of many. you started to feel better now that you aren't using on your own; hamzah was there now. maybe the pain from your heart justifies the pain you're risking towards your body. more importantly, hamzah gives an extra buzz; it was both the blunt in between his fingertips and himself that was helping you feel less lonely.
you reached for the blunt in his hand, itching to take a hit. however, he moved it slightly away from you. confused, you looked up at him, gazing at him. the black beanie, hiding most of his curls besides the ones at the nape of his neck, surprisingly complimented the redness of his scelera. gazing at him, your eyes twinkled as if the fire from the lighter appeared in them. this was the feeling you felt like you'd always achieve from the mere sight of him; a feeling of companionship.
"what's up?" he asked, not allowing you to take the blunt from his hand.
you snapped out of the gaze he intertwined you with, "huh?"
"you seem more out of it than usual," he took a puff from the blunt between his fingers, "i swear you never smoked this much."
"i don't- i haven't smoked a lot."
"you just took like 15 drags from it."
"i did?"
"yeah, you did. so, what's up?"
you slowly blinked, "i don't know."
"you do. tell me, talk about it- maybe it'll help."
you steal the blunt from his hand, taking a long hit as he stares are you with an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. possibly it was worry, or pity, or a cross mix between the two. maybe, he realized how much you changed since the two of you ended things.
"i guess i just feel lonely."
"how so?"
"i've been on 5 dates in the past 5 months, once every 4 weeks- and i guess like, i dunno, the more i go on these dates the more i realize how, like, shitty everyone is. this last guy i went on a date with, noah, i thought it went well. kissed his cheek and everything- the full 9 yards for a first date. then i realized he blocked me as soon as he left. it's like somethings driving people away."
"i'm sorry."
"for what?"
he takes a long drag out of cylinder, "that people don't see you the way that i do."
"what do you mean?"
"you know what i mean, like-" he hesitated.
"don't think about it too much. just say it as it is."
he started, "when we were dating, i saw you as human."
"i mean- obviously."
"no, you don't get it," he softly assured, " i think before you, or like, dating you, i worshipped all the people i was with like they were some god. i got on my knees and saw them as this higher being to praise, to the point where my relationships constantly belittled me. i was just some guy and they had the fate of everything in their hands. why would someone with all that power love someone like me?"
"sorry, i'm lost-"
"then, i got to the point of my life where i dated you and, for the first time, i was with someone who was equal. i didn't have to work my ass off to keep you in my life; in fact, the time where i was so upset that i wasn't working my ass off, you took, like, 80% of that relationship for a full week and carried it on your back. i thought you'd just leave. when i was struggling, i thought you wouldn't want some burden for you to carry on your shoulders, weighing you down like you were walking up hills with rocks taped to 'em. no, instead you picked me up. i was crashing and breaking, constantly, and somehow, you taped all the cracks together and now i'm alright again. yeah, a higher being plays with fate and lives and chance and all of that, but there's so much in the world that they leave broken and unattached. only a human would take the time and effort to mend me back together."
you looked at him with furrowed brows and a pit in your heart, "hamzah, i don't get it. if you felt this way towards me, why'd you leave?"
"feel."
"what?"
"i still feel this way about you. i never stopped."
your eyes began to water and you couldn't tell if it was from the weed or from the secrets being let out of the closet, "you're fucking with me. what the fuck?"
he watched as your eyes glistened and began to rub your thigh comfortingly. you two sat on the couch in silence as thoughts ran through both of your heads; it was now up to the both of you if voicing the voices in your head was a good idea or not. simultaneously, you both decided to take the leap, with hamzah breaking the quietude of the room.
"i was scared."
"of?"
"if things didn't work out- if we kept going in the relationship and somehow we started arguing more or ignoring- i don't think i would've been able to handle it."
"i wanted to handle it."
"well-"
your voice cracked in the middle of your sentences, "no, hamzah, i could've handled it because i was with you. you left me! you left me when i needed you. i keep on trying to fill the space you just left in my heart and my apartment with random guys off of any dating app available and it just doesn't fucking work. why would you leave me like that? i mended your cracks and then you suddenly decided to give them back to me, and now i'm trying to fix it but i just can't. why would you do that, you fucking ass? and why would you tell me about it right now?"
"i'm sorry-"
"no, this should've never happened, i should've never invited you over. what the fuck?"
"kick me out, then."
"what?"
he stood up, with you standing up right after, "you regret this. it's fine. kick me out. tell me to leave."
"fuck you, hamzah, you know that i can't just do that."
"i'm telling you, kick me out."
you pushed him, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"
"keep doing that. push me as much as you want, i deserve it."
your hands found its way to his chest, pushing as if you didn't beg for him to pull. he stared at you with a certain glint in his eyes; a certain neediness you haven't seen in him in a while. to say this was only a reaction of frustration towards him and his actions towards you would be a lie. it was everything all at once; the frustration from all the dates, the frustration from all hamzah put you through, and the frustration of not being touched ever since being with him. you were sexually pent up. you pushing him was actually the only form of physical touch you've had in ages. he took it. he simply took all the pushes you threw at him.
over time, the pushes got less and less aggressive, resulting in him being able to wrap his arms around you as you softly cried. you weren't fully sobbing, but it was still enough tears to the point where his shirt was slightly soaked. he didn't care; he never cared that his shirt was wet from you crying. he continued to hold you as he sat both of you down, back onto your couch.
"why would you do that to me?"
he kissed your forehead, "baby, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry."
he held you for what seemed like ages, stroking your hair and wiping your tears with his thumbs. you were confused; what do you want out of this? what does he want out of this? you wreathed out of his arms and sat beside him, both of your red tinted eyes remaining on each other's.
"i can leave now, if you want. it's two in the morning. i'm sorry."
"no."
"i'm not good for you. i leave when things get hard, baby, and i don't want you to go through that aga-"
you reached for his cheeks, thumbs in the fronts of them, and leaned towards him. your heads tilted to opposite sides, your lips connecting with bridges, mountains, and oceans of emotion between them. his hands made its way to your hips with his fingertips denting the stretchmarks, slightly tracing them as if his eyes were still opened. his tongue reached the inside of your mouth with hunger and desperation laced in his saliva. three minutes of sole kissing went by, before you pulled away.
"stay. please."
"what do you want from me, baby?"
"you know what i want from you. what do you want from me?"
"take a guess."
his hands made their ways to your thighs, pulling you over onto his lap, before connecting your lips again. he stood up, holding you with his muscular forearms, and navigated his way through the living room with his eyes still closed. the layout of your living room hasn't changed since he was last changed; hamzah was observant. he knew what he was doing.
reaching your room, he laid you onto bed with aspects of both foiling gentleness and roughness. getting on top of you, his lips made its way down your neck, making dark, blood-restricted marks down your body. it hurt; yet, you craved the pain it gave you. as he reached down to kissing your hips, you took off your shirt, leaving you in a bra. he stopped kissing you to hover over you, instead taking his beanie and hoodie off of himself in swift motions.
"do this often?" you teased.
he kissed you on the lips, "only with you."
he took off your shorts, revealing a black, lace thong underneath.
"you really just wear this shit around your house?"
"you were coming over," you started to take off his sweatpants, "i needed to prepare for the unexpected."
"god, you're so fucking hot."
the two of you laid in bed, him hovering over you and placing kisses and marks all over your body. he had always been a tease; you knew that hamzah liked to take his time with it. he said it feels better for the both of you if he does. however, currently, you weren't having it.
"hamzah, please."
"hm? what's the matter baby?"
"i need more, baby, please."
"are you still on birth control?"
"yeah, i am."
he took off his boxers, revealing the same 6 inches that you craved at night; actually, touched yourself to the thought of at night. his hand made its way to his dick, stroking it before moving your underwear to the side. as it slid inside of you for the first time, a burning sensation overtook the pleasure the entrance made you feel. your eyes teared up once more, followed by hamzah using his hand to wipe it off.
"hurts- fuck- it hurts-"
he kissed you lovingly, "it's okay; there's no rush. i'll start when you're ready."
you adjusted to his size as you made out with him, pulling away to tell him that he could move now. the pleasure he gave you couldn't even be measured; his movements made you forget all about the emotional pain that consumed you. there was comfortable eye contact, both of you looking at each other with the same eyes that started off high about 2 hours ago. your mouths remained slack jawed and wide open, occasionally kissing each other on the lips or mouth. suddenly, it felt as if a rope was about to snap inside of you.
"i'm close. fuck- i'm close."
he moved your leg up, resting it on his shoulder as his pace sped up. your eyes rolled back as ripples of pleasure echoed throughout your whole body. hamzah was good at this; he knew what he was doing and how to make you feel as good as you possibly can. with a few more strokes, you felt him release inside of you. he soon collapsed beside you, as you both caught your breaths.
hamzah turned to you and kissed you on the forehead, "i missed you."
"i missed you, too."
"what does this mean for us, now?" he hesitated, "i mean, am i gonna leave tomorrow and suddenly it's just like none of this happened, or-
"do you regret it?" you asked him, slightly scared of the answer.
"hey," he put his hand on your cheek, "i just spent the damn near the entire night telling you about how i could never regret you. fuck, i literally bought the wraps you like just for you. not to mention, i fucking hate the way they taste and they're a pain in the ass to roll and yet i did both smoke and roll them this entire night. i don't do that shit for just anyone. you tell me, do you think you regret it?"
"no. i don't. i can't regret you either, even if i tried."
"we'll start over. i'll do things right, this time, i promise."
you realized the line between temporariness and permanence wasn't as thin as you thought it would be, as now a temporary lover finally realized his permanence in your life.
--
authors note!
i am honestly not that experienced with smut, so i hope u guys still mess with it >_<
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