#tw death mention
rudolphsboyfriend · 2 days ago
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Death Couldn't Ever Do Us Part
Work Song, Hozier || No. 6, Atsuko Asano || Orpheus And Eurydice, Edward Poynter || Inês De Castro, Wikipedia || Naruto , Masashi Kishimoto || Funeral, Maisie Peters || Orpheus And Eurydice On The Banks Of The Styx, John Roddam || Talk, Hozier || Heaven Official's Blessing, MXTX || When Someone We Love Has Died
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incorrectbatfam · a day ago
Hi. I love your work it's super hilarious and always makes me smile no matter the bad I had. I know you mostly only do bat family only. But I really love the BuzzFeed unsolved segment you did with Batman villains. Would it be alright to ask if you could do more of that?
Again love your blog. It's so refreshing.
"Hello and welcome to another season of Buzzfeed Unsolved. Today we'll be covering the enigmatic case of the Riddler."
"I see what you did there, Ryan."
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
"Yeah, I love a good wordplay."
"It's a double wordplay, actually, since his true identity—as we'll dive into—is Ed Nygma."
"That's a stupid name."
Shane: "I'd love to sit down for a dinner with Poison Ivy."
Ryan: "Except she could strangle you with her plants."
"She seems like a decent lady."
"She's an eco-terrorist!"
"But she's got a good point."
"—and that's when Roman Sionis became the notorious crime boss Black Mask."
"Wait, so he fused a mask to his face?"
"Pretty much. Kinda gross when you think about it."
"I can imagine. Like, you know when you were a kid and you'd cover your head in saran wrap and try to melt it on with a hair dryer?"
"You didn't try to encase your head in plastic when you were a kid? That was a whole thing at my school."
"The fuck kind of school did you go to?"
"You didn't do that?"
"Why the hell would I do that?!"
"Harleen, known for her genius-level IQ, got her PhD in psychiatry at Gotham State University."
"But Gotham's not a state."
*wheeze* "I mean, it's so cut-off it might as well be."
"Also, if my math's right, that means she went to school with Bruce Wayne."
"What are you implying?"
"You know how college is."
"So you think Bruce Wayne and Harley Quinn were—"
"Smashing pumpkins?"
"... Sure. Let's go with that."
Shane: "If I was Mr. Freeze, I'd give up evil and just drive an ice cream truck."
Ryan: "No offense, but you'd be the stranger danger that parents tell their kids about."
"You don't want my ice cream? My evil Arctic laser ray sundaes?"
"Actually when you put it like that it sounds pretty good."
"Here we are in the Joker's abandoned theme park. I'm gonna turn on my spirit box and see if we can pick something up."
"I thought he was alive."
"Depends on your canon."
Shane: "Fuck, marry, kill: Two-Face, Mad Hatter, Man-Bat."
Ryan: "Kill Man-Bat and uh... fuck Two-Face and marry the Hatter."
"Interesting. Care to explain?"
"Well, Man-Bat's, like, an animal, right? Or at least part animal. And I'm not into the furry stuff anymore, so—"
"It was an experimental phase."
"Sure. A 'phase'."
"It was!"
"Don't worry Ryan, your secret's safe with me." *winks*
"I'm not—" *takes a deep breath* "Anyway, so kill Man-Bat. Then I'd have a one-night with Two-Face 'cause I think his two halves can get creative, you know?"
"Why're you asking me if I know? Do I look like I know him?"
"Honestly I wouldn't be surprised at this point."
"And then I'd marry the Hatter 'cause Batman's gonna send him back to Arkham in like a week anyway so I'll be free."
"Welcome back to Buzzfeed Unsolved: Postmortem, a show where we answer your most pressing questions about the latest episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved, which was Red Hood. All the questions we have today are from our Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and directly on the video on BUN."
"Our first question comes from user@jasontoddsnotdead on Twitter: Is it possible that Red Hood was actually a former protogé of Batman who felt he was let down because Batman won't do what's needed?"
*Shane and Ryan glance at each other*
Both, in unison: "Nah."
Ryan: "Our next fan art comes from @robin4 on Instagram. It's basically the Ghoul Boys as a vigilante duo."
Shane: "Would you ever become a vigilante, 'cause I wouldn't."
"Sure. Just not in Gotham."
"The Hotdaga's coming to Gotham City, and this time, they're facing off against the evil Condiment King."
"That's not a real villain."
"It is."
"I don't believe you. It's too over-the-top even for Gotham."
"Well, you better believe it, 'cause we even got a special performance from Catwoman herself."
"Why did I agree to this show?"
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shyestofhearts · 2 days ago
JonDami Reincarnation AU
This one's for you @iamtheogizzy, also I will throw in a little batfam reincarnation for you as well
Two boys were very close, best friends since they were kids
Despite the dangers of the world they lived in they grew and while others grew apart they stuck together
They spent summers by a stream near their hometown and winters they spent defending each other from anything that may try them
One was hardly ever seen without the other
So of course, when one passed away the other was devastated, a desperate plea to stay with them
A promise to stay half-finished on their lips as blue eyes slid closed
Blue eyes opened in another life
When Jon meets Damian something seems so familiar about the boy and so he's determined to befriend him
And he does
Damian becomes his best friend and Jon becomes Damian's, they share secrets and sneak out late at night
But they also fight back to back as Robin and Superboy, defending each other
And maybe, just maybe they might fall in love
But the life of a vigilante/hero is one full of danger, a danger that has Jon standing there numbly as Talia and Bruce and his kids bury Damian
And faintly he wonders what would happen if they had lived in a world where they hadn't been heroes or vigilantes, they fought no villains
Green eyes open in another life
A world with no super powers, no vigilantes
His father is protective, but when asked why he doesn't seem to have a reason, just this feeling of dread when Damian is in danger
His mother is a bit more lax but she gets the same look in her eyes, the panic laced with confusion on why she feels that way
He doesn't press the matter
They do the same to his adoptive older brother Jason anyways
(And strangely they also do it to Jason's friend who's over so often he may as well be part of the family as well, Richard)
When he's 7 he meets makes eye-contact with a blue-eyed boy in his class
The two seem unlikely friends to anyone else, but to them they just seemed to click
They were instant friends
His name was Jon
Jon has an older brother and his friends sometimes come over when Damian is visiting Jon's house
Damian got attached to one friend in particular though no one quite knows how or when it happened
Jon and Damian are constant friends throughout their school years (where Damian also meets and befriends a boy named Duke and he gets a sister, Cassandra, when his parents adopt her)
Jon and Damian each get dreams now and then where they could swear they see their friend but at the same time...it's someone different. Like their friend but older, or in some different world. They never really bring it up
When they reach high school they're still friends despite a lot of elementary school friends splitting up or growing apart
Everyone is aware of their friendship at this point as they're pretty defensive of each other
No one is surprised when they start dating
There's something Jon says often though, thst is do increasingly familiar to Damian and yet he can't figure out why, though he finds it reassuring everytime Jon manages to finish saying it without being uninterrupted
A promise to stay
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wiseseamonster · 7 months ago
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She’s started baking again
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scragon · 2 months ago
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Cheryl kinda has no filter. She's too old to care.
Vampire Husband collection on Webtoon
Vampire Husband on Patreon
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novaknows · a month ago
So, Ranboo’s Death. Let’s talk about it
“When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy.”
-Griffin McElroy, TAZ:Balance
I open with this quote because I think it’s fitting for this case. For Wilbur, Schlatt, and even Tommy’s death there was immediate plot climax in reaction directly to the death. The plot became chaotic and the grief that fallowed those deaths inspired the chaos of the plot. Most characters processed thier grief while also fighting for thier lives, or they processed that grief by distraction and denial. Although these were very well played out (in particular with will’s death) they aren’t necessarily realistic portrayals of grief as it occurs in the real world.
With Ranboo’s death, it’s different. He goes so quietly, little fan fare on his way out. His departure is only met with a confusion of knowing that something is gone but not being able to quite conceptualize it. The characters that Ranboo is close to respond realistically to his death, in the fact they don’t respond at all.
Phil is the most casual. A man that has seen death and knows her mark. He is no stranger. He sits and waits for Ranboo to respawn, he is confused when Ghostsboo returns. He turns and asks “how long have you lived?” Because he is bargaining for that life back. He’s desperate for some sort of explanation because this doesn’t make sense and that scares Phil.
Techno responds in anger at first. A desperate need to avenge his friend. His FRIEND. But his grief comes up more in his moments of quiet reflection. A laugh cut short as he looks at his axe and says “this was a gift from a friend”. That grief that hits out of nowhere, blinding and bright.
Grief is a fickle thing. It’s abrupt and punchy, yet low lying and ever present. Goodbyes are the same. Thus this is how Ranboo ends, not with a bang but with a whimper.
I’m excited to see how this grief is used later as more characters learn what has happened to thier dear friend.
How is grief explored when that man who you always see around is no longer there. How do you walk around a room knowing that a piece of furniture is missing, Still walking the same path even though it is no longer in your way.
When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal.
Ranboo’s death was abrupt and unfair, unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy.
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liriostigre · a year ago
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The Doubling of Self: An Interview with Richard Siken by Peter Mishler
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lewiishamilton · 9 months ago
I love how all of Tumblr saw that Prince Philip died and instantly opened their Folder called "Memes for when PP finally expires"
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kabuki-akuma · 28 days ago
Hey guys, pretty heavy topic I’m bringing up.
TFA’s lead art director Derrick J Wyatt, unexpectedly passed away this month. I was told beforehand, but his close friend and colleague Josh Perez made the statement on his Twitter.
I could not believe it, and I still don’t want to believe it. Derrick was a big inspiration in my art, I still carry elements of his style in my work. He’s helped me become better at character design. And I can’t say how grateful I am in having the opportunity to even know him, as a mutual friend, and getting to work on collabs. I’m deeply saddened but I won’t forget him in being part of making my childhood whole.
Also, Happy TFA Anniversary everyone. It’ll be hard to celebrate without feeling sad.
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dead-inside-demiboy · 4 months ago
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The entire conversation between Techno, Quackity, and Dream in a nutshell
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mesmir-ized · 9 months ago
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chekhov’s shulker box favor
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incorrectbatfam · 10 hours ago
Dick: Didn't you die?
Jason: That was weeks ago, dude. Things change.
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shyestofhearts · a day ago
Shy!!! I hurt myself 😭😭😭
I was listening to my sad playlist and realized that my angst ridden Damian would stare out his bedroom window at night, unable to sleep, and resonate with NF’s Let You Down.
Land now my hand slipped.
Like, Damian most definitely leaves. He’s done it before when he was younger, but In my angst driven au, he leaves Robin behind for good. He had died a second time, at fourteen years old, but no one saved him this time. Damian was fighting him mother’s men once more, though this time without backup (a bit reminiscent of Jason, I know, I’m sorry!). Talia in this story is not good, not anymore. Maybe it was one too many dips in the Lazarus pit or a curse of running the League, I don’t know. Neither does Damian. It means nothing anymore that he is her son, her child He has refused her too many times, humiliated her by his stance against her plans, and she is over it. Over him.
He’s fighting for his life, but despite being an excellent warrior, he’s horribly outnumbered. He hears his father’s voice in the back of his head throughout the fighting, about how it’s wrong to kill people, that’s not what we do.
But each soldier he spares, attacks five times harder. There’s literally hundreds rushing at him.
He tries to think of an escape route, of someway to escape, but there’s no time, not when he’s so surrounded.
Eventually, if he wants to escape, to live, Damian will have to kill.
The worse part is, Talia knows this. She knew his inner turmoil, and how this would effect Damian when he finally got to a place where he could think for more than a second at a time.
And that’s how she kills him.
He’s so distraught in the fact that he’s killed again, that his father, his family would be ashamed of what he’s done, that he doesn’t even notice his mother in the shadows. He hates himself for having to fall back on killing, because it was a massacre, because it came so easily. Talia doesn’t even need to do much. As Damian is pacing, body aching while his mind spirals, blood soaking him from his head to his toes, Talia picks up his bloody discarded sword. When Damian turns again, Talia stabs him through the same place Heretic did.
She doesn’t wait for him to die before leaving, just “Tsk,” she shakes her head. “It’s shameful how easily this was,” Talia says, face disgusted, before walking away.
It takes about two months for Damian to come back. When he manages to tear himself back to the land of the living, he’s still broken, still in that cave. No one came for him, not even to retrieve his body. Death was weird this time, he wasn’t exactly in Hell, not like before. Or maybe it was a different type of Hell? It was empty, cold. Damian could still feel the shackles, so cold it burned his wrists and throat. His throat was dreadfully sore from screaming into that empty void. The worst part of that place is how he was able to wander—to leave.
“Should you find your way out,” Death chuckled into his ear one time, after Damian could practically taste the blood in his mouth from screaming so much, “I shall not stop you.” Death pulled on the chain around Damian’s neck choking him once more, “You’ve already know what this feels like, and now you shall never not know,”
Damian dragged his broken body all the way back to Gotham. He had worried what happened to his family, for them not to even retrieve him. But, when Damian finally returned to the BatCave, he found everyone else there.
There was no major crisis. No off-world mission. Nothing different from the usual, anyway.
They all stopped and glanced at him, before returning to work, and Damian couldn’t help but wonder if this was another Hell. Through raspy and voice strained, he asks Pennyworth for help patching him up. Alfred agrees, isn’t cold, but isn’t exactly enthusiastic about Damian’s return. Hs
Bruce eventually gives Damian his attention, when Alfred is baffled at how Damian is still alive with the gaping hole in his chest. One of his brothers makes a joke about always knowing Damian was heartless. Alfred begins stitching him up, and leaving to get more blood for a transfusion, when it is clear there is nothing more that he can do. His siblings stare in horrified awe. As if he were some animal on exhibit.
“Did you think you’d get away with it?” Bruce asks, and Damian can already see the tick in his father’s jaw. Damian knows before Bruce even finishes, he can hear the same disappointed disgust that his mother’s tone had before walking away.
“It’s not what it seems—” He’d try to defend himself, but Bruce turns back to computer and plays video feed of Damian killing without hesitation. Damian knows that this, too, is his Mother’s doing. The angling of the video, the lack of background.
But that doesn’t stop the hurt at seeing his family look at him like he was some sort of monster. That he was to harm them next.
“They we’re going to kill me!” Damian wishes he could scream, but it came out more as a whine, “I was just trying to escape—“
“You know we don’t kill!” Bruce grounds out, “Yet you deliberately disobeyed me, by going therein the first place, then threw away our values—one of the most important ones, all while dressed as Robin!”
Damian, maybe before would have fought, but he’s died twice as Robin. The first time he felt fire, and this last he felt the burn of ice. Staring at his ‘family’ he briefly wonders if the know, if they care, that he died. Looking at the hard looks around the room, he decides that they probably do not. He grips the Robin cape beside him, remembering how much he wanted this. How he hoped it could somehow bring him closer to the father he always wished to know.
He clutches it silently as Alfred returns and orders he lay down. Damian walks over to the designated cot, before stopping in front of Bruce, his father.
“Don’t worry,” Damian whispers, unable to speak louder, “I won’t do that again,”
“If you think,” Bruce says, as some else scoffs, “That we are letting you back—“
Damian drops takes off his worn domino mask, and drops the cape at his father’s feet, silencing him.
“I quit”
The cave went silent once more, as Damian walked back to his cot.
That was two years before he became emancipated, four years ago.
He is alone, now, in his apartment. His work as a translator has paid him enough to live comfortably, and he got it without being a Wayne or Al Ghul. His art sells well on the side, as well.
However, every birthday that rolls around his mother still sends her men after him, and each year she has them return in an urn. Each year his father and siblings call, inviting him holiday dinners. He declines, not wanting to be lectured on the value of every human’s life, besides his own.
Instead, he puts on his midnight armor, and goes to patrol his town. Black armored suit and hooded eye mask hide him, as criminals war one another to keep an ear out for Whispers. The vigilante who was once Robin, carrying a sword and leaving the only warning of a whisper.
Damian tried to avoid running into the Bats, especially when they want to act like they were so close. Like they didn’t just think he was a monster, a failure, as a let down
Sew I just woke up and now I'm crying aksjsjjajdjs
Also, because this is very important to me, I need to know if Damian took his animals with him when he left
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imdeadlysad · 2 months ago
idk man, I feel like hitting my head against the wall till I collapse
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blockmen-obsessed · 5 months ago
I wish more people would acknowledge that DreamXD isn't the trope of 'funny immortal being and their favourite human' but rather 'a possibly omnipotent entity who is so far removed from what it means to be human they cannot even begin to comprehend what the human experience entails'
There's no clarity (as far as I know) on what DreamXD and c!dream's relationship happens to be. They are connected but in what way? is it only the physical features? is it more than that? There's just so much ambiguity here but you know what else is ambiguous? the extent to which DreamXD understands the people of dsmp.
think about it like this; so far he has dropped c!Niki straight to hell, yeeted c!bad out of existence and given c!george such a severe case of derealization that he can't tell whether things are real or not and the former two were done as a joke which makes the last part not being a joke more terrifying
Then there's the thing about 'will you be my friend forever George?' like what does the word 'friendship' mean for DreamXD? what does forever mean? does it mean till the end of time? or does it mean till george dies? what if george can't die? what if DreamXD won't let him die?
too much 'DreamXD is a c!gnf simp' and not enough he's an eldritch being who has an obsession bordering on unhinged with a random human he found in the woods
actually scratch that, it's not borderline it's a full fledged obsession along the lines of a kid being addicted to a new toy they just got; It belongs to them and only them and they rather destroy it than let anyone else have it
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nanengko · 8 months ago
my contribution for the dilf collab by @kaijime​
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notes: 18+ ONLY MDNI; ty viko <3; please see the rest of the contributions for this collab!
summary: you didn't think it would go beyond admiring him from a distance, but now you can't seem to leave him alone.
genre: smut; fluff; angst; strangers to lovers
content: dilf!mattsun; college f!reader; smoking; age-gap relationship; term of endearment sweetheart; brief mention of death (non-significant character), mourning, funerals; mentions of mattsun having a kid and past relationship; reader gets followed and grabbed briefly in the beginning (gets hair pulled); fingering; messy oral m and f receiving (69); face-sitting; overstimulation; impact play (x1 slap); size kink; praise; very light D/s undertones
words: 9.6k+
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It's difficult to pinpoint the exact moment he started to catch your eye. To you, he's always been one of the usual faces you would pass on your route whenever you were running to class or going to work. Seeing him at the same time and in the same spot almost everyday has ingrained his features into your consciousness—recognizing his presence as something familiar.
Each time you do, he always looks the same standing by the funeral home—black suit, sometimes with a cigarette between his lips, but always with a solemn look on his face. He looks to be older, maybe his late thirties, but you wouldn’t say he looks unattractive. Based on your own observations, he arguably has quite the handsome set of features, as well as a sense of ease and maturity in the way he carries himself.
This time, as you hurriedly make your way to your morning lecture, you can't help but notice a group of people standing outside the funeral home. They're dressed in all black and their soft cries of mourning are hard to ignore. The building itself is nice on the outside, quaint and classic, but you can only imagine the amount of sorrow its walls have witnessed.
The somber atmosphere weighing heavily in the air has you offering your silent condolence and respects as you pass. This isn't exactly how you want to start the day so you keep walking forward, but there’s a gradual slow to your steps, and you’re doing so without realizing.
You find yourself searching for something amongst the crowd—perhaps that familiarity that you've unknowingly grown accustomed to. Eyes wander until they rest on who it is you're trying to find, and he's there holding the doors open for the guests as he directs them inside.
He looks calm, politely greeting everyone as they come in, offering his own condolences to each person who passes him. How can someone work here every day? That thought lingers, but is quickly pushed aside when you remember that you're running late and you have a bus to catch.
With a sigh and a quick turn of your head, you continue with a slight jog as you mentally curse yourself for staying up so late last night; it wasn’t completely your fault though. If your group member had just done their part on time, you wouldn’t have had to do double the amount of work right before the deadline last night. You’re tired and not really in the best mood, but at least the assignment was done and the last time you’ll ever have to speak with your partner.
Slightly out of breath, but as well as to your surprise, you manage to make it through the doors of the bus. It's crowded, bodies pressed up against each other in a way that was too close for your own comfort, but you make do. It doesn’t take long to make it to campus, and many of the occupants file their way out at your stop, parting ways to whichever direction they were headed.
The more the lecture drags on, the more difficult you find to stay focused. Your lids feel heavy, typing seems to slow, and your professor’s voice starts to sound like a drowned-out broken record player.
The soft collective patter of keyboards seems to lull you into more of a haze, and it has you wishing you were back in the comfort of your own bed. You rub the back of your hand over your eyes and deeply inhale. I still have another lecture and then I work until late tonight. You mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead, trying your best to shake the blanket of sleep that's already starting to cover you.
═ ❀ ═
A friendly, but tired wave of goodbye is thrown as the last customer for the night takes their leave. The coffee shop you work in is small, but cozy. It's near campus, which gives you the advantage of easily working in between classes without having to go too far.
Both your coworker and yourself start to go through all the nightly procedures for closing; you're exhausted, but you let out a sigh of relief remembering that you don't have class until late in the afternoon tomorrow.
"So, anyone catch your eye lately?" You hear your coworker ask with a sly smile.
You roll your eyes. "Don't even start with that again," you respond playfully with a shake of your head as you start to ring out a wet cloth.
"You know, I have this guy friend and I think you two would—"
"Did you forget what happened the last time?" Voice filled with disbelief, you instantly cut her off.
Shaking off a shudder at the memory, you continue to busy yourself by wiping the spilt coffee residue off the counters.
"Fine, fine. He couldn’t have been that bad though,” she says with a few giggles as she picks up the mop from the bucket.
You stop wiping the counter to shoot her a glare.
The last date you let your coworker set you up on was disappointing to say the least. All he did was talk about himself the entire time, not bothering to ask a single thing about you. He was arrogant, and not in a way that came off as someone who was self-assured or confident, but in a way that screamed 'making up for my self-esteem issues'. He couldn't even take a hint at your obvious discomfort.
The worst part was the expectation he had of taking you home at the end, that had your patience running thin. Immature was the only word that repeated in your mind and you wanted nothing more except for the night to end, telling yourself that you would never trust anyone to set you up again.
It's not that you're inexperienced or that you don't want to date. You've been in a few relationships in the past, but none of them seemed to work out—none of them felt right. There was always that gut feeling that would constantly nag you to just end things before anything got too serious—before anyone got too hurt.
Also, you weren't exactly actively seeking anyone out at the moment, but you would be more than open to getting to know someone if given an opportunity that holds potential—a relationship with stability, trust, and mutual respect. If that time were to come, you would want it to be with the right person.
You both quickly finish the rest of the shop’s closing duties. Your coworker leaves first, screaming out a ‘goodnight’ as she runs out the doors. Now that you’re alone in the darkness, your body starts to feel the effects from the lack of sleep. The only thing on your mind now was a nice warm bath and your bed.
Your steps feel heavy as you trudge towards the bus stop and you notice how quiet this area can get at this time. The usual lively street is empty, the rest of the shops now closed.
A strange sense of alarm suddenly overcomes you; it's hard to ignore the goosebumps that start to creep along your arms, but you keep walking until you arrive at the stop.
You stand underneath the flickering lamp post, a soft buzz coming from the bulb, which only adds to your unease. Your leg starts to bounce in place, while you start to hope that the feeling from earlier was just the doings of your sleep-deprived brain.
Trying to calm yourself, you use your phone as a distraction to endlessly scroll through the various social media applications on your phone. You hear the quiet crunch of gravel somewhere behind you, but it sounds distanced and it could be anyone or an animal, you don’t know why you’re being so paranoid. Where the hell is that bus?
Despite the mindless scrolling, all of your attention is focused on the sounds around you. The footsteps from earlier seem to be getting closer and you freeze; your thumb stops moving, but you also hear the sound of a vehicle approaching. Headlights illuminate the dark road, and to your relief, it’s the bus. You quickly get in and it’s mostly empty, minus a few other people. You let out a sigh as you take your seat.
The doors are about to close, but they’re abruptly opened as someone jumps in, and you’re almost certain they shoot you a look as they pass. That feeling is back, but you ignore it. You occupy yourself by staring out the window, but you swear you can feel eyes on you. Stop being so paranoid. You sit in silent debate with yourself, denying your gut feeling because it can’t be that, right?
The bus comes to a stop and you get off, and you pray that it’s just you. You quickly look behind you, and to your dread, that same person gets off as well. Fuck. Am I being followed? You feel your heart stutter and your stomach drop, but you keep walking. Your hands are stuffed and balled into the front pocket of your hoodie and you feel yourself break into a cold sweat.
Your eyes frantically start to look around, but there’s nobody, except the few cars that would pass by every few minutes. Stopping isn’t really an option, fearing what would happen if you did. Your apartment is still a few blocks away. Can I even out run this person if I had to? Probably not.
You’re walking faster now, passing all the familiar buildings along the way, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. Hesitantly, you take another look behind you, and they’re still there, but closer this time. You’re being followed, and that was the reality you didn’t want to believe.
Quick, but frantic thinking has you pulling out your phone because maybe calling someone would scare them off. You struggle to even unlock it; trying to keep your pace while your emotions are running high has your fingers fumbling on the screen and your phone slipping out of your grip.
You scramble to pick it up, but they’re on you in an instant, grabbing hold of your arm with a grip that you feel would leave a bruise. Too shocked to even scream, you feel your eyes sting and you’re pleading with them to let you go. Their other hand grips into your hair, a searing pain shooting through your scalp. You're being dragged, the bottom half of your body scraping along the sidewalk.
Suddenly, you fall back harshly onto the cold ground, wincing at the impact. You hear the sound of shoes quickly hitting the pavement, they're running away. Your eyes are closed, lined with unshed tears that are threatening to spill out at any moment. There’s also a heavy scent of what smells like cigarette smoke.
You’re sure you look pathetic right now, curled up into a ball and laying on the ground about to cry, but you’re just grateful that person is gone. Waiting for your breath to even, your eyes slowly open and are met with a pair of black dress shoes.
You slowly lift your head and there’s a man looking down at you with raised eyebrows. Instantly, you recognize him as the man from the funeral home.
“He’s gone now,” he says quietly before taking a drawl from his cigarette. “Are you okay?” He asks out of concern as he extends a hand out to you with the intention to help you up.
It takes some time to register his words, but he remains there in silent understanding. So, he's the one who scared the guy off?
"I—uh. I—I think so," the stutter and shake to your voice is blatantly obvious, but you're too unnerved to care.
You remain in the same position, the cold ground starting to bite at your hands and knees, and you don't realize you're staring at him. This is the closest you've been to this person, so you study his features. Your initial observations of him were correct—slightly older man, but strikingly handsome. Something new that you notice though is his height, he's very tall. He clears his throat and you're knocked out of your stupor, his hand still outstretched towards you.
You quickly wipe your hands onto the front of your pants before placing it into his, and he instantly closes his hand tightly around. It feels strong, slightly calloused, and warm; it brings you reassurance. After going through what you just did, this tiny bit of contact, even from a stranger, is comforting and very appreciated. He helps to pull you up until you're standing again.
Still sniffling, you wipe the rest of your stray tears away with your other hand as you take in a long shaky breath. You take a look around, noticing that you're standing in front of the funeral home.
"Do you live nearby?" He brings his cigarette back to his lips, taking a deep inhale before he blows out the smoke away from you.
"Yeah. Just a couple blocks up this street," your reply is quiet, but it's just enough for him to hear.
"I can drive you home if you'd like." Taking one last inhale, he drops it to the ground before putting it out with the bottom of his shoe.
Is it really okay to bother him with this? I barely know him. He's looking at you with a neutral expression, waiting for your reply, but he picks up on your hesitation.
"No pressure. Just wanted to offer since it's already late." He gives your hand a light squeeze of reassurance.
The squeeze reminds you that you're still holding his hand and in a panic, you're swiftly pulling out from his grasp. The movement is sudden and has him raising his eyebrows at you, slightly startled.
"S-Sorry. Didn't realize I was still holding onto you," your words come out fast, afraid that you've offended him somehow. "But, a drive would be nice. Thank you," you avert your eyes out of embarrassment.
He shoots you a small, but lopsided smile, "No need for apologies, I don't mind." He turns and starts to walk towards the building, "My car is parked in the back," he calls to you over his shoulder.
Your hands feel cold so you stuff both into the front pocket of your hoodie, clasping them together and holding on tight. Perhaps it's your own way of mimicking how he was holding onto your hand just moments before.
The car ride is quiet, but you sit in comfortable silence, hoping that he doesn't find the current situation awkward. The only time you spoke was to give directions on how to get to your apartment.
Now that you're calm, you begin to fully process how much trouble you could have gotten into if he had not been there, the thought alone runs a cold shudder down your spine.
A deep inhale through your nose and there's a faint hint of smoke mixed with a spicy bergamot cologne, you let your eyes shut. Too much has happened, so you allow yourself at least this.
You wake to a gentle, yet firm shake on your shoulder. Your eyes slowly open and you're home. You look at the hand resting on your shoulder and you trail up his arm until you're looking at his face.
"Thanks for tonight," you let out a breath, "If you hadn't been there, I—I could've—"
"You're welcome, but you're safe now. You seem tired, get inside and rest," his deep voice calms the rest of your nerves.
There's no use in dwelling on the what ifs because he's right, I'm safe now.
You unbuckle the seatbelt and turn to open the door, feeling his hand leave your shoulder as you step out.
As you walk towards the building and make your way up the steps, you turn around and to your surprise, he's still there. He's watching to make sure you at least make it to the front door of your complex.
You weren't really expecting him to, driving you was more than enough, but the little gesture itself was—nice? Feeling a little warm, you give a shy wave and he waves back through the window before finally driving off. You stand in place for a few moments, watching his car until it disappears around the corner.
As you unlock the door to your unit, a sudden thought hits you like a slap across the face—I didn't ask for his name.
═ ❀ ═
Morning comes and you're once again walking down that same familiar street, and with some time to spare before your afternoon class. Waking up this morning had you wanting to do something for that man, it was the least you could do. You pass all the familiar shops, but you stop in front of one of your favourite cafés.
You spend some time staring at the menu, and finally decide to get him a tiny box of assorted pastries. You know for certain that at this time he should be in front of the funeral home taking a smoke break, you've passed by too many times to count and he's always been there without fail.
With a confidence in your step, you make your way towards the funeral home, but as you get nearer, your palms start to sweat and you feel like your heart is caught in your throat. You're nervous and maybe a tad bit self-conscious. Your mind is plagued by so many thoughts—Is it too much? Too weird? Would he think I'm annoying?
You try your best to stop over-thinking because you can see him now, and you were right, he's standing in the same spot. With a deep breath and with your heart still hammering through, you walk up towards him.
"Hey," your voice sounds small, but it gets his attention.
His eyes widen slightly and he pulls his cigarette away from his lips, "Good afternoon," the surprise clear in his voice.
"I—uh came to give you this," you hold up the neatly wrapped box, warmth rushing to your face as you do, "For yesterday," you quickly add and avert your gaze to the side.
You feel like you've been standing there for a while, awkwardly holding a box up. Why hasn't he taken it yet? You hesitantly bring your eyes up to his face. He's smiling and you don't think you can look away.
"You really didn't have to, sweetheart," his voice sounds warm and inviting, his pinky ever so slightly grazing the side of your hand as he takes the box. "But, thank you."
Oh. Sweetheart? Your face feels hot and you're trying your best to suppress a giddy smile. The slight touch also wasn't helping in the least, it reminds you of the way he was holding your hand just the night before and how much reassurance it brought.
"W-What's your name?" It comes out rushed—maybe a little desperate too? Real smooth. "I mean, I didn't get a chance to ask you yesterday, so..."
He lets out a hearty laugh before continuing, "Matsukawa Issei. Yours?"
He's fully turned towards you now, and you're directly under his gaze. You can smell him again—spicy bergamot with a hint of tobacco.
"Matsukawa?" You say quietly, just to test it on your tongue, but he hears you.
"Issei. Just Issei is fine," amusement clearly written on his face as he brings his cigarette back to his lips.
"Okay, Issei," you tell him with a small smile.
You tell him what your name is and he hums in acknowledgement, blowing some smoke out before speaking again, "So, how did you know I'd be here?"
"I see you here a lot," you tell him truthfully.
He smiles wider with a raised brow. "You've been watching me then?"
"What? No! I mean—kind of?" You try to explain yourself in a panic without seeming like a creep.
Pure embarrassment washes over you and you ball your fists at your sides, a slight pout forming on your lips. It's not your fault that your schedules seem to always match-up. He just happened to be there all those times and you just happened to take notice.
His smile is still in place, but cigarette now burnt out and forgotten in the ashtray, "Relax, sweetheart. I'm just kidding."
You let out a breath, "What I mean to say is, I walk this way often when going to class, and I guess you're usually on break during those times or something, so I end up seeing you," you finally get to say with a huff.
"So that's it," his tone is teasing and playful, and it makes you want to play alongside him.
"Yeah. That's it," you match his tone, crossing your arms over your chest and feigning confidence like he didn't just embarrass you moments before. "Anyways, I have to get to class now. I'll see you around?" You start to slowly back away, but your eyes never leave his.
Still with that stupidly handsome smirk across his lips he responds, "Yeah, you'll see me around, just like you claim to always do." He casually gives a wave as you start to walk away.
Your eyes are rolling, but once you're turned around from him, you're smiling without restraint.
═ ❀ ═
A few days pass, and you're back. You decided that it would feel weird to not go up to Issei if you saw him because you're on familiar terms with each other now, right?
"Oh? Missed me already?" He asks you with a smile as you approach.
Before you can even react to his statement, he interjects, "I was just about to grab a coffee, wanna come?"
In your excitement, you fall into stride alongside him.
"What brings you back this time?" He asks out of curiosity as he lets his eyes sweep over your face.
You hum in thought, "Nothing in particular, just saw you and felt like saying hi." You sneak a look up at him, not expecting your gazes to meet.
Warmth starts to prickle your cheeks and you quickly snap your head back to the front.
"I guess this means I'm going to be seeing more of you from now on?" He chuckles lightly to himself when he notices your flustered appearance. How cute.
"I guess so?" You answer him tentatively, unsure if it would bother him if you did.
"Well that's fine by me, I could get used to seeing your face around." He swings the café door open, waiting for you to go in first.
Saving yourself from any potential embarrassment, you ignore the second half of his statement. A simple "Thanks" is mumbled instead when you pass him.
He buys you an iced-coffee, even though you kept on insisting that you could pay for it yourself, but he argues that you can pay for his next time.
So, there would be a next time then. Too occupied by his last statement, you forget to even reply.
He places a hand onto the middle of your back. "Hey. Don't go spacing out on me now, sweetheart," he laughs out.
"Hm? Oh—yeah sure, sounds good," you nod numbly, while you try to compose the current flutter in your chest.
You've only recently become acquainted with Issei, but you look forward to seeing him. His presence is comforting and you can't help but feel drawn whenever your eyes meet, nor can you help but lean into him whenever he touches you—despite the nervousness that comes along with it.
═ ❀ ═
After a month, you'd say it's become the norm—waving to Issei as you pass him, sometimes stopping to rant to him about yet another insufferable group member, or getting a coffee together to just talk about anything that comes to mind.
He listens to everything you have to say, adding his own opinions and comments every now and then, but you notice that he rarely talks about himself. If you tried, he would lightly dodge or turn the question around back to you. He would always be the one asking the questions, and you would talk endlessly before realizing you have to go to class, parting ways until the next time.
You've been talking, just like how friends talk, but it feels strange to label it as friends given the obvious age difference. You don't even have the slightest clue as to how he feels about this whole thing—what does he make of you? That silly young girl who he had to save, and who now can't seem to leave him alone.
You’re at work, but it's difficult to stay focused when you can't stop thinking about everything.
“A vanilla latte with extra sugar for the next customer,” you hear your coworker speak, but the words don't seem to register. “Uh, hello?” You feel a poke on your back, knocking you out of your thoughts.
You jump slightly, “Sorry, what?”
“I said, a vanilla latte with extra sugar,” she says slowly this time, emphasizing each word as she speaks.
“Right,” you say quickly, immediately starting on the order.
Your coworker stares at you for a brief moment with her head tilting to the side, “What is with you today? Are you…okay?” She asks you with a whisper.
“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking about something,” you say nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact.
You’re not sure if you want to tell your coworker about your little dilemma, fearing the possible judgement that may come. You needed a second opinion though, so you decide to just do it—leaving out a few details of course.
“What would you do if you wanted to get to know someone better, but you just can’t?” You take a deep breath as you add the finishing touches to the latte, “Like, they seem interested in the things you have to say, but whenever you try to ask them things about themselves, it seems like they avoid the question or answer without going into much detail.”
“Whoa, hold on. So, this is a boy problem?” She raises her brows at you, taking the latte from your hands before passing it to the customer.
“I guess so?” You sound meek, trying your best to not give away too much information about Issei.
She pauses in thought. “Maybe they’re just a little hesitant about saying too much—afraid you’d be put-off by them.”
Could that be it? You drum your fingertips against the counter, thinking to yourself. A long silence emerges between the both of you.
“If you really want to get to know this person, I would just talk to them about it,” she shrugs her shoulders as she walks away to tend to the next customer.
There’s so much that you want to ask Issei, but would it be wrong to? The last thing you want is to over-step and make him uncomfortable. What am I even trying to achieve? A friendship?
═ ❀ ═
You take the next week to think over what it is you want to do, even going as far as to avoid Issei completely, giving you a blank slate. But, you've finally decided—taking your coworkers advice, you agree that a direct approach would work best. Being honest with yourself though, you really did miss seeing him.
"Issei," you're quiet, yet stern, "I need to talk to you," you place yourself in front of him as he blows his smoke out.
"There you are, it's been a while," he smiles down at you, "Missed seeing your face around, sweetheart."
His words cause a falter in your front—the thoughts that you've carefully strung together are now a tangled mess.
"How've you been? If this is about that group member—"
Ignoring his question, you shake your head quickly, and come back to your senses. "No. It's not."
Hearing the seriousness in your voice seems to knock that playful smile off his face.
"What do you think about all this?" You suddenly blurt out, and maybe louder than intended.
A few pairs of eyes on the street are now indiscreetly looking at the both of you as they pass.
He's staring at you with a blank look, yet his eyes are full of knowing.
He puts out his cigarette into the ashtray with a sigh, "If you have time, come drive with me."
You nod, following close behind him as he walks towards his car.
The first couple minutes of the drive are quiet, but this time, you find it uncomfortable.
You nervously play with your hands, "When you said you missed seeing me, did you mean it?" You ask him, desperate to put anything in between the silence.
You hold your breath for a moment. He doesn't say anything at first, and it makes you almost regret acting on your coworker's advice.
"I did," he finally says with a deep exhale, not realizing he even said that he's missed you in the first place.
But, you caught him, and you feel an odd sense of relief wash over you.
You keep staring down at your hands before continuing, "Does it bother you when I talk to you during your breaks?"
"Not in the slightest.” He’s being truthful.
"Then, as I said before, what do you think about all of this?” You turn in your seat to face him.
He lets out a nervous chuckle, "Asking the hard questions now.” He pauses, gripping a little tighter onto the steering wheel.
You notice. “I want to get to know you better, but you don’t usually talk about yourself.”
“You’re wasting your time,” he says bluntly.
His words have you shrinking in your seat, but you persist, “Then why say you missed seeing me and why tell me to come drive with you?”
“I’m happy with the way things are now,” he takes in a deep breath, “And I think we should keep things that way, for both our sakes.” He sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than you.
For Issei, it’s more of a hesitation than him not understanding his own feelings. He’s very aware of how he is feeling and what he wants. The last thing he wants is to get hurt, but even more than that, he doesn’t want to see you get hurt because of his own selfish reasons.
You got what you wanted, he told you how he feels about everything, but you can’t help the disappointment that's starting to settle like a heavy weight on your chest.
You ball your hands in your lap, nails digging into your palm, “You didn’t really answer the question though. What do you think about me, specifically?”
His eyes remain fixated on the road ahead. “I think you’re great and truthfully, I look forward to speaking with you whenever you show up out of nowhere. You’re a joy to be around.”
You unclench your fists and you don't miss the slight furrow of his thick brows, or the way his jaw tenses.
He swallows before speaking, “I think I know what you want from me, but I'm sorry. I don’t think I can be that person for you.”
Oh. He seems to have realized what you’ve been trying to understand and come to terms with, before you could even fully comprehend it for yourself—you're attracted to him, no, you like him too.
You've finally found someone who you thought would be worthwhile, but there were other issues that needed to be dealt with, and you couldn't help the slight squeeze at your heart.
You turn away from him and stare out the windshield as a heavy silence starts to settle. He said what he said, and maybe you're being immature, but you don't like his answer. If you were ever rejected you would just let it go, but for some reason you can't let go of this one.
You think it's safe to assume that he's been hinting at mutual feelings, but he hasn't outright said it—yet. There's something between the both of you that's getting harder to ignore and you'd hate for it to go to waste, but you're not one to push things and make him uncomfortable.
As the car approaches a stop light, he turns his head to look at you. "I'll drop you off to class," he says quietly, but it sounds so loud through the silence.
You simply nod as you continue to look straight ahead, the both of you sitting in the tense silence the rest of the way. You feel stupid and out of place, like you've over stayed a generous welcome.
"Maybe they’re just a little hesitant about saying too much—afraid you’d be put-off by them."
That conversation that you had with your coworker comes to mind. If he's hesitant, I'll wait for him.
"You say it's a waste of time, but I think I can make that decision for myself, Issei," you swallow a thick lump in your throat.
"And you're right, I want something from you. I want to get to know you better, but only if you'll let me." You tell him as you draw closer to campus—one last effort to try to mend things.
He turns his head towards you slightly, eyes full of conflict. He watches as you quickly rip a piece of paper out of your notebook to scribble your number down.
He pulls up in front of your school and stops the car as you drop that piece of paper into the cup holder.
"That's my number, just in case you change your mind," your words are hopeful and you give him one last longing look before stepping out of the car.
═ ❀ ═
You let out a frustrated groan as you bury your face into the copious amounts of loose papers and notebooks at your desk. You're currently in the middle of finals and it's been a few weeks since the last time you saw Issei.
Classes are over, so there isn't a need for you to walk your usual route; if you had to go to work, you would take the longer way to avoid seeing him. You've been occupying your time with studying to try to avoid thinking about him, and the call or text that may never come.
Countless nights were spent falling asleep to thoughts of Issei—going over that conversation you had in the car and wondering if you could have said something different or not have said anything at all. Maybe then, things would have turned out differently.
You lift your head back up and slouch into your chair with a sigh. Within the first two weeks without contact, you concluded that he was never going to call or message you. It was hard to accept at first, and even now you're still hoping and wishing for it.
You stop yourself from thinking about him anymore because if you didn't, surely you'd start to spiral back into regret and the what ifs. Besides, you had other problems to worry about like the exams you have coming up within the next few days.
I should just forget about him, he would have called by now if he wanted to. You shove any stray thoughts of Issei away, locking them up to save yourself from the unnecessary heartache.
You let out a yawn, but bury your nose back into your notes, determined to get through the next few sections before heading to bed. You continue to study until the text starts to get bleary and your lids grow heavy; you're getting sleepy and lay your head onto your desk to rest your eyes for just a few minutes.
You're abruptly pulled away from sleep when you hear the sound of your phone vibrating against your wooden desk.
You curse at the slight annoyance and without opening your eyes, your hands reach for your phone to answer with a groggy, "Hello?"
"Oh, I'm sorry to wake you, sweetheart." The voice is warm and smooth, you would recognize it anywhere and it immediately wakes you up.
You sit up, breath hitching, "Issei?" You don't even try to hide the surprise in your voice.
He chuckles, "Yeah."
His laugh has you smiling into your phone. Deep down, you knew you missed him dearly, but your reaction to just the sound of his voice alone is enough to tell you how infatuated you are with him.
He clears his throats, "I'm actually outside your building."
You jump off your chair embarrassingly fast, making your way towards the window as you roughly pull your curtains to the side. You stare at him down below—leaning against the side of his car with phone in hand.
You blink. "You are,” you pause before speaking. “Uh—you wanna come up? Unit 905." You try your best to calm your voice.
"Of course. I'll see you in a bit." He hangs up.
Quickly, you take a look around at the state of your apartment and scramble to straighten up all the loose papers and books currently sprawled all over the floor and desk. Too caught up in trying to make your apartment look presentable, you don't realize you're still wearing your tiny sleeping shorts and camisole. Before you can even begin to think to change, there's three light taps on the door.
With a breath to calm your nerves, you open it. "Hi. Come in," you somehow manage to say smoothly, but the way your heart's beating says otherwise.
"Hello, sweetheart," his eyes do a quick sweep over you, "Cute pyjamas," he says with a smile as he steps inside and takes his shoes off.
Warmth brushes your cheeks and you breathe out a small "Thanks" before offering him a seat on the couch.
You follow, leaving a comfortable space in between as you face him and cross your legs underneath each other. You give him an expectant look, sitting in anticipation and wondering why he's here.
You watch as his eyes roam your apartment, and you start to play with a loose string on your shorts. He looks over at your desk and notices all the papers and books you tried to organize in a rush, "Studying?" He asks to break the silence.
"Yeah, I have exams coming up," you answer quickly as you start to play with the hem of your shirt.
Your eyes rake over his form; it's strange seeing him like this so casually in your home, but it also makes you feel warm inside. It has you thinking about what it would be like if he were here more often—what it would be like if you were together.
"That's why I haven't been seeing you around," he leans back further into the couch.
"Why are you here, Issei?" Your impatience seeps into your words, wanting him to get straight to the point.
He lets out a breathy laugh, "I thought a lot about what you said in the car." He spreads an arm across the back of the couch.
Your ears perk and you're leaning in closer, eager to hear what he has to say, "And?"
"I want you to get to know me. I'll let you." He turns to face you, "But, I just want to make sure that this is what you want."
You lock your eyes with his. "I do want this—so much." You crawl closer towards him and take his hand into both of yours,
He smiles as he looks down at where your hands meet, "Alright, sweetheart. If that's how you want it."
Time seems to still as you both sit together on the couch, talking through the night. He lets you in and answers each question you have honestly and openly.
He opens up about how his days have gotten brighter since meeting you, and how it took your absence the past couple weeks to realize how much he truly missed you.
He also tells you about his son from a past relationship whom he sees every so often. Not really unexpected, but you’re still surprised. He seemed apprehensive while telling you, but you assured him that it was fine and that it doesn’t change things.
You enjoyed the stories about his high school days the most, both laughing together on the couch about the antics of his old volleyball team.
You both agree to give things a try, and that if it didn’t work out, it would be okay.
You let out a yawn. Currently, you’re secured underneath Issei’s arm. You press your cheek further into his chest as you slide your palm across his abdomen, wrapping your arm around.
“I think I should head out, it’s getting late.” He gives your shoulder a light squeeze.
You're comfortable and could honestly fall asleep laying on him like this, but you reluctantly untangle yourself and slowly sit up with a tired pout.
He laughs lightly, "Don't make that face, I'll come by again." He stands up and makes his way towards the door.
You follow and lean a shoulder against the wall, watching as he puts his shoes on. "Thanks for coming and giving this a chance," you say with a grateful smile.
"Glad I did, goodnight," he says with a slight upturn of his lips and he moves to unlock the door.
Too soon. Without thinking, you reach out for his hand and you're pulling him back.
He turns and gives you that teasing look, "Yes?" Voice filled with amused surprise as he watches you.
You take a few steps forward as a light shudder runs through your body from the cold tile biting at the soles of your feet. Closing the space in between your bodies, your arms wrap tightly around his waist and you bury your face into his black dress shirt.
His expression softens. "You're not making this any easier," he whispers out into the darkened apartment as he brings a hand up to cradle your head, while his other palm splays across your lower back.
You know you're not making things easier. But, you finally have him right here in front of you, so how can you not hold him just once more.
His touch has you pushing your body further into him; the swell of your breasts pressing flush against his chest. You lift your face and you meet his eyes as he stares down at you, and there's a pull that you're sure he feels too because his face keeps inching closer.
Your eyes shift to his parted lips, too mesmerized to look away and you're staring until you no longer can—faces now just millimeters away from touching. This moment feels right, so your eyes flutter shut and you close the distance, crashing your mouth onto his.
You can feel him apply more pressure to the back of your head, deepening the kiss and angling you to his liking, while his other hand slips underneath your shirt—calloused fingertips ghosting over your bare back, causing a sweet moan to slip past your lips.
Eager hands slide up the crisp material of his dress shirt, palms smoothing over his hard chest until your arms wrap around his neck. He takes a step forward, pushing you up against the wall and slotting his thigh between your legs. There's an audible thud at the impact and a sharp rattle from the frames shaking on the wall.
You let out a surprised gasp, and he uses this as an opportunity to slip his past your lips, your own tongue welcoming the intrusion. The sudden roughness was not expected, but it's entirely welcomed, and the way you're squeezing around his thigh is proof enough.
You feel his hand lightly brush over the side of your breast and you whimper at the contact, supple thighs rubbing together, while your fingers intertwine with his locks.
You feel him smirk against your mouth before he slowly breaks the kiss and pulls away.
"H—Hey, wait," you try to protest by bringing him down by the neck, but he doesn't budge. "You're being mean," you exclaim with a frustrated huff as you grip onto the front of his dress shirt, standing on your toes with eyes pleading with him to continue.
He laughs out, "I know you're eager, but I should get going. Get some rest and I promise I'll be back once you're done with finals." He wraps his hands around each of your wrists, and your grip loosens while you watch his grin fall into place.
He takes a few steps back, but his eyes continue to shamelessly devour you—disheveled hair, straps from your camisole hanging loosely off your shoulders, swollen parted lips, and eyes that look just as hungry as his.
With a lazy smirk, he clicks his tongue. "Aren't you just precious? Also, you started it, so who's the mean one, sweetheart?" He keens, eyes darkening.
It's the way he's staring down with that expression—hooded eyes with a darkening glint that starts to stir something inside of you. He watches as you start to suck on the bottom of your lip, and he swallows—hard.
You fix yourself and pull your straps back up. "O—Okay. Fine," you say meekly as your arms hug around your torso.
His eyes soften and he leans in to press his lips against your cheek, tufts of his hair tickling your forehead. “Goodnight,” he whispers next to your ear, before stepping through the door.
═ ❀ ═
It's currently the middle of summer break; your exams have been long completed, giving you ample time to develop your relationship with Issei. The last two months were spent learning about one another in the most intimate ways.
You've made a difference in his life, a true joy is what he describes it as. Having to work at a place surrounded by death and mourning does take a toll on a person after so many years. Just having someone to come home to and to care for brings him the comfort that he didn't realize he's missed.
For you specifically, he’s shown you respect and maturity—something that you haven’t had much luck with in your past relationships. He understands you, and offers guidance and support whenever you need.
You learn that he isn't the most romantic, which is fine because he makes sure to show his affection through other gestures. Giving you his undivided attention and conveying his care through physical touch are the biggest things that you notice with him.
His touch makes you feel safe and secure, whether that be from his arm slinging across your shoulders, his fingers caressing your cheek, his chest pressed against your back, or his hands gripping your hips as he fucks you.
Going on late-night car drives quickly becomes one of your favourite ways of spending time with each other. He always makes sure to have one hand on the wheel with the other placed lovingly on your thigh, giving you squeezes of reassurance.
Sometimes, his fingers would start to caress and massage, his seemingly innocent touches turning into something more—boldly inching higher before pulling away and teasing you for being so cute.
He comes by most days after work and you see him some weekends, making sure to spend the night at each other's places.
Nights are easier now that Issei has you to fall asleep to almost every night, the hard part is keeping his hands to himself—fighting the urge to run his hands over your body and appreciate every dip, bump, and curve to show you just how much he cares. Clad in nothing but your underwear and an oversized shirt, and with you looking so pretty next to him as you sleep, it's no wonder he has a difficult time.
"Hm?" You groggily breathe out.
You’re gently roused to the feel of Issei’s lips plush against the back of your neck, gentle kisses being placed against your skin. The feeling can only be described as soft and slow, but you’re well aware of how much something as simple as this can escalate.
"Stay still for me, sweetheart," he whispers next to your ear.
"What are—ah!" You stop when he clasps his fingers around your throat, pulling your back into his chest.
He takes a lobe between his teeth, nipping and sucking at the tiny bit of skin, while his other hand smooths over your ass, fingers toying with the delicate lace of your underwear.
"Relax for me and I'll take care of you, yeah?" He breathes into your neck, the feathery murmur of his lips against you sends a shudder down your back.
“Mhm,” you eagerly nod, relaxing your body against his touch.
His grip on your throat is tame, but you know just how hard those hands can squeeze if you needed to be put into place.
“I really like these,” it comes out breathy as he continues to play with the thin material, and he punctuates the last word by sharply pulling your underwear down, losing them somewhere underneath the thick sheets.
A large rough hand traces up the back of your thigh, calloused palms leaving warm tingles along your skin as he goes, and he takes a handful of your ass, slowly squeezing and kneading as he pleases. He presses his face into the junction of your neck and inhales deeply before his lips start to gently suck, your soft and pretty whimpers of bliss encouraging him to give you more.
His hand moves closer to your already slick folds, and you’re arching yourself back, aching for his touch. He knows how needy you get once he gets everything started, so how can he deny you? He hooks his hand underneath your knee, bringing your leg back over his hip, spreading you apart.
That same hand slides underneath the loose shirt you're wearing, calluses tickling up your front until there's a firm grope at your tit—perk nipples hardening under his generous touch. His hands are restless, making sure to cover every inch of your skin, his own need thick and evident in each squeeze and caress.
His hand comes back to where you need it most, two fingers slide through your cunt, his grip on your neck tightening as he does. "Issei," you moan as your lips part, your breathing turning into tiny pants.
He continues to tease through your folds, gathering your arousal and messily spreading it over your cunt and all over his fingers. "So wet," he breathes a deep purr before pressing a long kiss to your temple.
Those two fingers are pressing against your entrance, slowly pushing inside. You're immediately pulling him in, slick walls easily accommodating the welcome intrusion.
The pace starts off quick and he’s soon going faster and harder, the sound of his palm repeatedly slapping your ass as he fingers you, rocking your body as he prods exactly where you need it.
"Ah! Issei, fuck!" He rips a pleasured scream from your lungs, your own shaky hands shooting up and grabbing the forearm of the hand that's wrapped around your neck, nails digging into his skin as you hold on.
He’s pushing and stroking in places that he knows will ignite that toe-curling orgasm, while the repeated aching throb from your cunt squeezes around his thick fingers with each expert flick of his wrist. He knows your body too well at this point, never once did he ever disappoint and leave you unsatisfied—unless you've given him reason to, but tonight is all about you.
“Such a pretty voice,” he coos, adoring the way you turn into such a pliant little mess whenever you're under his heavy touch. He smirks into your neck, "Let's hear it, sweetheart," he encourages with laid-back confidence.
You can feel it, the soft pressure starting to pool the more he stuffs you full, and there's no way he's stopping until it overflows. "Cum."
You're right on time, the hold on your throat loosens, a dizzying rush and mind-blanking release ensuing. Your body writhes, straining against the iron grasp he has on your body, but he doesn't let you go. He hugs you closer and continues to push against your convulsing walls, your slick spilling and flooding his hand.
Every orgasm he pulls from you feels like the rest of your energy is being drawn out alongside it. You're tired, but you know he isn't finished with you yet.
"Beautiful, as always." He pulls out and brings his hand up, tapping the stickiness of his fingers against your lips, "Open up."
The rhythmic tap stirs you and you mindlessly comply, taking in his digits, while you hungrily suck and lap at your arousal. "Fuck," he groans, his cock throbbing against the curve of your ass. "I'll give your pretty little pussy a break for tonight, use your mouth instead."
The size of his cock alone usually has you walking with a slight limp for days, the delicious burn always there no matter how many times he fucks you.
Slowly, you push yourself down, hands trailing his torso as you do, and your mouth watering from the sheer thought of soon having your lips wrapped around his girthy cock.
Light fingers trace up his hardened length before softly grasping him with both hands. “Hmm,” you hum sweetly, cheek pressing against his thigh, admiring his cock and wondering how you were able to fit him into you all those times. “So big.”
He laughs, a swell of pride booming from his chest. “I’m not finished with you, come straddle my face.” He caresses your cheek, smoothing hair out of the way.
Once you settle yourself, his arms hug around the lower dip of your back, locking you into place. Without hesitation, he’s lapping at your slick folds, face pressing tightly against the swell of your cunt and ass. He’s slow, but his tongue is deliberate and heavy—the position of your bodies obscene.
You’re gasping, rutting yourself down onto his face, slippery wetness seeping out the corners of his mouth. There’s hot breaths of your pleasure fanning over his cock, while he achingly throbs against your touch, beckoning you to take him in.
A fat bead of precum adorns his tip, your quick tongue impatiently licking it off with a precise flick. The tiny motion elicits a deep moan from Issei, lips vibrating against your cunt; he smothers more of his mouth and tongue into you. You let out a mewl, the rest of your sweet noises lost onto his cock as you begin to take him in.
Tears prick the corners of tightly shut lids and you try to suppress the urge to gag, but that’s impossible—he’s much too large. Your throat constricts each time more of his cock is shoved further into your mouth and he shows his satisfaction by stuffing more of his face into your slick folds, settling on harshly sucking on your engorged clit.
Your mind stutters, roughly pulling his cock out of your mouth, “Too much, too much!” You seethe and rest your wet cheek onto his thigh, trying to control your breathing from the overwhelming stimulation.
He hisses, lips come off your clit with an audible plop. Your hand continues to sloppily stroke his length, your thumb brushing over the thick veins.
He palms each of his hands onto your ass and spreads you apart. “How messy. You like this, just look at you.” His right hand comes up and he lands a slap onto your ass—hard and heavy. “Keep going, sweetheart.”
You yelp at the impact. The sharp sting threatens tears to spill, but he smooths over the abused flesh lovingly—a soothing hush to the pain. Once again, you take his cock into your mouth, your hand stroking what your mouth can’t accommodate.
“That’s it, good fucking girl,” he grits between clenched teeth, fighting his hips from thrusting into your poor mouth because he knows that would end you. Instead, he opts to bury his face back into your sweet folds, fucking you with is tongue and getting drunk off your muffled moans.
His cock twitches with every wet stroke and he's closer to release with every tight-lipped drag along his length. He moans, deep and feral; he breathes, laboured and harsh—all of this being felt straight onto your quivering holes, while your slick drips over his face.
Your hips sway in tune with his tongue, a perfect dance made just for you, and the song you produce only for him. A tight swirl over your clit, has you screaming—or whatever noise you manage to make with his thick cock down your throat. The shrill feel has him emptying his cum into your mouth with a groan, the warm fluid spilling seeping out of your lips and dripping over his balls and thighs. Through your orgasm, Issei moulds his face in between your legs while his hands grip onto your ass, feeling your body convulse.
He waits for your body to relax, “C’mere sweetheart, you did well.”
Shakily, you crawl back to him, your legs feel heavy with each drag of your knees against the sheets. He pushes you hard because he knows you can take it, but you know he never goes too far. Collapsing onto his chest, you sigh with content.
Right now in your own little world, the opinions or judgment of others don’t seem to be as big or as loud. This love feels wild, yet reassuring; it feels like home, but also everywhere at once—it feels right and that’s all you both can ever ask for.
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if you enjoyed, a like or reblog is always welcome !
tagging: @suedebunn​
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homo-sex-shoe-whale · 4 months ago
I hate it when people are like "Aww man you don't need those meds! Your brain is perfect the way it is!" Like... listen. The last time I was off my meds I had a manic episode and started having visions of my death which I became convinced were real. I need you to understand I didn't get prescribed medication because it's trendy- it is literally for my own safety. I have strong myopia too and I don't think you'd want me to go driving without my glasses either
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ollovae3 · 2 months ago
It’d be fucked up if Boba met and old and dying clone who mistakes him for one of his younger brothers. Good thing Star Wars is a light hearted adventure 🙂
I love that so much because I know Boba would be HEARTBROKEN that he's so easily able to be seen as said vod?? But also I kinda think he might like,,, silently sit there as the trooper rambles in his last moments, maybe, just maybe... The trooper says "I'm tired, but.. I don't wanna leave you alone.."
And Boba tries not to cry, (he hasn't cried in years, why is he crying now?) as he speaks to his buir, past the face of the vod. "I'll be okay. Sleep."
I don't know if he'd leave the burial to whatever friends and family the trooper had, or if he'd build a pyre himself, but I think he'd make sure his vod is sent off, free.
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razberrypuck · 8 months ago
Wilbur's last words being him begging to be killed vs Ghostbur's last words being him scream-crying about not wanting to die,,,,,
A man who fell into his paranoia and insecurities and grew to hate living as a result vs a ghost who fell in love with life despite not being able to experience it like he used to,,,,,
I am in Immense Pain
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mesmir-ized · 5 months ago
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the sweet kiss of death
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