#slur against japanese people | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hatsukeii · 4 months ago

Text

think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen.

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year.

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world.

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you.

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation.

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face.

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket.

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing.

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave.

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food.

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways.

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers.

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei.

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near.

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave.

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea.

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing.

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold.

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him.

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model.

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation.

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too.

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse.

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder.

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck.

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well.

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.”

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers.

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time.

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning.

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white.

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to.

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck.

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit.

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest.

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest.

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you.

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips.

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient

423 notes · View notes

autolenaphilia · 5 months ago

Text

God I think I actually prefer explicit fascist transmisogyny in comparison to the disguised dogwhistly liberal transmisogyny.

Like the people who openly call me an autogynephile and other various slurs and tell me to kill myself are at least being honest. They don't bullshit me about hating my very existence and wanting me to die.

It's all the faux-loving forms of transmisogyny that really make me angry. Like it makes my skin crawl in its dishonesty and hypocrisy. And it takes so many forms. Like the transmisogynist christian "hate the sin, not the sinner" approach where they claim to love me and just want me to accept Jesus in my heart. The necessary condition for accepting their version of Jesus however is me detransitioning, and that would kill me.

There is the terfy "people with gender dysphoria are suffering and they need help but we can't endanger women's sex-based rights for them." i've even seen in arguments about legal gender changes the following: "of course trans women deserve to use women's spaces, but if we allow legal gender self-id evil cis men will take advantage of that. So trans women will have to have their rights restricted." Even J.K. Rowling used it in her terf manifesto.

It makes one yearn for the days of the ur-terf book "The Transsexual Empire" which had the "shemale" slur in its subtitle and in which the author Janice Raymond argued trans women rape real women by the fact of their very existence. That kind of brazen transmisogyny at least had some kind of honesty about it.

There is also the transmisogynist callout culture fandom, or as the japanese fittingly call them: the american feelings yakuza. They callout transfems for problematic kinks like at least once a week but deny transmisogyny. "oh we don't believe all transfems are evil predatory sex perverts, it's just that this particular transfem is."

Their evidence for her being sexual predatory is that she ships two fictional siblings. Or in meatspace meetings, things like her having "bad vibes" ("bad vibes" or "gut instinct" are polite words for what more sensible people call "ingrained bias") .

And they suspiciously keep on making callouts for transfem after transfem in a neverending series, trying to ruin her reputation and socially exile her, but of course they are not transmsiogynists.

There is also the sofboi transandrobro type of transmisogyny. They spread the vilest transmisogyny but always falls back on a terfy bioessentialism to claim ontological innocence and perpetual victimhood in all situations. I've literally seen someone say "how can i be a misogynist, i'm literally afab." These people will not say directly "shut up about your oppression, stupid tranny", but say it in coded form. I had one guy traumadump to me about his rape in vivid detail to make the point that (trans)men suffer more and imply that transfems don't suffer from sexual violence.

And that's the crux of the issue. Open hate barely fazes me anymore, unless there is an immediate threat of physical violence. But being condescended to, being emotionally manipulated, being faced with people veiling their hatred of transfems behind a veil of superficially loving rhetoric, that does make me angry. And these people always use my anger against me. "Why are you so angry when these people are being so polite and nice to you?" And that's because the point of these rhetorical approaches is to have plausible deniability for your bigotry and make transfems look crazy when they point it out.

Yet it's the same bigotry as the explicit version, it's just more dishonest about it. Like if had the They Live glasses and looked at the rhetoric, it would just read "exterminate all transfems." All those polite liberals believe the same thing about transfems as the neo-nazis openly calling for us to be hanged, they just lack the virtue of being honest about it.

#transmisogyny #my posts

528 notes · View notes

lale-txt · 7 months ago

Text

❦ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

where it's just Nanami, you & a heat wave

a/n: my gift exchange fic for @bas-writes ♡ thank you for all the fun prompts, it was SO hard to pick and in the end i mashed a few together. also, as promised, absolutely no angst in this one (added more horny every time i felt the urge which explains the lenght of this...). anyway, i hope this fic will bring you joy, i had a lot of fun writing this!

contains: afab!reader (no pronouns used, ‘cunt’ and ‘pussy’ used to describe genitalia), reader is described as chubby but otherwise with no further details about their appearance, alcohol mention, food mention (not as in food play, just mention of food in general), established relationship, dirty talk, masturbation, oral (reader giving & receiving), fingering (reader receiving), light spanking, choking, praise kink, anal play, breeding kink (no mention of pregnancy or babies), rough but loving penetrative sex, cum play, spit kink if you squint

word count: 7.1k

“It’s not Kuantan.” “It’s with you.”

Nanami closes his eyes, allowing himself to doze off to the steady rattling of the train and the sound of the air conditioning, both harmonizing into a sound he’s looking forward to at the end of every work day: The noises of the city slowly drowning out with each passing station, less and less people on the cart, till it’s only him getting off at the final stop.

It had been your idea–escaping Tokyo, buying the house in the village that is nestled between the shore and the mountains.

It’s like I can’t breathe.

Nanami still remembers your words from that one early summer night, the heat and concrete of the city forming an unforgiving alliance. You were slumped next to him in the izakaya, your weary head resting against his shoulders, maybe one drink too many. He had brushed a strand of hair out of your face that had been sticking to your sweaty temples, allowing himself to cup your face afterwards and drinking you in with his eyes, a thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth.

“We need to get out of here,” he mumbled, almost apologetically, not talking about the izakaya. “I need to get my ass ate from behind in a room with air conditioning on full blast,” you huffed before your head dropped down against the tabletop with a small groan. Nanami laughed quietly, one hand coming to rest in the back of your neck, rubbing it soothingly. Both of you had a point, but only one of you would probably remember this conversation tomorrow.

You had sent him a link the same night, after he had walked you back home to your apartment and made sure you had everything you’d need in the morning on your bedside table–water, ibuprofen, some fruit and a fully charged toy, knowing you well enough by now. His phone went off while he was sitting in the back of a cab, silently cursing out the mission he had to leave for early in the morning, when all he wanted was to feel your body pressed against him in his sleep.

Nanami couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head again when he saw your name in the notification. Of course you wouldn’t just go and sleep like you promised him with slurred words when he kissed you goodnight. He tapped it, expecting another cat video that reminded you of him, or some newly opened café you wanted to try out together.

To his surprise it had been a link to a realtor website.

He swiped through the photos, showing an older but freshly renovated house, secluded a little up the shore. A traditional Japanese house, one of those you get when you seriously start thinking about settling down. It came with a garden from where stairs lead down to the beach; the yard clearly had been neglected for many years but still looked beautiful in its own overgrown way.

Strangely enough, as he was swiping, Nanami could picture the two of you together in every photo. You’ve talked about it before, the whole ordeal of moving in together, but life as a sorcerer was busy and unsteady and so the thought had always been pushed to somewhen in the future, whenever that might have been.

Now, apparently.

Nanami called you the moment he was out of the cab, walking up the stairs to his apartment. You picked up immediately and for a few seconds neither of you said a word.

“You don’t think it’s crazy?” “No, I don’t.” “You know it’s not just a drunk idea, alright? I’m serious, really, I mean… yes, I am drunk, but–fuck– I’m actually serious. You gotta believe me. Nanami Kento. You know that, right?”

Nanami couldn’t help but laugh at your drunken antics, the bite in your voice and yet how softly his full name rolled off your tongue, as if it was the sweetest treat you’ve ever tasted. God, he was so utterly, devastatingly in love with you.

“I know, darling. I know.” “It’s not Kuantan.” “It’s with you.”

One month later, in the midst of summer, you moved in together.

Between long appointments at the bank, scrubbing dust off every corner of the old house and stacked-up moving boxes, the love between you bloomed into full blossom. Just being able to wake up next to you was enough for Nanami to get up at the crack of dawn, facing an endlessly long commute into the city when work called for it (though they assigned him missions in the outskirts of it more frequently now, which didn’t change the fact that work was still shit).

Actually, he didn’t mind the commute. He finally had some time to read all the unread books he had collected over the years, some of which you had recommended to him when you weren’t even dating yet. On evenings when he managed to leave work on time, he would also stop by at a bakery and snatch a big bag of goods for half the price, which he’d bring home like a trophy, making your eyes light up like magic.

Life was good. It’s like you reminded him of that, putting back the colors into it again–maybe more than that, allowed him to dream again.

Nanami opens his eyes again when the voice over the speaker announces the last stop. It was still so bright outside, the longest days of the year just around the corner. The air was humid and heavy, but felt more bearable by the seaside than in the concrete city. He slips off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves as he walks up the hill back home, already yearning for you. He thinks about making a quick detour to the corner shop to pick up a watermelon on his way, but decides against it.

He really, really wants to see you.

You had been on his mind all day, even more than usual, and the summer heat clearly had gotten into his head and into his crotch, thinking about the way you looked like in the sheets when he left this morning. The covers pushed off you because it was too hot, too sticky, revealing every curve of your soft body. Nanami had to bite back a groan. You looked like a deity, with your legs spread, revealing the bite mark on the inside of your thigh that he left the night prior, still dripping–god, how were you still dripping, that’s so unfair–and blinking at him slowly when he leaned down to kiss your forehead goodbye. You fell asleep again a few heartbeats after that, oblivious to how his cock stiffened in his pants from the sight of you.

He was tempted to quickly rub one out before he left for work, but he decided against it.

No, he wanted to feel all your holes clench around him tonight, filling you up to the brim and hearing you beg for it. He wanted to bury his cock so deep inside of you till your body remembers the shape of him. Wanted to hear you pant and moan underneath him, his hands digging into your supple flesh till he leaves a mark.

Nanami had never considered himself touch-starved. Of course he had known the pleasures of a warm body next to him in bed, but he never allowed himself to get too close. As if he could burn more than just his fingers if he got too greedy. It had always been easier to keep a distance, to suffocate every burgeoning feeling like a flame. That is, until you waltzed into his life.

Now he finds himself longing for you even when you’re just in the other room, where he can hear you rummaging around and humming and occasionally calling out for him (most of the time when you found a hidden treasure while unpacking a moving box). It’s like he’s drawn to you, unable to stay away, like the moon to the tide. When his arms wrap around your waist, he feels as if he’s holding his whole world in it. You, who tore all of his walls down with such ease, with your hands wrapped around his poor, pleading heart.

To be devoured by your love had been the greatest pleasure of his life.

The streets are pretty empty except for a few stray cats (Nanami always slipped a handful of treats for them in his pocket before he left the house in the morning) and the occasional chatter the breeze carried from the homes he passes by. It’s one of those unbearably hot summer days where everyone would slowly feel alive again once the searing sun starts to set and the air doesn’t feel as suffocating anymore.

With every step up the hill, Nanami could feel the excitement grow in his core, the distance between your two bodies growing smaller with every heartbeat. He can already picture you in bed, the same way as he had left you in the morning, stretched out like a lazy house cat, probably nose deep in a book, unless you were napping for the third time today with the fan running on full blast.

Good, he thinks. You of all people deserve to rest. You’ve done enough.

When he opens the gate to the garden, a wave of contentment washes over him. Always does ever since you moved here together, as if things have finally fallen into place as they should. Right time, right place, right person. Nanami has never felt so sure about anything before. He walks around the house, noticing how you had opened all the windows to let some air in now that the end of the day brought some relief from the heat.

Nanami doesn’t call out for you when he takes his shoes off by the entrance and folds his jacket neatly over the back of a chair; he already knows where to find you.

It will never not take his breath away, seeing you like this. You look so damn enticing. Lying there on your stomach, spread out in linen sheets and wearing nothing but one of his shirts, unbuttoned, just loosely thrown over your form, revealing more of your curves than hiding them. The fabric barely covers your ass and from the way one of your legs is bent he can catch a glimpse of your cunt as well, looking as plump and tender like it did in the morning. God, the temptation to just dip two fingers into you and make you fall apart before anything… he can feel his cock stir slightly just from thinking about it.

He smiles when you put your book down and glance at him over your shoulder, catching his eyes as they–slowly–peel away from between your thighs.

“Hi, bird,” he murmurs. The mattress dips under his weight when he crawls on top of you, his hands sliding over yours, one knee hooking your angled leg just an inch higher, his half-hard cock nestled between the valley of your cheeks. Nanami kisses the side of your neck, up to your jaw, biting down gently for a moment when you arch your back for him, searching for more of that sweet friction. You never hold back in showing what you wanted from him, how you want him, and who was he to withhold that from you?

Though, of course he wouldn’t give it to you that easily.

One hand cups your chin and tips it up till his lips meet yours, melting into a delicate kiss; definitely not chaste but not devouring either, not yet. He is sure he could get drunk just from your kisses; they have a way of stirring up a hunger within him that only you could sate.

“No overtime today?”, you ask once he releases your chin from his grip again and your cheek sinks down on the pillow. He kisses the back of your neck, tasting salt and you, something so sweet and alluring it makes him want to sink his teeth in your flesh on some days. A low rumble escapes his throat, both from arousal and annoyance, the latter because he does not want to think about work right now.

Not when you’re pinned underneath him like this, just as he had imagined it all day.

“No,” he replies and licks a stripe up your neck, ending with a kiss behind the shell of your ear. “Saved that all for you tonight, love.”

Nanami can feel your juices leaking into the fabric of his trousers from where his crotch is pressed against you, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Something primal in him just wants to take you, to sink his cock into you till you feel him deep inside your stomach, to hear you whimper while he stays nestled inside of you for hours. To watch his cum drip out of your cunt, only to shove it back inside again. It would be so easy to give in to that, but if there’s one thing Nanami has plenty of, then it’s self-restraint. Lucky or unlucky, that was for you to decide.

“You have no idea how divine you looked this morning,” he mutters against your skin, trailing kisses from the back of your neck down your spine, his shirt that you’re wearing slowly slipping further down your shoulders. “With your pussy still dripping for me from the night before…”

He rolls his hips in the tiniest motion, only enough to let you feel how hard he was for you already. The small whine that escaped your throat tugged on the corners of his mouth.

Trying to keep your composure. How sweet. It wouldn’t last long.

“I missed you,” you utter quietly, when he slowly peels the shirt away from you, exposing your bare form to him. Nanami could never get enough of this moment, your softness in all its glory, every curve of your body, how it folded and melted underneath his big hands; at times he’d think you're a piece of art that only he had the honor to lay his eyes on.

There was also something about you being naked underneath him while he was still fully dressed, and you making a mess out of him despite barely being touched. Nanami growls a little as he sits up slowly, his lower half still pressed against you, but his hands now sliding from your arms between your shoulder blades, till they settle on your hips, pulling you flush against him. He bends over and trails more kisses down your spine. He could kiss every inch of your body and it still wouldn’t be enough to satiate him. Never completely full, always yearning for you. He doesn’t mind. Not when it’s you.

“Missed you too, my darling,” he whispers, feeling you twitch from the sound of his voice. “Couldn’t get you out of my mind all day. Not that I wanted to. Just so damn hard to focus when all I could think about is how pretty you looked with my hand in your hair and your lips around my cock last night. Took me so damn well down your throat.”

He reaches for a big pillow and gently taps your hips for you to raise them. Fuck, the way your back arches. Nanami can’t help but run a knuckle over your slit, having it on display for him like that. You are so wet already. He slides the pillow underneath your stomach and takes a moment to drink you in with his eyes. You’re so stunning, it makes him feel as if the air was punched out of his lungs.

All for him. All his.

Nanami’s hands wander to the back of your thighs, just barely below your ass cheeks, spreading you open like a book. His cock aches painfully in his pants from the sight of your exposed cunt, glistening and dripping. He allows himself a few heartbeats of admiration, knowing how it must feel like hours for you, on full display like this; he can tell from the way you squirm underneath him, eager for his touch. There’s no doubt you’ve been craving him all day just as much as he did.

Did you touch yourself while he was gone, trying to get the leftover bits of hunger from last night out of your system? Humped your poor pillow, imagining it was him? Did it leave you unsatisfied, the absence of his fingers, his cock, his mouth all over you?

All of it doesn’t matter now that he is here.

Nanami leans down till his breath is fanning over your cunt before he pulls you an inch closer onto his face, licking a painfully slow and long stripe from your clit up to your hole. He moans when he tastes you, a guttural sound, all desires pooling below his navel. He’d have you in this position for days if he could and it still wouldn’t be enough.

He repeats what he was doing a few more times, till your moans grow more needy and he lets out an airy laugh against your wet folds. You earn yourself a sharp slap on one ass cheek, then on the other; not hard enough to bruise but enough to make heat coil where his hands landed. Nanami presses a few kisses on each, thick fingers kneading the pain away till it melts into pleasure.

“So good for me,” he rasps before turning his attention back to your cunt, his hands still spreading you open. His tongue circles your clit before sucking it gently, loving the way it makes you mewl underneath him. “Can’t wait to fill up this needy cunt. Fuck my cum in you till you’re full.”

One thumb collects your juices and comes up to play with your puckered hole, circling around it, the first digit resting against it without pushing it in yet. It makes you whine.

“In here, too.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart under his tongue, your hands clawing into the linen sheets as you moan his name. Nanami loves the sound of it, loves how you ride out your high with his face between your thighs, loves how the insides of your thick thighs are dripping by now from his spit and your arousal. He’ll have you sit on his face later tonight, Nanami thinks, desperate to feel those thighs shaking around him as you cum once more.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed he allows you a second to breathe, admiring the sight before him while gently stroking the area around your ankle. Nanami has this habit of always needing to touch you when you are within reach. Any body part would do as long as he can have some skin contact. He just likes to feel you close, to be constantly reminded that you’re here with him. Does that make him touch-starved? He guesses so. But it’s alright, because it’s you.

You slowly push yourself up before you turn towards him with the smug smile of someone who just traveled to the stars and back. Nanami pulls you towards him with a quiet laugh, one hand in the back of your neck when he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips and his tongue.

“Eager, aren’t we?”, he murmurs when your fingers loosen his tie and work down the button row of his shirt, but he doesn’t hold you back; of course not. He closes his eyes and leans his head back when you kiss down his jaw, lips brushing over his five-o’clock shadow before they find his throat, sucking a mark on the side of it–close enough to his collarbone, where it can be easily hidden from a certain co-worker who would otherwise not let go about it. His shirt and his tie land on the floor with a soft thud.

Nanami groans quietly when your hand cups the prominent bulge in his pants, stained with your slick and drips of precum. The sound of his belt being unbuckled draws his eyes back open again, meeting yours. He can see the silent pleading behind them, how you yearn to have any of your holes finally filled. Greedy. Nanami licks his lips when you unzip his pants, fingers kneading his stiff cock with longing.

“Want me to return the favor?”, you ask in a low voice, lips on his neck again, close to his ear. Nanami sucks in a breath. You don’t have to ask twice.

“Lay down on your back. Head over the edge,” he instructs and watches you do as he said. His eyes rake over your form again. How did you get so perfect? If he could, he’d carve every curve of you into marble just to live in this moment forever. How many hours has he spent with his head against the softness of your tum, with your hands running through his hair, releasing every ounce of stress from his body? It’s like you were made for him.

Made for each other.

“You’re beautiful,” Nanami murmurs with a gaze so warm it could melt glaciers. One of his hands strokes your cheek while the other reaches for his throbbing cock, not bothering to take off his pants completely, just enough for it to bounce free. From your upside down view it looks even more massive. Nanami can feel your hungry gaze on him when he pumps himself lazily above you. His fingers trace from your cheek down to your throat, as if to measure how deep you’re gonna swallow him soon enough.

He lowers himself so he can be on a closer eye-level with you, bending over you to kiss you on the open mouth. So pretty. So obedient.

“You’ll let me ruin you a little, love, won’t you?”, he whispers, pushing his thumb into your mouth to open it up wider. The way you whimper softly in response, sticking out your tongue, has him even harder. Fuck, he feels as if he’s gonna burst any second if he doesn’t feel one of your holes twitch around him soon.

Nanami leans down once more, cups your chin and lets a thick bead of spit fall onto your tongue. With a small tap against your cheek he tells you to swallow it, a satisfied smile playing on his lips when you do so, immediately sticking your tongue out again. Ravening.

He pumps himself again, tempted to just give in to the seething heat in his stomach and spill himself all over your pretty face, but it would not be worthy of the sight in front of him. You need to be properly worshiped for hours. Again with the self-restraint. Instead he grabs a handful of your breasts, kneading the supple flesh of them, while slowly guiding the tip of his cock against your lips. He lets out a low growl the second your tongue swirls around him, licking up the precum leaking from it.

It would be so easy, to just push himself inside, to make you choke and gag around his length; but Nanami takes his sweet time. When you eat, you savor every bite. And so he inches himself inside your hot mouth slowly, rolling his hips ever so slightly as your lips stretch around his cock.

“Taking me so well,” he huffs, pulling his cock out and giving it a few strokes to cover it fully in your saliva. You whine in protest when he leaves you empty like this and Nanami clicks his tongue, followed by a quiet laugh. Your plush thighs rub together to chase the throbbing in your cunt, one hand of yours rubbing small circles against your clit.

“So fucking needy.”

He gives you less time to adjust when he pushes in again but he knows you can take it. Everything he gives you, you accept so willingly; especially when it was his cock shoved down your throat. You gag around him when he bottoms out, holding still for a moment before he pulls himself out again, a thin thread of salvia connecting your lips and his leaking tip. Fuck. He was so pent up and so close already.

Nanami lets go of your tits and slides his hand up to your throat instead, wrapping around it. He doesn’t tighten his fingers around it, just lets them linger there, caressing your soft skin gently. Underneath his grip he can feel his cock plunging in and out and the tiny vibrations caused by your moans. He always loves fucking your mouth, especially in this position; being able to watch the canvas of yours, how you play with yourself, your cunt probably dripping and aching to be filled like this, too. Poor thing, just one hole stuffed not enough for you. The thought makes his cock twitch, barely holding back anymore.

He hasn’t even cum once, but is already thinking about what positions he’ll have you in later tonight. On your knees, your hands restrained behind your back with his tie maybe. One hand tangled in your hair while you blow him, glassy eyes looking up at him when you take his cock down your throat again. He could have you ride a toy while doing so, just for the pleasure of watching you fall apart upon it, whining that it wasn’t enough, that you needed him. God. One day, you’ll be the death of him.

“Stick your tongue out for me, darling,” he murmurs, voice gentle yet commanding. You cough for air a little when he pulls his cock out, only to suck his balls into your mouth a moment later while he fists himself above your face. The grip on his cock is so tight that the veins on the back of his hands and his forearm are showing. Eventually he comes with an unrestrained groan, spilling himself all over your face and your chest, panting heavily.

“That’s it, love, take it… so good for me…”

His cock is still twitching when you start lapping up his cum, eager to not let a single drop go to waste. He uses the moment to kick off his pants and briefs that were dangling loosely below his hips by now. It was too hot in this room anyway and what you two were doing wasn’t exactly helping with cooling down. Maybe one day you will have your wish fulfilled of getting your ass eaten from behind with the air conditioning on full blast, but today is not the day.

Nanami helps you sit up on the mattress again before he joins you there, kneeling between your spread thighs. You left a big stain from where you were fingerfucking yourself while he was buried in your throat. Big hands come to your waist and dig into your soft flesh, pulling you closer till you’re almost straddling his lap. You look so alluring, with his cum still warm and running down the valley between your chest, your eyes half-lidded and your lips slightly swollen from being wrapped around his cock. He grabs your chin and tilts your head to kiss you again, tasting himself on your tongue.

“Should I grab you some ice cream from the freezer to suck on while I fuck this needy cunt?”, he asks, sliding one hand from your waist between your thighs, running two fingers between your folds. You’re so wet for him.

“Your fingers will do,” you quip back, biting his bottom lip slightly as you put your hand above his, guiding him where you wanted to feel him. Two of his fingers slip inside you without any protest, he doesn’t have it in him to starve you of them any longer. Your head tips back into your neck in bliss, eyes closed as his digits curl up against your walls, rubbing that spot that makes your head spin. As you get closer to your edge again, your fingers curl around his wrist as if to stop him from removing his fingers too fast, too soon.

“Close,” you murmur and sigh sweetly when Nanami leans closer to kiss the side of your neck. He mutters praise against your sweaty skin while you rock back and forth on his fingers, a third added for extra pleasure. His thumb draws lazy circles around your clit, knowing you’re still sensitive from your orgasm prior. He loves watching you come undone from the lightest touch.

Your slick is running down his wrist by the time you clench around his fingers in waves, your own fingers now tangled in his hair as you ride out your high. Nanami keeps his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of the sight unraveling before him. You look so stunning with your brows knit together, your mouth hanging a little loose, panting and moaning without any restraint. His cock rests hard and heavy against your soft stomach as he slowly draws his hand back, accompanied by a quiet whine of yours.

“So damn beautiful,” he whispers once again when he pushes you down gently onto the bed. Everything Nanami does, he does with utter care and this applies to you, too: Brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your face that were sticking to your temples, a pillow slid behind your head (with the cool side up), eyes scanning over you for any sight of discomfort. Your legs fall apart so easily for him, inviting him in. It’s quiet in the room, except for the sound of your heavy breathing and the ocean shore in the distance.

“Fuck me,” you beg quietly, your eyes not leaving his gaze either. Sometimes Nanami can’t help but wonder what you see when you look at him. If you get the same wondrous feeling in your chest that’s impossible to grasp with words. Something beyond life, beyond love. A whole universe coming apart at its seams just so the two of you could meet in this lifetime.

With one hand planted next to your head, the other around his cock, he guides himself between your spread thighs, the tip nudging your wet folds apart; so warm, welcoming. Made for him. His jaw clenches when you pull your heels towards your ass so you can lift your hips better, leaving him no other choice than to sink into your heat. It’s not like he could have waited any longer anyway. He’ll never get used to how tight you are, he thinks when you clench around him, so needy and sensitive.

His free hand comes to the other side of your head onto the mattress and he gives you a sharp thrust, making you mewl. He stills inside of you, then slides his cock out almost completely and painfully slowly, till it’s barely just the tip, and then slams into you again. The way your soft body bounces underneath him with each thrust has him breathless.

“So fucking tight. So perfect for me, darling,” he mutters as one of your hands spread your folds further apart, eyes trained on where you two are connected. The other rests on your soft tum, pressing down below your navel where you can feel him every time he bottoms out inside of you. Nanami’s lips find yours again, a small smile on them when yours part for him, his tongue slipping into your mouth. The kiss is hot and messy, all of your moans swallowed greedily by him, one of his hands coming around your throat again.

“Harder,” you murmur, your legs now wrapping around his hips to pull him closer. From this position you’re now almost folded in half underneath him. His fingers around your neck twist a tiny bit tighter, which makes your cunt throb. Nanami sucks in a sharp breath. He is already getting closer to his edge again, the heat of your cunt filling him up and making him feel lightheaded with each thrust.

And your whimpers and moans–shit, Nanami could cum from the sound of them alone.

“So good for me… letting me stuff this pretty little cunt… gods, you’re so fucking wet for me, baby,” he growls, almost like a chant to draw out the edge he was balancing on. You look so perfect underneath him, twitching around him, your eyes rolled back, toes curling, taking everything he’s giving you. Nanami hears his own blood rushing down from his head into his core, an almost primal sound leaving his throat when you cum underneath him for a third time, milking him dry. He allows himself to let go of all self-restraint and follows a few heartbeats after into the aftershock of your orgasm.

His feral side stirs to life again, licking up on him like flames when he spills himself inside of your cunt. How badly he needs to breed you, stuff you so full of him till you’re dripping, fuck you again and again till your body remembers the shape of him forever.

Nanami’s jaw clenches, breathing heavily. His cock doesn’t soften inside of you, just keeps on throbbing with an insatiable hunger.

“Fuck, darling,” he groans, leaning down to find your mouth again. His forehead rests against yours, your breaths mingling. You find yourself drowning in the darkness of his eyes, pupils blown wide, drunk on you. “Can we…?”

You kiss him back and nod slowly, hazily almost. Blissfully fucked out, full and warm of his seed and his love.

Nanami pulls slowly out of you, watching how your hole pulses from the absence of his cock, your juices and his cum leaking out of you. He cups your cunt and smears your release all over the insides your thighs and your soft stomach, watching you squirm, before he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. Your chest is still heaving as you try to catch your breath.

By now the sun was slowly setting, dipping the room into warm shades of red, orange and gold, making you look even more divine when you roll over and get on all fours, back arched for him. You look like the most beautiful mess he has ever seen. For a moment he just lets his eyes linger on you, taking in how you dip your fingers inside of you like honey, spreading your cheeks to lure him into taking you mercilessly. A deep, growling sound rumbles in Nanami’s chest when he lines himself up against you from behind once more.

His hands are cupping each of your ass cheeks, pulling them apart to have a perfect view of how he sinks into you again. He sets a harsh pace from the start this time, the slaps of his skin against yours echoing from every wall. You’re so wet, almost gushing with every thrust.

Nanami brings a thumb back up to your puckered hole, spitting on it just for the sake of it, then letting his thumb rest there until you’re practically pushing yourself onto his digit. His free hand kneads the tender flesh of your ass while he stills for a few breaths to give you time to adjust to the new sensation. The sight of you below him takes his breath away once again; your bodies connected, pulsing around each other in the same rhythm.

“That’s it, love… fuck, you’re so perfect…”, Nanami huffs when he slowly picks up his thrusts again, keeping his thumb hooked in your other hole, you moaning underneath him. “Made for taking all of me…”

Neither of you would last much longer, too sensitive and overheated by now, but fuck, he would make this one worthwhile. All he needs for tonight is seeing you come undone on his cock one last time.

Stuffed in two holes, a certain kind of feral lust shoots through your body like lighting, making you tremble like a sacrificial lamb on the altar. Paired with the ferocity of his thrusts it’s enough for your arms to give in and make you toggle over, landing face down in a pillow. Nanami’s free hand comes up to the back of your neck, pinning you down there as he keeps fucking into your throbbing cunt. His thick cock splits you open, pounding into you as if this was his sole purpose, your name falling from his lips in a low and husky voice.

“Cum for me, darling, just let go, yeah? Need to feel you milk my cock one last time… you’re so good, so fucking perfect for me…”

It’s all too much; the tight grip on the back of your neck like prey being caught, his cock reaching deep into your stomach with each thrust, his thumb playing with your ass… it makes you whimper and whine, but oh, you take him so well, like you’re made for him. Your eyes roll back and you let out a primal sound between a moan and a sob, then your whole body tenses and finally releases all this built up pleasure like a firework, making your skin prickle and your mind go blank.

Nanami curses under his breath and follows you over the edge shortly after, pressing his whole body weight into you as he buries his cock deep inside your twitching cunt, filling you up with his cum. It’s hot and thick inside of you, gushing out on the sides of your pussy when he ruts against you, fucking it deeper inside.

His hand on your neck doesn’t move.

“Hold still and be good for me. I’ll cum in your ass, too,” he growls and slides his thumb out, making you whine at the feeling of emptiness. When he leaves your cunt clenching around nothing, only your juices and his seed dripping out of it, he immediately lines himself up against your asshole, pushing just the tip into it before his cock can soften. No, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he filled all of your holes tonight.

“Go deeper,” you plead, whimpering in sheer pleasure when he inches himself into your tight ass. “I can take it.”

Nanami knows you can. He has seen you take him up your ass before, and yet it was still a sight that will make him suck his breath in. So fucking tight. He goes slower this time, not wanting you to tear from the sheer size of him and without having you stretched out properly beforehand; but he’s so fucking overstimulated already anyway, just staying buried this deep inside of you and letting you throb around him would be enough squeeze the lift out of him.

He leans down and kisses your spine before he fucks you harder into the mattress with a few more harsh thrusts, then he reaches his point of no return and cums deeps inside of you again. He slumps down on top of you, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your skin while you hum quietly in a state of pure bliss. You stay like this for a bit, time becoming nothing but a blur.

With the last bits of his strength, Nanami eventually pushes himself up again, pulling his softening cock out and watching his cum trickle out of your hole, down the insides of your thighs into the sheets. Such a big, beautiful mess that you’ve made. He gently kneads the flesh of your ass soothingly before he lays down besides you, holding one arm out for you to crawl in.

Nanami presses a few kisses against your temples and the top of your head when you rest your head on his chest. He’s sure you can feel his heart still pounding, only slowly coming down from his high. His arm wraps around your naked form and pulls you close to him. The sticky heat doesn’t matter at that moment, all he wants is to feel you close. At this moment the whole world is shrinking down to just the two of you, right here, in this golden afterglow.

“I really missed you,” he whispers against your hair, repeating what he had said earlier. He holds you so close, there’s no space for you to wiggle out of his embrace. Not that you wanted to. His fingers brush up and down your spine in the most tender way.

“You’re here now,” you mumble back, your eyes closed as you bask in his affection, only slowly coming back to your senses. You have been sticky and sweaty before, but now you were practically in shambles, your guts rearranged and all three of your holes sore. You let out an airy laugh.

He really devoured you.

You press a few kisses against his chest and his collarbone before propping yourself up on your elbows, facing him. Nanami cups one side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. He already knows that look on your face all too well, and he smiles.

“You didn’t happen to buy a watermelon on your way home?”, you ask and tilt your head to the side, one finger drawing lazy circles onto his chest. The cravings on your face were clear as day.

Nanami chuckles and shakes his head. He should have known better and listen to his guts earlier when he walked home and brought that damn watermelon. He wasn’t the only one with hunger in his eyes, one that could never be fully satisfied. Maybe that’s why the two of you fell in love all this time ago. When you can feast off each other, you never run out of anything else either. Not lust, not passion, not love.

“I’ll go and buy you that watermelon in a minute, for being so good to me,” he murmurs with a lazy smile. The expression you’re showing him right now, with your chin resting on his chest was one of triumph and contentment. Both of you know that he’d never deny you any joy of life, and if it came in the form of a round, juicy fruit, then so be it.

Is he looking forward to leaving this bed and putting on clothes again? Absolutely not. Will he do it for you, anyway?

Yes, always.

When it’s you, anything, anytime.

Nanami’s love for you could move mountains, but for now he is glad to just let time stand still with you; here in this place you both call your home.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x you #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento

139 notes · View notes

system-voices · 7 months ago

Text

Hi everybody, I wanna start off by giving some context to the body & who I am.

I'm Kevin (👊) & the body is mixed, half white & half Filipino. I, in headspace, am a black alter.

One of our online friends has been showing us posts about alter races, the debate of whether or not their real, is it gatekeeping or justified to say that poc alters in white bodies (or even just of bodies that do not align to their race in headspace) cannot participate in practices of the cultures their races align with. You know, that type of debate.

Before I say what I'm going to say, I need to remind you all listen to the voices of POC & POC systems. Now, here's my particular take on this syscourse.

White bodied systems & their poc alters saying slurs or trying to justify white people's racist behavior are racist. You are in a white body, whether you have a host who is white, a core who is white, or even if you have no one in headspace who identifies as white it doesn't matter. It's racist. You're being actively racist. You are in a white body, people are perceiving you as white. You being in a white body means you have the responsibility to show other white bodies that saying slurs isn't okay. That certain racist behaviors aren't okay. & if this is something that offends you or makes you feel suddenly very defensive about your behaviors. Maybe you're more racist then you thought. This is not something like: "oh I have a Japanese alter & they have a Japanese name! I'd love to learn more about their culture & participate in certain parts of it that I can to bring joy to this alter" this is not who this is aimed at. If their name is a normal name from their culture or if their name is from a show/movie/media from that culture, that's fine. You guys indulging in open practices, clothes, food from that culture? No problem. This is normal, no matter if you're a system or not. Trying gate keep open things or (normal/public) names is the starting spiral to back tracking into racism. It's a slippery slope to suddenly being against interracial relationships & the debate if someone is "enough of X to talk about it". Cultural sharing is NOT cultural appropriation. If it is an open practice for anyone to partake in, then it's fine. Food, everyday clothing, learning about their culture, learning their language(s). This is something you can do even if you're not the race that culture is aligned with. This applies to any race. An alters race is real, but that does not mean they're being perceived as that race. & I wish a lot of those alters would realize that. Yes, I am black, but I am not being perceived that way. I'm not even being perceived like a man, another thing I am, because the body does not look that way. I am not being treated like a black man when I front. When I front I am being treated the way the outer world perceives the body: A white passing "woman". & because of that I don't say or do certain things that maybe I would if people could see & acknowledge my blackness. Along with the fact that my life experience is not the average black persons. I cannot speak on black peoples experiences I can only speak on my experience, & I accept that.

Some Reminders because I know this websites reading comprehension can be ass:

I'm not saying this to make anyone feel bad, I'm saying this to state my thoughts on a topic. This is not secretly about gatekeeping culture. It's about not letting more white bodied systems, or white people, try & use those alters to "justify" their racist behavior without having to do any self reflection.

LISTEN TO POC & POC SYSTEMS, BEGGING PLEADING ON MY KNEES YOU GUYS!!!

#sysblr #system stuff #syscourse #plural system #pluralgang #plurality #actually plural #plural community #actually a system #actuallyplural #system #systems #system things #endo safe #pro endo #endo friendly #👊: Kevin #👊

127 notes · View notes

polyhexianbirb · 2 months ago

Text

Someone on pintrest said that Ares is the God of the frontlines. They see him as a man trying not to breath while hiding in the mud and blood. The God of the brave and terrible front lines in war.

So I'm gonna expand that. He is the God of The men trying their hardest to not die in no-man's land, the holding your brother's hands and trying to help them be brave enough to stand and fire during their first assignment, the fear of having a Hand brush across your shoulder in veitnam, unsure if it's an enemy or a friend trying to find their way, not seeing where you are, not seeing your enemy. The retreat into the mangroves and being dragged under by the crocodiles. The ugly beauty of the fire and pain and death as a nuclear bomb falls on a Japanese city, the refugees fleeing the countries, the rebellions against dictators and fascists. Two tanks slowly backing away from the wall as the west and east slowly back away. The man standing in front of a tank, arms spread out, a citizen, hoping for peace so badly wishing and giving people hope.

He is the God of the prisoners of war, a man who looks at the unhealthy jew and offers them aid instead of death, the man who bribes soldiers and lies and sells his fortune to save them. The people taken and starved in the cells beneath palaces. Priests and ministers and people speaking their thoughts, forced to labour day after day for a crime they didn't commit.

He is the fear that he chokes down, the fear that a brother is dead, the fear of the enemy. He and Thanatos have always been at odds since Ares cuases so much death and yet his followers fear it so much. The fear of having to die, the fear of having to kill. The people that rake through the dead, find lockets and letters to loved ones, letters that will never be finished, children who will never meet their parents. He has his own collection, people who die and he keeps their name and picture, men more divine than he. He walks in the infirmaries and the nurses who work there sing to the soldiers, bring comfort and he can't help the praises that spill from his lips, for even as a god this is ugly and people like Miss Nightingale are saints for a religion Ares will never know. He is scared and hurt and he feels nothing like the naive God he was back in Troy, crying to his father when he got hurt.

He is of the protesters in Shanghai, the people fleeing from rhe smoke and gas. The people who put patches on their jackets, hair dyed and spiked and home made and punk. The anarchists who scream and yell because their so-called democracy failed them. The brothers and sisters who rally under a flag, their right to live taken by the very people who claim to protect them, and those who parade in the streets, people jeer and call them slurs and he, wishes them all the best.

#thoughts you know #just like #modern ideas #im gonna write a proper longer version of this #for ao3 #and imma do it like a story #so yeah #imma have fun #character study #ares god of war #ares #greek gods #greek mythology #greek myth retellings #pjo #pjo ares #percy jackson

29 notes · View notes

my-rewrite-academia · 6 days ago

Note

Just found out that Horikoshi named a character after a slur against Chinese and Korean people during WW2... (Shiga M*****)

Hello!

I'm not sure what you're asking by this? I'm aware of this, of course, but I'm also aware that Horikoshi changed the name. For anyone unaware, Dr. Garaki Kyudai was originally called Maruta Shiga. I'm not going to censor this, as it would only serve to make people unaware, and I'm against censorship in general.

Now, as much as I don't like Horikoshi's writing, (can't speak of him as a person - never met him), and as clearly unaware as he is of how racism works, considering the Mutant Discrimination arc, I don't believe he meant any offense to this.

In Japanese, Maruta (丸太) or Marutanbou (丸太ん坊) are used interchangeably and means 'log.' And 'Deku', who was named after the word 木偶の坊 (Dekunobou), means 'wooden doll'. Both Marutanbou and Dekunobou also mean 'nothing', 'bare', 'useless', and other such synonyms. Both are also quirkless.

The correlation is clear.

Toshinori Yagi's name, 'Yagi' in particular, also means tree. Quirkless characters are often associated with wood.

The hospital Shiga (志賀) Maruta (丸太) owns and runs is called 蛇腔総合病院 (Jyakuu-Sougou-Byouin). Now, bare in mind, his name Shiga (志賀) and the first character of the hospital Jya (蛇, which also reads as 'hebi', meaning 'snake').

There is an old legend called 'Kurohime Densetsu' in the Nagano prefecture, where the story takes place in the area of Shiga-Kougen (志賀高原) and the villain of the story is a giant snake (大蛇).

It's clear that he was creating a parellel between Garaki, (or Shiga), with the Kurohime Densetsu, but it was a mistake on his behalf to not do further research into the name 'Maruta'.

For those unaware, in WW2, Japan had a project called 'Unit 731' where they experimented on people they called 'Maruta (丸太)', most of them being Chinese and Korean, which then became a derogratory slur against them.

Contrary to popular belief, this alone did not get MHA banned in China - it was due to how pro-Japan the story felt. Not exactly pro-cop, but pro-Japan, in the same way the anime/light novel 'Gate' was, and China didn't agree with this.

Now, I'm not excusing Horikoshi for this. He didn't seem to have any ill intents, but a bit more research would have avoided this entire scenario, and that is a mistake on his behalf. It's the same as J.K. Rowling calling her only Korean character 'Cho Chang' without realising they're both surnames in Korea. She could have searched up popular first names and last names in Korea, but decided to be lazy and basically went 'Ching Chong' in what she thought was a coy plau.

I still don't understand what this ask was meant to say, as that issue was fixed five years ago when Horikoshi renamed him to Garaki Kyudai, but I thought I would explain nonetheless, as the language barrier makes it easy for misunderstandings to occur.

Thanks for the ask!

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #mha critical #my hero academia #my rewrite academia #rewrite #horikoshi critical #ask

21 notes · View notes

aettuddae · 1 year ago

Text

hole in one — chapter 76.

⌕ synopsis: at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, where everyone is battling to be the center of attention, yu jimin is just a regular. people want her because of her beauty, but all she cares about is sharing her freaky stuff with her friends and passing her subjects. although there's one thing that might push her out of her comfort zone, revenge. when nakamura kazuha, one of the richest and most well-known students of NCU, starts to spread gossip about her for thousands of followers to see, jimin decides to get back by taking away the thing kazuha cares about the most: her perfect girlfriend, the young golf star, kwon haru.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

kazuha had been looking for haru for a few minutes, but she was nowhere to be found. she looked outside, the rain was pouring down unrelentingly, even under the roofs that surrounded a small portion of the events hall, the water could reach you.

she contemplated it for a moment, could haru be out in the rain? she had been acting erratic for some time anyway.

she made her way to one of the glass doors leading outside, looked both ways, and at last came upon the figure of the girl, who was leaning against one of the brick walls, watching the drops fall. the water was coming through the short wooden ceilings and falling on what little sidewalk one could take shelter on, which was why the girl had wet hair, some of her clothes moist, and her shoes completely soaked. between her fingers, a lit cigarette rested elegantly, which at times traveled to her mouth and left smoke there.

haru hadn't touched a cigarette in years.

"haru!" kazuha called in annoyance, approaching with quick steps. "what are you doing? throw that away." she pointed to the white stick on the older woman's lips.

she only responded by breathing in deeply, taking the nicotine into her body, as she watched her partner with vacant eyes, lost.

"baby..." the chestnut dropped her head in reluctance. "why are you smoking? you haven't smoked since you started your degree." she reached out, placing her hand on the other's wrist, holding it delicately.

"i'm feeling a lot of stress," haru's bored expression suddenly dropped, replaced by a sad, worried frown. she pulled her arm away from her girlfriend. "a lot of anger." she slurred her words due to the high levels of alcohol in her blood. "i'm incredibly draining to be around." she flicked the cigarette to the ground in annoyance, taking advantage of a silence between the two to reach over to stomp on it and put it out.

"love, you're just having a bad time." she rubbed her own face with her hands in frustration. "you don't need to smoke again, less so close to the championship."

the younger girl approached her partner, who was thinking looking out at the field being torrentially sprayed. she slid her hands around the girl's waist, bringing them back together on her front, hugging her. rested her head on her shoulder, and given the closeness, couldn't resist leaving a chaste kiss on her neck.

"yes, i'm going through a bad time." agreed her, her voice almost a whisper. "and i think it's not something i should be putting you through." the words seemed to struggle to break free from her throat, they were almost impossible to hear.

kazuha's grip was undone in an instant, her limbs untied from her girlfriend's body and she took a few steps in reverse away from her back. the lack of things to say, or the inability to let them out, took over the atmosphere again. the japanese woman shifted, heading back inside.

"come on, i don't know what you're doing in the rain. you're wet from head to toe." she ordered with a dry attitude.

"didn't you hear me?" she turned her body abruptly towards the other, desperation taking over her. "or didn't you want to listen to me?"

"yes, haru, i heard you. but i don't know what you're talking about."

"i'm saying maybe we should take some time, zuha."

both pairs of eyes met and held each other. the older ones denoted chaos, catharsis, pain, the younger ones were dull, there was nothing inside.

"i'm not well, and i'm hurting you, i can see i'm hurting you, love." she proceeded. "i was thinking maybe taking some time away from each other would be good. we could think about what we want from this relationship, or from each other."

"what is 'taking some time off'?" attacked kazuha, anger making a way in herself. "what are your intentions? do you plan to leave me for a few months until you decide whether you can discard me or not?"

"kazuha, no." she put her hands on her partner's shoulders, but this one slapped them, pushing them away. "kazuha, you are not an object i can discard. if i'm asking you for some time, it's because i genuinely feel we're hurting each other, and i want to avoid that." she explained, nervously. "a break doesn't have to be a bad thing, okay? it's just that we can't think clearly if we don't get some distance."

"what are you guys doing out here in the rain?" eunseo's voice came from behind, interrupting the discussion.

a haru on the verge of collapse, drowning in guilt and sadness, and a kazuha burning with fury turned their heads in the direction of the newcomer. next to eunseo stood giselle, karina and seungkwan.

the gaze of the least experienced of the golfers fell on the friend haru had recently made. from behind, the oldest could still notice how the tissues covering her jaw were tightening from how hard she was clenching her teeth. up and down, the brunette analyzed jimin, saying nothing, but creating a dense tension in the air.

"is it because of her that you want to leave me?" she spat out her words as if they were laced with venom, her eyes resting on karina with such intensity that it seemed like she would set her on fire.

"what? no, zuha this is betw-KAZUHA!"

kwon's sentence had been cut off by her girlfriend running towards the one who, according to her, was the cause of all her problems.

jimin tried to step back, but kazuha was quicker and, when she was close enough to have her within arm's reach, grabbed her by her clothes, holding her in place, then moved sharply until she had her fingers completely tangled in the girl's hair and began tugging at it.

the attacked girl tried to push her away while screaming at her to stop, using her palms to press her chest trying to get space and her nails to scratch her, hoping that the pain would bring her to let go.

but kazuha was a professional athlete, and karina only knew how to fight in her favorite videogames.

her friends were doing their best to help her. meanwhile aeri was screaming at her in horror, juyeon and seungkwan got in between the two, helping jimin push her off, but the crowd of people only made it easier for the sportsplayer to knock the gamer down, then position herself on top of her and continue to cause damage to her.

"it's your fault!" shouted the instigator euphorically.

"she had nothing to do with it!" haru tried to calm her down with her words while tugging her body to separate her from jimin, although this last part was really difficult for a person as drunk as she was at that moment.

"you stole my haru away from me!" she cried out as with one hand she kept forcing the girl's hair, and with the other, she was doing her best to hurt her in other parts of her body.

"kazuha!" kwon called again unbridled, and after that helpless cry, she finally managed to gather enough strength to pull her girlfriend's waist and lift her into her arms, managing to detach her from the other girl.

"enough! enough! calm the fuck down!" perhaps as a result of the mixture between the alcohol and the rage she felt, haru shouted at kazuha with such anger that it seemed as if her throat might tear. "can't you see it!? it has nothing to do with jimin, it's because of this kind of thing!" she explained without being able to calm down. "how does it even cross your mind to attack someone physically, kazuha? you do something like that and you still think there's some reason external to you why i want to leave you?"

"what happened here!?" an elderly man came to where they were. it was the owner of the club.

the couple watched as karina walked away, until she disappeared from the room, leaving them alone.

"remember what i said about taking some time?" the older one resumed.

the office was dark, despite having the light on. kazuha didn't dare say anything, afraid to act in reality and have the world go on, as if by staying still and quiet maybe she could keep herself in pause and stop haru from doing what she was about to do.

"i think we should take it up a level." the girl sentenced, the alcohol partially gone, eyes on the ground, discouraged, with a sour tone. she said it with disappointment.

haru didn't want that to happen either, but inevitably, kazuha brought her to that point.

"are you going to leave me for this?" the brunette moved her head, which was leaning against the wall, just like her partner's, so she could look at her.

"for this?" kwon abruptly straightened up on the small couch they were on. "you minimize it like that?"

"i don't think it's serious enough to leave me." she spoke dejectedly.

"kazuha." she stood up. "it's not just this." she shook her head, annoyed. "you talked shit on the internet about someone you didn't know just because she spilled her drink on you." she raised her hand, so that she could show it to the girl, and held two of her fingers with her opposite hand, meaning 'second'. "you said horrible things to her in front of the whole club just because you got jealous that she was standing next to me."

"haru, stop it..."

"third!" she exclaimed angrily. "you got her expelled from the university and you got an innocent teacher fired, all because of that same fit of jealousy." her breathing was too hitched. "then fourth, is this!" she pointed at the girl, accusing her.

still sitting, kazuha had begun to cry, her gaze to the side because she couldn't look at the older in the face at the moment.

"how can you think there's any other reason why i would doubt our relationship other than yourself?

"how can i not think it is because of that girl if you chase after her and defend her as if you were her dog?" exclaimed the defendant, rising suddenly.

"are you talking about the girl whom you, my girlfriend, just beat up?" she asked ironically. "i defend and chase jimin because you make her life miserable and i've had to sort it out for you over and over again." she recalled. "ever since jimin showed up, you've shown me your true self, zuha. the expulsion should have been enough for me, but i let you go to this extreme."

"if only you'd let her walk away from your life, if she'd leave you alone..." she pleaded, tears running down her cheeks with the same intensity as the storm was falling outside.

"she doesn't have to stay away from me because she never did anything wrong." she clarified, her countenance serious, sure of what she was saying. "karina has done nothing but spill her drink on your dress and be my friend."

"she's pushed you away from me!"

"you have pushed me away from you!" haru exploded from helplessness, finally bursting into tears. "zuha, you have to understand that no one has pulled me away, no other than yourself."

the crying didn't let kazuha say anything more, she could only find the strength in her to raise her hands and cover her face. haru, also with eyes flooded with pain, moved closer until she could wrap her arms around her and hold her close, so she could leave a simple, but long kiss on the top of her head.

"please, don't think this doesn't hurt for me." haru expressed, her voice completely broken. "i feel like i'm ripping a part of my soul out of myself."

the younger girl moved her hands and slid them down her now ex-partner's body, until she hugged her waist tightly. she sank her face into her neck, unable to stop the anguish that was choking her.

"some people just don't go together." continued kwon. "and i love you infinitely," she swallowed hard to try to erase the pain she felt in her throat. "but i don't like you anymore."

no other words were spoken, they were no longer needed. there was no speech, prayer or rambling that could mend that moment. haru and kazuha were no more, and perhaps would never be again. they could only hold each other one last time, try to seek comfort and refuge in those arms that had provided it for them for so long, before they could no longer return to that place. they embraced for one last moment the other half of their souls before losing it.

eventually, haru's friends went to pick her up to leave the event together. it was the first time haru would return home from the anniversary dinner without kazuha by her side. she offered to walk her to the hall with the others, but she said she would rather stay in that office for a while longer. "go home safely" was the last thing she said to her before leaving.

(!)

— taglist: @runawaymazola @chaenniefirst @livelaughchoerry @rinapomu @jeindall777 @petruchiosstuff @winieter @sewiouslyz @minjeongswife

158 notes · View notes