For Those Of You Watching The Death Spiral Of Twitter In Real Time THIS IS WHY Us Fandom Olds Always

Tsukkiyama Week Day 3: Going public.

Well, now their friends know - at least everybody with a stable Internet connection.

Never made a fandom social media post fanart thingy before, how do y'all know how handles and comments work 😭 this took me longer than the drawing

@tsukkiyama-week

trans people do not owe you their backstory. they do not owe you their deadname, their pre-transition pictures, their coming out story, their heartache. trans people who are stealth are not “tricking” you, trans people who are open about it are not “faking”. there is no one trans experience, no specific narrative trans people have to fit.

also, if you’re trans, i love you! remember to drink some water today.

TSUKKI THINKS ABOUT HIS BOYFRIEND A LOT

hehehehehehhe

ah- I just like them sm alright.

𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

ᴀᴛꜱᴜᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 5613 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ~ // nsfw (minors dni!!), lil angsty, f!reader, cheating, teasing, choking, crying, daddy kink, hate fuck -> kinda toxic soft fuck, brat taming, oral m!receiving, good dialogue shitty writing

i wrote this in 3 hrs bc hyperfixation (song i listened to) like its smut but is it the type of smut u get off to? probably not.

i don't understand, whats a girl gotta do to get a good lay around here???? thx

11:14 PM • 07/01/21

your tweet was not a rhetorical question. your tweet was supposed to get a few fun dms. your tweet was supposed to blow up just a little bit. your tweet was not supposed to entice your ex-boyfriend to message you for the first time in over a year, and it definitely wasn't supposed to lead to him texting your number that you thought he no longer had, and it absolutely positively 100% was not supposed to lead to you hooking up.

not that it was an issue for you, but it probably would be an issue for his girlfriend.

//

the dm shocked you, because how could it not after going so long only knowing about atsumu through the news and social media? his girlfriend was the entire reason two of you stopped talking when you did, but it wasn't even her doing. atsumu chose to break off contact all on his own, some bullshit about trust and her being really good for him.

and they were still together, you saw their anniversary post less than a week ago. and yet there he was.

and yet there he was texting back and forth with you for the better half of an hour before making the short drive over to your place.

and yet here he is, one hand ghosting over your lower back, other hand bracing the under side of your thigh, hot breath on your collar bones despite the fact that he had a girlfriend and despite the fact that you shattered his heart into a million pieces

//

he’s made small talk, asked you how you’ve been with an unease that he didn’t try hard enough to hide, leaned against the couch, but hasn’t actually sat.

“hey, calm down or i really will call your brother, always the calmer one.”

“and, yet, ya didn’t date him,” he quips back. the air is still for a moment, settling alongside the realization. you’d acknowledged it through text, but this was different. it slipped out easily, an impulsive rebuttal to a joke made numerous times before, a passing recollection and acknowledgment of the very reason he shouldn’t be here in the first place.

“well, no, obviously not, i’ve got a thing for blondes,” you shrug and he laughs, short and breathy. it feels almost humoring, but then you watch his shoulders slump, laxing into a normal state for the first time since he’s been here.

“a thing for blondes who actually sit down on the couch instead of leaning against them,” you gesture towards the middle of the sofa.

“what about you?” he asks, abiding anyways and taking a seat perfectly where your eyes landed, not enough room on either side of him for you to fit.

“where do you expect me to sit?” you ask right back, raising your eyebrows, stepping towards him anyway despite your teasing adversity.

he only glances down at his lap, lifting his hands from their clasped position, and motioning towards himself. you crawl into his lap, one knee dipping into the cushion on either side of him.

“what, did you miss me that much?” you tease, placing your hands overtop of his, pulling them lazily along until they're resting on your ass, fingertips tucked politely under the hem of your underwear. there's hesitance in his movements even with your guiding help.

"you don't have to be gentle with me, y'know." you tilt your head to the side, pushing backwards until you can feel resistance, until you can feel his fingers spread apart, taking as much of you into his hands as he can and digging his dull fingernails into your flesh. "i know you've probably gone soft a bit, huh? with your girlfriend and all"

his entire body tenses, some sort of backlash bubbling up in the discomfort, and you know that backlash is probably in the form of a shitty comment at your expense.

so you don't let it leave his throat, closing the gap and slipping your tongue into his mouth, sliding it against his before he can make an excuse or put you down. you did it to catch him off guard, but he tastes so good, so familiar even though so much time has passed that you can't help but moan into the kiss.

and fuck is his hair softer than you remember. his hands are bigger than you remember and his stomach is more rigid than you remember and he's stronger than you remember, and you pull away from the kiss now because you're out of breath and it's probably been enough time for him to swallow whatever shitty thing he was going to say and he's so much fucking prettier than you remember.

when did he get this pretty?

the softness of your eyes is mirrored in his, a reflection of rediscovery, relearning things that you don't remember forgetting. and there's this feeling that's burning in your core, a mixture of emotions, one of them you can't put your finger on, but you know you want to ignore.

"can you please take your shirt off, i haven't fucked anyone as ripped as you in a while and i kinda miss it." fingers running along the hem, you tug upwards gently.

"is that the only reason i'm here?" he jeers, but leans forward anyway.

"you know why you're here." before you've thrown his shirt into a crumpled pile on the floor, he's already wrapped both of his arms around your waist, picking you up only momentarily before sitting you down on the edge of the couch.

"i do," he says, and if you weren't you, if you hadn't known atsumu for as long as you have, you wouldn't have been able to recognize him after that drastic change in tone with that sultry look in his eyes as he drops to the floor, nudging your legs apart and smirking up at you. "i know exactly why i'm here, which is why it's kinda weird that you've had such a bitter, snarky mouth all night."

if that damned smirk and stupid tone didn't warm you right up, this would've done just fine on it's own. instead, it just added to the involuntary reactions you were feeling all over your body, cheeks burning, fingers restless against the muscle of your thigh, peering down at atsumu as he toyed with your panties, softly, abruptly, there and then not as his grasp moves to the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up as far as he can reach, running his palm over freshly exposed skin.

you finish the motion, brushing your fingers over his as you throw your shirt onto the cushion next to you.

"why don't ya ask nicely if i'll eat ya, princess?"

he kisses the insides of your thighs and you wonder if he remembered how sensitive they are or if it's just a coincidence.

but it doesn't matter how badly you want it, how many nights you've spent lying awake thinking about his stupid fucking tongue, wishing that there was some sort of toy that could replicate how disgustingly good it felt, because the question enters your mind and you want so badly to knock that smirk off his face.

"do you call her princess too or is that reserved just for me?"

and it does, knock the smirk off his face that is, but only for a moment. he tsks, shaking his head as he pushes himself up from the ground. regret is already seeping in as you squeeze your thighs together. your pussy is already soaked and you were about to get everything you've been missing for the past 3 years.

now, instead, atsumu is towering over you palming himself through his shorts and talking down to you in a way that makes you even wetter, "we gotta do something about that ungrateful little mouth of yers, don't we?"

"if you're not going to eat me out, won't you at least answer my question?" you ask, digging yourself deeper into this disobedient hole you're finding yourself in.

he reaches out so quickly that you almost flinch, but you trust him too much for that. he laces his fingers into your hair forming a tight fist at the base of your head, directing your eyes to him as he steps forward between your legs, spreading them apart with his shins. "the answer would probably just go to your head."

absolutely nothing could stop the smile that spread across your face, corners upturning and spanning as far as possible as you greedily think of this pet name saved just for you.

"what else did you save only for me, tsumu?" you ask, scooching forwards, legs spreading wider, pressing against the outsides of his calves. you're far too excited about the effects you've had on him and his relationship. as the sentence leaves your mouth, as the nickname falls so easily off of your tongue, you see his strong exterior falter for a fraction of a second. "she doesn't get to call you tsumu?"

the fist in your hair gets tighter, so tight that you can feel his hand start to shake and there's a darkness in his eyes that wasn't there before, a darkness that tells you he's been timid up until this point, a darkness that you probably shouldn't provoke, but it's been a long time since you've had this much fun.

"been awhile since you've had a brat to tame, hasn't it?" you whisper, blinking away the tears that have collected in the corners of your eyes.

"i think yer beyond being brat at this point," he huffs, no longer waiting for your next move. he uses one hand to push down his shorts, keeping a tight grasp on your head, not letting you move an inch and then guides your head towards his cock. "put yer mouth to good use or i swear to god you won't be able to talk for four days."

it sounds like an option, but it's not. he doesn't give you the chance to misbehave again. he drags the head of his cock on your bottom lip, precome smearing against it before he presses the tip into your mouth.

you're staring up at him because you've missed this so much, the concentration on his face, this control that he has over you, this underlying distain for the way you act out. he's not even looking you in the eyes, staring past you at the way his cock disappears between your lips.

"fuck, take it," he grunts, thrusting in and out of your mouth slowly, spit drooling down your chin as they start getting faster, head prodding at the back of your throat.

your mouth feels so full, head bobbing with his wreckless thrusts until he pulls you completely onto his cock, your lips wrapped around the base, the length of his fat cock perfectly surrounded by your tight throat, and then he holds you there. seconds tick by and your eyes flutter closed and the only sensation you can take in is the light throbbing of his cock.

"isn't this so much better? actually being useful for once," he sneers, but you can barely hear him as you focus on just staying conscious. his fingers skim over your neck, wrapping around the bulge he's created, balls twitching against your chin. you bring your hands up to his thighs, fingers digging into the muscle as you reach your limit, head fogging and throat burning.

he pulls you off of his cock and you only catch a glimpse of how satisfied he looks as you gasp for air, swallowing just to feel your throat void of something. "god yer lucky i wanna be inside of ya so fucking bad now or i would cum down that pretty throat of yers so fast."

you're still regaining your composure as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your thighs, cock throbbing as he watches the string of wetness connecting your pussy and your panties. he presses harsh, rushed kisses into the side of your jaw, trailing down until he can’t reach any further.

you want to say something, anything to put him back in his place, to make him flustered again, but you just can't think, still drunk on the feeling of choking on his big fucking cock.

the only thing that comes out is, "please, fuck me."

he laughs, honest to god, throws his head back and laughs as he lines himself up with you, rubbing the tip between your pretty slick lips and pressing his hips forward just enough to feel your hole start to stretch for his head. "not so bratty, now, are ya?"

you shake your head because it doesn't matter anymore how much you missed acting out just so he would put you in your place, you were there. you were exactly where he wanted you and fuck, did you want him.

"ask nicely," he taunts, a shit eating grin plastered on his face as he pushes his luck as far as he can take it.

you roll your hips, desperate to feel any part of him. "please, daddy."

"f-fuck," he stammers, grin completely gone, precome leaking from the slit of his twitching cock, harsh resolve crumbling over a single word. "fuck, again." he presses his hips forward, sliding inside of you inch by inch.

and it hits you.

"she doesn't call you daddy, either?" you ask, narrowing your eyes, some sort of clarity replacing these pathetic thoughts.

when you were with him, you used the name religiously, in and out of the bedroom. sometimes to get what you wanted and other times just to watch him tense up. and now his life was void of the weight that name carried and that didn’t sit with you right. poise and bite fill you almost as quickly as it left you, "you saved a lot of things just for me, didn't you?"

he doesn't reply, silent as he places a hand on your shoulder and thrusts completely inside of you, hips pressed against the insides of your thighs as the breath is knocked completely out of your lungs. he's trying to prove that he has control over you still, digging into you so brutally that he knows you'll think of him later. and it feels so fucking good and you feel so fucking full and it would be so easy to just shut your mouth and take it, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

“fuck, there’s no way that you’re this rough with her,” you almost laugh, settling on a telling smirk instead, “mmm but there’s also no way that you get this hard for her.”

each time he fucks into you, the sound and the sting of his hips smacking against the insides of your thighs gets harsher. you know that he’s doing it to shut you up, to make you forget about whatever it is that’s on your mind and focus on how good it feels or how much it hurts, but it’s really just proving your point.

his hands are roaming, moving from place to place, trying to find a permanent spot to root, one that gives him the most control. in the process, he’s leaving marks all over you, red spots, crescent-shaped indents, freshly forming bruises, and the thought of finding them in the coming days is driving you insane.

you can feel the stretch, closing your eyes to savor the feeling, quiet for a moment, the sound of your dripping pussy clenching around him filling the room. you don’t want to admit it, how quickly he’s gotten you so close, but you’re sure he can feel it in the way that you’re gripping onto him even tighter.

you snake your hand down between your legs, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit as he continually pounds into you. you’re so fucking close, can feel that familiar heat rising to your core, your body growing more sensitive.

“makes sense you wanted to come fuck me,” you mumble, “bet you haven’t gotten off really good in a long time, right, daddy?”

he’s unapologetic in the way he lets it affect him this time, grip getting tighter, cock slamming into you, not because he wants to teach you a lesson, but because he can’t help it.

“not without my tight cunt and dirty mouth, huh, daddy?” it’s somehow fucking with him even more as your voice gets scratchier, needier, softer from how close you are. “rub my messy pussy, daddy, gonna cum.”

your arms are weak as you hang them around atsumu’s neck, holding onto him desperately because you know you’re going to need it while you cum. his calloused fingers replace yours, rougher, thicker, harder, faster rubbing over your swollen clit. “cum all over daddy’s cock, princess.”

god, you’re just as fucked as he is hearing that name bounce off the walls and right back to you, that name that’s just for you. you wrap your legs around his lower back, pulling him into you because you need to feel every fucking inch, wanna coat his entire cock with your cum, have to, cumming from how deep he is inside of you, and then from the thought of her unknowingly tasting you on it.

“good girl, fuck, yer tight.”

you stare up at him with half-lidded post-orgasm eyes and an innocently dopey smile on your face, “tighter than her?” you look so fucking cute, sensitive walls hugging his length, so fucking happy and blissed out that the answer slips right out.

“yes, fuck, missed yer cunt so much.”

you move to sit up, push your hand into his shoulder and motion to the couch. when he moves, you move with him, not wanting to feel empty for a second longer than you have to.

seated completely on his cock, he’s even deeper inside of you and you want to feel this full forever. you don’t even want to move, resting your forehead against his. “tell me something, tsumu, and be honest.” he doesn’t offer any sort of reply, verbal or otherwise.

“do you think of me sometimes when you fuck her?” you start moving, sitting up straight as you pull yourself off his cock almost completely before slamming back down. “do you wish she was me? do you almost say my name when she cums because she almost gets as tight as i am?”

“you don’t need to answer, tsumu, can see it all over your face,” you continue, hand placed firmly on his chest for leverage as you fucked yourself harder on his cock.

“yer a fucking bitch. ya haven’t changed at all,” he breathes, and it hurts way less than it probably should, the tone of his voice and the shock on his face, but you can feel him inside of you, you can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your palm. he’s throbbing with every shitty question, twitching at every mention of how much better you are than her, grunting under his breath whenever you point out one of his slip ups. he fucking loves it and you know him too well not to notice it.

“no, i have, it’s just not exactly what you wanted when you texted me. you wanted a tight brat to bruise and choke, didn’t you?” you ask, tilting your jaw upwards, exposing your neck. “fucking do it then, but don’t whine about the fact that this little brat is better than your girlfriend.”

his hands are still planted loosely on your hips, guiding your motions, helping you set a pace. he’s not reaching for what you’re so graciously offering him.

“don’t fucking kid yourself. you can’t get off to a nice girl who gives you exactly what you want, can you, tsumu?” you glare down at him, no longer on display, leaning towards him so you can talk through gritted teeth. “i’m a fucking bitch because it’s exactly what you want, none of that ‘really good for you’ bullshit.”

he lifts his hips, thrusting up to meet you as you slide down his cock. it’s brutal, the slapping of your tender skin against his toned thighs, and it feels so good, hurts so good that you don’t even remember what you were saying. and he doesn’t slow down. he keeps getting faster, keeps going deeper, and you’re starting to think that he’s realizing how much he likes it, the shitty way that you talk to him, that he actually missed it.

“fuck you.”

“am i wrong, baby? that’s why you’re with me right now and not her.” it leaves your mouth without much thought. you can’t think much about anything with the way he’s fucking you.

“i didn’t come here to talk about my girlfriend all night,” he bites.

“right, but-” you’re stopped in the middle of your sentence, two hands wrapping around your throat, long fingers pressing into your windpipe. his eyes are deadlocked on yours as he squeezes gently, testing the waters.

you rest your hand on his wrist, smiling as best you can, hoping you look pretty enough in his grasp as you push your neck further into his hold and the look on his face is one that you want to capture forever. it proves your point even further, this notion of atsumu and his nice sex life and his girlfriend that’s really good for him, because when’s the last time that atsumu has been with someone who just wanted to be treated like shit?

when’s the last time that atsumu’s been treated like shit?

you roll your eyes back in your head, chin towards the ceiling, lack of oxygen only heightening every inch of your skin that’s in contact with him before bringing your line of sight back down to his peering eyes.

your voice is choked, hoarse, sparse as the words struggle to leave, only strong enough for him to hear if he’s really paying attention. “fuck, atsumu, you’re so fucking big, so fucking perfect, you’re a fucking god, fuck me so good, thank you so much, i wish i never broke up with you.”

he doesn’t say a word, swallows whatever noise or comeback was coming up his throat, and blinks at you. fucked out expression, gasping for the return of the air you just spent, but it’s all worth it. his fists are closing, squeezing to stop you or to dare you to fight back, you’re not completely sure, but the second that your lungs have filled up just enough to mutter three more words, you do.

“is that better?”

you wait, assured and confident that whatever he does next will be some dramatic act to prove something to you and to himself, to make you regret your outlash, to make you actually believe the sarcastic statement you just spewed.

atsumu always did surprise you.

“it is,” he grunts, hands placed back onto to your waist, but they’re delicate now, tender almost as he runs the pads of his fingertips over your hipbones. “tell me how much you missed me, doll.”

there were so many ways you could fuck with him, so many things you could say to keep up this shitty charade, you know there are, you know they exist, but you can’t think of a single one. you open your mouth and nothing comes out save for tiny, quivering breaths and noises that were beyond your control.

“tell me.” harsher than before, but with an underlying care that made your heart flutter.

“sometimes, i do miss you,” you admit, and that’s exactly what it is, an admittance, something that’s circled in your brain but has never left your mouth, not even to the empty walls of your room. an absurd part of you hope he picks up on the lack of past tense.

he’s known you for too long, listened to you too well, gotten too deep despite the fight you put up to not hear how genuine this senseless little sentence is coming out of your mouth. “really late at night, lonely in my bed, wondering why i let you go.”

and, fuck, it’s so stupid, not what you bargained for at all, but you want to feel closer to him, need to feel him completely against you because his skin is warm in a way that you’ve haven’t been able to replicate and maybe this is just a long-winded ploy to make you regret this attitude you’ve adopted for the night, but it’s working and you don’t care.

you’d like to think that he could see it on every feature, in every movement and action, this overwhelming need of yours for him to hold you, to be closer than he is right now even as he’s buried inside of you, because he does. he runs his hands up your back, crosses them over one another and braces you with his arms, mouth against your ear, “tell me more, pretty.”

and you listen. not because he’s fucking you into submission or because he has this caustic influence on you, but because you want to and because he deserves to know these thoughts of remorse and guilt that have been weighing heavy since the minute you left.

“think about you a lot,” you mutter into his chest, “was really shitty to you, couldn’t stop thinking about the version of our break up that you told everyone, and now i see you on my feed and think about if that were me celebrating an anniversary with you at some gross fancy dinner.”

your muscles have relaxed, movements ceased, leaning fully into atsumu as he thrusted up into you leisurely, focusing instead on the snap of his hips and closeness between the two of you. “wanted to reach out to apologize or to fuck you or just to hear your voice, but i didn’t.”

it’s heavy and not necessarily the dirty talk that you thought would be coming out of your mouth tonight, but it’s also not stopping and he’s not telling you to stop. “missed your voice and your face and your hands and your warmth and how good you are to me. and i really fucking needed this, tsumu, fuck i needed you so bad.”

you hope, with everything in you, that he’s understanding everything you’re saying, that he’s perceiving it all as the truth, that he’ll see that you actually have changed, finally ready to tell him all of the things he wanted to hear back then, all the things he tried to get out of you before you broke his heart. but have you really changed? are you saying these things so that he’ll know the truth or so he won’t be able to stop thinking about you while he’s with her?

your chest feels tight, heart racing, air leaving your lungs as shaky as your limbs, in desperate need of some sort of redirection. you’re silent for a few moments, letting the room fill with his shallow breaths and striking skin, composing yourself and fixating on atsumu’s steady pace.

curling your fingers against his stomach, you move in time with him once again, lifting yourself as he pulls away and slamming down as he thrusts upwards. you don’t know if you’ve really changed or what the real motivation behind inviting atsumu over tonight was, but you know exactly what you’ve been craving, not just in these last few hours, but for years.

you brush your cheek against his, leaning forward to whisper directly into his ear so that the feeling of your breath and the soft cadence of your voice never leave his memory.

“does she let you cum inside, tsumu?”

his response is visceral, instinctive, hips stuttering, failing to smoothly meet the backs of your thighs as his head collides with your shoulder, too heavy with swarming thoughts and poor self control to make any audible noise that’s not an almost animalistic grunt.

kiss after soft kiss is pressed into his jawline, down his chest, fingers interlocked behind his neck, pulling yourself closer and closer until you can feel his destructive heartbeat combatting your own.

“does she let you pump her full of cum, daddy?”

he can’t form a verbal response, groaning into your shoulder as he fucks into you with abandon, no longer as a power trip or a control tactic, just using you to get off. you wanted him to use you to get off. he’s so fucking wrecked beneath you, eyes screwed tight as he moves on compulsion alone, but you knew how pretty he sounded when he was about to cum, whiny and grateful and you refused to let this moment slip away.

“i know how much you loved filling me with your load, tsumu, feeling my pussy get all creamy, milking your fat cock into my greedy little hole. you went crazy for it, would always pump your thick seed into me until it spilled out all over your cock, made me feel so full, so pretty,” you ramble into his skin.

“baby, do you still get to feel that? does she let you unload so deep, tsumu?” your questions are coming out more haphazardly than anything else you’ve said and you know the answer, but you’re craving the sound. “or did you save that all for me too?”

“saved it for ya,” he mumbles, throat hoarse, cock pulsing against your walls, needy, sloppy kisses placed wherever he can reach.

“yeah? tell me, baby, saved it all for me, couldn’t cum in a pussy that wasn't made just for you? needed me, right, baby?”

“needed you, fuck, only you, need only you,” he moans and it’s so perfectly desperate and everything you need it to be.

“gonna cum, baby, gonna cum for you, will you cum for me? will you cum inside me, tsumu, please?” you know he can tell how close you are, can feel how tightly you’re squeezing him, how dripping wet you are, can hear your incessant, thoughtless ramblings.

“i’m gonna fill you, pretty, wanna feel you cum on my cock while i fill you, okay?”

you nod against his chest, core tight, waiting, waiting, his hips driving upwards faster, slamming you down harder until his movements stutter, a guttural groan falling upon your ears before feeling his cock pulse inside of you, rope after rope of thick cum painting your insides, and, fuck, you missed this.

you let go, collapsing against atsumu entirely as you cum around his cock, pussy clenching as he lazily thrusts into you, driving you through your orgasm and fucking his cum deeper inside of you, coating his entire length.

when his movements stop, when his hips stop moving and the grunting is replaced with shallow breaths that turn into normal breaths, neither of you move. your chests are rising and falling in time and you’re starting to feel gross the longer you sit in it, but you don’t want to move. you can’t move. the things that you’ve said might feel too real if you move from this position. and that doesn’t make any sense, but you don’t want to chance it. you feel gross, but also better than you have in a while and then he rubs a small circle into your lower back just gently enough for you to notice, just softly enough to send shivers up your spine, and you know that you can’t be in this position another second.

//

being in the same bathroom as atsumu, legs spread, sitting in your bathtub, cleaning up the mess he’s made while he uses crumpled up pieces of toilet paper to clean up the mess you’ve (mostly he’s) made is weirdly domestic in the most comforting way. it’s not awkward, but some part of you wishes it was because the seconds keep ticking on and the regret isn’t seeping in, not just about tonight, but about anything you’ve said.

it’s mostly silent save for atmospheric noises that couldn’t be helped and you wish that you were wishing someone would say something.

but you clean without a word and so does he and when you stand up, he offers you a hand to step over the lip of the tub and he passes you a dry towel from where you keep them under the sink. he uses your toothbrush without even asking and then preps it for you to use and you thank him when he hands it to you.

you walk back with him to your room and he’s one step ahead of you because he could find your bedroom blindfolded and you get changed in front of him and it’s not one of those moments where you get embarrassed and then feel dumb about getting embarrassed, you just feel at home.

“i meant it, by the way, i miss you sometimes,” you shake your head, “no, that’s a lie, i miss you a lot.” you’re starting to feel antsy now, missing the comfortable silence because now you’re talking about uncomfortable feelings while they’re not mindlessly spilling out of you.

your fingers are tingling, heart furiously beating in your ears as you continue, “and nights like tonight make me miss you more than i thought was possible, more than they probably should for how long i’ve been without you, but i think you bring out a really shitty side of me.”

“i think i don’t have to,” he says, rushing to get it out of his throat before he’s too scared to say it, “i think i remind you of how you used to be, but that’s not how you are now.” you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. “i think we could try again and i could show you that it’s not true.”

“you don’t...,” you start, voice diminishing into silence, because what do you say to that?

“because you’re right, why else am i here with you tonight and not her?” he asks, closing the gap between the two of you, not touching you, just getting closer.

“tsumu…,” you start again, voice diminishing into silence again, because what do you say to that?

“i don’t let her call me that because i couldn’t bear the sound of it not coming from you.”

you take a step back, head spinning from a single sentence despite only solidifying a conclusion you had already come to all on your own. “i think maybe you should go home to your girlfriend before she notices you’re missing.”

“let me stay the night,” he blurts, hand spanning out to grasp your shoulder, your arm, wherever his reach would land.

it comes out of your mouth like a warning, imploring him to tread careful, “tsumu.”

but he just keeps pressing forward, faster, harder, recklessly, heedless and senseless, “please, yn, please, if this is the last time i ever get to talk to you, to see you standing in front of me where i can do this,” his hand floats up, fingers caressing your cheek, curling against your jaw and you melt into how inviting and warm his touch is, “then just let me savor it.”

the thought of this being your last night together hits you, hard, like you’ve been run over by a train, and you didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. you’re convinced it feels worse than when you left him the first time. you don’t want it to be the last time.

“last time, huh?” you ask. with how close he is and the hold he has on you, you know that he can feel the instability in your voice, see the hesitance in your features.

“i mean,” he pulls you into him, arms wrapping tightly around you so that you can feel the vibrations of his laugh, “how well did that work last time?”

“if i see you again, i’ll want to see you again, and again, and again,” you admit, soaking in the discomfort of vulnerability before asking, “is that okay?”

“that’s all i want.”

bench players

don’t forget to wear a scarf <3

Love struck with a smile