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#even if the bar isnt all that high

a-kaash-me-outside · 3 months

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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julilovesyou444 · 11 months

Text

pictures of you ~ bill kaulitz

background ~ you and your boyfriend were partying at a club when someone comes up to you to return your wallet. you quickly find out that it’s not your wallet, and it is infact your boyfriend’s. what you find in there makes you love him all the more.

warnings ~ NSFW!!!, praise, sub!bill😋kinda ?, oral male recieving, mentions of drinking , a bunch of bad bad stuff😄

a/n- english isnt my first languange so if there are any mistakes I’m sorry😪 okay im ngl some English words are so weird. like what is dick ???? cock??? what kind of words are that😭 lol im sorry- also this is literally my very very first time ever writing anything like this so I definitely have room for improvement, dont flame me 🙁

I was at the club on a Saturday, with the one boy I truly loved. We had been dating for around six months, and it had been some of the best time of my life. I was dancing on the dance floor, waiting for my boyfriend to get our drinks and come back. I watched as he ordered our drinks and began to wait for the bar tender to make them. He looked so pretty. I was already a little drunk but I was able to convince Bill that I was just going to have one more drink and then be done. Our hotel was right down the street and we didn’t have any plans for tomorrow, so I figured why not.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned to see a girl. She looked a little high, and her makeup was so cute and glittery.

“Hey girl! I think this is your wallet.”, she yelled over the loud music, pushing the wallet into my chest, forcing me to take it. Before i could protest, she disappeared into the dancing crowd. I looked around, a little confused. I didn’t even bring my wallet, so it definitely wasn’t mine. I opened it to try and figure out whose it was. I quickly found out why she thought it was my wallet. Where there was supposed to be an I.D, there was a picture of me. I was kinda drunk so I didn’t even process what was happening. I just wondered how this person got a picture of me. I looked through the wallets, only finding some credit cards and a little bit of cash. Then I checked the last little slot and found an I.D. I pulled it out and immediately smiled. It was Bill’s. How could I be so stupid? Of course it was my boyfriend’s. I put the I.D back in and then went to pull out the picture of me to get a closer look. I soon discovered that the picture of me was not just a single picture, there were many. Pictures of me playing guitar, doing my makeup, at the beach, laughing, sleeping, dancing, etc. my heart was so full of love for him. on the back of the photos, he wrote cute little captions and the date.

“sweet girl playing in the sand 6/7”

“sleepy angel 7/10”

“could listen to her laugh on repeat 3/4”

I put all the photos back into the wallet. I couldn’t believe how incredibly sweet my boyfriend was. I wanted to give him all the love in the world because he deserved it. He was genuinely the best thing that ever happened to me. I wanted to hug and kiss him into oblivion. I loved him more than anything, and it felt the absolute best to know he loved me too. I looked up to see him approach me with our drinks and his adorable smile.

“Hey, love, I have our drinks- wait I was looking for that!! I had to use the cash in my pocket for these!”, Bill exclaimed, motioning to his wallet. His smile was so bright and it made me feel all warm inside, knowing someone as beautiful as he was loved me.

“You keep pictures of me in your wallet?”, I questioned. His smile began to fade into an embarrassed look, like I had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His cheeks flushed and he looked down at his feet for a second.

“Yea.”

I gently grabbed his jaw and moved his head up to look me in the eyes again. I smiled so he knew that I wasn’t upset for whatever reason he thought I was.

“When did you even take these and print them all?”, i asked, petting his hair and gazing up at him.

“Oh, well, I took them with that digital camera I got for my birthday a couple years ago. And I’ve been taking and printing them for a couple months now, Tom had to teach me how to print them small enough to fit into my wallet. I had to buy special paper so that they would be shiny, y’know?”, he nervously chuckled as he rambled. I looked at him with pure admiration and love.

“Why do you have them?”

“Well, I just like to have pictures of you I guess. I wish you were with me all the time, but obviously you can’t be, so it’s just nice to have little reminders of you that I can take everywhere with me. It’s stupid, I know. When I’m at the studio all day, or when I’m on tour and i dont see you for a couple days, i just miss you a lot so I look at the pictures of you. Its kind of embarrassing that you found them…”, he said, clearly flustered.

“Bill, baby, it’s not stupid or embarrassing at all. It makes me feel so loved and so good to know that you like me enough to keep pictures of me in your wallet because you miss me or wish I was with you. I don’t think you understand how much I absolutely love you, and how badly I want to show you right now.”

A smirk grew on his face, especially at my last sentence.

“Finish your drink and then we are going back fo hotel.”, i said, taking my drink from his hand. I began to drink it, extremely fast. He watched intently, realizing exactly what you wanted to do. Bill chugged his drink too. I looked him up and down as he did so.

I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the club, he followed close behind like a lost puppy.

The cold whipped against our faces as we swiftly walked over to our hotel. We sped walked into the lobby, and despite how fast we were going, Bill still said hello to the old woman who sat behind the check-in desk. That’s just how sweet he was, practically tooth-rotting.

I pulled him into the elevator and pushed the button for our level. I looked over at Bill, who was clearly excited. He was swinging out interlocked hands back and forth, looking anywhere in the elevator but me. As soon as the doors shut, I pushed him against the wall and pulled his face down so our lips could meet. I was pressed up against him, kissing him hard. He squeezed my hand, which was still holding his. I heard the elevator ding so I pulled away. His eyes were full of desire.

I guided him over to our room, holding the door open for him. He mumbled a quiet, “thank you, baby” before stepping in. I was fast to go in too, putting the “do not disturb” sign on the knob before hastily shutting and locking it. I turned over to Bill, who had already kicked his shoes off and was now sitting patiently at the end of the bed.

I took my heels off and began to walk over to him, antagonizingly slow. I watched as his eyes scanned my body, chewing on his bottom lip. I climbed on top of him with each of my legs on the outside of his, straddling him. I put him hands on each side of his jaw and used my thumbs so caress his cheeks.

“you make me feel so good all the time, bill. you’re the most caring person I know. that’s why I want to make tonight about you. I want to take care of you and make you feel good, exactly the way you do for me. Can i do that tonight, please?”, I said softly. He swallowed hard and nodded quickly.

“I need words, baby.”

“Yes, yes please.”, he said in a rushed tone.

“Good.”, i smiled before leaning in and ever so gently kissing him. It was a kiss from pure appreciation. I deepened the kiss, using my hands to pull him closer to me, if that was even possible. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging at it ever so slightly. I knew how much he loved it. I began to start slowly grinding myself against him, and in no time, I could feel a tent in his pants start to form. I loved how quickly I could make him hard. He pulled away, breathing hard.

“Please, I- I need you.”, he said in between pants.

I smiled and nodded. I got off of him and started to unbutton his jeans. I grabbed the sides and slowly pulled them down, revealing his black boxers that you could clearly see his erection through. It looked like that was already a little wet spot on them from pre-cum.

“are you excited, sweet boy?”, i cooed.

“yes, please, I need you to touch me.”, he hastily replied.

I pulled them down and watched as his errction sprung up. just the sight of it made me flustered.

I licked a long stripe up the underside of his length and heard him gasp. I decided to stop teasing and began to bob my head up and down on him.

he threw his head back and gripped on the sheets. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as i continued to go down on him. I could tell he was trying to refrain himself from being loud. little noises still managed to escape his throat. he repeated my name over and over again in tiny moans.

I pushed my head all the way down so his tip hit the back of my throat. I watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I came up for a breath of air before going back down and deep throating him once again. I felt him start to twitch in your mouth, showing me he was close. I started to swirl my tongue around his tip while my hands took care of the rest of it. his hands got tangled in my hair but he didn’t push my head. I bobbed my head down a couple more times and listened as he whimpered. he kept muttering little praises to me. I knew he was about to finish. He looked a little sweaty on his face.

“ugh- please, keep going, princess. I’m almost there.”

I hummed in response, which just about threw him over the edge. he bucked his hips up into me, craving every last bit of satisfaction he could get. he finished in my mouth and i swallowed. he loved when I did that, said it was the “sexiest thing ever”. he watched as i did, his eyes fixed on my face. i climbed up to him and cupped his face. I kissed him very gently. I pulled away, but our foreheads were still connected. His eyes searched mine, and I could tell that he found whatever he was looking for in them. The little grin on his face told me so.

“i love you.”, he whispered.

“I love you too, Bill.”, i whispered back before giving him another kiss. I pulled back and admired him for a second.

I thought about how everyone deserves someone like Bill. Just not my Bill. I was forever grateful and knew I would be forever in love with my one and only, Bill.

#bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz fanfic #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz fluff #tokio hotel imagine #tokio x reader #tokio hotel fluff #tokio hotel bill kaulitz

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st4rc4t · 3 days

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everything about you eddie munson x reader

wc: 700

cw: fluff, bomb mention but its a metaphor, kinda rockstar!eddie but the band still isnt super popular yet

a/n: you might recognise this i wrote it for . someone else . a long time ago but i rewrote it for eddie :3

As soon as he was away from the crowd, you were all over him. Quite literally. An arm wrapped tightly around his, his hand gently holding yours. He was always gentle, said he didn’t wanna “crush your chicken bones.” Whatever that meant. Still, it was sweet.

You just couldn’t stop staring at him. His huge proud smile as he talked to friends, flushed face and long sweaty hair stuck to his skin. You admired him the whole walk to the bar. A couple times while walking, he’d turn from conversing with a bandmate, or someone else, you weren’t really paying attention. He'd stop talking just to ask how you were doing.

Besides the copious amounts of praises you shouted at the band as soon as they came off stage, you were shockingly silent for having just watched them play. You had always felt the need to compliment him and the group for days afterwards, so your silence slightly worried him. Each time he asked, you’d just give him the most love sick smile he's even seen, and respond with something along the lines of, “absolutely perfect, my love.'' When you finally get to the dingy bar and have the chance to sit down, he turns his full body towards you to have a proper conversation. Sat in the middle of a round booth, one arm above you and the other on the table, effectively caging you in. Upon making undivided eye contact with him, you make a strangled squeal sound. slapping your hand over your mouth, you’re embarrassed of your unbridled want.

“What is going on with you,” he questions with an amused smirk, reaching to remove your hand from your face, “barely said a word since we left the venue.”

“You did so, so good,” you responded with big doe eyes. It definitely wasn't an answer to his question.

“You've said that already, my darling, thank you very much,” if he hadn’t known any better he would think you were already drunk, “but really, i’d like an answer to the question.”

you huff through your nose, and look at him for a moment longer, trying to collect your thoughts. Trying to explain that nothing is wrong, he is just so incredibly sexy that you feel like you’re a ticking time bomb. The anxiety of waiting for something to happen but he’s already right there, so, so close to you. It's almost too much. You’re afraid if you let your body do what it wants, you will get so affectionate, it appears violent to outside eyes. He can see the gears turning behind your eyes, and gives you another moment longer to collect yourself.

“you are,” you pause to take a breath in, speaking slowly, “so, incredibly special to me. I can not even believe how looking at you makes me feel. I don't even think I could...point out individual things, it is everything about you. I love you so much,” you release an exhale, as though the time bomb inside finally exploded, and you were finally able to release at least some of the pent up emotion.

He stares back at you, almost in shock. He knew you loved him. You say it to each other at least once a day, but he had never seen you in such a love-drunken state. A huge smile spreads on his pretty face, cheeks sore. Already riding the high of an incredible show, his insides were on fire. He was so warm, so grateful to have you on top of his already wonderful life. He didn't think it could get any better until he fell in love with you.

He cradles your face in his warm hands, radiating as much sweetness and need as you are. Kisses quickly cover every centimeter of your face. You’re laughing instantly, so beautiful and light, like down feathers dancing around his heart. Small incomplete mumbles of “I love you” and “So happy to have you” escape as he dotes on you.

The other members of Corroded Coffin are gagging playfully amongst themselves. Steve and Robin just awe silently at the display, reminiscing on younger days, appreciating how far everyone has come.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic

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mugentakeda · 3 months

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pls tell me more about her + her relationship with iroh and lu ten.. she's so fascinating

GUH. thank you for asking anonsie pie. (TAKES DEEP BREATH

fuhua is a firebender, but wasnt part of the FN army. she was an entertainment firebender at this speakeasy/club for the elite joint in caldera city. her and iroh were both pushing thirty already when they met. he was just sorta tooling around with his military buds doing bachelor playboy prince shit and they ended up going into the joint. fuhua was the biggest hardass out of all the girls working that day, so she was the one entrusted to entertain His Royal Highness and his posse of noble dickheads.

iroh and fuhua actually hit it off pretty well. he was very enraptured by her while watching her perform and bend and whatever, so he followed her when she took her break and struck up a conversation with her, bought her fancy drinks and stuff. he liked her whole attitude (he is well known for liking women with attitudes) and look and whatever. she found him charming and easy to talk with despite his status. irohs pals ended up leaving after a while but iroh stayed behind because he wanted to talk to fuhua allllllll day and was totally caught up in their growing tension. eventually fuhua had to leave, so he offered to walk fuhua home. she accepted, they (naturally) had a one night fling, iroh went back to the palace, that was supposed to be that. cus having flings isnt an out of the ordinary thing for young iroh he was a #slut I'm sure we can all agree on that.

HOWEVER azulon naturally at this point is very tired of his favorite son going around whoring himself out but never picking a wife because he's pushing thirty and he needs an heir if he wants to do more military stuff. so azulon lined up a bunch of well born daughters and was like "Okay son I've had it with your dumbassery pick a wife right now". and iroh didn't like ANY of the women azulon had picked out. but then he remembered fuhua, who he got along with like a house on fire.

now please note, I made it clear in my awesome comprehensive list of Horrible No Good Fuhua Personality Traits that this woman is NOT built for marriage OR having kids. she's meant for the single hot girl life, bottomless mimosas everyday and coconut hair treatments and living alone with a cat that's as much of a jackass as she is. But its not like she can say NO to the crown prince of the fire nation, obviously. even if he seemed like a decent (????) guy. iroh found her not long after and proposed to her like "hey my dad wants me to get married but i didn't like any of the noble women Please Please PLEASE be my wife I'll make sure you never have to want for anything".

having a fun little evening chit chat session at the bar and then getting freaky for one night with a handsome guy is one thing. Being forced to marry him and have his kids is another!!!!!!! <- and fuhua is tormented by fear of having kids. on top of her just Not liking them and not being willing to give up her single hot girl lifestyle, she is tormented by fear of pregnancy and labor and all that. pregnancy and childbirth can kill you, it can kill your child (AND THEN SHE'LL HAVE TO GET PREGNANT AGAIN because she cant stop until she gives iroh an heir), it can ruin your body, so on so forth. there's a lot of factors to it that get overlooked.

and on top of that, fuhua may have worked in a club for the elite, but she was not well born. she is not a noble. she has no military creds, no training, no nobility rich people etiquette, no nothing. azulon was NOT pleased, and he made that very clear to iroh. iroh didn't give two shits, but what he didn't do was defend fuhua from azulons ire. because azulon would insult fuhua pretty openly, ALL the time. about her commoner status, her lack of "manners", how she doesn't support iroh's military ventures and shit, so on and so forth. azulon wanted iroh to have a wife that was like ilah, basically. and the worst part is that azulon would do it AROUND fuhua, but never to her face- he'd always phrase his antagonism as a question to iroh, as if fuhua was irohs misbehaving lapdog or some shit. and iroh NEVERRRR got on his dads case for it because "that's just how my father is lol don't let it get to your head dearest!!!!". just very blase and ignorant. naturally, fuhua got sick of it VERY quickly.

she took her frustration out on anyone she could. she stopped being nice to the servants, she'd antagonize ozai (who was like. a teenager at the time.), despite ozai going out of his way to avoid fuhua at all costs (ozai shared his fathers sentiments on her status and lack of manners, but he couldn't compare her to his mother. because ozai never got to meet ilah himself<- i hc that ilah died in childbirth having ozai (which is part of the reason why azulon hates ozai so much and iroh was so distant with ozai)), so on so forth. fuhua has a pretty short fuse, so she got super angry and bitter with EVERYTHING very quick. she tries to pick fights with iroh but iroh is like???? somehow oblivious to his wife's turmoil.

and then she gets pregnant and he just starts writing it all off as hormones. she hates it as much as she knew she would, but her growing hatred for iroh and everything in existence makes it even worse. she treats being pregnant like having a bug under your skin or something. its like her worst nightmare. she isn't even allowed to smoke her pipe while shes pregnant. she would, if it meant that shed kill the baby, but then she'd just have to get pregnant again. might as well get it over with. <-its at this point where she already starts planning to run away from the palace as soon as she gives birth to the baby.

on a rare night where shes pretty relaxed, iroh asks her if she wants to come up with names with him over tea. its so randomly pleasant that for a second she thinks that maybe she could become okay with this life, so long as she can get her husband to grow a pair and defend her from his father. they come up with a big list of girl and boy names, and end up going with hana for a girl, and toshiro for a boy.

azulon announces literally the next day that the kids name will be either ilah ii for a girl, or lu ten for a boy. iroh puts up zero fight about this despite him having literally just decided on names with his wife the previous day. fuhua goes right back to hating his fucking guts.

fuhua does not internally acknowledge the baby as a human. she insistently refers to the baby as an it, sees the baby as irohs spawn, etc, etc. at the point in her pregnancy where her hormones and body pain are at its peak shes genuinely insufferable to be around. like to the point where even iroh cant take it, so she just. holes herself up in their chambers for the most part. but soon she gets weirdly excited- because while even the idea of inevitably giving birth very soon scares her shitless, and even sensations of movement and whatnot from the baby makes her want to cry hysterically- its also the final bridge she'll need to cross before she can leave.

she'll leave the baby with iroh. he can have it, she doesn't want it. shes not sticking around long enough for it to be decided that iroh needs a spare heir. she'll leave empty handed and leave the main island entirely, cut her hair even. she'll go and live quietly in shu jing with one of her cousins or something. if the palace sends out a witch hunt to try and find her, she'll run to the fucking earth kingdom if she has to. shes not raising iroh's child, she's most definitely not having another one with him. she'll kill herself if all else fails.

and essentially, lu ten is born without complications, is confirmed to be a firebender. fuhua notes that iroh holds the baby with tenderness and reverence, but decidedly wouldn't care either way. she leaves in the night as soon as her legs allow her.

azulon almost sends out a witch hunt for her, but iroh tells him no, he'll go look for her himself. its not like she would've gotten far, as she's still recovering from childbirth. iroh just sends out some of the domestic forces all across the island to sneak around and try and find her. fuhua had decided to stop and stay one night at a little inn by the docks of the homeland before leaving to shu jing at first light, but for a hefty price (and fear of the royal familys wrath), the innkeeper rats her out to the soldiers that come in asking about her.

the soldiers return to business as usual once shes found just as asked, because iroh wanted to confront her alone. by the time he gets there in the early morning, he finds her preparing her raft by the docks. they confront each other and have a final one sided screaming match, fuhua pulls a knife and tells him if he tries to take her back she'll kill herself. iroh is pretty despaired, but thinks better of it and lets her go. he returns to the palace and convinces azulon (with difficulty) that he's okay with her leaving, and that lu ten is probably better off with just him anyway.

its only when azulon realizes that he agrees with that sentiment and expresses relief and satisfaction that it hits iroh how much azulon hated his wife. for some reason. but its not like he can do anything about it now.

iroh finds out through his contacts where exactly fuhua has settled down, but he ends up dropping it because he stopped caring. he has no time for a wife anymore regardless and probably never has, feels distant guilt about that, but also gladness that fuhua took the initiative to put herself first (<-WHICH IS UNFOUNDED ON HIS PART). because he'd rather she do that then stay and have lu ten subjected to her vitriol (<-IROHS FAULT).

and fuhua does end up living alone with a cat that's as much of a jackass as she is and gets coconut oil hair treatments and bottomless mimosas everyday like God intended. she doesn't keep track of whatever the fuck her ex husband does unless she hears about it on the street or whatever.

a few years later she hears that iroh's brat younger brother has taken a wife, and she has to laugh about that. she goes home and pours one out for the poor wretch.

even later than that, she hears that all the suffering she went through for iroh amounted to nothing. because iroh has allowed the dirt eaters in ba sing se to kill his son. it takes all the strength within her to not feel any kind of satisfaction or vindication at the karma of it all.

when the whole nation has a state of mourning in lu tens honor and portraits of him are plastered everywhere, its the first time she gets a glimpse of what he ended up looking like. he has iroh's square jaw, his eyebrows, his sharp eyes- but he has her high cheekbones, her narrow face, her long nose, her dimples, her deep brown skin. handsome and gentle-faced.

she looks at him for a while longer, digests all that information, and then promptly goes back to browsing the market. because shes making crab and asparagus soup tonight and frankly, that's more important to her.

#this is nonsensical but we move #this Lore exists in both my aus By the way #cus it influences lu tens worldview along w his relationship w ursa and the kids #and is the beginnings of his and irohs tension and later falling out (<- if you could call it that)#BUT YEAH! thank u for indulging in me anon #asks #alicias writing stuff #dai li lu ten

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run2yoongi · 1 year

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a reunion - chapter one | myg + knj x reader

while you were an obedient, average, faceless student, everyone knew who min yoongi was. a fire-starting, troublemaking bully. when he was inevitably expelled from your school, your whole community decided he was nothing more than an outcast, destined to end up in a life of crime. unfortunately, ten years later, it became clear they weren’t wrong.

compared to him, you were a success story. a career woman, the breadwinner of the family. so, when an encounter with an old ex-boyfriend classmate, kim namjoon brings the three of you back together, you fail to realise how much of your comfortable life is on the line.

↳ pairing: ex bf!namjoon x reader, gangster!yoongi

↳ setting: kinda mafia!au, they're more like gangsters idk

↳ warning: harsh language, yoongi threatens reader, consumption of alcohol

↳ word count: 5.1k

navigation: prologue | chapter one

chapter one.

Exhausted.

That was the only word to describe how you felt. For so long, all you wanted was the be right where you are, a good job, coworkers to each lunch with, a home of your own, and both of your parent’s taken care of in their retirement. It was a quiet, comfortable life. By all accounts, you were a successful person. You were even looking forward to your upcoming school reunion, taking it as an opportunity to talk about how far you’ve come from your days as a nameless face in the school hallways.

So you felt nothing but guilt plague you when you reached the end of your day to find yourself feeling completely empty.

‘This is life on the straight and narrow.’ you thought to yourself nearly every day. Then, your mind would wander back to him. Min Yoongi. Where was he? Was he happy? Did he have it right the whole time?

You didn’t know why he was still so present in your mind nearly ten years on, but you didn’t question it. You were too far in, too committed to making your parents proud to venture off the path. Your life, like your apartment, was clean and organised. Everything was in its right place. The way it’s supposed to be.

You were shocked when his name came up on a community blog site. Surveillance footage from a bar fight had leaked and spread, being shared amongst your high school contacts.

@mimichu: ‘That’s brutal. Does anyone know what happened?’

@kzine01: ‘@mimichu ppl are saying its gang related’

@minhoooo: ‘isnt that the min kid?’

@mimichu: ‘It totally is omg he really hasnt changed lol’

You couldn’t help but rewatch the video. It sure looked like him. A much taller, buffer version in dire need of a haircut, but it was him. You watched it another five times to be certain. Even from the grainy footage, you could tell. That lop-sided grin was a stone-cold giveaway.

Yoongi wandered outside the bar, lighting a cigarette as he scanned his surroundings. He stood still for a moment, gaze locked on to a group of men standing on the street. It looked like he shouted something, tearing the cigarette away from his lips and pointing it at one of the men. You could see the man stiffen up, clearly not anticipating the confrontation. Yoongi took a few steps towards the group who looked on, their expressions obfuscated by the poor video quality. The man appeared to apologise, quickly bowing to Yoongi who took another drag of his cigarette before pausing, then pressing the burning tip to the man’s neck.

He folded over in pain, the group around him rushing to his side. Yoongi didn’t hesitate to extend an unrestrained kick into the man’s ribs, sending him to the floor and hidden from the camera’s view. The crowd watched on, some attempting to pull Yoongi away from the man as he continued to kick, stepping on him as if he were nothing but scum on the bottom of his shoe. Blood splattered across Yoongi’s cheek, a sadistic grin contorting his features.

You couldn’t help but wince as the violence continued. Onlookers gathered, reaching for their phones to make calls and record the situation. After two minutes, Yoongi withdrew, glancing up at the street camera with an incredulous glare before stepping into the back of a dark car that had pulled up alongside the crowd.

@kzine01: ‘in my opinion the police should just let these types of degenerates k*** each other and the rest of the world can get on with life…’

@minhoooo: ‘@kzine01 won’t he be at the reunion?’

@kzine01: ‘@minhoooo i thought it was for graduated students only ㅋㅋㅋ’

You quickly locked your phone and let out a sigh. How could that be the same person you had spent most of your school-aged years sharing classrooms with? You recalled him sleeping peacefully through your shared classes and in your mind, he was harmless. He was a troublemaker, sure, but you never expected him to become a violent person- despite what others had said.

- - -

As it turned out, the reunion was not only for graduated students. About two hours into the event, you were catching up with one of the teachers when they muttered under their breath, eyes glued to the door. The room erupted into a chorus of whispers and from the corner of your eye, you saw a pair enter, sauntering into the venue with hands in their pockets.

“I didn’t expect to see those two” you heard your former teachers whisper to each other. You followed the gaze of their eyes to find two daunting figures consuming everyone’s attention. They nodded as they passed your former classmates, making their way to greet the former gym teacher on the other side of the room.

It was Min Yoongi and Kim Namjoon, of course.

None other than a criminal and your first and only ex-boyfriend, entering the hall together. Your eyes fell back to the empty glass in your hand and suddenly excused yourself from the conversation. You didn’t know what overcame you, but you headed directly to the bar. You didn’t normally drink, especially straight spirits, however as the atmosphere of the event began to change, you needed something to steel your nerves.

“Whisky, please.” you spoke to the bartender, who nodded and went to pour you a fresh glass. You tapped the bar mindlessly, pretending to be busy by scrolling through your phone. The younger bartender set the glass down in front of you with a smile before slipping away to serve someone else. Standing there, you felt a set of eyes linger on you as a new wave of anxiety began to swell.

“Y/n,” you heard a deep voice call out for you. You instantly recognised Namjoon’s voice. “Oh wow, I could barely tell it was you.” he chuckled to himself.

You nodded at him politely as you turned on your heel to face him. “Ah, Namjoon. You’ve gotten even taller.”.

Looking at him, you were overcome by how grown up he looked. His face was defined with a sharp jaw and a sharpness to his eyes that you never noticed when you were in school.

“Tends to happen,” his features softened as he laughed. “What have you got there?” he gestured to the glass in your trembling hand, too kind to point out how nervous you seemed to be.

You raised the glass slightly, taking a moment to register its alluring colour. “The menu said a fine, single-malt whisky.” you took a sip, hoping that the liquor would have an immediate effect.

“You always had good taste.” he smiled, raising his eyebrow slightly at you. “I didn’t take you for a drinker, though.”.

Before you could come up with a response, Namjoon had taken a step towards you. His hand rested on the small of your back as he called out to the bartender for the same drink. Behind him, Yoongi stood watching as your face became flushed. Your eyes met for a moment as he cocked his eyebrow at you, a lazy grin spreading across his plush lips.

You cast your gaze down to the floor, attempting to control your composure. You had dated Namjoon for about three months in your final year of high school. You had asked him not to tell anyone and he had complied, despite not understanding your reasoning. When you broke it off, it was as if nothing had ever happened. He still smiled at you in the hall, slipped snacks in your bag when you weren’t looking, he even helped you with your work whenever you were struggling.

So, you didn’t know why you felt so overwhelmed by the feeling of Namjoon’s palm on your back. You’d felt far more intimate gestures from others before, but the longer his palm lingered, the more your chest began to tighten. The cold absence of his touch lingered as soon as he withdrew his hand. As Namjoon began to ask about the not-so-recent developments in your life, you noticed Yoongi make his way to the bar, taking a seat as the bartender poured him his drink.

“Oh, I’m not sure if you ever met…” he glanced over to Yoongi who was sitting comfortably behind you on a stool. You looked over your shoulder to find him watching you, sending a shiver down your spine as you recalled the video from the bar fight.

“I don’t believe so.” Yoongi replied, maintaining eye contact as you tried to calm yourself down. You wanted to correct him. Although you never exchanged words, you had met. The memory was crystal clear to you but his confidence made you question yourself, so you stayed quiet. You’re school year was huge, if the giant venue was anything to judge by. It was possible he never took note of you, but you were still taken aback.

“Y/n, this is Min Yoongi-” Namjoon began, “Yoongi, this is my friend y/n.”.

In tandem, Yoongi and yourself raised an eyebrow at the word choice. You couldn’t have spoken to Namjoon more than twice in the last ten years. The first time was a drunk dial you received one year after graduation, the last was when you bumped into him at a club you’d been invited to for a ‘date’. ‘Friend’ was a strange word to pick, but you figured it was intentional by the way Namjoon eyed Yoongi as he spoke.

“A pleasure,” Yoongi spoke, insincerely, you assumed. You smiled in return, before glancing up to Namjoon for comfort. Old habits die hard, you thought.

Eventually, Namjoon was whisked away by another group that he happily obliged to entertain. You made your way back to a table, sitting with some girls you had elective classes with as they chatted amongst themselves. You had achieved what you wanted to achieve, spoken with all your favourite teachers and you were debating calling it a night when you felt the chair next to you be pulled out from under the table.

“Do you mind?”

You cast your eyes up to the tall figure, an intimidating presence that had caused the girls you were with to go silent. “Feel free.” you replied to Yoongi with a curt smile.

He sat down with a gruff sigh, as if he was a dad who had been dragged out to supervise their child at a birthday party.

“How do you know Namjoon?” you asked quietly, too eager to break the growing silence. Yoongi tilted his head, as if he was weighing up his options for a response. After a brief moment, his sharp, feline eyes met your own.

“Well, we went to school together.” he began. You nodded, feeling stupid for asking. “I’m more of a family friend, though.”

You nodded a bit too enthusiastically, to which Yoongi caught on quickly. The corner of his lips began to quirk up at your agreeableness. He tended to have that effect on people.

“Which is why I was so surprised to find out he had a ‘friend’ that I hadn’t met.” he continued, leaning in closer as he set his glass down on the table.

“We have met.” you corrected him before you could stop yourself. He smiled into his glass before taking a slow slip. He’s trying to remember, you thought. The girls next to you cleared their throat, clearly becoming uncomfortable. No doubt, they had seen the video.

“I’d like to think I’d remember meeting you.” he spoke quietly, almost in a whisper as he leaned even closer. You suppressed a shiver that crept down your body as his knee knocked into yours. It was difficult to imagine the man in front of you kicking someone within an inch of their life. You wouldn’t have believed it if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes. The contrast of his soft-spoken nature and the brutality you knew he was capable of terrified you. Excited you.

“Well, we went to school together.” you echoed him, eyes glued to the half-empty glass of whisky that sat before you. The sound of his soft laughter made you snap your eyes back onto him. A beautiful laugh to match his face; joy bubbled up in your stomach at the sight. “So, what do you do for work?” you asked tentatively, trying to wipe the smile off your face.

“I work with Joon.” he replied as his laughter trailed off. It occurred to you that you didn’t know what Namjoon did for work either. You had assumed he would inherit his father's oil company, but neither of them seemed to present themselves as rich oil tycoons.

Before you could press further, three glasses of champagne were set down on your table in an impressive manoeuvre by Namjoon. Yoongi pulled out a seat for his friend, for which Namjoon quietly thanked him for. It was an odd dynamic, to say the least. You tried to recall a time where the two had ever interacted at school, but you were drawing a blank. It sent your mind reeling.

Family friends? Business partners? Partners?

“I’m surprised you wanted to come, Yoongi,” Namjoon spoke casually, passing out the flutes as he did.

“Couldn’t pass up a chance to see how pathetic some of these people had become.” Yoongi replied, his eyes landing on Kim Jihun, the pig.

You scoffed, hardly able to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. It seemed like Yoongi wasn’t the type to let grudges go, whatever they may be. Yoongi’s eyes snapped to you with a suspicious glare.

The girls next to you excused themselves, leaving you alone with the two people a sane person would want to explicitly avoid. You nearly excused yourself too, except the whisky had started to do its job, sending a comforting warmth through your veins. You watched carefully as Namjoon and Yoongi bickered, scolding each other like brothers.

A sharp screech of feedback stole your attention as your senior year’s student body president tapped the microphone. “If everyone could please give their attention to the screen, we have prepared a slide show of some of the Class of 19XX’s greatest moments,” he spoke as a projector screen behind him became illuminated with an EPSON logo.

You caught Yoongi rolling his eyes, letting out another disgruntled sigh as he crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. You didn’t realise how close he had managed to get to you until he moved.

You watched intently as familiar, young faces popped up on the screen. Laughter and shouting erupted in the room as the projector filed through the photos. Spirit Day, Sports Festival Day, the swimming carnival- they were all presented through grainy, faded photos. You smiled remembering finding an extra bottle of water or juice box in your bag as you sat in the shade on days like those.

Namjoon reached over the table and tapped you, pointing at the screen. A photo of the two of you from when you were in the Audio Visual club together. Only for a moment, you noticed Yoongi just slightly out of the frame, hunched over a table, dozing off. Small and harmless.

“I remember that, you only took AV with me because of the field trip- and it ended up getting cancelled anyway.” Namjoon laughed as the photos continued to flip through. You remembered that too, however, you hadn’t remembered Yoongi being a part of the club at all. As pictures of Kim Jihun illuminated the screen, you heard Yoongi snicker under his breath. Namjoon shot him a glare and gave him a kick under the table.

After the slide show, you had more than enough of your fill of nostalgia and were preparing to leave, deciding to stop by the bathroom before you called yourself a taxi. The music was blaring inside the venue, and you took a moment in the hallway to sober yourself up.

“You’re a fucking idiot. I leave you in charge for one fucking night and now I’m getting messages saying two of the girls are passed out. What the fuck did you do?”

You peaked around the hallway corner, holding your breath. Yoongi was spitting over the phone with his back to you. Likely not a phone call he’d want to be overheard.

“I don’t fucking care who insisted on what, they’re not supposed to be drinking on the clock. You need me to drill it into your thick skull? You want to end up back on the street where I found you?”

“I’m gonna have to tell Joon about this.” he paused. “You think you’ll survive that? Huh?”

You began to back yourself behind the corner, but the clicking of your heels had Yoongi turning to meet your scared eyes within a second. You could hear his footsteps approaching as you tried to compose yourself.

“Get Hoseok to take them home and fix it, I have to go.” he ended the call quickly, placing the phone into the pocket of his pants. He rounded the corner, your eyes finally meeting as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Sorry-” you began, backing up until you felt a doorframe press against your back.

“Aren’t you sneaky?” Yoongi questioned, taking a slow step towards you. He paused for a moment, eyes scanning the scared expression on your face. You watched as something clicked in his mind.

“You know, I remember you now.” he continued as he took another step. “Do you have a habit of catching people red-handed?” You didn’t say anything then, and you wouldn’t say anything now. "You had the same terrified expression back then, too.".

“I think I know why Namjoon wanted me to know you were his friend now.” he was only inches away as he extended his hand to collect a lock of your hair between his fingers. His chest was almost pressed up against yours. You could barely breathe, but the smell of cigarettes and cologne still filled your nostrils. The back of his hand brushed against your cheek, causing a knot to coil in your throat.

He tilted his head, his lips nearly making contact with your neck as his hand fell from your face. “Namjoon doesn’t like when I touch his things.” he said somberly.

“I’m not his thing.” you replied, unable to stop your voice from faltering as your heart pounded. Yoongi grinned at your defiance, a cruel, terrifying smile. He looked you up and down sending another shiver down your spine. “Oh, you’re not? Strange, you’re just his type.” he replied, amused. “I guess we’ll see.”

Your mind was reeling. Was he going to hurt you for overhearing his phone call? You could barely process your thoughts when he suddenly took a step back, allowing you space to breathe.

“Heading home?” he asked, an innocent, placid expression suddenly marking his features. You nodded slowly and silently, still confused and slightly tipsy as he gently slipped his hand behind your back and guided you out of the dim hallway. This man was giving you whiplash. As you made your way back to the table, Namjoon’s eyes flickered to Yoongi’s subtle hold on your waist with a strained look in his eye.

“We’re both heading out.” Yoongi spoke, his face hidden from you. Namjoon’s eyebrow arched in surprise as he took another slow sip from his drink. “Together?” he asked after swallowing hard, you could see the gears ticking over in his mind. You began shaking your head, raising your hand to clarify, to dismiss the implication. “See, what did I tell you?” Yoongi whispered to you, his plush lips brushing the shell of your ear. You were stunned at the contact. You tried your best to ignore the flame that was set alight between your thighs, the heat spreading through your body. Was this some sort of game between them? If so, you wanted no part of it. As if he could hear your thoughts, Yoongi’s arm fell from your side. Until you saw Namjoon’s worried face, you hadn’t realised that you were swaying on the spot, and without Yoongi’s support, your lightweight alcohol tolerance was on full display.

“Did you drive?” Namjoon asked you, concern lacing his tone.

“No, I was going to call a taxi…” you mumbled, trying to settle yourself. Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged glances as the taller one stood from his seat. “My driver’s outside, I can drop you home.” he said as he gathered his things, before pausing to look at his friend. “Is Hoseok outside?” he asked. The name felt familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place it.

“He had to go.” Yoongi answered cryptically. You glanced at him, trying to read his expression, but it was stone-cold. Namjoon responded with a nod. “I guess I’m looking after both of you tonight, then.” he sighed.

“Hoseok…” you mumbled under your breath, the memory behind the name on the tip of your tongue.

Yoongi stared at you in confusion but before he could question it, Namjoon stepped in between you and began guiding you out of the hall, curtly nodding to his former classmates and teachers as the three of you left. “This should be fun,” he whispered to you. You noticed the hoards eyes that followed you, or more specifically, Yoongi and Namjoon, as you left. “They were going to whisper anyway.” he sighed to himself as the table you were sitting with earlier looked on.

“You’d think they never left high school.” Yoongi added, pulling a lighter out of his pocket.

You registered Namjoon’s firm grasp on your arm as the cold night-time air greeted you. His hold on you was tight, almost painful. “Watch your step,” Namjoon instructed as he led you down the stairs and to a familiar dark car waiting outside the lot. You didn’t bother trying to fight his grip, lest you start swaying again.

Despite that, the fresh air was a welcome and sobering feeling. It was quiet outside the venue, everybody else seemed to be inside. You tried to enjoy the moment, and you did until you inhaled a breath of Yoongi’s second-hand smoke. You glanced over at him as he stood, lit cigarette held delicately between his fingers. In the moonlight, he appeared to shine, his skin so pale and radiant that it stood out amidst the darkness surrounding all of you. “Is he coming with us?” you quietly asked Namjoon. Yoongi’s eyes flickered over to you, evidently, you hadn’t spoken quietly enough.

Namjoon looked down to examine your face and was met with concern. “He’s harmless.” he tried to assure you, but you weren’t even remotely convinced. You’d been witness to his violence, after all. Yoongi rolled his eyes, taking another deep drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and putting it out with the heel of his shoe. “Wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Yoongi added as he smothered the smoke.

“Tell the driver your address.” Namjoon instructed when you reached the parked car, opening the door for you as you slipped into the back seat. You quietly spoke to the driver, who inputted your address without any questions asked. He didn’t even seem phased that a stranger had just gotten into the back of his car. The interior was fresh, almost brand new.

He waited for Namjoon to slip into the passenger seat and greeted him with a curt nod. Yoongi slid into the seat next to you, followed by the scent of freshly sprayed cologne. At least he was considerate, you thought. He shut the door behind him and immediately rested his head on the window as if he had been forcing himself to stay awake this whole time.

“He hasn’t changed much,” you noted, unintentionally speaking your thought out loud. Namjoon smiled at you in the rear-view mirror as the car pulled into the street. Truthfully, it was a long drive ahead. The navigation estimated a 50-minute drive, which Namjoon didn’t seem to mind at all. He insisted on asking you questions about your life, your work, your mother, and anything that had happened in the last 10 years that he wasn’t privy to. It began to feel like an interrogation, and you realised how quickly at ease Namjoon had managed to make you feel despite the precarious situation. Each of your answers was met with interest, a soft smile and a natural follow-up question. As you grew weary, a comfortable silence fell in the car.

“I’m sorry for having you drive so far out, I forgot how far the city has stretched over the last few years…” you mumbled your apology as you fought the urge to drift off.

“It’s not a problem. Always nice to catch up with old friends, right Yoongi?” Namjoon responded.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi replied, who to your surprise, was still awake.

As the car stopped at a red light, you couldn’t help but shut your eyes, tired from the drinking, the festivities and Namjoon’s rigorous questioning. Your dreariness was encouraged by the smooth driving through the dark streets.

It’s so quiet,

I’ll just close my eyes for a moment,

I’ll be home soon…

- - -

Curious, dark eyes peered over you as you were roused from your sleep with a gentle shake. Your heart beat hard as you registered the face across from you, staring like a hungry cat at a mouse. A gust of cold wind hit your side as your eyes fixed on Yoongi, who was watching intently with his head resting against the window as you stirred. The stretched hand over your shoulder gave you a gentle squeeze on your other side as you snapped your neck around to see who was touching you. “Good morning,” Namjoon grinned, smile transforming his eyes into crescents.

As you woke up, you realised you were thankfully still sat in the back seat of Namjoon’s car and behind him stood your apartment complex. “Oh,” you gasped, suddenly embarrassed that you’d let your defences down so easily. “We’re here. Sorry.” you mumbled as you hastily tried to unbuckle yourself.

“I didn’t realise we were such boring company,” Yoongi yawned, settling back into his position against the window with a coy smile.

You felt guilt pang in your chest, looking back up to Namjoon to apologise. “He’s joking.” he clarified before you could speak. “And, he’s also a dick.”

You suppressed a giggle to avoid getting another ‘if-looks-could-kill’ glare from Yoongi and slid out of the car. Being so close to Namjoon, you realised that even in your heels, you were still just below his shoulder height. He was always tall, but it was then that you realise how much he had really grown.

“You want me to walk you up?” Namjoon offered with a polite smile. You raised your hands to refuse, dismissing him as kindly as you could in your half-awake state. “I’m fine but, thank you for taking me home.”

Namjoon seemed slightly disgruntled but accepted your refusal with a smile, as always. “I’d love to catch up again though,” you babbled, unable to cope with the hurt that flickered across his eyes despite not really owing him anything.

“Me too,” he beamed, his mood suddenly changing. “give me your phone.” Complying, you handed over your phone as he typed in his number and let it ring, ending the call when the screen of his phone lit up in his pocket with a buzz.

Before saying goodbye, you glanced over to Yoongi who was back to fake-sleeping, or meditating, whatever it was. “I’ll see you soon then.” you spoke to Namjoon when your eyes met again.

“Definitely,” he replied, his eyes fixed on your own intently. It felt all too familiar. Too intimate. It scared you.

Suddenly, you ducked to lean into the car. “Goodnight Yoongi.” you crouched to meet his level in the car and waved, hoping to break the tension that Namjoon had incidentally built.

Namjoon understood your reaction, though you hadn’t particularly helped by bending down to his waist level while being so close, he thought as he looked down at you.

“Mhmm,” Yoongi replied, his arms crossed and eyes closed as he slumped against the window.

You quickly stood up, turning on your heel to enter your complex when Namjoon called your name. You glanced over your shoulder to see him smiling, his hands nested in his jacket pockets. “Sleep well,” he called out as he ducked his head to slip into the back seat of the car.

Your heart was beating so fast that you doubted you’d sleep at all.

- - -

“She’s gone, you can stop pretending to sleep.” Namjoon sighed as he slipped into the back of the car.

Yoongi sat up, stretching his back in the process. Usually, he was fine sitting still for upwards of an hour, but his bones had started to ache about twenty minutes in due to the uncomfortable ‘lean against the door’ approach he’d taken.

“She seemed a bit terrified of me, Joon.” Yoongi replied, twisting his core as the car began to speed off. “Can’t blame her.” Namjoon replied, opening his phone to save your number to his contacts.

“Guess she doesn’t know you very well.” Yoongi teased, rubbing his temple as the streetlights flew by. “Otherwise she’d be more scared of you.”

Namjoon stifled a laugh, staring at your name in his contacts. “I’m harmless,” he replied, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah. You say that, but I haven’t told you about the call I got tonight.” Yoongi replied, his face becoming serious. Namjoon raised his brow and steeled himself. He had truly enjoyed the night, but business was business and it waited for no one. His older friend didn’t allow a good mood to get in the way either.

“Two girls of the girls were found passed out at the club.” he paused, “They wouldn’t wake up. I sent Hoseok to go pick them up.”

Namjoon fell silent, playing the words over in his head. He was relieved that they were in Hoseok’s care, but it was still unnerving. Just a week after Yoongi had straightened out a regular, some sleazebag who put his hands where they didn’t belong, two girls end up unresponsive.

“Which club?” he eventually replied.

“Chateau.”

Namjoon tapped his driver’s seat. “You hear that?”

The driver nodded, immediately switching course back into the city, back to the Chateau.

“You think it’s retaliatory?” Yoongi questioned, his eyes trained on the road ahead. He had already made his mind up about the incident and wasn’t going to hesitate to point fingers.

“If it is, we’re about to find out.” Namjoon sighed, laying his head against the headrest behind him.

The truth was, neither of them were harmless. Neither hesitated to inflict pain on people who couldn’t do their job properly, who threatened their business, their things. Luckily, you never had to know about that. From the moment Namjoon laid his eyes on you, in his mind, you were his.

Though, he didn’t know that Yoongi already had plans of his own when it came to you.

- end of chapter one -

thank you for reading! it’s been a while since i’ve put anything out, but the haegeum mv definitely stirred up some inspiration in me. please let me know your thoughts on this chapter & series concept!

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

Give me the GOODS

Angst

What would happen if eyeless jack didn't eat for a REAAALL long time, like he put it off and that back fired.

Bc his s/o happened to come around at the wrong time, and got attacked by him (accidentally)

If they live or die, that's up to you. But what do you think?

Aftermath of Eyeless Jack accidentally harming the reader during a frenzy

two things; idk how to title this andddddd i already wrote something like this a few months ago but i think im going to add more to it! beware linked post is very badly written because ! uhuh! anyways errrrm jack being an involuntary vessel for some funky demon shit my beloved hc anyways obvious cw for mentions of. well jack harming the reader on accident; in this post and the one linked above first post of the new year and its angst

assuming this is right after the events of the linked post, or within the days following that i think he would bar you from entering his cabin not long after he gets his... "meal"

emotions are definitely running high in this one, even if he tries not to show it. i mean you were the one he decided to bite a chunk out of, he doesnt care that he immediately spit it out. he didnt care that he scraped his tongue clean that night. in his eyes (or rather, his empty sockets) what he did was truly unforgiveable and he always feared something like this would happen

all of the reassurances you gave him now meant nothing now

honestly i think this might be grounds for him to break up with you; you did nothing wrong. hes putting all the blame on himself

torn between him having the balls to break up with you to your face or if hes going to pussy out and tell you through the door when you try to ask him to let you in

hell if it comes down to it he might even migrate to a new area if you keep trying to come to him and try to talk things out

heres the thing i talk a lot about how jack hates himself and how he was tricked into this whole botched human sacrifice thing that made him the way he is now. but i dont talk much about just how much he hates himself and how much of a toll that takes on his mental health

i mean think about it, overtime his humanity is literally slipping from him and theres nothing he can do. his 'blood frenzies' as i like to call him are eventually going to get worse and more frequent. not to mention hes going to keep losing more of his human features as time goes on. can you imagine what that does to someone? one day hes going to forget who you are and its going to end in disaster; assuming youre still alive and well when that happens... be it because he simply outlives you thanks to his new pseudo-immortality or worse

im kind of getting off topic but the point is hes going to sit in those thoughts and feelings for a LONG time, really for as long as hes still capable to form a coherent thoughts that isnt about his next meal

like the last post had at least a little bit of hope that maybe you guys will be able to move forward, but the more that i think about it i dont think you guys can bounce back from it. at least jack cant. doesnt matter how much you try to tell him its okay, or how many times you reassure him. if you dont scar its not going to help at all

but if the wound does scar? oh boy thats just going to make him sink deeper into his thoughts, probably making him lean more of cutting himself out of your life

no happy endings for you guys the moment this man slips up around you

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack imagine

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phantomraeken · 1 year

Text

"I know you're in pain" ─ Teen Wolf ─ Derek Hale

A/N : Hi! My writing isnt the best! This will be a series of stories of our m!reader being in pain and how our Teen Wolf babies would react!

Character: Derek Hale

Warnings: Blood and gore

Y/N had many encounters with hunters. He was rarely scraped in the process of these encounters. Nothing some bandages and a lot of rest (that derek insisted on) wouldn't fix. Today was no different. He hadn't even been seaking out these people. He'd been sat at the bar of a coffee shop talking to the barista. They'd went to high school together a while back. He was a sweetheart, or so Y/N thought. Until an hand met his left shoulder. It was fine until the hand gripped. Hard. Y/N gently swiveled his head to meet the womans gaze. Before he could get a word out she shoved him out of the wooden bar stool on to the hard tile floor. He hadn't gotten a grip of the whole situation until he heard the bar stool hit the floor beside him.

"What the hell?" Y/N spat at the woman trying to push himself up. Her foot met his chest shoving him back down. Knocking the wind out of the boy. He let out a harsh breath. Y/N finally caught his breath and spoke again, his eyes shooting daggers at the dark haired woman. "Need something?"

"Awww, the wolfy is all mad." Her voice taunted his ears. His heart jumped as those words slipped through her painted red lips. Y/N went to grab her boot but the moment his hand met her shiny boot she pulled out a blade.

"Fuck off!" Y/N growled, his eyes sparked gold before returning to their natural (e/c) state.

"Cute." She smiled, a shit eating smile. A smile that made Y/N's anger rise. The woman slowly leaned down, her knees met the floor on either side of the boys torso. Her blade was waved in his face. Silver.

Y/N tried to move from her grip but suddenly pain throbbed through his upper right arm, she'd dug the blade through his arm making it stuck. He reached his other arm over his chest to pull it out. She clicked her tonuge. Suddenly, in one swift moment she grabbed Y/N's wrist and shoved it above his head. She pulled another blade out slashing it across his chest.

Y/N let out a shriek of pain. What more could he do? This hunter was insane. Before he could speak again her voice filled the silent café. "Your kind killed my family. Your father killed my family, Y/N L/N." Anger filled her voice. "And now I've come to repay you the favor, dear boy. Don't think any of your friend are safe either."

Y/N finally howled, it ended in a scream of pain. The lady laughed at his horrible noise. He watched as one of the workers covered his ears. Y/N was done. He ripped his hand out of the womans grasp. With the violent jerk his whole body moved, throwing her off of him. Though, it did result in the blade that was stuck in his arm cutting him further. Finally Y/N pulled the blade from his arm and threw it to the side.

The door quite litterly flew open and off its hinges. He couldn't even watch where it went. When it met a wall he winced at the horid noise. "Little late, don't you think?" Y/N gave a small, pained smile as he looked back to see Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and his lover boy, Derek Hale himself.

"Sorry honey. Figured you could hold your own." Derek spoke in his usual comanding tone, it was laced with sas and genuine care. Y/N pushed himself up before a new pain met his leg. He looked down at the woman. "Okay, now she's-"

"Really?" Y/N interrupted Derek. "Hun," He knelt down his gaze meeting hers. "I'll meet you in hell! Say hi to Peter for me, will you?" His free foot jerked to meet her face, sliding her back a few feet. "Nice blade too." He pulled the knife out of his leg. Y/N gave the blade a good look before throwing it. The blade met her head.

"Fuc-" Y/N's body finally gave out. Boyd quickly caught him and knelt down so Y/N wouldn't fall on the floor.

The world slowly went black, muffled voices filled Y/N's ears. Some of it was panicked, some was just pure anger.

---------------------------------

Y/N gained consciousness after a few painfully long hours for Derek. He was sat beside the unconscious body of his boyfriend. Derek had insisted that Y/N stayed at his place instead of a hospital.

His fingers were intertwined with the (s/c) boy. Derek didn't want to seem weak in front of the people who needed him. He finally broke down and started sobbing.

Y/N couldn't move, just listen to the chokes that slipped out of Derek's mouth. As he regained some strength he gave a small squeeze to Derek's hand. This was rewarded with a small kiss to his knuckles.

"You're alive." Derek spoke quietly.

Y/N managed to sit up. A spike of pain hit his chest. He let out a gasp and gritted his teeth. Derek's hand met his cheek.

"It hurts." Y/N gasped out. Normally he had a high pain tolerance but his chest was his weak spot. Derek gave a gentle shush like noise.

"I know honey. It's going to be okay. I'm here, Y/N. I'll take care of you. Okay?" Derek spoke sternly. Y/N knew Derek ment well. It was just his way of talking. "You need rest. Lay down. Now."

"Der, I can take care of myself. Ple-" Y/N was quickly cut off.

"No. I love your independence, really. But you need to trust me and rest. You're healing at the speed of a human this time." Derek spoke sternly. His eyes glowed red and a growl escaped his lips. "You need to lay down."

"Okay, okay. I'll rest." Y/N slid back into a laying position before giving a small pat to the bed beside him. "You should rest too. You're stressing to much about me. Please."

Derek couldn't resist your cute face, he loved the small smiles you gave him. Everything about you was perfect to him. He gave in and slipped under the blankets with you. He very, very gently wrapped his arms around you. Like you were fragile.

"Derek." Y/N started. Derek pushed his face into the smaller boys neck, his breath ghosting over it. In response to his name he gently hummed. "I'm not fragile, you know?" Derek moved his face so the two boys locked eyes.

"I'm scared I'll-" Y/N cut him off with a kiss.

Derek melted into the kiss a small smile played at the sides of his mouth.

Once Derek shifted to make both boys more comfortable Y/N was asleep in seconds. Derek loved when his boyfriend fell asleep in his arms. He knew he wouldn't sleep. Derek had to watch and make sure Y/N's chest was still rising and falling.

-------------------------------

It had been a few days sense the incident. Y/N had finally started showing signs of healing. Today was his first day out of bed, against Derek's word. It took him a few tries to get out of bed but he found his footing. Y/N slipped on Derek's slippers, they were a bit big on him but comfortable. He didn't know where his boyfriend was but he'd find him.

Midway down the hall the silence was interupted by Derek's deep voice, "Y/N, why are you out of bed? I'm glad you're feeling better but you need to rest."

Y/N spun on his heels, losing his footing and falling on to his knees. Derek ran over letting out a sigh.

"I wanted to come see you. I was lonely." Y/N pouted. Derek scooped him up bridal style. Y/N let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back so his head was hanging back.

"You need to heal. You can sit with me but you need to lay down." Derek's gaze sofened.

"Fine." Y/N grumbled, a small growl played in his throat.

--------------------------------

A/N: SOFT DEREK HALE BABYYYYY. I hope you liked it and let me know who you'd like next!!

#teen wolf x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x male reader #derek hale #derek hale x male reader #derek hale x reader

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mejomonster · 11 months

Text

Guardian really set my expectations of "censored bl cdramas" and man that was a high bar and probably not fair of me to expect.

Guardian really opens with Zhao Yunlan asking Shen Wei "are you married? You're such a catch. Can I take you out to eat? Here's my number A-Lan call me" which like even on face value id say thats called flirting (unless I guess ur so straight Straight blinders on that 2 men have to physically fuck in front of u to consider something gay)

Then of course there's shen weis pining shit but like, that's not Hammer down obvious to I guess the most oblivious person in denial

But Zhu Hong saying she likes Zhao Yunlan, Zhao Yunlan repeatedly refusing her and feeling bad about it, Zhu Hong repeatedly acknowledging he picked SHEN WEI over her (making it fairly clear it was a romantic pick and she Lost it to a guy) and shen Wei, brick that he can be at times, tells her it will only take a few years for the feelings to fade when she'll get over Zhao yunlan. The guy in love with him, instead of her. Yeah shen wei, she's definitely not wishing she could stab you for that insensitive remark. But she's too good of a person to.

Which. I'd say the above two points establish fairly overtly that: Zhao Yunlan is into men, that his colleagues assume he's also into women (if Zhu Hong thinks she has a chance), and that Shen Wei is Zhao Yunlans romantic pick. So Shen Weis sexuality? Well he doesn't dispute being Zhao Yunlans romantic pick, and Lin Jing assumes they're lovers with dialogue (yes he's saying opposite day stuff but his opposite day is just not being a liar and spy). So Shen Weis sexuality includes Zhao Yunlan.

And so like that's just. Fairly overt explicit stuff about their relationship. There's also the "a very oblivious person could argue its only implied" flirting. (And everything going on with Lao Chu and Xiao Guo, the side couple... oh my heart ;-; when they almost froze... the family dinner at Xiao guos... Lao chu admiring how kind Xiao Guo is, scaring him trying to say he's a cannibal and Xiao Guo not running away)

There's the coat sharing macho trying to be the man helping the damsel both of those fuckers do galore, shen wei moving in across the hall (which is either stalker or deeply in love or - as is true, both), shen wei implicitly moving in (this one's vague ill admit to be fair), the fucking "You're good with your hands" line from Zhao yunlan which is absolutely a porn line, every villain in the show viscerally aware Zhao Yunlan is who Shen Wei wants to protect, Ye Zun pretending to be Shen Wei by calling Zhao Yunlan cute names and asking if his outfit looks nice (and all of That), Zhao yunlans romantic ass hit me through the heart line of "if you're trouble I want a lifetime of you" at the wedding (not ever over it), the fucking lollipop scene in ye old haixing. Just a bunch of flirty type scenes, romantic tropes galore. And that's not even covering the actual genuine subtext of ALL the cases paralleling how shen wei and/or how Zhao yunlan feel implicitly (which are just subtext to be fair... how shen wei thinks he lost kunlun, how Zhao yunlan ISNT him so it hurts he's a stranger or he IS in which case he's a liar and shen weis grieving, the case where a dixingren and human love each other and Zhao yunlan notices he wants to be close to shen wei even though shen weis lying etc).

Like. They felt as canon as Tara X Willow in Buffy. Or at least as much as Xena x Gabrielle, the center relationship of the show where all stories of the episodes are always at least in some way about them.

#guardian #weilan #meta #rant #to be fair: word of honor cdrama did JUST as much as guardian on feeling basically canonically explicitly gay #as long as u can interpret overt flirting with men and them being soulmates as love.#cause yeah there are no kisses. but still like... yeah theyre in love.#and like.. man zhu hongs love triangle plot is Central in making the Guardian romance as overt as it is #obviously irs easy to put in: its a girl love interest for zhao yunlan #but its also a love interest he Rejects for shen wei. so like. cdrama land says he cant say i love you to a man?#but he can say he doesnt love a girl and hes picked the man instead. im just saying it works well to make that overtly clear #dont even get me started on chuguo ;-; i love them so much and acting defijitely helped intensify it

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libraford · 2 years

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Obviously, I have opinions about the word 'queer.' There's historical precedence for the broad usage of this word and there are multiple posts about those contexts.

But that's only some of the reason that I choose this word to describe myself.

You know... growing up in Indiana in the 90s I didn't get exposed to the community. There was some ruckus about it at church a few times, the AIDS epidemic was background noise, and we had one gay bar that got closed down by the time I was old enough to go there.

I was outed against my will when I was seven, in 1993, when it was still very much a social death sentence in the suburban midwest. Twenty-one years before marriage was even halfway legal. And I was called all manner of things, including 'queer.' But the word that hurt the most, really hit me deeply in my soul...

...was 'lesbian.'

Lesbian is the accepted term for a woman who seeks relationships with women (the community's own gatekeeping aside.) It is one of the main letters in the acronym. There is nothing wrong with the word 'lesbian.'

But it was the way that they said it. That fucking lesbian. What are you, a lesbo? Dont sit with her, shes a lesbian.

This was paired with projectile rocks, bottles, some elaborate pranks and some less than elaborate.

This went on for eleven years. In high school our Gay-Straight-Alliance had about five people, and it was made up of two people I was sort of friends with and three people who had been throwing rocks at me. It wasnt a safe place.

And I had yet to kiss a single girl. Whole high school experience, couldnt even think about dating because I was too busy trying to shake that word off of me.

Maybe if someone said it nicely to me just once I wouldnt have felt like I was scraping the label off of me every day.

Get to college, I hear the phrase 'queer studies.' The word felt like pins on the back of my neck because I'd heard that word, too. But today it was a friendly word, a thing you could study. A history, a theory, a community.

I get shy about the word, and then I hear more words. Femme, butch, dyke, bear, bambi, fag, queen... all of these words from friendly mouths with kind eyes and all of them queer.

And then I said it out loud.

"Queer."

Ooohh.. see, it was different when I took it for myself. It wasnt pins anymore, it was a knife that I got to hold. 'Lesbian' still hurt because by the time I found queerness, it was questionable that my gender mattered anymore.

It's such a... broad word. I get to define my own queerness. I'm not a woman who loves women, I'm a person who is in love! And that love is for my girlfriend, that love is for my friends, that love is for myself- god fucking finally that love is for myself, who I hated and hated and hated for almost thirty years because someone when I was seven decided to put me in a fucking box that I didn't belong and I didnt know how to escape because I didnt know that there were other words, kinder words, words like knives in the hand instead of in the heart.

God. Fucking. Damnit. I loved myself for the first time.

And you want me... to go back into that little box that doesnt fit me anymore because it's a 'slur?' And you think I cant reclaim it because it wasnt meant for me when I was literally... called it since I was seven god damned years old?

No word meant to describe my sexuality is without a history of violence. Not a single one. The word 'lesbian' no longer stings, it just isnt wholly correct for me.

So if I can make peace with the word that sent me home crying for eleven years, you can let people reclaim the word 'queer' for themselves.

Miss me with that terf shit.

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belovedstarrs · 5 months

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do you even care?!

• pairing : geto x fem!reader

• tags : angst, breakup??, just a shit ton of one-sided fighting (verbal) , language galore, drinking mentioned & used, cheating, geto never betrays jujutsu high au.

• a/n : god im half asleep writing this and i havent proof-read sooooo deal w/ it i just need to actually post and get over this writing slump.

• w/c : 602

• loosely based off of all too well & youre losing me

you were laying in your bed and pondering. suguru hasnt been home in hours and he told you he was gonna be home at 5 pm, its 10 pm. you checked his location and he turned it off a few hours ago.

you heard the keys jangle in the doorknobs and you quickly got up, you didnt even know what you wanted to say to him. you looked out your doorframe and saw him taking off his shoes at the front entrance as you angrily walked over.

"suguru what the hell! where the fuck where you at? you turned off your damn location. you know what nevermind you were probably at the bar with gojo flirting with some girls since you clearly dont give a shit about me."

it all blurted out, you felt like throwing up. why now? suguru had to take a minute to process everything from you talking to fast. "y/n i wasnt flirting with any girls nor at the bar. i just had gotten a new mission right before i got off and my phone had died." he said with no emotion in his voice. you could tell it was a lie. just by the way he looks uneasy you can tell hes been drinking.

"oh stop giving me that bullshit suguru. if you dont like me just fucking say it. i dont get how you can just cheat on me yet still have the balls to say the words i love you." you wanted to die. you used to love this man with your whole life, why is this happening? why does he lie to you so much.

the past 3 months have felt like hell. sugurus been getting more distant and staying out later than he tells you while getting drunk. you dont fucking get it. why is he doing this? what have you done to deserve this? youve put so much into this relationship and hes tearing it apart like its nothing.

he doesnt even have a response to your stinging words. "y/n i promise i still lov-" you quickly cut him off. "you dont ever keep your promises! stop spouting shit that isnt true for once! your just an asshole liar." you pause for a moment before you continue

"why have you put nothing into our relationship? did you never love me from the start? ive been trying so fucking hard to still love you and act as nothing is wrong and ive tried to tell you that but youre just a dumbass!" you brush shoulders as you go to the front door to quickly put on your shoes and a coat to leave. making sure to grab your keys and get the hell out before he says anything.

there was this burning feeling in your chest that also felt like a little freedom. were you meant to not be with suguru? you wished so hard in your head he would come back for you and apologize, make it right. you kept walking down the street and nothing happened.

you pulled out your phone to text utahime and ask if you could stay the night.

y/n : utahime you awake?

utahime : yeah. why?

y/n : just fought with suguru. wondering if i could stay the night.

utahime : totally! stay for as long as you need.

that gave you some relief. your gonna have to figure out you and sugurus situation but for now you need time to yourself to figure out what the hell youre gonna do with him since you two live together and dont have a actual apartment of your own.

part 2 is out now!!

made by @belovedstarrs do not copy or use in any way without permission

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dreamsy990 · 1 month

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so it all comes to this.

to say i was excited to play 3 would be wrong. actually i was sort of dreading the game. i went in with expectations for the worst and was pleasantly surprised. which is not to say that its good. but its certainly a game! that i played! and now you get my thoughts. unfortunately a lot of my thoughts about the end of the game are kind of hard to separate so. if youre wondering where my thoughts on endgame stuff is. its at the end.

(also i havent played remind so theres no remind thoughts here. its all just base game kh3)

combat (with some other gameplay notes)

so. im not a big fan of the combat. to preface, i played the rest of the series on standard, but with kh3 i was told it was easy so i did proud! and yet it was still the easiest kh game.

kh3 is the first game in the series where i feel as though 'mash x to win' is a valid criticism <- thats not entirely true at the start, but later in the game it does feel a lot like that. almost every fight is mindless because of how easy it is. you can see it in the enemy health bars, theyre absurdly large because of how easy it is to take them down. they need to have that high of health so the fight isnt over in under a minute.

i dont think the base combat is bad. unsatisfying, maybe. But not bad. except for attraction commands.

attraction commands feel like part of a pattern in kh3, where they try to recreate what made the other games so good without understanding WHY it was good. what theyre recreating ofc being reaction commands. technically its the same as some reaction commands, sure, being a giant dramatic attack, but it doesnt work because theres no situational awareness in them.

attraction commands dont feel cool because theres nothing in them that requires use of your surroundings or that is tailored to the enemies youre fighting, since theres only a couple that can be used at any time. there's nothing strategic about using them either- reaction commands normally would give you a specific advantage, or could be used to avoid attacks, only sometimes dealing damage on their own. in kh3, all attractions do is deal damage. they are impersonal and often obtrusive- if youre like me and hate attractions, youll still often accidentally use one, since theres no way to disable them.

this is more abstract than anything, but something about attacking feels unsatisfying. the combat feels like it lacks any real sense of impact or weight to me. but thats all personal and not exactly good criticism so. i digress

also the bosses in 3 suck. you know its bad when the most memorable boss fight in your game is the tutorial. most of the boss fights in this game are so unmemorable that ive literally forgotten them. except of course demon tide. i despise demon tide. it was fine in 0.2 but not here. every time you fight it feels like a missed opportunity for something cooler.

i think flowmotion is worse now. i get that it was a bit too overpowered, but with how much it was limited i ended up hardly using it. i didnt like flowmotion because of the attacks, i liked it because of the movement. so to me, it ended up being a reminder of how kh3 failed instead of a fun feature.

also i know a lot of people like being able to switch keyblades in fights, but honestly i feel like it removes an element of strategy the other games had

the ui (and other visual things)

this isnt something i talked about in my other reviews. but in kh3 i must bring it up. if you follow me you may know my hatred for kh3s ui. so im going to talk about it again! this is the abridged version though. heres my whole rant if you want my full thoughts on it. but the short version is that i dont like it. i am someone with terrible vision and i can play every single kh game without glasses because the ui is just big enough that i can read it. most of the time i can read subtitles too. but in 3? i struggle even WITH glasses to read anything. the ui is too small to make out anything almost all the time. its really only by muscle memory that im able to play. my glasses broke while i was playing, and i literally couldnt play until i got new ones because i couldnt make out a single word on screen. its bad design.

im also upset that there ui art has been replaced with renders. its just a shame honestly. i loved the art in the older games. the renders feel bland in comparison.

and thats generally my take on the look of modern kh. sure its pretty, but its bland. kh has always had a certain cartoonish vibe to it thats starting to die out, and i think the shift to unreal engine was the first marker of that change. i like the look of old kh. its not too technically impressive but its incredibly charming. kh3 is anything but. the characters feel far less expressive, the worlds are realistically rendered, it feels unfitting for a series like kh. its hard for me to find kh3 as charming as the other games. the only word i can think of to really describe it is corporate.

i dont know if this is a rare take, but i think technically impressive visuals are far worse than distinct ones. kh used to have a unique look! now it just looks like every other semi-realistically rendered rpg.

story (featuring: more gameplay notes)

my problem with kh3's story was unavoidable really. dream drop distance set this game up for failure and so im not going to complain about dream drop distance. ANOTHER TIME ill talk about dream drop distance. i dont have time to make a post that long. i do have a lot of problems with the story that werent a result of ddd being terrible so i guess ill just bring up those.

one of my biggest issues with the game is how unimportant the roxas plot is. youre led to believe the game will revolve around it but then sora does nothing to further it. at all. at the start he CONSIDERS doing something, and then hes told by ienzo "no its fine ive got it. go do something else" and its barely ever mentioned again until the end.

this relates to my overarching problem with the plot: it feels aimless. in every kh game theres a REASON theyre going on a journey. soras looking for his friends, roxas is working a 9 to 5, the wayfinders are all following each other, etc. but in kh3 sora is looking for "the power of waking". what is the power of waking? i literally have no clue. thats how poorly defined it is. its an abstract goal, its not tangible or even really achievable. its just a macguffin. when the plot suddenly decides to happen at the end the whole journey feels pointless. you could skip every disney world past twilight town and you would probably be fine. it's not a journey, you're not exploring for a purpose, you're just killing time until other people handle the plot.

i also really hate the new organization (i refuse to call them the real organization. theyll never be the org). theyre painfully boring and poorly put together. the old org had structure, they had very specific goals, every member had a purpose. you knew how they worked and why they did what they did. the new org is just completely lacking in that. calling it an 'organization' is stupid because there's nothing organized about it. and even disregarding all that, the new organization also lacks any real personality. the members feel so boring, which sucks, because almost all of them are returning characters who used to be really fun. and why are most of them even there? no one except maybe xigbar seems to actually care about their mission. the old organization had a common goal and a reason everyone was there. they were nobodies, they wanted their hearts back. there's no reason for any of the new members to stick with xehanort. and if you say "well they were norted!" i then must ask. what exactly is norting? like really. it hasnt been possession since birth by sleep. norting is whatever nomura needs it to be in the moment. its not clearly defined, its just another macguffin.

also because i dont know where to put it, the battle of 10,000 heartless is just a terrible successor to the original fight. there's no stakes, no buildup, no friends fighting by your side, no reason to care. they just throw thousands of heartless with no ai at you. literally no ai, if you stand still they wont attack you. its a drag if anything, an homage to a better game done absolutely no justice.

back to what i was saying about the roxas plot, roxas' return is just such a nothing scene. theres nothing about it thats cathartic, his lines are impersonal and bland, theres nothing 'roxas' about it. roxas' defining feature has always been how emotional he is, and there's none of that here. its nothing. and then he does nothing afterwords. he has seven whole lines in this entire game, six of them are in this scene, and the last one is an inconsequential jab at sora at the very end. and then he fades into the background.

the writing in this game in general is actually weirdly worse than normal. it feels a lot less, idk, human? the older games were weird and absurdly cheesy but this is just. strange. look at the scenes with riku and mickey in the realm of darkness and youll see what i mean.

WHILE IM ON THAT SUBJECT. RIKUS KEYBLADE BREAKING IS BULLSHIT. remind me to rant about that another time though im not gonna go on a tangent about that here

also i would give my thoughts on the ending but i literally couldnt care less about xehanort. so i dont really have any! the final boss was alright though

i have more specific thoughts, but generally, the game feels aimless and underwhelming.

positives

i love axel and kairi! theyre a fun duo and ill never shut up about their parallels so seeing them together is nice. i wish they did anything but thats BESIDES the point im being POSITIVE here

also. the music is great. i love the music sm. its nowhere near my favorite kh soundtrack, it feels a lot more grand which isnt my thing but its still some of yoko shimomuras best work. also hearts as one. its the PERFECT conclusion to roxas' theme and arc. the progression of it from melancholic (roxas) to desperate (the other promise) to triumphant (hearts as one) is just so good. i wish the rest of this scene was as good as the music so i could compliment it more wholeheartedly yknow?

its actually funny also! kh isnt the funniest series, most of the time when it IS funny its completely on accident. but kh3 is like days in the way that it just. actually has funny writing. the jokes intended DO land and its just a breath of fresh air.

oh also riku being well adjusted is the funniest possible conclusion to his character arc. 10/10 im so happy hes normal. never give that boy an emo arc again nomura

conclusion

over all, kh3 is exactly like how my teachers described me in elementary school: it has a lot of potential, but doesnt apply itself. this couldve been a decent game but it simply doesnt do most things very well. i give it a 5.2 / 10. its not an actively bad game but its a game i have trouble enjoying. sidenote im retconning my opinion on bbs to say its 4.7 / 10 because a: my opinions have changed and b: i think 3 is better but i dont want to give it a very high score.

#kh reviews #kh3 #kingdom hearts #sora #doodles #I ACTUALLY FINISHED WRITING THIS YIPPEE #i did formatting this time guys are you proud of me #i have to go write an essay for class like #in 10 minutes #eheh #sorry if this is messy i wrote this in bursts over like. a couple months.

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yourtouchismidas · 7 months

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could you write matth and rg taking the girls trick or treating for the first time please?? 🥺

so i think you take gigi trick or treating every year when she is very little, too little to remember, dressing her up as an avocado when she is a five month old and has only just learned how to hold her own hear up, and then as a spider when she is one, with big stuffed legs that she chewed on while held her in your arms and matty rand doorbells for her and smiled proudly as everyone cooed, then took all the candy round to georges to eat when they got high. when she is three she chooses her own costume, a witch, and asks for the sweets herself. matty still eats most of it, "to save her little teeth" and you share a few chocolate bars with her.

gigi's fourth halloween, you are with matty on tour in america, lounging in the hotel room the morning before his halloween show. you've talked about the fact that it's halloween, obviously, over gigi's head, and the boys have picked out their costumes for the show. gigi hasnt really said anything about it all day, you're not sure she even remembers halloweens past, or if its all just a hazy dribbly chocolate blur. but while you and matty are cuddling in bed watching telly, gigi hitches herself up to look out the hotel window.

"its scary day!" she says.

"yeah, gi," you say, "it's halloween."

she runs back over from the window and jumps on you both "we need to get my costume!"

you peer out the window yourself and see a bunch of school children waiting at their bus stop, all dressed in cute little costumes.

"we can get you a costume" matty says.

"will we have time?" you fret, worried about getting to the venue and sound check and everything.

"yeah, definitely."

"then we can knock on people's doors?" gigi says, "thats what you do on halloween"

you and matty look at each other. there will not be time for trick or treating, you know that. you break this news to gigi, and she starts sobbing into matty's chest, and he strokes her hair but he can't change anything, you simply dont have time. he feels like the worst person in the world.

gigi is still crying when you meet the rest of the band for breakfast, and she holds her hands up to george and he lifts her up and asks whats wrong. she just buries her head in his shoulder.

"we dont have time to go trick or treating," you explain.

"oh dear, gus," george says, as she sobs into his shoulder, "it's a hard life isnt it love?"

you take gigi to walmart while they sort venue stuff out, and she picks a skeleton onesie and you take her back to the hotel room and draw more bones on her face with eyeliner. she giggles with delight.

matty texts, can you bring gi back stage before the show? everythings done, wanna hang.

so you set off. when you get back stage, it's oddly quiet, like no one is there. you cant hear voices. the stage set looms like an empty house, the arena echoey. you take gigi and go and try and find matty's dressing room by yourself, with no one to ask. you find it, in a corridor of dressing rooms, the first one with matty's name taped on the front. you knock.

matty opens the door in his costume. he's dressed as a magician, with a black suit with coat and tails, a top hat, and a wand.

"oh hello there, can i help you?" he asks, looking surprised. you and gigi side eye each other.

"matty," she says, "it's me. your daughter."

"i'm just a person in my house on halloween. ready to give treats to the children who knock" he says, "or tricks," he says, poking gigi with his wand and making her squeal. he disappears behind the door and hands her a plastic basket shaped like a pumpkin, and then tips out a bag of sharing candy into it.

"yay!" gigi says, and you smile knowingly at matty, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around him.

"no time for this affection young lady," he says, unwrapping your arms from him, but kissing you quickly on the side of the head, "plenty more houses to visit." he gestures down the corridor at the unopened dressing room doors. you grin. matty waves his wand dramatically at the both of you, then closes his door slowly behind him, saying "have a good night," in the most creepy voice he can muster.

you go from door to door, and behind each is another member of the band, or their partner, or a manager, or a security guard. george is dressed as frankensteins monster and chases gigi down the halls with his arms out in the front of him. Ross is wearing red lycra as the devil, a tail pinned to his bum, his long hair all out and down his back, two red horns sticking up out of his head. he's bought way too much candy for gigi and she throws herself at him in gratitude, screaming "i love the devil!" and making you both split with laughter. adam jumps out dressed as a ghost and gigi screams and then pretends not to be frightened at all, and ends up chasing adam round the halls with ross' red plastic pitchfork.

you have gigi say thank to the boys, for making her her own trick or treating street backstage, and she kisses her daddy with her black lipstick before he goes on stage, and he leaves the print there the whole show, while you watch in the audience and your little skeleton falls asleep in your arms, happy as ever on halloween.

#ruins #ruins behind the scenes #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #dad!matty

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