[skullfur]

Be so indulged in a smut fic til the author slips in the word “daddy”.

[skullfur]

Fanfics will update 20 times a week when they’re just sitting in your library but the second you decide to read it the author puts it on hiatus…

[skullfur]

When you’re forced to read a ff about a different character from a series because the character you wanna read about has no fics to their name.

[tearsoftae]

I want him so fucking bad you don’t understand.

I want him to lift me up and carry me around, I want him to kiss me, I want him to lean into every bit of my touch, he’ll probably even laugh when I touch his biceps. He wants me. He needs me to breathe. He wants to always protect me. He likes when I touch him, when I tell him he’s good at everything he does (except cooking), how perfect he is. He’s so perfect.

I want Cole Brookstone. Give it to me. Make more fics of him. Friends to lovers? Yes. Smut? Yes. Fluff? FUCK ME WITH IT. Needy Cole? YES??? art of him? Shirtless? Naked, even? YES.

give me the fucking formula.. GIVE ME IT NOW!!!

[skullfur]

One thing I’ve always hated is where you search up a tag for an underrated character and think you’ve found a really good fic only to realize the author tags the entire cast.

[ang3l-fawn]

neteyam, lo'ak, and the children of avatar: fiction DOES affect reality

i made a post the other day (it's right below this one) about how if you're gonna write smut about minors you can't also be shit at writing, of course my stance being that you shouldn't write smut about minors period.

but then a comment was left (this commenter has been blocked) stating that neteyam and lo'ak are fictional and not alive. thank you captain obvious. then it continued in the replies saying "being able to distinguish fiction from reality is the sign of a mentally healthy person".

let's all get medieval for a second and bring back shaming in the town square. because i don't care. some people need to be shamed.

fiction absolutely affects reality. your moral compass (hopefully) doesn't stop the second you open up wattpad or watch a new movie or play a video game.

because i'm a straight women, i mainly venture into male character/female reader fanfics and drabbles. and i've noticed something.

some fanfic writers are a little too comfortable sexualizing teenage boys. i'm mainly focusing here on neteyam, lo'ak, aonung, rotxo, etc but this happens across all fandoms.

let's remind ourselves of their ages.

neteyam and aonung are 15, lo'ak is 14, and rotxo is 13. these are babies, children. if they were real children they'd be between 7th and 9th grade. obviously, if you are the same age as these characters you may view this a bit differently than i do, but being 19, it's a lot easier for me to see just how young kids these ages look.

and i began to think about how normalized it is to sexualize teenage boys. disclaimer: this is not me downplaying sexualization of teen girls compared to teen boys and vice versa. this is just observation and analysis.

in today's social climate, sexualization of teen girls has become a prominent topic of conversation. nowadays we're much quicker to call our predatory behavior among men (or adults in general) when it comes to adolescent girls. unfortunately, though, this is not the case for boys.

this system is perpetuated and upheld by mostly men. when young boys are raped by women, adult men often claim that they probably liked it, and praise these young boys for getting action, when in reality it's rape.

telling a young boy he probably enjoyed getting raped by a woman exists in the same field as asking a woman what she was wearing when she was raped by a man.

and men are often quick to make fun of young boys when they're raped by other men. because it's "gay" (sorry, there's no way to dance around that language).

rape culture and pedophilia is upheld by men in real life society. but it's not a stretch to say that cis, straight, white men are the smallest demographic to consume fanfiction within fandom space (if any do at all). fanfiction is basically the romance genre of general fiction, very few men (cis, staight) engage in writing, or reading it.

so as consumers of fanfiction, it's our job to not perpetuate and normalize the same kind of rape culture and pedophilia in fandom that men do in the real world.

men and women take in mature/pornographic content in two different forms. men often watch, women read. i'll focus on men (and only fictional mediums) for right now.

when a man has sexual attraction to kids (fancy way of saying pedophile), he seeks out lolicon hentai, AKA fictional depictions of little girls in sexual encounters. but hey, it's fictional, so it's not a problem right? wrong! because this man is seeking out lolicon hentai because he doesn't have access to the real thing.

here's the stipulation. the young girls depicted in that medium are either not yet in or just entering the double digits in age.

so at what age does it become "okay" to depict a minor sexually? the correct answer is never. but the line often gets blurred for characters aged 13-17.

in real life, we'd cringe at a man for catcalling a teenage girl on the street, we'd shame older women for claiming a teenage boy in a reality TV show is "sexy", so why is it suddenly different when the characters are fictional?

this commenter also replied to me saying "so should we convict james cameron for killing a teenager".

we are SO close to getting the point but it's going right over our heads.

james' writing neteyam to die during the war is ALSO reflective of real life. countless young boys have been sent off to fight in wars before they turned 18, and many other children died as citizens during wartimes. because all life taken in war is pointless. this was depicted in neteyam's death.

so no, james did not kill a teenager, but he did write a realistic storyline that is reflective of the world we live in. it'd be another thing if you sought out videos of children being killed for enjoyment. that's a problem. just like seeking out sexual content of underage characters is a problem. because writing porn of preexisting characters for fun is not the same as writing a sci-fi book or a movie script

let's also talk about "aging up". when does it become problematic to "age up" a character? i'll give you a list and you tell me when:

1. to discuss what they might be like as adults

2. to share married life/parent life headcanons

3. to make porn about them

we all picked 3, right? i hope so. aging up a character so you can write about them sexually follows the same logic as a man lusting after a 16 year old girl but waiting until she's freshly 18 to come at her sexually. you're only making them older so you don't feel bad about writing porn of a minor.

tldr: when a smut reader or writer says "fiction doesn't affect reality", that's secret creeper talk for "i want to fuck underage teens but don't have access to them, so i use fictional characters to satisfy the need".

your consumption of media is directly reflective of your morals.

would a leftist binge watch charlie kirk debates? would an environmental activist use chatGPT to cheat on their homework?

you do not need to read smut of neteyam, lo'ak, aonung, and rotxo. fiction-fuck jake, tonowari and quaritch like the rest of us.

[skullfur]

Yesss, the smut writing has to stop!

[bakugosarmpithair]

⚠️⚠️⚠️GUYS⚠️⚠️⚠️

i need good bakugo x reader wattpad fanfics😭😭

like some that are at 50 chapters and have good plot and good amount of romance AND ARE NOT I REPEAT ARE NOT SLOWBURN ⚠️⚠️⚠️

i just hate slow burn cuz they always confess in the last chapter

[furinlvr]

𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚.

PAIRING: yosuke hanamura x fem! reader

SUMMARY: the city is wholeheartedly a part of him — the business, the crowds, the expensive cafes — that's everything he knew about himself, but meeting a girl hailing from the province may change everything about it, and leave him wanting for more.

WARNINGS AND TAGS: stupid, stupid shoujo elements inspired from shoujo mangas, this fic was born because i was playing a social link where he mentioned that he was still waiting calls from his friends and i was like "hmmm, what if this gay man had a kinda lover" and here we are, also born from the fact that i miss and want to live in the cities so bad, underage drinking mentioned (nothing too graphic)

WORD COUNT: 7k

( divider by @cafekitsune ! )

Within a sprightly afternoon, a round orange ball kisses his face. The strength of it throws him unto the wooden ground and the last sight Yosuke saw is you covering your face as your meticulous throw had warranted him a visit to the school's clinic because one, his nose was bleeding, and two, he started balancing himself like a clown after he had withstand the assault. Along with the confusion is a ferocious embarrassment worming down his skin as his group of friends were still laughing at him after he was able to come back to the gym. He had to sit beside their subject teacher and begrudgingly watch them have their fun until they were all dismissed to go home.

"You alright, Hanamura?" Sato walks towards him, bag already in hand as he swings it behind his back. Aiko was following him — prim and pretty with her thick leg warmers. "Man, your friend did a number on our guy right here."

"Geez," Yosuke gets up from his seat. He places his gaze on you, the culprit of his unfortunate situation. Your hair's worn tightly into a ponytail but it kept blocking your face either way, dutifully picking up the numerous amount of balls on the reflective gym floor. Where's the other students on cleaning duty? "What's her name— uhm, hmm."

"She's always been clumsy," Aiko laughs. "Doesn't matter, though. Let's go."

"Wait," Sato interrupted. He covers his forehead with his palm. A disgruntled look on his face. "I can't go yet. I'm on cleaning duty."

"I'm sure the homeroom teacher won't notice," Aiko rolls her eyes. She catches Yosuke's gaze as he pretended to laugh along with her. "Right? Let's just go."

"Dude, last time someone skipped, she deducted ten points from their mid-term exam!"

"'Cause she caught him!"

He looks around the almost empty gym, looking for students who were gracious enough to not skip their afterschool task, only to be disappointed to see that none of them felt guilty on throwing away all the work on a simple girl. If this was Junes, his father would've been scolding him by now. Then again, the task wasn't exactly that hard to do, and if he can earn points from his friends then why not do it himself?

"I can just fill in for you, dude," Yosuke suggested. His friend didn't even hesitate on accepting that offer. Sato beamed at him, taps his shoulder twice, and leaves the gym with Aiko in joy. Yosuke was sure that the assigned students in cleaning duty were at least five. Instead, it was only the two of you. Great stuff.

You were now counting the amount of balls within the storage metal rack, delicate brows furrowed as you made sure none were missing. A minimal task to avoid the ire of their subject teacher. He stands beside you with his arms crossed. "That hurt, you know."

Your shoulders jumped in surprise. Subtly, a contained tremor, and the rest of the panic swirls within your stomach. He'd then surmised that you're probably not an expressive person. "Huh?"

"Don't tell me you forgot already? The ball, from earlier, which hit my face by the way." He then points at the metal container. The sea of orange balls rightly placed together were a pleasant sight to see as a sports lover. "Is there any missing?"

"Ah. I think it's all in there."

"Alright, then. We gotta sweep this floors clean. You've seen the brooms?"

You point at the gym's utility room, beside the grand stage where the announcements were held. You follow him on his way there, grabbing a pair of worn rags being used since the 70s and a windshield fluid, while he on the other hand grabs the what seems to be a freshly bought broom. You did your work silently, which wasn't his forte, so doing what he did best, he crafted a conversation.

"So, you got the cleaning duty this time?"

It took you a while to realize he was talking to you. "Uh, yeah. I was assigned along with Sato and the others."

"They all ditched? Poor you."

"I don't mind it," You appear to be on the mature side. He realized that most would take what he said in poor taste. If that was him left alone to clean the gym, he would be pissy all evening at his house's dinner table. "Sorry about the ball earlier."

Yosuke sighed as he cleaned the floor. A bit lazily, in fact. "It's okay."

"Did it hurt? Like badly?"

"Nah, more like a dizzy feeling."

"Your nose was bleeding, too."

"I'm used to it," He laughs it off. He was the type of guy to always clash against a pole with his bike. He had been taking train rides since he recently destroyed his latest one. "Always been a clumsy guy."

He guesses that's one thing he had in common with you.

"Yeah," You were running out of things to say. You dutifully scrubbed the grime on the window, waving around your arms as if saying hello. "Sorry again."

"Said it's okay, dude."

The definitely-not-legal champagne spritz out of its fancy bottle, sloshing over the asymmetrical line of glasses — most of them being mugs stolen from the kitchen cupboard. Yosuke stands off in the side, his arms crossed, as most of the teens clamored to get a glass. Like zombies trying to climb a border.

Once the crowd had thinned out, Yosuke grabs a glass and took a sip of the champagne. There was barely any alcohol content in it that even if he drank an entire two bottles, he would still be able to attend a shift at work coherently. He sat on the luxurious couch and made small talk to a group of people lounging in the condo's living room. After a while, mixed with the champagne in hand, he had enough of trying to connect and decided that being alone for a little while would be better than ending up having to puke from too much headache from socializing.

He pulls the sliding door sideways and spots you on the balcony, back hunched and thighs pressed to your chest, looking over the twinkling lights of the far-reaching buildings. You were completely alone. It made sense. You looked like the type of person to seek loneliness rather than avoid it. If that were the case, why did you even bother to attend the party?

So, he decided to ask that, sitting on the ground beside you as he makes himself known. He places the empty glass behind a pot of flowers. "Didn't notice you earlier there. What's up?"

You seem much calmer this time, probably expecting that someone had found you by now, as you smile at him with recognition twinkling in your gaze. "Oh, it's you."

As if suddenly conscious, you fixed your sitting position in a cross-legged one, leaning your back against the white, concrete walls of the apartment. The modern tiles beneath were cold, leaves from all sorts of plants within the balcony flapped along the wind, and without the metal fence caging the two of you in, the sight would've been immensely scary.

"Aiko told me about it earlier and insisted I should come." You patiently told him your story.

"Really? Then why you're here and not, you know, there?"

"I quite like the view here, actually," Your voice pitches up higher. You stood up from sitting and rested your arms against the railing, observing the passing cars by the road beneath. "I came from the province, somewhere far away, but I've always liked it here better in the cities."

"Well, can't beat that. There's everything to do here. I can't choose where to go during afterschool sometimes."

"Yeah," You laugh. "But even then, I'm contented even if I just gaze at the buildings from afar."

"Taking it all in?"

"Taking it all in. I can't believe that I'm here."

"Cool."

Bustling cars passed by like a train honking on a railway — large ones, small ones, accompanied by the people walking by the sideways, all tired and busy from daily life. There was a certain power in watching life unfold beneath them, as if higher beings watching life works under a system, alienating and powerful at the same time. Yosuke stands up from his seat after a hefty number of minutes. "I'm going back now. You sure you don't wanna join and hang out?"

You shook your head. "I'm fine here."

"Really?"

"It's a great view," You smile. "There's nothing like it."

But there is everything like it, Yosuke sees the sight of bustling cities everywhere, from the tallest buildings twinkling with lights or the clean smell of a twenty-four-hour convenience store, the towering stairs and constricted alleyways. Solemn people with stories to tell and not enough time to remember it — from the crowded trains, full seats in buses, and worn hands busily typing in their offices.

He chose to mind his own business. "I guess."

Your smile brightened, facing the streets again with your hands even further on the railing. Nothing but the light of the lamp post reflecting against your features.

You love to listen to music.

Everywhere he saw you — mostly school and classrooms, even the train station he takes in order to go to school and home, there's a white wired earphones inserted to your ears. He watches you choose songs from your portable media player in utmost seriousness, clicking on the buttons, and then facing the windows as you listen towards whatever song you've chosen. You nod your head slightly, matching it to the rhythm, as the scenery of the buildings flew past the windows. It felt like a movie almost.

One day in class, he walks towards you and asks what music you were listening to.

"Oh, it's mostly Western music. 90's songs and whatnot. But that kind of sounds pretentious so I often listen to popular songs whenever I want a beat to dance to."

"Dance to?" He asks incredulously. "You dance?"

You laugh at that. "I meant figuratively."

He slowly starts to sit at the mostly empty seat beside you — your seatmate being a typical city delinquent who cannot be bothered to attend class, forcefully assigned to seat beside you because you're one of the 'quiet' ones. You were always welcoming to him, and your words never fell short unlike others, lengthy words were met with lengthy replies. He liked the fact that your ears were always open, that you actually want to listen to what's he's saying, that your replies are thoughtfully thought out instead of just being means of socializing and small talk.

Musics, movies, new gadgets, the city. The two of you talked about it, until it became steadily known that the seat beside you is 'Yosuke's seat', not like anyone attempted to claim it anyway but a seat on the last row of the classroom is always appreciated. You smiled when Yosuke mentioned it to you once. "The view's nice here. You can even see the Tokyo tower!"

He gets to know you better. He liked it about you, how you went in-depth instead of sparing semblance of details just to get the question off, made him want to be more genuine and good. You tell him where you came from — a desolate province with only rice fields and some small shops as a tourist spot. It wasn't as hidden as the other provinces, you had malls and shops to visit, but there wasn't as much things to do or things to get there compared to the city. It made you feel alive to see the business, the anonymity, the scarcity of people who already knew what you are. You got nothing but a fresh start, parents who had moved for a better business opportunity, and new memories to experience.

"You and Aiko were childhood friends?!" He questions in surprise. "I don't remember Aiko saying anything about leaving the province. She always got that city girl vibe, you know."

You nod. "She's actually surprised to see me here. I get it, though. Who wants to see people who knew you from childhood all the way to the city?"

"Was she happy to see you?"

You still from that question. After pondering for a while, you answer. "She's calm."

"Calm?"

"Said 'Oh, it's you', then went back to her table. She was kind enough to show me the ropes — the cheapest spots for food, the directions of the school so I won't get lost, which teachers to avoid angering to. Even invited me to known hangouts sometimes. I'm grateful."

"I guess you two weren't that close even back then?"

"I don't know. Everyone knew each other in the province. I guess it's a daunting thing to learn that you don't have to pretend to want to know everything about everyone. It's not like you have to appease an old, curious grandma anymore."

"…That makes sense. I won't know how to deal with it if everyone's up to my business. I mean, I already got some students begging me to get hired for a part-time job for Junes. Dude! I'm not the one deciding who gets hired!"

You giggle. "I like getting to know you, though."

That shut him up.

"Man," He says, stirring his gaze away from yours. "Sometimes you're too blunt."

Afterschool, he sits beside you inside the train when an empty spot is available, plopping against the plastic seat. Even with the crowd, the train was silent, most of the passengers being middle-aged people exhausted from work. He was getting a bit bored without stimulation, until you put off a side of your earphone and offered it to him, a low music bursting out of it.

He wears it on his right ear. It was playing an English language he didn't understand, but the bass is smooth and the melody was kind of catchy, even when it was calmer than most music played in Junes. He nods. "Sounds nice."

You laughed and told the band's name to him. He didn't quite catch it but it was a warm feeling nonetheless. The two of you listened to the same song, each earpiece tucked to each other's ear, arms touching as the train rustled and the sun slept. The train was nearing his station and he solemnly wish he can stay in this moment forever.

It was you who first suggested for Yosuke to finally buy his own headphones.

"You seem to like music that much," You follow him as he leads you to Junes' gadget sections. Brand new headphones are lined up among the shelves, while the wired earbuds were contained in a much more smaller one. You point at a headphone with bright orange color in the middle, while the rest are outlined black. He reads the name. ATH-FC700A. "That looks nice. Fits you."

"Hey! This is my money we're spending on! I get to choose!"

He walks around the stall and carefully planned which headphone to choose. When he picked up the headphones you suggested anyway, he had to hide his blush as you giggled. The both of you walked to the buying station, the cashier giving Yosuke a nod as he places the headphones on the white counter.

You tilt your head. "No discount?"

"Hell no," Yosuke grimaces. "I'd get a scolding if I ever do that."

"But you work here, right?"

The cashier stashes the money and returns the change. A few measly coins. He sighs at the sight. "As a slave. I do get salary but it might as well be allowances."

"Oh," You utter. He grabs the paper bag with the headphones stashed inside. "No worker's discount?"

"Nope."

"Aww," You whine in fake sympathy. "That sucks."

The crisp air conditioner of the department store freezes them like meat in a freezer, in-between an ice cream shop and a store that sells bags is when Yosuke decided to try out his brand new headphones. You stopped him, ice cream in hand as you pointed at a nearby empty bench, right between two fake coconut trees like a parody of a Hawaiian beach. The two of you decided to sit there as he borrows your portable media player and inserts the jack of his headphone.

He wears it, clicks the button, and immerses himself to the music. Some popular, familiar title he liked listening from the mall's speakers while working — probably some idol group. He subtly nods his head to the beat.

"How is it?"

"It has music," He replied.

"No, like how's the sound? Is the bass good?"

"Oh, like how loud it is?"

"Probably yeah."

"It's good," He nods, tone lifting in the end. He lifts the headphones from his head and fits it around your ears. The orange clashes brightly with your hair while it molds into his due to his light brown ones. "How about it?"

You smile, teeth showing, after listening for awhile. "Better than mine for sure."

He tucks the headphones back into the paper bag. A stillness occurs as the two of you observed the lively mall — a mom trying to console her crying child in-front of a chocolate store, couples shopping for a new suit and blouse, a group of friends walking around for a restaurant to eat at. The silence was eventually broken by your giggle. "I like how you're asking me like I actually know anything about music."

"You don't? I see you with earbuds everyday."

"It's cheap earbuds."

"You know a lot of bands."

"They're popular bands."

"Geez," Yosuke huffs, arms crossed. "I guess I'm a newbie then."

"Hold still!"

"Not when you're so close!"

The plastic gloves you're wearing crinkles against the hair brush, dyed with a lighter brown color, holding it away from your face. The cramped bathroom was meant for one person only — a stained sink beside the small toilet and a narrow shower area with a tiny window placed on the upper wall. His head was tucked beneath the faucet, only being able to see a semblance of your figure with the help of a quick glance on the lightly cracked mirror. "I didn't peg for you to be so shy. You're always talkative."

"Dude! I'm not!" He hid his face further. "I'll hold still, okay! Just put the dye in already."

"Sure, sure."

You lightly placed the brush on a split layer of his hair and applied it, starting from the root and down to the ends. He shiver on the sensation, slowly feeling the prickles of pain radiating in his scalp, but the gentleness of it all is almost relaxing that he could fall asleep.

"How long since you've last dyed your hair anyway?" You move on to the left side, carefully painting the dye on his hair layer by layer, with the same careful movement. He could hear your plastic gloves rumble. Thank god he was a guy or this session would've been so much longer. He doesn't know how women in salons could do it. "I can see your roots."

"Like months ago? Three, six, maybe seven…"

"And the teachers never bothered to scold you for this?"

He lets out a wheeze. Bad idea. He could practically inhale the chemical from the dye. "Our school's not that strict. Mrs. Satonaka saw my hair colored last year and all she did is give me a shrug."

You grabbed a plastic shower cap and used it as a cover for his freshly dyed hair as it slowly melts through his follicles. He washes some of the extra dye placed on his forehead with water from the sink. It was soothing, calming the slowly growing sting — humans were never really meant to have bright hairs. The sun rays from the upper, small window splashes through, serving as their source of light with the light bulb closed. Again, he supposes, like a scene from a movie.

A confused deer in the middle of the forest, that's what you looked like as you stood there in the center of his small room, where it might as well be a country house's attic due to how small it was. Tokyo's rent isn't cheap, a bigger place meant bigger debts, and besides, the apartment his parents bought is everything they needed. He pats the mattress twice, motioning you to sit on it. You were too shy and conscious to obey him, making the decision to sit on the floor instead, arms hugging your legs. A funny show plays about contenders doing weird tasks, before he decided he didn't really want to watch that and walked towards the DVD section to put in an action movie he borrowed recently.

His hand stills, vividly becoming aware that he has a girl within his room, so he grabbed a movie that is the closest to the romance genre and inserted it to the DVD player. He sat beside you on the floor, crossing his legs while making sure that his drying hair won't stain on his bed, as the movie starts and the intro introduces them to the plot.

"What movie is that?"

"Some romance movie," He shrugged. "Guess we will know."

He places his arms behind him, supporting his body. His shoulder touches yours. Neither of you moves away.

"I can smell the hair dye off of your head."

"No shit. It's still drying."

From then on, you became a visitor in his room. You watched shows, the both of you sitting in the floor, watching any cheesy films or action movies — the latter being suggested by him. You even took the action to rent movies from a film store. He accompanies you after the train ride in returning them. You slowly got used to shopping around the city, becoming used to the amount of people walking around the streets, impressed at how convenient everything was.

"The Titanic?" He drawls out as you show the movie's case to him. "Isn't that, I don't know, sad?"

"What? You've never watched it?"

"Never planned to."

"Then we're going to watch it tonight."

Straight from the mall, you're with him as Yosuke opens the door to his house. The two of you were greeted by his mom busily cooking for dinner, and he took the time to grab a bowl and stash food from the fridge before taking the stairs up to his room. He opens the case, inserts the disk, and sits besides you as the intro plays.

The movie was great, but one can't really determine the quality of the film when his mind was elsewhere. He thinks about it, deeper than he ever did, over how the two of you were such close friends, you were closer to him than any other people he met in the city, you stay in his room from almost every day just to watch movies with him. Even people began whispering. His mother smiling at him once in the middle of dinner, asking him 'when's your friend coming again?'

It hurts to admit, but he waits for it, for you to truly see him, get uncomfortable, and leave. But you simply give him a shy smile when you've heard the girls that passed by whispering 'I bet those two are dating now. They're practically glued together.' You had a strange look in your face that day, as if waiting for him to stand up and leave, and you were glad that he didn't. He was glad that you didn't either.

An hour into the movie, you placed your hand beside you to ground yourself, and he places his on top of it. You still, stopped breathing practically, but you didn't move away.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your hand is warm. Delicate, but roughened by times. Your skin was much softer beside him, probably all the womanly lotion you've spread on top of it, and he can't believe that he's in this situation right now. He shifts around. You looked at him and smiled. He wants to kiss you right now.

Time passes by and the movie was nearing the end now. Rose is on top of a floating, wooden board while Jack was freezing in the sea filled with dying corpses. Yosuke wonders if they could have just fitted the two of them on top of it, but he surmised that the movie wouldn't be as popular now if that was the case. The tragedy of it all is what makes it so popular. Your features were as placid as him, but he can see it in your eyes how touched you are that Jack was willing to freeze to death just to save Rose. He'd thought maybe he could do the same for you.

Stupid thought. He's nothing but a teenager.

When the movie finished, he took the disk out and shut the TV off. Sitting beside you, it took him a while to say it, gathering his courage. It was like a black hole is deep into his stomach, reducing him to numbness, quaked by anxiety and the sweat forming in his hand. He had never been this scared. Is his hands shaking?

He turned to you. "I think…I—"

Shit, now he ruined it.

You return his gaze, lips shining into a sparkly pink, a tiny sheen on top of it. How's that possible? It purses as you wait for him to finish his sentence.

"Can I kiss you?"

Shit. He said it. He said it and you're gonna leave. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid—

You slowly nod. You're biting your lips now and you seem to hug your legs tighter. When you gaze deeper into his eyes, he can see the blush adorning your cheeks.

He moves swiftly, grabbing your arms to pull you closer as he places his lips on top of you. He moves it softly, unsure and nervous, and you kiss him back. Your lips tasted like freshly picked cherries, a heightened sugar rush that fuels his heart to beat faster to the point of heart attack. It's soft. You're so soft.

You giggle as he moves away. Breathless. You lean towards him this time and kissed him again. Deeper. Affectionate. Hopeful.

He didn't what the two of you are called, but he liked seeing you with him. He likes your secretive smile as he entangles your hands with his beneath the cafeteria table. He likes the way you stir your eyes away, blushing heavily when Sato had teased him that 'he had caught a girlfriend' this time. He likes the way you offer your earbuds when he pretends to have left his headphones at home, listening silently to the beating of his heart and the music playing in his ear. You always knew the right songs to play.

He likes you. Heavily. His heart could burst. He wishes it never end. He doesn't want it to end—

"By the end of this week, I want you to pack your things," His father speaks amidst the darkness of his tiny, cramped room. Yosuke listened miserably, exhausted on top of his bed after a grueling shift. "We're going to move to Inaba."

Even when his body screamed for rest, the news made him rise from his bed. "So suddenly?"

"I got hired to manage a new department store being built there some time last year."

"And you haven't told me?"

His father sighs. "Talk to your teachers tomorrow. We'll need to transfer you to a local high school there."

"You can't be serious. I just made friends."

"Son, we can't leave you here. This is a big move for us."

Yosuke wanted to scream, to talk back to his father figure, to the authority that he had respected since he was a child. He wanted to say 'I can't leave. Someone wants me to be here', but his throat remains closed and his heart remained afraid. His father places his hand on the door's handle. "Only bring important things with you. We don't have much space."

The sight of your face comes to mind.

Before he leaves, his father speaks one last time. "Sorry, son."

The door shuts close. Just him and the darkness remains, and the few specks of light from the city lights outside. Yosuke thinks he'll miss this view.

He doesn't want to tell you. He tries to enjoy his time. Holds your hand tighter, tries to memorize the sight of your eyes after a kiss, tries to hold on. Your 'dates' after school got longer, almost like he didn't want to go home and just stay by your side, hands yanking your arms as he tries to show you more spots that he knows of. His arms much closer to yours in classrooms. Just you, you, and you. He holds on to it. Tightly.

He can't find it in himself to tell you. He wants to curse himself for it.

So, he sets up a date. One last time. The day before he leaves. A nice, pleasant amusement park where you could buy any food you want while the two of you plan which rides to try. He had bought the tickets after school, lying to you that he has to go early for work just to be able to buy it without suspicion, then he surprised you later on when he gave it to you with a bouquet.

You really liked it. So much that you gave him a kiss twice.

He'll tell you after this, right when he walks you home. You deserve that much.

But of course, fate is always working against him, and by the time he was waiting for you by the school gates, Sato and his friends had practically kidnapped him to go to a club that his relatives owned. He was overwhelmed by the amount of small talk at first, until Sato playfully dragged him all the way inside his car along with the other guys, and before he could complain, the car already drifted off.

"Mind dropping me off?" Yosuke is stressed. He could imagine the frown in your face by now. Besides, the ticket was expensive. "I got plans today."

"Come on! You could do that after the club."

"Provided that we don't reach until night." Haru, one their classmate, had said.

They laughed collectively as a tight-knit group and Yosuke laughed along with them. His was tense. "Come on. I'll go with you sometime. I'm not going to skip."

He won't. He's leaving soon. He forgot the part that he told that to Sato offhandedly during a basketball game.

"Are you playing with me right now, dude? You told me you're leaving for the countryside tomorrow."

"Maybe that's why he got plans," Aiko says, sitting beside Sato on the front part of the car. He should've expected her presence here. She's practically Sato's girlfriend by now. Her voice is sultry as she teased. "A little farewell date."

"Just an hour or so, Yosuke." Sato turns to him from the wheel. "Besides, we'll miss you."

No, you don't. He grips his fist. "Just for an hour."

Cheers boomed inside the vehicle. They made it in the club shortly — a large, entertainment building filled with colorful lights that could cause an unsuspecting person an eye strain. Sato, of course, had reserved a private room for the group, being able to get in without reservation nor identifications. Aiko was the only girl in the group. She rested herself against Sato's arms as the staff handed drinks on top of the large table placed in the center of the couches. Great. Underage drinking.

The group shared drinks, ordered food to their heart's content, and talked about whatever topic they could find. Yosuke, on the other hand, remained silent even when they had toasted drinks in his name — titled: 'Yosuke and his departure to the great countryside tomorrow.' He drank that one glass offered to him, but not more after that. He wanted to see you in a right state of mind.

In the midst of the drinking, Yosuke was cursing silently as he repeatedly checked his phone to see if his message had sent, but there is no signal in this shitty place and he worries if you're out there, just waiting for him, in the middle of the cold. "Fuck."

"You know," Aiko interrupted his inane ramblings as she took a sip from her drink. "I feel sorry for you."

"What do you mean?" He didn't mean for it to sound spiteful. Aiko remains unbothered.

"You're heading off to the countryside, right? Good luck. There's nothing to do there except looking at some grass and the goats herded by your nosy neighbor," She laughs mutely, finding her own words funny. "You seem close with her."

He knows who's she's talking about. He doesn't play stupid. "Yeah, she told me you two were childhood friends."

"Friends is stretching it. Her mother and mine are close friends, but mine ended up divorcing her good-for-nothing husband and met a man here in the cities. Of course, he had no money as well but you know who does?" Aiko smirks as she subtly points at Sato with her thumb. "How did she got in here?"

"They had to move for her parent's work," Yosuke answers with a strained feeling in his throat, knowing all too well that his reasons for moving will be the same.

"I see," She swishes her drink in a circular manner. "Shouldn't you be heading to her by now?"

Yosuke checked his watch. It was nearing night time. "Shit, but Sato…"

"Who cares? You're just wasting your time to people who won't call you anyway," She speaks with disdain as if rooted from experience. Yosuke's heart trembles, not because he was hurt, but because she's probably right. "You better go."

Yosuke stands up from his seat, closes his flip phone, and pockets it inside his pants. He walks towards the door with fierce, immovable steps. Sato called him out. He keeps moving. "Yosuke. Dude! Where ya going?"

He didn't respond, instead, rushing to the exit of the club and immediately riding in the nearest taxi he could find. Most days, he would be complaining at the price, but he didn't give a damn as he gives the amount needed to the driver. He sprints towards the front part of the amusement park, around the benches covered with greenery, and stills at the sight. Heavy breathing deep in his heart.

He watches you, tightly holding a paper bag with both of your hands, a red scarf covered around your neck. You're beautiful, even when you're crying, and the realization that it was because of him made guilt overwhelm his body. And you were leaving, leaving him, because you had stayed in the park and waited for him even when the sun and the crowd slowly disappeared. He calls out your name and you face him. Tears in your eyes, twinkling like the way your lips did the first time he kissed you.

"I'm sorry."

"…Let's talk about this tomorrow." But I won't be here tomorrow.

"But I'm—"

"Yosuke, you couldn't even give me a text."

"I'm so sorry," He walks closer to you and tries to hold your hand. You whisk it away. "I—I got forced to come to a club with Sato and his friends. I…I'm sorry. Don't leave."

"Like I said. You could've just said it to me so I wouldn't have waited for you."

"Yeah." Say it. Why couldn't he just say it.

"Besides," You face him again, lifting your chin up to meet his eyes. "They seem more important than me anyway."

That renders him still. Even when his hands were still small, he had sought the refuge of another hand in search of comfort, even when the grip is loose and he had to take even further strides just to catch up — like a kid swinging alone in the middle of the playground 'cause no one wanted to play with him. He had been that kid back then. He is still that kid since.

But this, whatever this is, he didn't want to lose it just for the sake of having friends that barely knew what his favorite color was.

"No. No, they're not."

You avoided his eyes searching for yours, angling your face sideways to wipe your tears away, cheeks hidden by your flowing hair.

"And I — I'm leaving tomorrow. My parents got a new job and we're now moving in some countryside. I-Inaba or something, think that's the name—"

If the betrayal painted on your face earlier wasn't enough, it had multiplied ten times over when he had said the dreaded truth. "And you didn't tell me that, too?"

"I was planning to tell you today. Sorry. This was supposed to be special. Even when it's bittersweet."

His hold on your hand tightens. You pull his hand away. Gently. It felt like you cannot get angry even if you want to. You've always been the kinder one between the two of you. "I can't believe you."

You walk away. His heart shatters.

He returns to his room numb that day. Maybe a little bit drunk. He rest on top of his bed as he repeatedly calls you. You don't answer, but you don't block him either.

The train station feels so lonely when he rode in it, baggage in hand, and dreams left unpolished. He felt nothing but emptiness as he inspects the greenery passing by, wishing it was bustling, tall buildings instead. He tries to call you. You don't answer.

He buys a bike from Junes after getting tired of always walking towards school. He wanted to show it off to someone and remembers you. He calls you. You don't answer.

He made friends. Yu, Chie, Yukiko. People who truly connect with him, all committed together to save the town from the mysterious murders and to be able to capture the culprit — serving justice, for Saki and the other victims. He wants to tell it to you. He calls you. You don't answer.

The sight of the town from the cliff is beautiful. He enjoys the solitude. He calls you. You don't answer.

The fog is strong as ever. He has learned parts of himself that he didn't know existed. He calls you. You don't answer.

"Yosuke on the other hand, seems like the type of guy who will never get a girlfriend in his life!" Chie insults, her voice ringing loud in the mostly-empty room, majority of the students fleeing once the bell rang. Yukiko and Yu is patiently listening in their respective seats, ever the model students. The short-haired girl nudges his arm. "Have you ever got a girl, huh? Anyone left from the big city?"

It should've unnerved him by now. Be the typical Yosuke who yells and insults back, mouth set in a grimace, but for once, his face was placid as he answers. "Actually, yeah."

That surprised everyone. Chie the most. An awkward silence ensues before she decided to break it. Voice higher than usual. "Yosuke? Bagging?! Someone? What kind of girl is she—wait, is she even a girl—"

"Dude, she's a girl," He frowns. "Things…just got messy."

"You seem to be always trying to contact someone on your phone. I thought it was your work at first, but you were always in pain whenever you try to…" Yukiko says. Yosuke lowers his head solemnly. "Uhm, sorry. It seems to be a sensitive topic."

"It's okay," Yosuke tried to lighten his brooding voice. "I hope she's doing well."

He went back to eating his cup noodles. The rest of the members looks at him in a new light.

The case of the disappearance within Inaba closes. The perpetrator, a detective named Adachi Tohru, was successfully sent in jail for causing the deaths of two women within a very unique method. It wasn't fully solved, large blots of information only the Persona users like him knew, but the town was safe once more. Now, it's just the overwhelming amount of fog and mundane dreariness that is left — it was still as boring as he first got here, but Yosuke found that he didn't mind. After all, he had friends to talk to didn't he?

Besides, after he finished studying, he can make it back to the big cities anyway. He can still salvage his grades, he thinks.

"You know about that girl you've mentioned," Yu shrugs his shoulders. The air was cold, yet the two of them stayed back anyway to watch life unfold on this ditzy, little town. "Maybe you should call her again."

He has stopped for a while. He wanted to leave you alone, to heal from him, because you didn't deserve to be constantly bombarded by the very presence you were trying to forget. But maybe, it doesn't hurt to try it, one last time.

He laughs. "Maybe I should."

Yu pats his shoulder twice and leaves. Nanako was calling for his big brother and his friend immediately joins both his cousin and uncle in going home. He was all alone now, so he grabs his flip phone, punched in the numbers, knowing it by heart, and dialed you.

He had memorized the voice of the announcer by now saying 'Sorry, the recipient rejected your call.' or 'Sorry, they had missed your call.' Some days you reject it, some days you wait it out. He calls anyway, and prepares himself to move on.

You pick up the call, and along with it is your voice. "Yosuke?"

He stammers.

"Hey, uhm. Hello there. You picked up my call."

"Yeah…How are you doing?"

"I'm good. I…I missed you. Really bad. Uh, sorry for saying this. I've been waiting for this call since I first got here."

You went silent, and he thought that you're going to leave again. He felt like a thirsty beggar tasting fresh water again for the longest time. He didn't want you to go.

You didn't. He could hear the smile in your face.

"I missed you too."

[sagwapearl]

Some of u DISGUSTING grown WOMEN say “minors do not interact!” But then write SMUT about minors… “yuji aged up, megumi aged up” UR WEIRDDDTTT GET HELP!!!!

[skullfur]

RETWEET!!!

[skullfur]

I know the Tokyo Rev fandom is dead but I rejoined in honor of s4 and no hate to all the writers out there but can we stop making haitani brothers x reader fics? It’s lowkey disgusting especially the smut fics and half of them are just subtle incest, it’s so hard to find a rindou fic that doesn’t include a ran x reader subplot or ran and rindou just tag teaming the fuck outta whoever.

[andraxicated]

you are in love

Pairings: rindou x f! reader

Request: Hiiii, good night!!! I was wondering if I can request a fic of rindou having a cute romance with reader, could it be rin in the kantou manji phase??!! And it would be amazing if he calls reader doll 😭😭 Thx have a nice day or night <3 xoxo

Synopsis: In the aftermath of the battle in Roponggi, Rindou is captivated by one of the onlookers yet circumstances pull them apart. Years later, he meets her in the same building and experience what people go through when they're in love.

Tags: fluff | slight angst for the climax

a/n: I caught up with the manga for you anon <3 | also the haitani brothers name in the kanto manji is so funny. like what are you special ops gangsters? everybody dramatic asf | longest thing I've ever wrote, taylor swift's inspiration magic is incredible. | I don't read my fics in fear. I'll judge this tmrw.

wc: 3807 words

In a secret alleyway filled with bright lights; amidst countless hollers, a man beaten to a pulp twitches on the ground. His face was barely recognizable and he gave one last sign of life before he forever closes his eyes. 'Fuck' The Haitani brothers look at each other with exasperation until the dangerous siren of the police wangs through the air.

The cheering crowd immediately disperses, each to their escape. Rindou looks at every one of them in the face. Funny how all of those enthusiastic about their victory now have their backs turned to them. Leaving the brothers they revere standing alone covered in sweat and dirt. But the brothers were used to it, there's nothing constant in life except fighting and fighting to their deaths.

Scared, thrilled, high, chill— expressions of the people who ran to escape the incoming police. One person stumbled on uneven ground and Rindou chuckled, amused. No doubt they'll be seeing that loser soon by the speed of his walk. His sadistic smile spreads across his face, taking one last glance at this secret area in Roppongi. Until his gaze stops on a young girl with eyes blown wide, a handbag clutched tightly, a sequined dress clinging to her body.

'She looks totally out of place' Rindou thinks to himself before glancing at the man behind you pulling your frozen stature. You must've been shocked to see someone suffer such a brutal death.

The police shout with their batons and guns, asking the brothers to surrender. 'Run away now doll' He wishes for you to get away safely and never to come across his world ever again. As he watches your sparkly dress getting smaller, Rindou subtly flashes you a grin. One that strongly strums against your chest before you turn your back on the incident, running away in the dirty alleyway.

If there was anything constant in Rindou's life, it would be the countless gangs and schemes he participates in. One after the other. Lose? Move on to the stronger gang. Win? Be part of the higher power. It was all they could do to survive and live. It was all Rindou loved.

Except for the pulling moment between the runaway girl and him, literally years ago. Who knows if she's still alive? Anyways he can't stop thinking about it for some unknown reason, spacing out suddenly that his brother slaps the back of his neck. Rindou clutches his nape with angry brows while Ran smirks at him, effectively reading his brother's mind.

"What? Still hung up on that mystery girl?" Rindou scoffs and shoves Ran playfully. "No way" He quickly denies and his brother chooses not to delve in further. "Just pick our house so we have a place to live. Quit thinking about it she's not coming back." Ran shoves a brochure into his brother's arms, walking away with hands in pockets as Rindou stares down at the image of a luxurious building in his hands.

Why is it that every time you say something whether good or bad, the universe jinxes it and gives you the opposite. Or was he just really lucky.

Lucky enough to see the girl he sees in his dreams. White plastics of grocery in your hands, obviously heavy, and the fear of it ripping weighing on your heart as you pray not to embarrass yourself in front of such attractive men. Both smile at you as you press your floor number on the elevator and settle in the awkwardness of the space.

Unbeknownst to you, something childish is happening behind your back. Rindou brushes his fingers with his brother to catch his attention, Ran raising an eyebrow at the action. "What?" He mouths toward this weird brother of his, and Rindou slightly jerks his head towards your smaller frame in front of them. In confusion, Ran cocks his head to the side, racking his brain for whatever his brother wants to do to this poor woman.

After a minute of thinking, he finally got what his brother wanted to do. Ran clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak "Hi-" but he only manages to croak before the elevator cuts him off with a ding.

You go out of the elevator then the brothers look at each other. Rindou's done face is proof that he has enough of relying on his brother. No words coming out of their mouth, just eyes that battle and insult the other. But the clang and scream break him out of his telepathic war as Ran pushes him out of the elevator and waves goodbye.

Rindou then averts his gaze to your crouching figure and notices that the plastic has ripped with your groceries spilled on the floor. Your worried face about to cry was cute, he had to bite his lip and recompose himself.

"Need help?"

Your head turns to see the guy with glasses waiting for your permission, and so you nod your head timidly. 'He's cute' but there's no time to flirt when your poor vegetables are beaten up!

"Thank you for helping back there." You thank him with a sweet smile, your frame lingering at the entrance of your door, and Rindou can't help but be entranced by such sincerity radiating. "No problem, I'll go now." He could've said that and went on his way. But no.

"You-" "Do you want to have tea inside?"

The door widens enough for him to see the living room and the city view. Rindou looks down on you and nods, mimicking the sweet smile you portray flawlessly. He was supposed to say "You owe me", for such a small thing, yes but he has to get what he can get. and you beat him to it.

He ended up having lunch in your place that day, ignoring his brother's 'are you fucking her???' message. He turns the screen of his phone down on the table, standing up to help you bring food and side dishes to the table. That little detail he did didn't pass your gaze, you saw it at the corner of your eye, and it made your heart flutter. So much that you were hoping for more encounters with this guest of yours.

Rindou doesn't know if he should bring up that he saw you years ago, it may have been not a good memory for you. He saw terror in your eyes if he were to reveal that to you...would you still want him? Maybe it's a secret he'll take to the grave as he doesn't want to lose whatever this is.

"I-I was just so stressed today and needed a drive or something. You know, some nights you just don't want to sleep and stay awake. But unfortunately, I have work tomorrow which I can't..."

Rindou could listen to you blabber about your day and he wouldn't complain. He drives your car seeing you're too fatigued to maneuver the wheel and your face visibly lit up. One week has passed and both of you are taking baby steps in your relationship. Just a neighbor-neighbor friendship who sends coy smiles toward each other and goes for coffee at midnight.

Whatever you say isn't the type to go in of his ear and out to the other. It stays in his mind as he lovingly looks at you instead of the city lights below. "Do you want mine?" Rindou offers his cup when he sees yours about to be empty, you politely shook your head and he nods in return, sipping the relief of warm coffee.

No topic to talk about and it becomes unbearably quiet for the both of you. The words are at the tip of your tongue yet you hesitate in fear of them being uninteresting. Thankfully, RIndou is quick to feel and says something to break the silence. One that touches the topic he desires to relieve.

"Your necklace looks pretty" He says when the silver glimmer caught his eye. You touch the chain with a smile and remember where you bought it. A moment of hesitation went through you but you brush it off. "I bought it in Roppongi years ago, thought it was pretty. It miraculously hasn't faded."

'Roppongi? perhaps—' He won't allow himself to ruin such a good night. He already swore not to bring it up but he can't help but want to show you a connection before. Yet to maintain this steady relationship he has to keep his mouth shut.

"It's either real or you took good care of it" He replies to which you chuckle as silence ensues once more. Not knowing what to say, his gaze diverts to the sky above. "Look up" and you follow him to see the blinking airplane amidst the night sky. You wonder where it's going. It's nothing special to see airplanes but it's oddly fascinating to see it fly.

"Hey" "mhm?" A flush appears on Rindou's cheeks when you suddenly turn and brush against his shoulder. He's acting like a teenage girl with a crush! He attempts to open his mouth but nothing comes out and he just groans defeatedly. He has his head lowered down while you laugh at his embarrassment, removing your hands on the rails, you bend down to peek at him. You could feel it. He could feel it. 

'This is so cringe but...' 

"Stop being pretty...you're too much."

Mumbled words but you heard enough for your heart to pound. Rindou Haitani doesn't know how to express his feelings, but you already know what he means. It was enough and it felt enough.  

To say your relationship is progressing smoothly is an understatement, it's progressing like magic as if heaven blessed you with such a nice guy. Still, in the corner of your mind, there are doubts deep-rooted from troubling pasts. So many what if's brought by anxiety but for once, you let go.

"Try not to burn down my apartment please" You chuckle, taking over the pan because this man is helpless. Rindou scratches the back of his neck and stands back to watch your body dressed in his shirt. Just thinking of last night makes him want to jump you again but you're probably going to get angry. Worse, he's gonna suffer without a week of touch.

As you eat breakfast with Rindou (it was his first breakfast made with love), he decides to cut the conversation with his announcement of absence. He puts down his spoon and says he'll be gone for a few days because of matters with his boss. It's a half-lie but Rindou really can't say what's happening in the gang, nor does he want you to know. You don't know his job so you decided not to pry, afraid that he's going to be turned off by such questions.

"Bye, thanks for the breakfast." He smooches your forehead while cupping your cheeks to give you a proper farewell before he goes missing in action. You muster every happiness inside you and beam at him to show you're okay, and Rindou softens at the sight before stealing another kiss on your lips.

When you close the door and it clicks, you stare at the wood and drift off to your clouded mind. 'Was...was he running away because he got what he wanted?' You can't help but think that as you try to stop yourself from running after him. Yet you choose and will always choose to trust Rindou, it's the only thing you can do after all.

He never gave the exact date of when he will come back because he just made a promise. And you're now starting to think that that promise is absolute bullshit.

It's raining hard outside the supermarket and you thankfully have an umbrella, yet the two bags of groceries are unbelievably heavy for you. You can't just ask someone to bring you home, they could be a serial killer for all you know. Just when you pull out your phone to call the concierge, a figure rudely blocks the light in front of you.

"Who's this pretty little doll?"

And there he is, Rindou Haitani smirking at your stricken face as you cancel the call. He wordlessly grabs both bags at your hand while clasping your warm palm in his.

"I know you're angry at me but please include me in the umbrella." He pouts to beg for your forgiveness and you hold the umbrella high enough to cover you both. You start to walk to the building but you still haven't processed what happened. He suddenly appeared in front of you as if a manifestation happened.

"Where were you?" Rindou glances at your worried face before answering "Just some places. My boss is...fired but thankfully someone picked us lowly employees up." His attempt to cover the truth with normality is ridiculous. He wishes he could just tell you but there's a bugging feeling that you'll run away. And Rindou is scared.

"Oh, thank god you're not jobless" You whisper, and you both laugh at your remark. You could finally laugh carelessly because he's here. Rindou kept his word and you couldn't be more at peace. You want to thank him for coming home. And so you tug on his sleeve to make him look at you, then you do what he does.

You steal a kiss to see him flustered, pulling away with a smug face saying that 'I caught you'. But Rindou doesn't like to lose, not even to you and your little games. "Look there" His head motions to the side and your idiotic self falls into his trap.

Rindou grips your chin to make you face him once again and smashes his lips hungrily to yours. Lightly tasting what he missed these last few weeks, his lip curls between kisses as the familiar fruit chapstick enters his tongue.

"You taste good. As always." He teases as he pulls away with an obscene pop to see your feathers ruffled.

On nights when Rindou pretends everything's okay, he sometimes finds himself opening his mouth to bring 'it' up. But seeing your happiness as you bring him the baked casserole you've successfully made, he chooses to keep quiet. Disturbing these moments of love between the two of you is what he fears the most.

The look on your face as the guy pulls you away will always remain in his mind. It was a face of pure horror. He wonders what you will do if you found out. This was what was constantly bugging his mind. However, you can't hide secrets for long. Try all you can to bury it but fate will always weave it back to the surface.

"My gosh! Delinquents are so scary!" Your friend exclaims in fear as you listen attentively to the radio while eating. "Didn't you run into them years ago? I remember that you were shaking when you came back with your ex."

Bright lights flash into your mind along with the rusty smell of blood, compelling you to drop your chopsticks and give a forced smile. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Tokyo has been plagued with these unruly delinquents for a while but this, has been on an unpreceded scale! The police soon arrived at the scene and managed to catch 91 people while they are still tracking down the remaining members of these gangs. One reported dead—"

Your finger found itself pressing to turn off the radio, and your friend proceeded to look at you as if possessed. "I don't want to hear such news while eating." You reason out and she nods, changing the topic to a lighter one.

You couldn't remember what you talked about, you didn't even listen to her and so you felt bad. "I have to make it up to her~" You groan while opening the apartment door and throwing your back to the couch. A motion of taking off your coat—*bam*—and you're putting it back on in nervousness. Despite your nervous heart and clammy hands, you take out your phone to ready a call to the police. Just as you were slowly walking towards the exit, your boyfriend comes out of the kitchen, making you sigh in relief.

"Rindou stop scaring me~" You whine with a pouty face as you stomp nearer, getting ready to scold him. But you weren't ready for the surprise of seeing his bloody face.—no, this face. It's that face.

Your arms went numb, your chest tighter, and your feet were frozen to the ground. The exact same feeling you felt when you saw something you're not supposed to. Your eyes scan every inch of his face, checking to see if it's really your boyfriend or some imposter. But every glance, every movement of your eye has you sinking into fear and desperation.

He's just staring at you as you attempt to speak, but you can't. Not when he's standing in front of you like he murdered someone. "Need a breather?" Rindou casually says like he's bathing in blood and bruises every day. You might be confused as to why he's acting like this, but for Rindou? It's the end of the world for him. 'Everything will be gone starting tomorrow' He wants to die.

"What happened?" It hurts him so much to see your voice cracking smaller and smaller. You're scared of him and it hurts so much to know the one he loves is scared because of him. He could only give you a bitter smile while biting his lip. "Got into a fight. I used your first aid kit if you don't mind. Can't really go to a hospital y'know." No point lying about it now, he hopes you get what he says.

"You're...that guy aren't you?"

Finally, you know. The cat's out of the bag. The torturing secret is gone. "Roppongi guy? Yeah." Rindou scans your sullen face and proceeds to explain to get this over with. He just wants to clear things out before he goes for good. Your life would be so much better without a thorn by your side. "You're that doll in the gold dress aren't you? I remember that pretty face after all these years."

A long staggered breath comes out of you as you nod in confirmation. Lips curled to fight the urge to cry. Suddenly, Rindou takes a step of faith closer to you. He doesn't know why he's doing something that'll hurt him but he just wants to touch you one last time. He's waiting for you to flinch, waiting for you to swat his extended hand; yet his mind chants 'please don't flinch. please don't go away'.

"Were you in the fight on the radio? I heard it." You incoherently sob louder when you feel the warmth of his palm on your cheek. Rindou nods with a solemn expression, then you close your eyes to think of what to do. Mixed emotions course through you along with the uncertainty of your relationship. This was too much for the once lovely time you had with each other; he's deciding it would be best to cut to the chase.

Rindou would not go. Not unless you tell him to. Because after he met you, he hangs onto your every word and wishes for what you want. Even though it hurts, he has to suck it up like the punches thrown his way. The matters of the heart are truly more complicated.

"Do you want me to go?" "..." you don't and can't speak.

"I'll take that as a yes if it's so hard to say." His heavy palm moves to touch your head with a light pat. Rindou would not go. Not unless you tell him to, but he senses easily, especially to you. "Take care" He releases another bitter smile before walking past you. Rindou doesn't wish for meeting under different circumstances but he wishes for a different life. It would've been easy if—

"Stay"

One word is all it takes for Rindou to stop in his tracks. One word and a flicker of hope burn inside his heart.

"Go wash up and stay." You turn to grab the sleeve of his jacket, a light touch that'll go if he moves. "I don't want you to go. Please stay by my side as we go through this. I'm sure we'll figure it out, I-I'm just shocked but please stay."

That slight flicker burns into bright flames as he pulls you towards his chest. Tears stream down his face for the first time in years and it's because of happiness. Who should he thank for giving him this chance? Who should he thank for having such an understanding girlfriend? Rindou doesn't know so he just sends his utmost gratitude to the world and to you.

It's way past midnight and the sun will rise in a few hours. Rindou wakes up next to you after sleeping for two hours. The day before was physically and emotionally exhausting, but to realize that he woke up next to you is an everyday miracle. He'll make this work. It has to because he won't take no for an answer. Rindou will make fate bow down to him, no matter the course of life; you asked him to stay by your side and so he will.

"I love you" He whispers before trying to doze off with you.

If one were to come inside a Bonten executive's office, you'd thought there would be creepy and expensive objects littered on their desks and walls. For most of them, it's true, but Rindou Haitani is an executive and a husband.

Enter his office and the first thing to catch your eye is the large wedding photo of him and his wife. Both smiled so happy as if they'd won the life lottery, for sure anyone would smile or cringe when they see it. (depending on the person)

His desk is filled with pictures of you in frames, every photo of you looking so beautiful despite your protests. "You undermine yourself too much. Have I shown you not enough love?" That was what Rindou said when you almost threw your 'ugly' photos away.

And the man who owns this office is looking out the window, phone against his ear, and a tender smile on his face. A side privy to himself, to you, and to your future child.

"Okay okay, I'll get that. Craving anything else?" "I don't know" You reply and Rindou sighs, but he makes sure to get the phone away, or else you'll fuss about him sighing.

"Don't push yourself too much alright?" "Mhm. Just hurry up and finish early. Your child is calling for you inside my tummy........and I love you"

He chuckles before replying back, happiness deeply swelling inside his heart.

"I love you too. I'll come home soon."

[radbirdtheorist]

BRU PLZ STOP TAGGING Y'ALL FICS WRONG, I DON'T WANT TO READ A OC X WHOEVER,

I WANT MY F*CKING X READER

[pyrsqrd]

adore you

⇥pairing: rindou haitani x gn!reader

⇥summary: ever since middle school, rindou has had a slight crush on you. despite being popular and a campus crush, he never once used it as an advantage to approach and talk to you, personally and even online. because he's scared to find out that you two don't share anything in common, that you two are different. but little did he know that you two were already having a conversation—discourse—on both of your alternate accounts.

⇥tags: college au. anitwt. aot spoilers. jjk spoilers. profanities. fan account. strangers to lovers. enemies(online) to lovers. aoefan!rindou. slight stalker!rindou, not harmful.

⇥disclaimer: tokyo revengers characters are owned by ken wakui.

⇥notes: hiii, this will be just a short smau series, so expect a not so much detailed and foreshadowing shiz here hehehe. and if you're an aoe fan, you can just scroll past this, or block me. im not going to entertain you and your silly theory. coz no☺️ idk if im going to open a taglist. but if u wanna be tagged. lmk.

profile

one. just a crush two. let it slide

three. first interaction four. subscribe

five. violence six. not the same

seven. it's you eight. exception

nine. pretty boy ten. follow me

eleven. code color twelve. family

thirteen. tag game fourteen. kakucho's kin

fifteen. reveal sixteen. unblock

seventeen. it's rindou eighteen. enough

nineteen. twenty.

[dearlizzies]

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

[skullfur]

“Daddy, Dada, PAPA(I have personal beef with this one😭)”. And it’s majority of the black ff like come ON bro💔

[lila-skies]

sweet, sweet danger.

prompt: you were told stay away from dangers, but what if rindou is the danger?

pairings: haitani rindou x fem!reader

word count: 1538

warnings: fluff and a bit of violence? i guess. idk just word vomit again, actually. not proofread <3 lmk if i missed anything!

prim and proper. that’s how a wonder child should be, and you grew up being taught that way. half of your life, you were dictated what to do and who you should be; everyone placed heavy expectations on you, suffocating and weighing you down. you could be compared to a bird confined in a cage, stripped of the rights to fly—of the freedom you were born with. for eighteen years, you lived like that until this one specific danger barged into your life.

your parents warned you about different kinds of stuff that will ruin your “perfect” life. starting from missing school and doing extracurriculars not necessarily needed for academics to alcohols and drugs. but they never warned you about a boy whose hair is blonde with blue streaks and who’s arrogant and sadistic. you were never warned of captivating purple eyes behind round eyeglasses that can put your once well-organized life in a complete disarray. but even if you knew about it beforehand, you don’t think you would be stopping yourself from facing a danger such as haitani rindou.

Keep reading

[showhay]

hoarder

kunimi akira x f!reader

akira’s love language is apparently quiet hoarding, strategic glaring, and acting like a dragon guarding a very pretty treasure (you).

wc: 3k, request

it’s wednesday morning, the hallway smells faintly like floor polish and anxiety, and kunimi is standing in front of his locker, staring at yet another pink envelope like it personally offended him in a past life.

he does not sigh because sighing would take energy and he is frugal with that kind of thing. but something in his face does the emotional equivalent.

the problem: people keep trying to confess to his girlfriend.

the bigger problem: his girlfriend is you.

it’s not your fault, obviously. you exist. you laugh. you fix your hair and the wind messes it up and somehow make astronomy club flyers look like couture accessories. you sit next to him at lunch and talk about wild things like how grapes are just tiny water balloons wearing jackets. and every single person with functioning eyes goes, ‘oh.’

kunimi learns early that saying “she has a boyfriend” only invites follow-up questions. the world is full of people who see a fence and immediately start measuring how tall it is.

he tried, once.

“she has a boyfriend,” he’d said flatly to some first-year clutching a gift bag like it was a life jacket.

“oh,” the first-year had said, eyes lighting up with the dangerous optimism of someone about to rent a ladder. “but does he treat her right? are they serious? how long have they been—”

kunimi had walked away mid-sentence.

𓏵

new strategy.

it’s not elegant. it’s not noble. it’s not even particularly sportsmanlike.

he just takes the gifts.

quietly. efficiently. like a very calm raccoon with morals.

someone tries to intercept you after practice with a box of chocolates? kunimi is suddenly there, a ghost with bed hair and unimpressed eyes, and somehow the chocolates migrate into his hands. letters tucked into your desk? gone. little plushies left in your shoe locker? vanished, like they were never born.

people don’t argue with kunimi because he doesn’t give them anything to push against. he simply appears, looks at them like they’re a pop-up ad, and extends an open hand. it’s not aggressive. it’s just… inevitable.

they hand things over because resisting feels awkward, like refusing a vending machine that already dropped the drink.

you, blissfully unaware, walk through school like a princess guarded by a very non-talkative dragon. and kunimi, who theoretically should be annoyed by the administrative labor of romance management, instead feels something warm and fizzy expand behind his ribs every time he thinks: ‘mine.’

(not the bad kind, not the sharp kind — just the soft, ridiculous kind, like hugging a giant warm milk bread.)

he doesn’t hide you out of shame. far from it. if anything, he has this strange, quiet pride about you that could light a small city. it’s just that he likes having you without commentary. without everyone poking and asking and speculating like you’re a limited edition sneaker drop.

you have no idea any of this is happening. why would you? your life is normal. you go to class. you text kunimi pictures of aggressively cute dogs you see on the street. you show up at practice sometimes, leaning against the wall with that look on your face that says ‘i like watching you,’ and he pretends he is not immediately ready to commit legally binding acts of affection.

and he knows—really knows—that you only look at him like that. you’ve made it absurdly clear. you’ve said his name like it’s fluently spoken in your bones. you’ve taken his hand in yours and looked at him like he hung the stars up just so they wouldn’t be lonely.

still.

other people looking at you makes his brain go slightly static.

so he hoards.

his locker becomes… a situation.

it starts as a corner. then a neat stack. then a less neat stack. then, at some point, when gods were busy and no adult supervision existed in the universe, it becomes a geological formation.

envelopes in every shade invented by stationery companies. keychains. a frankly alarming number of rabbit plushies. chocolates (he checks expiration dates with the grim seriousness of a pharmacist). a scarf knitted with the sort of fierce determination that suggests late-night youtube tutorials.

he doesn’t throw anything away (unless the chocolates expire.)

not because he cares about the gifts themselves—he doesn’t—but because they touched a story involving you, and his brain, despite its famously low energy mode, refuses to be careless with anything that brushes even remotely close to you. so he keeps them. quietly. like a museum of failed attempts.

no one knows.

or so he thinks.

𓏵

it’s after practice when the universe decides to flip him onto his emotional back like a helpless turtle.

the team is loud. oikawa is dramatic. iwaizumi is yelling at oikawa to stop being dramatic. matsukawa and hanamaki are narrating events like a chaotic nature documentary. it’s normal seijoh chaos.

kunimi, in the middle of it, exists like a calm punctuation mark.

he goes to his locker with the intention of: open, grab bag, leave, find you, continue breathing.

he turns the lock.

the door does not open.

it detonates.

not literally—but the hinge gives up with the heartbreak of a 90-year-old soap opera character, and suddenly the hallway is an explosion of pastel.

letters cascade like paper snow. plushies tumble out in a fluffy avalanche. something wrapped in metallic gift paper bounces off matsukawa’s shoe with a festive twang.

there is a silence so loud it rings.

oikawa, frozen mid-hair-flip, blinks at the mountain of gifts at kunimi’s feet.

then, very slowly, like his understanding is being delivered by snail, he says, “what. is. that.”

hanamaki wheezes, “is kunimi… running an underground convenience store?”

iwaizumi squints at the pile, then at kunimi, then back at the pile. “that’s… that’s a lot of stuff.”

someone lifts an envelope with tiny hearts on it. “to… y/n?” matsukawa reads, voice rising like a kettle.

you are very much a real person in this school. you are known. you are admired. you are the walking equivalent of that warm spot of sunlight cats find and refuse to leave.

everything happens at once.

“hold on hold on hold on,” oikawa flaps his hands like an untrained bird. “why do all of these say y/n? why are they in your locker? kunimi what is happening, are you being blackmailed to keep these—”

kunimi stands in the middle of the disaster, expression unchanged, like he is internally choosing between options on a vending machine menu.

“they’re for her,” he says finally.

“why do you have them?” iwaizumi asks.

a pause.

“because she doesn’t need them,” kunimi answers simply.

the team stares like they have collectively discovered a new species.

“why,” matsukawa says slowly, “does y/n not need… confessions?”

another pause. kunimi looks at them. then at the paper heart stuck on his shoelace. then back at them.

he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

“she’s my girlfriend.”

if the school roof had blown off, it would have been less dramatic.

oikawa makes a noise that sounds illegal in three countries. “EXCUSE ME?”

hanamaki points at kunimi like he’s accusing him in court. “you—you—you have a girlfriend? not hypothetical, not fanfiction, not a rumor from the bathroom third stall—an actual girlfriend?”

iwaizumi’s eyebrows hit the stratosphere. “and it’s y/n?”

matsukawa sits down on the floor without breaking eye contact. “i need a minute.”

“how long?” oikawa demands. “how long have you been secretly living a romantic shoujo manga life behind our backs?”

kunimi shrugs, which is his preferred form of poetry. “a while.”

oikawa clutches his chest. “he didn’t tell us. i thought we were friends. teammates. family.”

“you don’t tell family everything,” hanamaki points out. “i don’t tell you when i buy weird jam.”

“that’s different,” oikawa cries.

iwaizumi recalibrates. “so you’ve been… intercepting these. to keep people from confessing to her.”

kunimi nods.

“and your locker… exploded,” matsukawa observes helpfully.

kunimi considers the pile of letters like it personally betrayed him. “yes.”

there’s another silence, but this time it’s not shocked. it’s… impressed. confused. slightly fond in the way you feel toward a cat caught red-pawed in the bread box.

oikawa blinks. “wait. so she knows we exist? you didn’t just… stash her on some secret island away from all of us, right?”

the look kunimi gives him answers that question with such flat clarity that hanamaki actually snorts.

“she comes to practice sometimes,” iwaizumi says slowly, like he’s connecting murder board strings. “the girl with the smile and the sweater with the tiny bees.”

“yes,” kunimi says.

matsukawa points at him. “you were holding her umbrella last week.”

“yes.”

“you looked like a husband in a grocery store,” hanamaki adds.

“yes.”

oikawa dissolves into the floor with dramatic despair noises.

the teasing comes, inevitably, like rain arrives to a picnic.

“wow, kunimi, hiding a whole romance from us,” matsukawa grins. “what else are you hiding? a mortgage? three children? a savings account?”

“i’m genuinely happy for you,” iwaizumi says, punching his shoulder lightly. “just… next time, maybe tell us? we could’ve given you advice.”

kunimi looks at him, unimpressed. “i didn’t need advice.”

hanamaki wiggles his eyebrows. “because you’re so in lo—”

he stops, wisely, because there is a particular softness in kunimi’s expression that feels private. like sunlight in a jar.

oikawa leans forward, eyes glittering with scandalous curiosity. “does y/n know you’re a gift-stealing raccoon?”

kunimi hesitates.

you do not, in fact, know.

the team howls.

“tell her,” iwaizumi says, half-laughing, half-genuinely concerned about the ethics of dessert confiscation. “before she finds out because your locker turned into a piñata in front of the entire school.”

𓏵

you hear about it before he finds you.

of course you do.

people whisper like wind. hallways carry gossip the way rivers carry leaves. you’re putting your shoes on when someone walks by saying, “i heard kunimi’s locker exploded,” like this is normal weather conversation.

you blink.

another voice: “full of love letters to y/n.”

you stop blinking.

your heart does something extremely acrobatic inside your chest, like it suddenly enrolled in gymnastics without informing you.

you find him outside, near the gym, sitting on a bench with the air of someone whose day did not go according to any known plan.

there’s a tiny paper heart stuck in his hair.

you go to him.

“hey,” you say softly, and the way his shoulders lower when he hears your voice makes the entire sky feel too small for how much your chest tries to hold.

he looks up at you, and for a second, everything in him is naked and earnest, like a book with all the covers peeled away. then it’s just kunimi again, calm, a little tired, with that look he only ever has when it’s about you: like he would put the whole world in a drawer if it ever made you frown.

“locker incident?” you say, lips twitching.

he exhales through his nose. “…yes.”

you sit beside him, your knees bumping his, casual and enormous at the same time. “i heard there were a lot of letters with my name.”

he doesn’t look away. “yes.”

a breeze nudges your hair. a leaf skitters by. somewhere, volleyballs thump, whistles blow, life continues with rude indifference to the very important moment of your heart deciding to glow like a toaster.

“you took them?” you ask gently.

“yes.”

there’s no shame in his voice. no insecurity. just simple truth, like the sky is blue and he likes your hand in his.

“why?” you ask, not accusing, just curious, like you’re peeking into the drawer of his mind with clean hands.

he thinks, and then he answers in that straightforward way that makes everything feel more serious and more funny at the same time.

“because they don’t matter to you,” he says. “and i don’t want people bothering you. you already chose me.”

it’s not pompous. it’s not triumphant. it’s quiet certainty, the kind built from a thousand tiny moments—your head on his shoulder on the train, your hand wrapped in his jacket sleeve when your fingers were cold, the way you say his name like it’s a light switch that turns your whole face warm.

your throat goes soft.

there are a thousand things you could say—poetic, dramatic, witty—but what comes out is simple, a little wobbly, absolutely real:

“come here.”

you tug him by his sleeve, and he leans in, obedient in the way someone is when they are choosing it, not being pulled. your forehead presses against his. your noses bump. his breath mixes with yours, and the world, rude as it is, blurs like a camera refusing to focus on anything but him.

“you know i pick you,” you murmur. “every time. with both hands. like grabbing the biggest melon at the supermarket because it looks like it would be sweet.”

a laugh escapes him—soft, startled, unguarded.

you smile, triumphant in the way a scientist smiles when an experiment explodes into confetti instead of smoke. “you don’t have to protect me from every letter. i don’t even see anyone else that way. it’s like my heart is a phone with only one contact and i forgot the passcode for adding new ones.”

his fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeve, holding, like he’s anchoring himself to something that’s moving very fast in a beautiful direction. his eyes, usually so sleepy, shine with something so warm it could bake bread.

“i know,” he says. it’s almost a whisper. “i just… didn’t want them near you.”

you lean back, just enough to see him entirely, as if the universe framed him. “you’re—”

you stop.

there are words you could use, but none of the sharp ones, none of the tired ones. instead, you say, with a grin that feels too big for your face:

“you’re my favorite silly dragon.”

his ears turn the color of strawberries that know they’re being watched.

“dragon,” he repeats, deadpan, but his mouth betrays him with the tiniest upward curve.

“yes,” you say firmly. “hoarding shiny things, glaring at intruders, guarding treasure. very on brand.”

“you’re the treasure,” he says, so casually and so sincerely that the air itself trips over its shoelaces.

your heart becomes a firework disguised as an organ.

“say that again,” you whisper, because you are greedy with sweetness now, shameless, like someone at a free hotel buffet.

he doesn’t repeat—he just looks at you like he already wrote it a hundred times in invisible ink across his life.

you bump his shoulder with yours. “also, a paper heart is in your hair.”

he blinks.

you reach up, pluck it free, and tuck it into your pocket like a joke you plan to giggle about later.

“the team found out?” you ask.

“yes.”

“are they alive?”

“unfortunately.”

you snort, and he watches the sound leave your mouth like it is an actual visible thing he wants to catch in his hands.

you lace your fingers with his, and it fits, like this was the only correct solution to an unsolvable math problem. he squeezes back, not hard, just sure.

“walk me home?” you ask.

he stands. “yes.”

it’s simple with him. no theatrics. no speeches. but his quiet is not empty; it’s dense with feeling, like cake that forgot how to be modest. (dense w a filling! haha sorry.)

on the way, he takes your bag from you without asking, like gravity, like of course. you argue for half a second, then let him, because it makes his shoulders straighten with that tiny, proud stiffness you secretly love.

people look. people whisper. you ignore them like background music in a bakery—present, but irrelevant to the main event, which is sugar and warmth and the boy beside you whose hand keeps brushing yours like it’s shy and brave at the same time.

he stops at your gate.

evening wraps everything in honey.

you turn to him. “akira.”

“mm?”

“thank you for… all of it.” you gesture vaguely at the universe, at the gift avalanche, at his very specific style of quiet chaos. “i’m not mad. just—tell me next time, okay? i want to laugh with you when your locker becomes a greeting card volcano again.”

he nods. then, after a second, he says, “i like you laughing.”

you feel something fizzy in your chest again. “i like you liking that.”

he is very still, and then he leans in and kisses you. it’s the kind of kiss that feels like a secret handshake between souls that already know each other embarrassingly well.

the world does not explode.

it doesn’t need to.

you pull back, smiling so hard your cheeks complain. “see you tomorrow.”

he nods, but he doesn’t let go of your hand right away, like he’s testing how long two hearts can stay stitched together without thread.

you finally slip inside, and he stands there for a moment, looking at the space you left like it’s still full of you.

on the way home, he puts his hands in his pockets and feels the crinkle of paper letters, tucked there earlier, forgotten in the commotion. he doesn’t read them. he doesn’t need to. he just thinks of your laugh, your forehead against his, the way you called him a silly dragon with absolute seriousness.

he smiles—small, secret, enough to tilt the earth a fraction of a degree toward spring.

somewhere in school tomorrow, someone will try again with a ribboned box and trembling hands.

kunimi will be there.

quiet.

inevitable.

and later, when you take his sleeve, when you look at him like he is both the question and the answer, he will think, without drama, without doubt:

‘she already chose me.’

and that, honestly, is more than enough to turn every fence in the world into scenery.

n: oh my heart </3 my followers on ig are watching me lose my shit abt grape soda in a chiikawa can and gojo appearing on jjk s3 like i didn’t see him on the movie.

akira’s taglist

@lsirria @nelinkythoughts @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @anzuuhoshi @s1lly-bon @katzline @depressinglyobsessed @ghostwifeyy @michexoxo @crystal-lilac @forgottensniper @eri0-0 @fiannee @wensurr @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @olliesoxenfree @poeticsorcery @starzlytoetsie @kuroofangirl67 @whoizmae @n1koolya @applepiblog @jjunnixzz @renriiwrites

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

iloveu

[mitsuyeaah]

the way i would let rindou **** ** ** **** **** * ***** ******* *** *** ** **** *** ** **** **** **** * ****** ** * **** **** *** **** *** ** ***