#overwhelmed reader

[leviraaaaaa]

Here it is safe. (Levi x reader)

Slight, very slight mentions of anxiety attacks? Idfk. Basically reader often gets overwhelmed and hides, guess who's there to help?

Levi knocked at your door, not surprised when he didn’t get a response. But he waited nevertheless. He tapped against the door a few more times until he reached for the doorknob and twisted it, cautiously pushing it open. Also not to his surprise, your office was empty, not a hair of you in sight. Seemingly. If not for the fact that he’d seen you entering here just two minutes ago and if not for the fact he’s been here way too many times to know better. And so he found himself slowly stepping in, soundlessly shutting the door back. Light on his feet, he approached the desk standing near the back of the room and peered down. “Hello.” You whispered when his silver eyes found yours. It was rather unusual to find most people crouching beneath their desks, was it not? Levi thought so too, the first time he found you here. He remembered being so confused, watching you as you curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth. He remembered being clueless, wondering if you were sick, wondering if he should call Hange or Nanaba, wondering if he should just leave you alone. But time has passed since and he’s learnt a thing or two. That everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes. Levi sighed.

“What are you doing?” He asked softly. “..hiding.” You mumbled, avoiding his gaze and pulling up your knees against your chest. You drummed your fingers anxiously on the floor. “So I’ve figured.” He nodded. “From what exactly?” "I.." You cringed a little. "..don’t know?” “Come out please.” You hesitated, meeting his gaze. It was soft. Warm. Understanding. Safe. But yet, the world was far scarier still. You glanced back at the floor.  “I don’t want to.” “It’s alright. Come out please.” You shook your head. Levi exhaled. “That’s okay,” He said, shifting. “I’ll just come down then.” Before you could even respond to that offer, he was already squatting down, slipping himself into the small space under the desk that could barely even fit you. But he settles in anyways, leaning back opposite of you, your knees touching his. You smiled, letting your hand find his and hooking your cold fingers through. In response, he rubbed circles on your palm with his thumb, squeezing gently. For a moment you just simply sat there, feeling gratitude flood your thundering heart as it quiets, the tension leaving your body and everything wrong in your mind eases away. In that moment, there was only you and him. You could finally breathe again. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” You told him. “What would people say?” He raised a brow questioningly. “Your reputation would be so screwed if people find out you hide under tables like a little child.” You shook your head, trying to explain. “Just because I’m weird, doesn’t mean you have to be too.” “You’re not weird.” “Levi.” “What?” ‘“You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine in a bit.” “I know.” “So why?” You demanded. He looked at you and shrugged. “Because you needed me.” That’s all he says.  “You needed me." He repeated softly, "And I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

[latehere]

back to business with some good ol alien

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm back in the Tigers cage again.

(You too can join in on throwing a Rat Of A Man into a Tiger cage by reading Tiger Tiger)

[kirishwima]

JJK guys when you see them with someone else (but it's a misunderstanding, really)

Part 1 ft Gojo, Toji

Gojo:

Toji:

[tojisun]

john price x reader; minimal plot but it’s daddy issues and making out and just yk the sorts; mini religious analogy

it starts with a tap to the mouth—john's thumb rough against your glossy lips. he tips your head up just enough so that you can meet his eyes, crinkled in his deep smile and shining with the depths of his desire.

his adoration is palpable, rippling from his body in burning waves. it makes you feel small in the softest of ways; like you are being tucked into the pockets of his chest, wedged within the spaces of his ribs.

it makes you ache, your body racked with shivers.

no one has ever loved you this way. no one was ever this devoted—all-consuming and scorching in the way it strips the world into nothing, leaving it bare, all for you to use. to yield. to pick apart and abandon, as you see fit.

john looks at you like you're all that matters.

the tears spring up before you could stop them, prickling the backs of your eyes until they trickle down the slopes of your cheeks. you hear john's breath stutter, his hand twitching from where it's cupping your jaw, before it drags up to the side of your temple, thumb swiping at the patch of skin just underneath your eye.

"shh," he rumbles, a gentle coo. "y've got nothin' to be sad about, sweetheart."

you sniffle, ducking your gaze away, turning shy. it makes him chuckle, his voice passing through his teeth with such fondness, it fills you up with warmth; cascading down your spine, setting you ablaze alive.

“now, then,” john says, tapping the apple of your cheek. “won’t you come here an’ kiss me?”

his voice is thick and sticky with his own need, rumbling in that sort of tone that always makes your thighs squeeze shut. you nod, not knowing what else is there to say, and slide to his lap. he helps you throughout—rough palms perched on your hips as he pulls you close, adjusting ever so slightly, until your chest is snug against his and his breaths are hitting your chin.

john is so warm like this, or is it you? burning with the fever of your own desires that it buzzes into your skin and etching him with it?

whatever it may be, he presses close, dragging his palms from the meat of your hips to your back, mapping along the expanse of your skin like he’s truly feeling you; like he’s truly grounding himself through you.

you let out a shaky breath. john mirrors it.

and, finally, the two of you meet in between. the kiss is soft, careful, then it is cataclysmic. he devours your every gasps, his beard scratching against your chin as he kisses and nips and licks.

it is so debauched; sinful in the way you moan into his mouth and john swallows it whole; destructive in the way that his kisses chase the burn from your lips and force them through your synapses, leaving your nerves to moan a song until the pleasure burrows in your core—thrumming and building, your nub hardening slowly; teasingly; more.

more. moremoremore—

“john,” you gasp out, fingers tugging at his hair. “john, i want–!”

“shh,” he rumbles, pulling away just enough to press his forehead to yours. “i’ve got you, peanut. i’ve got you.”

his words douse you in the holy flames because you feel—

absolved.

you feel forgiven. you feel loved.

oh.

“please,” you hiccup, crying out again. and john pulls you in, even closer, and closer, until you no longer know where you end and where he begins.

please—

“i’ve got you,” john repeats like it is a prayer; a testimony. “i’m here f’r you.”

and you fall into him, so trusting. so faithful.

so devoted.

so small in his greatness.

[wolverinesprincess]

oh to curl up in logan’s arms as he hides you from the rest of the world 🫂

any version of him 🫂

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. torture. waterboarding. hurt/no comfort.

simon x f!reader. implied soap x f!reader if you squint.

i haven't written in a long time. it's good to be back.

part one | part two

Traitor.

That's what Price thinks as Simon and Soap drag you from the table, nearly choking on your food as they give you no time to understand what's going on.

Alarms ring in your ears as you force the piece of stale bread down your throat, trying to stand on your feet but they're taller than you, so your feet end up dangling, useless. You take a deep breath, your voice shaking as much as you are.

"What's going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?", you ask, looking at Simon, desperate to find an explanation for this other than the anger and torment in his eyes.

Simon doesn't answer. Nobody does. Soap's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything, his expression hard.

No.

No.

You can tell they are not joking when you realize they're taking you downstairs. Sweat rolls down your face, fear creeping from the base of your neck to your toes, making you snap. You beg them to tell you what's going on, to explain why you're being dragged down there. You kick and struggle, a sob ripped deep from your chest as you start screaming, begging for a reaction. And then, pain.

Tears fill your eyes when it's Simon who hits your stomach with his fist, effectively shutting you up. You can smell the blood from past tortures mixed with bleach, and, distantly, the scent of forgotten wet rags. There's something salty in the air, and that's when you freeze, the pain in your stomach becoming nothing compared to the fear that grows in your chest.

They know you.

You've been with them for nine years. They know your fears.

"No. No. Please. Simon, Johnny— Please, please, please" you beg, sobbing as you can't do anything but go limp and heavy in their grip, doing the best you can to keep them from tying you to the chair. But it's useless.

Stars and colors dance behind your eyes as a fist connects with the side of your chin. You wonder if it would be better if they made you pass out right now. Maybe if you bite your tongue, it could—

"Gag her" Price tells them.

He's trained you for nine years.

He knows you.

You try to bite down on Johnny's fingers as he stuffs your mouth with an old rag, but it's difficult when your senses are unfocused after such a hard punch. The rag wet and disgusting, the scent and the taste making you sob again, shaking your head, your eyes big as you look at Simon.

Please.

Then a wet rag is pressed to your face. You inhale sharply as cold buckets of salty water are dropped right on your face, the cloth making it impossible for you to breathe. Salty water fills your lungs, making you choke and cough around the gagging rag.

You can hear questions, accusations, but you're paralized with fear, with pain and grief.

Grief.

They've been your friends, your family for so long. It's impossible to tell if you'll live through this. It's impossible for you to think of them as anything but monsters.

You know they usually did this with traitors, with enemies when it was necessary.

And you know they never enjoy it.

You've scolded Simon for smoking so late at night, you've had so many drinks next to him when he can't even speak. Simon often flinches awake from nightmares, startling you and then sharing quiet nights side to side.

You know this.

But then Simon hits your face again, taking the rag out of your mouth, and you can't find the love you have for him. It's expelled from your body with each hard cough, with each drop of blood falling from your nose.

"Did you not hear me?" Price demands, his arms crossed. "I'll ask one more time, then."

Smack.

Your chest is heaving, the fear so paralizing you can't even feel each punch as much as you should.

"What did you tell them?" Price continues, not looking one bit anxious for you to answer. He stands in front of you, his feet dry despite the salt burning your lungs.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you manage, looking up at Price, your eyes wide and bloodshot.

With a hard yank on your hair until your head is thrown back again, you're gagged once more, and the rag is pressed to your face. The salty water keeps on filling your lungs, unable to breathe, unable to cough around the gag.

You can't say anything. You truly don't know shit.

Hours later, when it becomes clear you won't speak, Price kicks you across the chest, hard, and the chair flips back.

You're tied up to the chair, exhausted and wet, your lungs burning with salt.

Memories of you as a child, nearly drown to death by your cousins, fill your mind. It had been a good day, until it wasn't.

Simon had held you when you told him, kissed you, and tucked you in for a good night sleep.

Johnny managed to make you crackle when you told him, patting your head, and saying your cousin had awful skills.

Now, there's nothing. Nothing but pain, and the burning in your lungs.

The door springs open, and the three men leave.

Only then do you close your eyes, passing out.

[polutrope]

I had a thought about kudos on AO3. I know fic writers frequently express how much we love comments, and I really do love and cherish comments.

But kudos are also pretty amazing. A kudos means that somebody, more often than not somebody I have no personal connection to at all, found my fic out of thousands of others and chose to spend their time reading it. Bookmarks too are amazing, even the ones that are just marking an intention to read later. Just knowing someone wants to read my fic is flattering!

Even one kudos means that someone took a chance on my writing and spent precious time reading it, and I'm truly grateful for that, and honoured.

[celestialowlbear]

Just Gale romance things.

Waking up to the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast, which he brings you in bed.

Laying his head in your lap as you play with his hair, asking you about your day.

Cozy evenings reading by a crackling fire, sitting in comfortable silence.

Gale softly reciting poetry as you lay in bed together, holding you close, his intimate words only meant for your ears.

Watching the sunset over a glass of good wine as Gale tells you about a new spell he’s learning.

Gale’s hand always finding yours, squeezing gently and finding it hard to let go.

Playful kisses on the cheek when you aren’t expecting it.

Bookstore dates, thumbing through old texts and buying way more books than you could ever read.

Gale smelling of leather and well-worn pages of a book as he kisses you in the back of the shop.

Catching Gale staring at you, his eyes full of warmth and awe at you, even when you’re doing the most mundane things.

Trying new recipes together, laughing in the kitchen.

Gale whispering between passionate kisses that he wishes he could marry you again and again and again, how his love for you goes beyond all planes and dimensions, your love so profound not even the most prolific poet could put on paper.

Dozing off in one another’s arms, Gale’s heart beyond full, knowing you loved him for him, He could be his true self, the real Gale Dekarios with you.

And he wants nothing more than you and him, like this, forever.

Help, I love him.

[ellestray]

elle's favorite ateez fics. f = fluff ; s = smut ; sg = suggestive ; a = angst. ✧ = absolute favorites, must read. (only adding notes for these few fics to ensure readability for the overall list!) word count in brackets. last updated: may 2nd, 2024

authors; if you wish to be untagged, please let me know!

currently no individual fic for hongjoong, yeosang & jongho. please refer to the OT8 section, or come back for future updates!

성화 SEONGHWA

✧ [11,1k] plastic flowers — @bobateastay ( f ; s ; a ) ↪ note: this fic revolves around abortion, so please keep this in mind before reading. i read this on a flight— and i don't know if it was the altitude, but it broke me. the author beautifully wrote this, in a way where unconditional love, hope and pain are intertwined. one of the most pleasantly surprising and touching reads i've had on this platform by far.

✧ [2,3k] essence — @hwaightme ( f ) ↪ note: this one is for the poetic, hopelessly romantic fics lovers. everything i've read from this author was beautiful so far! the poetry in this fic was so pretty that i felt the need to share it to my friends... although i usually never share fics out of tumblr. i'm excited to read through more of your writings, bai!

[1,2k] the first snow and being in love — @i-luvsang ( f )

[884] 02:36 — @hwapetals ( f )

[642] adoration — @kisshwa ( f ; sg )

[8,6k] both — @hwaightme ( s ; f )

[200] 10:24pm — @hotteoki ( f )

[986] anguish — @kisshwa ( a )

[n/a] bf texts — @hotteoki ( f )

[79] 9:22pm — @cozykpopblurbs ( f )

[1,6k] i'll be with you — @cheollipop ( f )

[519] lazy make out sessions — @crazyforhwa ( s )

[1,2k] realistic sex — @byuntrash101 ( s ; f )

윤호 YUNHO

✧ [13k + 18,2k] unprofessional attraction ; pt.1 , pt.2 , [tbc] — @jk97 ( f ; s ; a ) ↪ note: i was so engulfed into this fic that i skipped a lecture to continue reading. fics that are heavier nsfw-wise usually aren't my thing, but here, every single line pulled me in. hell, i felt even more insane about yunho after reading this. saying i'm excited about the next chapters would be an understatement.

✧ [14k] closer, face down — @ncteez ( s ; f ) ↪ note: again, although i usually prefer fluff over smut, i absolutely loved this fic... the build up made it so enticing! i don't know if a re-edit still is in the works, but i'd absolutely re-read it regardless!

✧ [84,5k] project: make you love me (series) — @hwaslayer ( f ; a ; s ) ↪ note: pulled an all nighter to read the entire series in one go... it was that fun to read! the relationship was built up at a nice, natural pace, while still keeping the reader on their toes. (this made me very excited about the seonghwa series in progress..!)

[1,1k] bedfellows — @sungbeam ( f )

[1,3k] he knows he loves you — @honeyhotteoks ( f )

[2,5k] convenience store chances — @ohmyamor ( f )

[n/a] boyfriend texts — @koizekomi ( f )

[300] nothing sweeter — @i-luvsang ( f )

[1,1k] nsfw alphabet — @yunhobug ( s )

[425] 3:52am — @edenesth ( f ; sg? )

산 SAN

✧ [3,7k] leave the window open — @sungbeam ( f ) ↪ note: so sweet. so comforting. the kind of heartwarming fic that feels like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. (also made me feel insane about san... but let's not talk about that.)

[1k] always available — @everyonewooeverywhere ( f )

✧ [1,6k] capturing us — @03jyh23 ( f ) ↪ note: another sweet, poetic, hopelessly romantic fic— my favorite kind! finding fics like these always feels like discovering a little treasure. looking forward to all the wips!

[n/a] boyfriend texts — @koizekomi ( f )

[2,6k] take a break - @cheollipop ( f ; s )

[249] 21:23 — @petitemingi ( f )

[350] boyfriend headcanons — @i-luvsang ( f )

[600] one more minute — @seonghwaddict ( f )

[1,3k] no strings, no expectations — @seonghwaddict ( a ; sg ; f? )

[468] stretch marks — @beenbaanbuun ( f )

[475] valentine's series : movies — @whimsicalwritingsandmore ( f )

[n/a] instagram stories with bf san — @lwtqts ( f )

[371] hold me — @cheeseceli ( f )

민기 MINGI

[800] untitled — @cheollipop ( a ; f )

[2,8k] mind over matter — @mingisaddctn ( s )

[256] 23:22 — @petitemingi ( f )

[1k] 23:46 — @seonghwaddict ( f )

[447] princess treatment — @cheeseceli ( f )

우영 WOOYOUNG

✧ [1,2k] broke you heart, i'll put it back together — @dairyminki ( a ; f ) ↪ note: loved this so much that i had to read it twice. something about wooyoung hopelessly in love wanting to fix this... name twin, if you're reading this, hi- i'd be seated for a part 2 if you ever have the time to write it!

[2,2k] vacation — @bobateastay ( f ; s )

OT8

[700] when you don't say i love you back — @jjunberry ( f )

[2,4k] romance tropes — @beenbaanbuun ( f )

[n/a] situationships (texts) ; pt.1 , pt.2 — @yunhoszn ( f )

[2,9k + 3k] as boyfriends ; hyung line , maknae line — @honeyhotteoks ( f : s )

[n/a] sex ban (texts) — @kisshwa ( sg ; f )

[n/a] sending you a pic of themselves (texts) — @bombuni ( f )

[1,3k] outfit turn-ons — @starillusion13 ( sg )

[1,2k] make-up sex — @nateezfics ( f ; a ; s )

[944] showering — @seonghwaddict ( f ; sg )

[1,6k] as boyfriends — @atiny-moon ( f ; sg )

[2,5k] that one specific habit they do that highlights their love language — @sanhwaism ( f )

[1,1k] top 3 kinks — @seonghwaddict ( s )

[2,8k] making out — @sxcret-garden ( sg ; f )

[n/a] asking them to draw a flower (texts) — @eightmakesonebraincell ( f )

if any link is broken, or if i made any mistake when tagging fics— please kindly let me know!

[intimidating-fettuccine]

LJ: Heeyyyy!!!

Y/N: Hey, someone’s excited.

Jason, deadpan: Yeah, and it’s making me sick.

[peachsukii]

A rage room is the last place Bakugo ever thought he’d end up with you.

When you bring up the idea to him after seeing one online, he scoffs at the thought of it. Working out and training is more than enough for him to let off metaphorical steam, and he’s been seeing a therapist since senior year of UA. He doesn’t need to smash shit to feel something.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Bakugo agrees to go with you, begrudgingly at first, but ultimately to keep you company, he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself or be alone. There were only two rules: No quirk usage and no harming others in the room, everything else is fair game. You both sign the waivers and gear up to head inside. The room is overwhelming at first, full to the brim of freshly smash-able objects - a broken down car with the doors barely on their hinges, light bulbs, glass jars of all sizes, old stop lights, and other breakable trinkets.

“Start smashin’, sweets. It ain’t gonna break itself,” Bakugo jokes, patting you on the back to let you take the first swing. You pick up the bat the facility has supplied and turn to face him, setting it on your shoulder like a sword.

“You’re not gonna try it?”

He’s here and suited up, might as well let loose. What’s the worst that could happen?

Bakugo swings the bat a few times around the room, adrenaline trickling through his veins as glass continuously shatters around him. Suddenly, he’s lost in thought and caught in a slow emotional build up, like an ocean’s tide retreating before the giant swell of waves begin to crash against the shore. Memories begin flooding to the forefront of his mind, things he’d worked through in therapy - anger, frustration, fear, guilt, coursing through him. Bakugo doesn’t notice when you lower your bat, watching him curiously as he starts swinging harder, viciously picking up the pace and breathing heavily with each passing hit.

“Kats, you alright?” You call - he doesn’t hear you in his tunnel visioned state. In between swings, you can see the bat quaking in his grip as if it’s too heavy to hold.

“Katsuki!” you try again with no response. Bakugo sounds like he’s about to have a panic attack with the way his breath is labored. You toss your bat to the floor and rush over to him, gently grabbing at his shoulder to get his attention. He flinches at your touch, shaken up by his sudden visceral reaction with a tinge of embarrassment, hiding his face from you by tucking it against his opposite shoulder.

“Breathe, babe,” you sooth, rubbing calming circles in between his shoulder blades. “Do you need a minute?”

“I—” Bakugo stutters, his throat strained by his effort to hold in the onslaught of tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. He clears his throat and bites his lip in a desperate attempt to stop his emotions from overflowing, but he loses the battle.

“We can stop if—”

He snatches your breath away when Bakugo swings around and pulls you into his chest, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck awkwardly. The protective goggles are becoming foggy and wet with discarded tears, a hiccup strangled in his throat. One of your hands slides tenderly against his nape, fingers entangled with the soft blonde strands while the other lays against his back.

"It's okay, I've got you. It's just you and me here."

Turns out smashing shit gave him an outlet he didn’t know he needed. His therapist has preached to him about bodies holding onto stress and trauma throughout our lives - Bakugo thought it was utter bullshit.

He was proven dreadfully wrong. But one things for sure, he’s sincerely grateful you knew him better than himself, how badly he needed this release without verbalizing it.

[rueclfer]

not a lot, just forever // oneshot part two

a/n: i remember talking about this on the timeline a couple of months ago and it has rotted in my brain ever since !!! happy birthday touya baby <3 i am ssssoooooo normal about you!!

keigo takami, touya todoroki, tomura shigaraki

it's been almost a year since touya had started his rehabilitation program, and here you were, like clockwork, willingly sharing his rock hard hospital-grade mattress with your head cushioned against his chest and the same chirpy attitude he couldn't quite understand how you mustered up this early in the morning.

"wanna go get breakfast?"

"no."

"wanna go on a walk?"

"no."

"wanna call fuyumi? mom? spinner? see what they're up to today?"

"no."

a beat of silence passes between you two.

you roll onto your front and prop yourself up onto your elbow, turning face to face with him.

"why do you always have to be so grumpy in the mornings?" you groan, bringing your hand up and swiping away at the stray tuffs of hair hung over his forehead from a night's worth of tossing and turning.

"told you 8am is a crazy time to come visit. every day, too." he scoffs, a slight smirk tugging on the corner of his lips as he reaches up and lazily drags a finger across your jaw. "don't you have better things to do?"

"you're lucky, visitation hours only start at 8am. i'd be with you 24/7 if i had it my way." you whisper, leaning into his hand. "connected by the hip, drinking from the same cup of water, you'd be sick of me in less than 48 hours, and i wouldn't care."

touya instinctively tries to pull away before you melt into his touch, eyes fluttering close for a moment as you release a heavy exhale in content.

the palm of his rough and scarred hand laid flush against the softness of your cheek. he barely has any feeling in his hands anymore, but somehow he feels everything.

this is the first time that question had crossed his mind, like a wild animal running across an unlit road. an audible laugh almost escapes his mouth.

he could only ever hope that you'd come back the next day.

the thought never leaves him. it's always lingering in the back of his head, followed by an internal scoff.

marriage doesn't mean anything. you two love each other, and that's all that matters. marriage is only paperwork. marriage doesn't equal love.

marriage doesn't equal love.

but sometimes it takes one look at you for him to get all choked up, and when this happens he thinks about telling you exactly how he feels. he wants to tell you how much he loves you. it hurts him to be left with no words that could amount to that feeling you give him, so instead he's left balling his fists and pressing the crescent of his nails into his palm trying to ease this ache in his chest.

years later, after touya had completed his program, you're overlooking the city from your shared apartment together.

you've been out running errands and he had spent the day in therapy and meeting with his siblings afterwards. naturally you'll find yourselves sitting across from one another on the fire escape chatting about your days through a shared cigarette and cup of tea.

you're looking out towards the distant city lights. touya's looking at you.

nothing much has changed.

you're sporting the same hoodie you snagged from his closet from what felt like an eternity ago. you picked up smoking thanks to his influence- but socially of course, as you'd like to correct him whenever he makes a snarky comment. you still can't bring yourself to toss that tattered blanket you left with him the first night the hospital staff allowed you to sleepover with him.

and for the millionth time since that morning a few years ago, that question crosses his mind again.

and for the first time, he doesn't roll his eyes or scoff at himself, but instead his mouth goes dry and the palms of his hands grow clammy.

you nudged his leg with your foot. "what're you thinking about, spacey?"

he's thinking about why you're still here. why do you still choose to come back? even after all those years ago when he was ready to leave you behind in this lifetime?

he's thinking about as long as you'll have him, he could spend his life with you doing exactly this. he'll deal with it all- the insufferably loud mornings, shameless PDA, the nagging, the babying, all of it. he doesn't mind at all.

"can i marry you?"

touya sucks in a sharp breath of air and presses his lips together in regret the second the words slip from his mouth.

"if you wanted to leave, you would've by now." he reminds himself- the only thought that'll keep him sane.

"really?" you exclaim, almost spitting out your tea.

touya looks back at you with wide eyes, the butt of the cigarette slipping from his fingers and onto the cold metal of fire escape, spewing sparks of ash against his leg.

a moment of silence passes. then two.

"what do you mean really?"

"you really want to marry me?" your smile grows into a wide grin, making his cheeks flush and stomach twist.

touya’s body moves without a second thought. he crawls over to you and perches himself on one knee. he feels like an idiot. he bites down on his lip in embarrassment as he takes your hand in his cold and rough palms, bringing your knuckles up to his lips.

"really," he mutters against your skin, his voice shaking, "if you’d let me.”

the question lingers in the air for another moment. years of thinking about this, and yet he was far from prepared. he should’ve taken you out. he should've gotten dressed up. he doesn’t even have a ring to give you.

tonight wasn't so different from any other night, but there was a burning ache in his chest that was desperate for that confirmation of forever with you- something that he couldn't have ever been ready for.

you lean forward and move your hand from his grasp to the side of his jaw where you pull him in. 

“you and me, touya. it's always going to be us.” you whisper before colliding your lips with his- sealing a silent promise to one another.

[sorcerous-caress]

[ventique18]

Imagine being Yuu and having the privilege to call this guy the love of your life, your husband, your soulmate

Would they wake up one day and just. Gaze at him. And a tidal wave of disbelief and happiness overwhelms them because HOW THE HELL are they and this guy on the same bed? Exchanging I-love-yous and kisses? Promising forever to each other? Eating biscuits from the same tray and laughing at accidentally grabbing the same cookie and cleaning up after the crumbs as if they're the most normal couple in the universe when in fact they're not?

And that he'd feel the exact same way as they do and spend hours and hours gazing at their face and thanking whatever gods exist out there that they crossed paths during that fateful night?

GOD they're so perfect lord help me

[gojoest]

—reunion ;

how many times was it, you wonder.

that you opened the closet in your shared bedroom and found yourself staring at satoru’s clothes, and teared up because the last time you had them ironed, he was sitting on the bed behind you, throwing silly remarks at how you’re hotter than the steaming iron in your hand. you would roll your eyes and tell him that half of the time you were steaming hot was out of annoyance because he left the toilet seat up. and he would chuckle and say “my bad, love. won’t forget next time”.

that next time never came.

you would tear up every time upon seeing the toilet seat left down. so you got used to his habit and purposely kept it up at all times. because that way the bathroom had more semblance of when he was still around.

you would tear up simply glancing at his toothbrush placed in the holder because the bristles looked too hard and stiff since he didn’t get to use it in a long time. or the sunglasses he left on the nightstand that you couldn’t bring yourself to move and would carefully dust around so you didn’t change the way they were placed. because he left them there. he touched them last.

was it silly to think that as long as they stayed there, part of him would always be in that house? you didn’t know. but you clearly remember the day you had a breakdown in the middle of your kitchen because your friend threw the empty box of kikufuku mochi in the trash. it was the box he bought. the box he ate from. it was just an empty snack wrap, a trash. yet it felt like part of his presence was torn out of your life.

and this morning your alarm goes off. you open your eyes and sigh because you know how the routine goes— get up, see his sunglasses on the nightstand, tear up, wash your face, brush your teeth, see his toothbrush, tear up some more, smile at the toilet seat being up but then cry because it wasn’t him who left it that way but you, see his clothes when picking your outfit, cry, get dressed and go to work with puffy eyes.

but every once in a while, certain circumstances make it so you’re unable to stick to your daily routine. like oversleeping in the morning and then being forced to skip half of the steps in a rush so you don’t run late to work. or missing sunglasses on the nightstand, or the toilet seat left down, or a white-haired man, making pancakes in the kitchen (or an attempt at least).

“is this a dream or..”, you mumble with a shaky voice.

“if i burn the kitchen down— yes! it’s a bad bad dream”

tears build up in your eyes and you quickly rush to nuzzle into his chest, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing tightly.

“you.. you idiot”

“kept my word though— did you see the seat? left it down this time!”

“took you long..”

“my bad, love”, he chuckles resting his chin at the top of your head while squeezing you back into the hug, “but think i need a new toothbrush, this one hurts my gums”

he does need a new toothbrush. and this time you don’t mind throwing away the old one.