#reader is no longer just the muse but entirely embedded in the process of this song and that speaks volumes i think
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
latest in 'ghost is going insane while writing': i'm sitting at my desk with a song on repeat, air playing guitar, so i can decipher strumming patterns and the notes which will literally only be mentioned in passing.
#the brain cells it takes to not just strum the air and actually whisper to myself 'down down up down up DOWN' are TOO MANY#fun fact: whenever i'd teach myself songs i'd have to look up the note progressions online#but i couldn't handle deciphering the DUDU nonsense#so i'd usually build myself up to strumming along with the song#start by playing the note on the right lyric#and the adding an additional strum each time#it was painful#and very frustrating#this is why ghost doesn't play her guitar much these days !#(also to avoid annoying anyone i live with lol)#(i got called out ONCE for how many times i was replaying a song on piano to learn it and said 'never again')#anyways#we love a scene in which someone teaches the other one a musical instrument#reader is no longer just the muse but entirely embedded in the process of this song and that speaks volumes i think#it's maroon in case i'm not being obvious#i need to learn not to ramble in my tags lmao
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
what love tastes like
terushima yuuji x reader
synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster
--
âTaste,â he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first itâs metallic, salty, but then itâs sweet.Â
You take a sip.Â
âSo youâre telling me youâve never tried Monster before?â he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him.Â
âNever. Iâm more of a Dr. Pepper girl.â You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. Itâs really too much for me, you think. But of course, you wonât tell him that.Â
âNot anymore,â he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- itâs attractive, to say the least. âNow youâre my girl.âÂ
Youâve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and youâre whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises.Â
Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own.Â
And youâre okay with it.
--
Heâs about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all.Â
In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. âGuess itâll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?â
You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin.Â
(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)
He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which arenât exactly visible to the onlookerâs eye. Thereâs a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. âWhy, you want one too? Letâs go to the parlor then.âÂ
When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. âMineâ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. âThen this will have to do.â
(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.)Â
He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death.Â
âThey were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,â Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You donât believe in ghosts, so it must be because youâre cold. (At least, thatâs what you tell yourself.) âI want that kind of love.âÂ
You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. âThe kind where you die for one another?â
âThe kind where you die with one another,â he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manorâs anterior.Â
You remain silent.Â
âLife is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,â he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. âWanna make a bad decision with me?âÂ
The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. Thereâs no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuujiâs unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop.Â
Youâre not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, itâs exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. Itâs deliciously gratifying.Â
If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe youâre okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty.Â
âWhat is it?â he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel.Â
You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. âI love you.âÂ
One second passes. Then two.Â
He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You mustâve misread this whole thing. Youâre just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired⊠your mouth goes dry with regret.Â
When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye.Â
âWell, thanks for today,â you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. âI had a lot of--â
âI love you, too.âÂ
Startled, you look up. âI- what?âÂ
âI said,â he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and youâre overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. âI love you, too.âÂ
A beat of silence.
âOh,â you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you ferventlyâ but this time, itâs chaste, itâs⊠loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.
Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; heâs aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.Â
âI love you,â he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. âI love you, I love you, I love you.âÂ
--
Thereâs something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after heâs slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye.Â
Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but heâs not your average troublemaker. Thereâs something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture.Â
Thereâs something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless.Â
Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friendsâ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.)Â
He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- âJust in case,â he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation youâd be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. âYou never know.â
(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesnât hurt to be prepared.)
The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses.Â
All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang.Â
But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers donât see.Â
They donât see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They donât see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile.Â
They donât hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay.Â
They donât feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They donât feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state.Â
Itâs during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait.Â
âYou know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?â he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. âThatâs only half true. He didnât teach me, but I had to learn because of him.âÂ
You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does.Â
Iâm sorry.Â
âIâm scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.â
You can.Â
âIâm sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.â
Donât be.
âI think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.â
I know.Â
Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that.Â
You just arenât anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears.Â
One morning, heâs sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next heâs gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.
âYuuji?â you call. âIs this some sort of joke?â
Itâs not.Â
You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethinâ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want.Â
The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, youâve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You donât even know why youâve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason.Â
So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. Itâs not a graceful recovery, but itâs a recovery, and thatâs what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you donât go on a single date, but thatâs okay. (Youâre just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)Â Â
Soon, youâre whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy.Â
You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. Youâre filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, heâs sitting next to a girl you donât recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.
It wasnât because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.
âI was the problem,â Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesnât reach his eyes. âYou remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?â
You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.
âYou showed me that wasnât true.â He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. âI started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasnât me. Love isnât for me.â
âIt couldâve been,â you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating.Â
âMaybe someday,â he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.
The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for.Â
As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. âJust for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.âÂ
You smile. Itâs a genuine smile, but itâs sad, too. âI know.âÂ
And the thing about fear is that some people canât bear it well enough to let themselves love someone.Â
You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. Itâs not until youâre halfway home that you realize youâre crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans.Â
You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one heâs sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret.Â
You hope that this time, heâs scared. But not so scared he canât let himself stay.
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x reader#hq terushima#terushima#terushima yuuji#terushima x reader#terushima yuuji x reader
1K notes
·
View notes