jc🐞 glorism got packed @taehyzzn - Tumblr Blog

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caylin! she/they Jesus Christ, slushy noobz, vanilla, sol de janerio, mark lee, jungwoo, fugglers, xiaojun, beomgyu, pink and yellow, taehyun, fall, uggs, baking, locs, piercings, tattoos, pierce the veil, underground, stuffed animals, pineapples, the moon, mitski, genshin impact, elvis, begonias, reading, clothing, hair, emo, my chemical romance, saxophone, treble clef

looking for my mutuals n such , will reupload fanfics later 🫩🥀

about my blog ! ♬⋆.˚ masterlist ! ♬⋆.˚

( i wrote for hamzah nd tomorrow by together with black fem reader , reuploading the fics i can find )

#txt #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #slushy noobz #taehyun #hueningkai #yeonjun #soobin #beomgyu #x black reader #x black fem reader #tomorrow x together

venusswasaboy

I quote this and laugh to myself very, very often.

innerchildabortionclinic

❔

innerchildabortionclinic

tornado spawn point

thecryptkeeper

the substance sisters

dearhyukas

choimeong

⠀⠀⠀⠀✠𓉸⠀˙˙⠀𝟘0's⠀˳˳⠀˙ ۪ ⑅⠀ #⵿霧林.⠀˙ ˳ 🦇 ✟ ✟͝

taeyongdoyoung

loser (why don't you kill me)

summary: popular guys only break your heart. so, you decide to take a chance on the loser for once... pairing: loser!beomgyu x popular girl!reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, college!au, strangers to friends to lovers warnings: discussion of stereotypes/society, mentions of past cheating/toxic masculinity, drinking, swearing, talking abt porn, male masturbation, lowkey slut-shaming but not rlly, kissing, eating out, fingering, mirror kink, begging, blowjob, protected sex (gasp), overstimulation, hair-pulling, virgin!beomgyu, experienced!reader, dom-leaning switch!beomgyu, mentions of blood/violence word count: 7.8k (wat) author's note: this idea has been haunting me since i randomly rediscovered beck's song on the car radio one evening and i felt like beomgyu would be perfect for the concept, i hope yall enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it!

You are absolutely done dating popular guys. As one of the most sought-after girls in your college, you are used to being romantically involved with…well, other members of your so-called "league". Deep down, you know it is stupid to measure people in terms of their popularity. But the reality is that you always conformed to society's expectations. It was the same in high school. You're a cheerleader? Might as well date someone on the football team. Secretly, you had hoped that college would be different. But you somehow ended up in the same "circles". Immediately drawing attention to yourself, it had become the norm. Whenever there is a party, you are there. Whenever there is a sports game, you are there. You are used to being invited everywhere and guys always try so hard to impress you until you agree to go out with them. And eventually disappoint you. Each and every one of them.

reignpage

☣︎ Crazy gf!reader giving Boyfriend!Sukuna shit during sex

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasps, rough hands spreading your ass to see the way your sloppy pussy sucks him in.

Face buried in the sheets, you muffle out, “I can’t.”

Sukuna’s brows knit momentarily, but then you clench down on him so hard it pulls a sharp inhale of air from him and he forgets all about it. “Been thinking about this needy pussy all day. Such a dirty girl, isn’t she?”

“I keep her clean, actually,” you drawl, fingers drumming. “Took a shower right before you came too, so if anyone’s dirty, it’s not me or my kitty.”

His eye twitches. Then he takes a deep breath and continues ploughing his fat cock inside, making sure to prod that gummy spot you love so much. “Yeah? Got yourself all clean and dolled up for me? Aren’t you sweet? My best girl, ain’t ya?”

You still.

Slowly, you turn around — if you were a door, you’d be creaking loud as fuck right now. “What. Did. You. Say?”

“Oh, hell,” Sukuna exhales out. He pulls out at the same time you come to face him, glaring. Leaning back on his haunches, he runs a hand through his hair and asks, “What did I do wrong now, woman?”

You poke him right in the chest, where a tattoo of your name is marked clear as day. “‘Best girl?’ ‘Best girl.’ Really?” you scoff. “I’m your only girl. Who the fuck am I competing with? Who’s second best? Third? Is there a fourth? A fifth? And who’s last? Oh, I wouldn’t wanna be her. Unless, I am her on any other day because you switch us around. Wow! You’re a disloyal piece of shit. What did the other girls do to deserve this?”

Sukuna’s raging boner? Dies.

He watches it with some pity. Sighing, he falls back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. He knows, once you start, there’s no getting you to stop. With a roll of his eyes, he yanks you onto his chest, smushing you. His heavy arm doesn’t let you up, try as you might. “Shhh, you little psycho. It’s alright. We’ll get you back on your meds soon. You’re gonna be okay.”

“No, seriously,” you say, slapping him on the abs once, and again when he doesn’t even flinch. “Who’re the others? Lemme meet them. I have a lot to say with my fists. I’m gonna kill them and you, Ryomen!” you threaten right into his pec.

Sukuna pats your back.

“Let’s start with the voices in your head first, dumbass.”

was inspired by that Rupaul interview lol

princesseblade

More black princesses, more black fairies, more black mermaids, more black girls doing all the things, for fucks sake

heartkaji

nerdjo’s a fool for his pretty, high maintenance girlfriend.

I. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #107 : “BUT TORU, I DON’T GET IT..”

11:57 am location: SC/MATH 3020 (Vari Hall, Room B)

you’re supposed to be solving laplace equations. instead, you’re sending satoru doodles of you pregnant with his child.

satoru gojo is jacques marie mage glasses & messy blanche hair & forearms thicker than his head. he should be studying—god, he should be, but his pretty girl is texting him mid-lecture & satoru’s something of a fool for you so he foolishly decides, who is he not to reply ?

and his replies are earnest. always earnest. too punctuated, too grammatically correct.

toruu : You’re the cutest girl in the world.

toruu : Pay attention, okay?

his first message makes your heart swelter & bloom. the second makes it drop to your ass.

but satoru gojo is honey mouthed & heart-achingly sweet. and when your boyfriend asks you to focus so sweetly, how could you not obey?

so you open your notebook & close it right back.

you : toru i tried :( i don’t get ittttrt

toruu : Send me the question.

and you do. along with a selfie of your cute pout, of course. satoru’s reply comes in in an instant:

toruu : Gorgeous girl.

toruu : Okay, try isolating the variable first.

you do as he says. satoru’s instructions always come easy-sweet. sugar coated & simplified like he’s talking to the softest girl in the world. & perhaps he is.

toruu : Good. Now distribute.

toruu : Yes. That’s it. Keep going.

toruu : That’s perfect, baby. My smart girl.

your cheeks grow mushy & sticky & heart-wrenchingly soft.

satoru gojo is going to be the death of you.

II. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #126 : LOVER BOYS DON’T IGNORE THEIR GIRLFRIENDS !

time : 1:48 pm. location: york lanes ( indoor mall )

“satoru hasn’t texted me in fifteen minutes.”

“they faces killing me why nobody give a fuck.”

sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea

mean!fratboy!toji and his shy!girlfriend ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

mean!fratboy!toji who met you one night at a black out party his frat was throwing, curled up in the corner like some kicked puppy. he asked if you were okay, if you needed some air, maybe water, and that was that.

mean!fratboy!toji who fell head over heels for you that very same night, acting like he couldn't care less for the girl that was now stuck to his side n' holding his arm. yet, he knew deep down that your pretty little pout and tearful expression would soon be the downfall of his carefully curated tough guy act.

mean!fratboy!toji who's never actually had a girlfriend before, quick hookups and shitty talking stages were more his tune. but ever since he'd bashfully asked you to be his in the library after school, he'd promised himself to try and be the best he possibly could for you, his sweet girl.

mean!fratboy!toji makes good on his promise. well, mostly... he lets you get away with far more than he does with anyone else, that's for sure. when you're eating out, he lets you take whatever you want from his plate, even going as far as to snap photos of you stealing his food.

"up here, baby. smile f'me." he'd grin, but you were too busy devouring the best bits of his meal like the cheeky little shit you were.

now, if that were geto, or even worse, gojo? he'd have knocked them in their jaw for even thinking such a thought. not you, though. his precious little thing had far more privilege than those flops.

mean!fratboy!toji had convinced himself he hated physical touch, that a swift one-and-done was all he was cut out for. so, whenever anyone tried to initiate a hug, or even a pat on the back? he'd shrug them off with a deep scowl. but with you, he was so pathetically the opposite. at the start of every day? he's hugging you tight before the walk to class. moving through crowded hallways? he's grabbing for your hand. functions at the frat? you're sat up in his lap the entire time. every chance he had to be close to you, he took. maybe physical touch wasn't all that bad (as long as it was with you).

dreaminginrxses

All im saying is, I have 2 holes for a reason🙈

tojipie

toji loves his girls a little shy, always has.

18+ smut, toji x shy fem reader, teasing, dirty talk, reassurance, toji talks you through it, softdom dynamic

girls who stumble over their words when asked what they want from him. the sweet kind that get red in the face when he rucks his shirt up to his shoulders and seats them in his lap. ones he knows are too shy to do anything but sit there and ogle him while he gets off on the attention.

and toji doesn’t push or pressure because he’s simply not that type of guy. he’ll offer himself up to you instead, letting you do as you see fit as long as it both makes you feel good.

“you can touch, baby.” he reassures you, letting his shoulders relax and his body recline further against the cushions. he gets cocky when he’s like this, arms laid out over the back of the couch to show off his ridiculous wingspan. pants already unbuttoned with his cock straining hard through the lips of his zipper.

you start with his biceps, tentative draws of your palm against the taught muscle there. toji hums in approval at your soft touch, letting his head fall back to face the ceiling. you have a full view of his abs and chest with how high his shirt is pulled up, inky happy trail creeping up from the base of his dick before fizzling my out below his navel.

you move up to his collar next, fingers dipping under the neck of his shirt curiously. you can feel the beginning of a scar. the soft but raised skin standing out against a plain of tanned muscle.

“fuck. sweet girl.” he mumbles.

toji can’t help but smile. out of all the places to touch, you choose the only clothed part of him? you're too cute.

you move downwards like you can read his mind, fingers trailing south until you hit the hem of his shirt, tentatively raising the fabric up. your eyes meet his shyly, silent asking for permission to go further, and toji grants you it immediately.

“don’t be shy, there we go.” he says, pulling the garment over his head himself. he rewards you for the bravery with a sloppy kiss to your shoulder, feeling you shudder at the affection.

“touch me however you want, angel.” he sighs into your skin.

“you're embarrassing me.” you mumble, trying to fight a giddy smile. you’re not exactly sure what to do with yourself now that the challenge of getting his shirt off is over with. toji all of his attention on you and only you. eyes narrowed and a small smirk on his face like he’s waiting to see what you do next.

“how come?” his big hand comes up to cradle your cheek softly. you let him run his thumb over the supple skin there, melting further into his touch. “hm? tell me what you want then.” he teases, enjoying the way his words make you squirm.

"you want these?" he asks heatedly, flexing his biceps on either side of himself with a toothy grin.

you shake your head shyly, giggling under your breath at all the bravado.

"no? alright." he hums softly, letting his hands settle at the dips of your waist.

"my fingers then?" he questions, squeezing each digits into the supple skin there. "could do that thing I did for you last time." he offers. the way he says is far too sweet compared to the images you brain conjures up at his suggestion. flashes of his hand on your pussy last night burn through your brain like wildfire, sending heat down your body to your sopping wet center.

still, you shake your head again, leaning forward to nose at the curve of his neck.

"mmm, not that either, huh?" toji drawls. strong hands dip down from your waist to settle right above your ass.

"how about this?" he asks, using his leverage on his hips to press you down against the hard imprint of his cock. "you want this, angel?"

slick starts to pool in the gusset of your panties as he rocks you back and forth over his bulge. toji's already sporting a wet patch at the front of his boxers from all the attention you'd given him. his cock twitches when you squirm over him, arms thrown around his shoulders to keep you stable.

“yeah? you need that?” he asks lowly, eyes seeped in a lustful haze. toji’s never looked at you this brazen before. hungry, like he wants to devour you whole and lick your bones clean.

you nod, trying so desperately to voice just how badly you need him, but all that leaves your lips is a quiet, breathless moan.

“yeah you do.” he whispers to himself, hooking his thumb into his waistband to get his jeans and underwear around his ankles. you watch him spit into his palm harshly and wrap his hand around his length, stroking heavy base to flushed tip.

you wait for him to tell you what he wants next. for him to get you on your knees, maybe bend you over the arm of the couch if he's feeling impatient. only, toji doesn't stop stroking himself. instead, he brings his other hand to your waist, squeezing reassuringly.

"what do you need, baby?" he asks smugly, thumbing over the slit of his cock with a quiet groan. you have half a mind to just stay like this if you really want to, watching him play with himself while your panties soak all the way through.

except, toji's never been one to play fair, and you know he won't give you more than this unless you speak up.

he starts to buck up into his fist just the slightest bit, enough to fuck his hand, but not enough to jostle you. the pre he's leaking eases every glide of his palms a little more, filling the room with the steady schlk-schlk-schlk of his fist around his cock.

you muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, glancing down briefly to pull your panties to the side as an invitation. toji keeps his gaze firmly locked on your blushing expression, head cocked to the side with his mouth curled up.

"what is it? hm?" he whispers, still stroking himself at a steady pace.

you huff something unintelligible once you realize he's not going to look, and that earns a grin from him. toji slows his fist just the slightest bit, bringing his free hand in between your legs to pet at your swollen clit.

"you can tell me, c'mon." he reassures. fingers dipping down to your hole to spread some of that wetness onto your sensitive bud. heat bundles in your core like a match to a candle wick, growing hotter and hotter with every press of his fingers.

"i need something to cum on." you mumble quietly. you see the corner of his mouth twitch up as soon as the words leave your mouth chest rumbling in approval. his hand doesn't let up around the length of his dick, stroking faster now that he knows how bad you need him.

"yeah? need to cum on my dick?"

you nod, giggling at the flurry of sloppy kisses he lens in to press into the column of your throat. his strong hand comes to rest on your back and urge your forward while the other holds his cock steady, flushes and ready to be sat on.

"see what happens when you're sweet on me?" he teases, lifting his hips up to fully sink into your throbbing heat. you moan quietly, feeling every inch of him slide home.

"i always give you what you want, don't i?" his thumb comes forward to rub over your clit gently while the other fastens to your hip, helping you set the pace for him.

you feel insatiable, thighs starting to burn as you fuck yourself up and down on his dick. you let your hands grab onto whatever you can manage. one on his bicep, the other on his shoulder. toji takes a moment to grind his hips up just the slightest bit and that hits something devastating inside of you, ushering you that much closer to your high.

"not gonna last long, are you?" he teases through grit teeth. he's just as close, if not closer judging by how fuck out his expression in.

you whine when he brings his hand up to you chin to keep your gaze stead, squeezing your cheeks until your mouth forms a pout from the force. he always gets meaner when he's about to cum, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't love it

toji's doing more of the work than you at this point, and you let him, feeling every stroke of his cock against your walls as your orgasm approaches. you clench down hard on him and he lets your face go briefly, letting you hide in his neck right as you gush all over him.

"there we go, that's it pretty girl." he muses. shivers wrack your entire body as the last of your orgasm washes over the both of you. toji slows the pace to a slow grind of his hips, arms locked tight around your waist to hold you down while he chases his own high.

he ruts his hips once, then twice, finally spilling his load in between your legs with a groan situated so deep in his chest that you feel the vibrations. you moan helplessly into the damp skin where his neck meets his shoulder, grinding your clit against the base of his cock just to feel those first sparks of overstim soar up your spine.

he lays you on your back once both of your heads have floated back down from the clods, still sheathed inside of you while his cum drizzles out of you around the girth of his dick.

"my shy girl." he huffs fondly, rubbing his hands up and down your shivering body.

universalstarfly

snapchat filter on my bfs nerdjo & fratjo 😫😫😫

tojipie

18+ prisoner!toji starts to rethink some of his life choices the night he realizes he has to jerk off without you.

toji has a handful of regrets that've followed him throughout his life. his own personal raincloud of stupid decisions that he wishes he could take back if he had the chance.

he’s done it all. impulsive purchases, meaningless fights, bad gambles. you name it. getting locked up had to be pretty far up on the ladder, sure. but trying to jerk off without the home movies you two made? harder than a life sentence.

he gives it his all the first week in. nights spent laid prone against his mattress, rutting his cock between the scratchy plains of his sheets and the hard, unforgiving face of his hips wishing it was you. hands fisted in his own hair like it'll stop him from going insane.

he tries everything his hormone riddle brain can think of. fucking down into his fist and pretending it's your pussy, folding his pillow in half and rutting into the divot the way he used to do with your ass. he even considers jerking off dry. it just doesn't work.

he can't cum. not without the sweet embrace of your hands jerking him off, or the tight grip of your pussy sucking him in. he just can't do it if you're not here, and the effect it's having on him is obvious.

"have you been getting enough sleep?" your voice crackles through the receiver. the little metal cubicle he’s sitting in on the other side of the glass does nothing to hide his misery.

toji couldn't formulate an answer right now even if he wanted to. he holds one end of a dull plastic phone to his ear loosely, letting your words sift in through on ear and out the other. his eyes lay low and heavy even through the foggy plexiglass between the two of you, gaze transfixed on the sliver of cleavage your neckline shows off.

"uh-huh." he mumbles, sounding equally tired and horny. the bags under his eyes are nothing compared to the exhaustion that’s been etched into his bones. his fringe sits wildly against his forehead like he’s hasn’t stopped running his hands through it.

“are you sure?” you ask cautiously, fiddling with the metal cord that anchors your receiver to the wall.

toji nods far too slow to pass off as normal, gaze still locked in on the swell of your breasts. you think you’re starting to catch onto his ailment the moment he looks up at you with pleading eyes, whispering the truth to you with a bit of hesitance.

“..can’t jerk off.” he mumbles, forehead pressed up against the glass now.

you quirk a brow at him, urging him to expand. he doesn’t.

“what, is it like a privacy thing?” you wonder aloud.

“no—fuck.” he hisses, embarrassment bubbling to the surface. he steals a quick glance around the room to check for eavesdroppers before continuing“…just doesn’t feel the same without you.”

you ponder his admission for a moment, leg bouncing in thought while your boyfriend looks on at you with a borderline pathetic expression.

“i’ll see what i can do.” you sigh.

toji’s the one that quirks a brown this time, perking up like you’ve just offered him the keys to the city.

“you’ll see?” he questions, voice laced with a hopefully horniness only he can pull off.

“can’t be that hard to sneak you like…” you cross one of your legs over the other gesturing vaguely in front of you with your free hand. “a polaroid or something.”

“a polaroid?” if he didn’t sound grateful before, he definitely does now, palm pressed flush against the barrier between you.

“any requests?” you tease.

“oh, fuck.” toji grumbles under his breath. you notice him widen his stance just the slightest bit from where he’s seated, shifting his hips to alleviate the uncomfortable pressure in his pants. “been hard for like 3 days, don’t make it worse.”

rissouu

an eater, I NEED HER

boyfriend!higuruma baby traps you… on accident.

⚚ when higuruma’s boss called him late notice, and told him he had a case that would last twelve days, he nearly ripped his own hair out. how the hell would he survive being away from you for that long? he didn’t even like taking too long using the bathroom for fucks sake, always afraid of missing any word you said.

at some point he started a habit of taking you in there with him, making you sit on the sink and continue your yap sessions while he did what he needed to. part of him seriously thought about stuffing you in his briefcase to come along whenever work called.

many of your friends were concerned with how clingy he was.. and the amount of aggression he’d show when he couldn’t be, but you quickly waved them off. higuruma just loved you so much! maybe a lot more than the average person should, but you didn’t mind it, which is why you always rushed to his defense.

higuruma was flattered you were so protective of him, but your friends really weren’t wrong to be worried, he was downright obsessed with you. everyone could see it but you.

guilt washed over him constantly— here you were thinking he was the best boyfriend in the world, but mostly the guy was just a selfish over thinker. what if someone tried taking his place beside you while it was empty?

oh helllll no.

“aht keep your hands off baby,” his low voice was soothing but it had a slight sternness to it. your legs wrapped around his waist while you were pinned in a mating press, forced to feel every inch of him.

“if you push me again, ‘m gonna have to spank my princess. y’want that angel? hmm?”

you started drooling when your eyes locked on his droopy ones, he hadn’t stopped staring and it was driving you quite insane. you couldn’t stop your hands that instinctively started pushing him again, “ngh- hiro! n..need you s’bad!”

the smack that followed was loud, and your clit was stinging before you could even process what had happened. “cmonn pretty don’t be bad please, i leave soon. please?”

something about his begging had your walls squeezing him even more. higuruma leaned down, tucking his head into your neck to the point his lips grazed your ear.

you were babbling a bunch of nonsense but it sounded damn near poetic to him. he could listen to you for hours.

“daddy’s gonna miss you soo much princess. s..so much-” his whispers slowly turned into whimpers, every sound only pushed you further over the edge. “w..will you miss me? tell me please, need to hear you..”

“im g..gonna- mm- miss you too! always miss youuu!” you couldn’t believe you were slurring out words like this. and it was even harder to believe that he actually understood them.

his free hand crept down your thigh— only stopping once it got to your foot, kissing the heel before putting your white toes to his lips.

he was silent aside from a few grunts, and when higuruma got quiet it never meant anything good. it meant he was up to something.

the man started thinking about not pulling out. the thought came on a whim and it kept growing the more he looked at your fucked out face.

would you be mad? maybe try to leave him? well, its not like he’d ever let you do a silly thing like that.

he couldn’t have you going anywhere, or ever try to walk out on him. you’d already agreed to be his forever, what’s the harm in a little extra precaution? you did always love nanami’s kids..

“need to m..make you a mama, yeah? get you all filled with my babies, walking ‘round with that belly, showing everybody you’re mine- shit shit.” you nearly cut the circulation off in his shaft when you heard his words.

he chuckled low and rubbed your pudge, imagining all the ways your body would fill in while carrying part of him. “i see my pretty pussy likes the idea… now 'm just waiting on my pretty girl.”

when he slapped your thigh you knew he wanted an answer. in an instant you nodded mindlessly— not caring much about anything besides his tip that brushed against your womb. or the fat thumb that circled your clit with purpose. “ohhh my goshh yes! i want it, want my baby, pleasee!”

eh.. you really shouldn’t have told him that.

©rissouu 2026

musatoru

flowers in the drawer

megumi is too shy to give you flowers to your face, so he hides them in your room instead.

roommate wanted

quiet, non-smoker.

2-bed apartment, central location. rent: ¥50,000/month (split).

no parties, no guests, no drama. pets negotiable.

contact: fushiguro m. (include why you're a good fit).

no frills, no photos of the place. just a phone number scribbled at the bottom.

you were juggling textbooks, half-eating a granola bar, when you saw that ad on the crumpled flyer on the community board at your university's student center. there was this persistent looming dread of your rent doubling if you didn't find a cheaper place soon, so thank heavens you got such a life-saving sign.

you texted that afternoon, keeping it professional. fushiguro responded within the hour: interview tomorrow, 6 pm. address attached. bring id.

the apartment was on the third floor of a modest building in a quiet tokyo neighborhood –close enough to the subway for your commute, far enough from the bustle to feel peaceful. you knocked, and the door opened to reveal a guy about your age, tall and lean with dark, spiky hair that looked like it defied gravity on purpose. he wore a plain black t-shirt and jeans, his expression neutral bordering on wary. sapphire eyes flicked over you quickly, assessing.

"come in." he said, voice low and even. no handshake, just a step aside to let you in.

the place was spotless: hardwood floors swept clean, a small kitchen with appliances that gleamed, a living room with a worn couch and a bookshelf crammed with astronomy books and philosophy texts. your potential room was smaller but pleasant: a bed, a dresser with drawers that stuck a bit, a desk by the window overlooking a tiny park.

the tour was brief: kitchen (coffee maker functional, use it), bathroom (hot water lasts ten minutes), living room (no tv after 9 pm).

"girls are usually more organized. cleaner. that's why." it sounded like a fact, not a compliment. he paused, then: "rent due on the 1st. keys tomorrow if you want it."

you moved in that weekend with two suitcases and a box of books. megumi helped carry the heavy one without a word, setting it down in your new room. "use whatever. no speakers."

and that was that. no welcome dinner, no awkward icebreakers. just two strangers sharing space, orbiting each other like polite planets.

the first few weeks were all adjustment. you woke at 6 am for your literature lectures, tiptoeing around to avoid waking him. he'd emerge around 7:30, hair even messier from sleep, heading out for what you assumed were his astronomy sessions or part-time work. he never specified. you learned his habits by osmosis: he liked his showers scalding hot (the bathroom mirror always fogged), read late into the night with a single lamp on, and avoided eye contact during rare shared meals.

but you made the coffee. every morning, before slipping out the door, you'd grind fresh beans (you'd bought a cheap grinder on sale), set the timer for 7:15, and leave a mug out. black, no sugar –you'd noticed him drink it that way once when you both grabbed breakfast cereal at the same time.

the first time he acknowledged it was subtle. you came home to find the mug washed and drying on the rack, a sticky note beside it: thanks. no name, but his handwriting –neat, precise kanji.

you smiled to yourself, tucking the note into your journal. he wasn't chatty, but he was considerate. he never left lights on, always took out the trash on his days, and once fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom without you asking.

from his side, megumi noticed you more than he let on. you weren't just clean, you were methodical. shoes aligned by the door, laundry folded in perfect squares, notes color-coded on your desk. you hummed old jazz tunes while cooking simple dinners (yakimeshi or stir-fry, nothing fancy), and your laugh was rare but genuine, like when you watched slice-of-life anime on low volume in the living room.

months blurred under perpetual cloud cover. winter brought shorter days; the apartment felt smaller, the walls closer. conversations were sparse.

“rain again tomorrow.”

“yeah.”

“you need the umbrella?”

“i’ll manage.”

he told himself it was a relief. good roommate. practical choice. but then came that morning in early spring.

you'd overslept your alarm by five minutes, rushing around in pajamas –his old black hoodie, actually, the one you'd ‘borrowed’ from the dryer when yours was in the wash. (he'd noticed it missing but said nothing.) the kitchen light hit you just right: hair tousled, eyes soft with sleep, pouring his coffee first even in your hurry. steam curled up, and you smiled at the mug like it was a huge victory.

something in megumi's chest tightened. beautiful, he thought, unbidden. not in a flashy way, but like the first light of dawn. he ducked back into his room before you saw him, heart pounding stupidly.

that evening, after you’d left for a late library shift, he stopped at a corner flower shop on his way home from class. the old lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow at his request for ‘something simple’. he left with one white orchid –symbol of elegance, he'd read once in a book. delicate petals, pure and unassuming.

he slipped into your room (door unlocked, as always). the bottom drawer of your dresser stuck, as he'd mentioned once in passing. perfect. unused. he placed the orchid inside, flat and careful, with a folded note:

you make mornings quieter. in a good way. thank you.

no signature, no need. he closed the drawer softly, heart racing like he'd committed a crime.

what started as a one-off became a habit as frequent as brushing teeth. megumi wasn't impulsive; every flower was chosen with care, after days of silent observation. he researched meanings late at night on his phone, scrolling through flower dictionaries while pretending to read murakami. notes were drafted in his head during runs, rewritten until they were honest but restrained. serious. respectful. nothing that could be misinterpreted as creepy.

a week after the orchid: one red tulip, vibrant against the drawer's wood. he'd seen you reading a poetry book on the couch, lost in thought. the tulip meant declaration of love, but he downplayed it. note:

you're more thoughtful than most. it shows in the details.

you'd reorganized the kitchen cabinets that day, grouping spices alphabetically. he noticed.

two weeks later: three pink carnations, bundled loosely with a ribbon from the shop. carnations for fascination. you'd stayed up late helping him study for an exam he mentioned offhand (he was minoring in history, surprisingly), quizzing him over instant ramen. note:

your presence is steady. reliable. i appreciate it.

he placed them while you were at a study group, drawer creaking faintly.

then two white roses (thorns carefully removed) –purity, new beginnings. it was after a rainy day when you'd left an umbrella by his shoes, knowing he'd forget his. the petals were soft, thorns clipped. note:

i don't say it enough, but you're kind. genuinely.

a small bouquet of gardenias followed, their creamy white blooms filling the drawer with a faint, sweet scent that lingered even as they dried. secret love, joy. he'd caught you dancing subtly in the kitchen while making tea, headphones in, oblivious to him watching from the hallway. note:

you're beautiful. not just on the surface. all of your little things.

more came over the months. a single lily for purity after you mediated a minor argument he had with a friend over the phone (you'd offered cocoa and silence). note: you bring calm.

daisies (a handful) for innocence when you shared your favorite childhood book with him during a power outage, reading by flashlight. note: your stories make the dark less empty.

violets for faithfulness after he realized you'd been adjusting the thermostat to his preferred cooler temp without complaint. note: loyalty in small things matters.

hydrangeas for heartfelt emotions when you surprised him with takeout on a bad day (he'd come home bruised after a fight with a senior who dared to spit on his sister’s memory). note: you see more than you let on.

he'd slip in during your absences –classes, part-time cafe job, library runs. always the same drawer, accumulating like a hidden garden. petals dried, colors fading into sepia, notes unread. he checked once or twice, seeing them untouched. the flowers decayed in secret, like feelings left too long in the dark. a grave of his affection.

she doesn't care, he thought, and his stomach sank each time. or doesn't notice. but he couldn't stop. it was his way of saying what his voice couldn't.

from your perspective, life was good. megumi was the ideal roommate –introverted, respectful, occasionally sharing a meal where conversations were short but meaningful. "how was your day?" you'd ask, and he'd mumble "fine" before asking about yours. you noticed him softening: leaving fruit for you in the fridge, fixing your wobbly chair.

but then he started leaving before you set the timer. you’d wake to an empty pot, the machine silent, the kitchen still dark. when your schedules overlapped he’d mutter a clipped “hey” and disappear into his room faster than before. no more lingering in the living room with his book. no more accidental brushes of shoulders in the narrow hallway. no more glances over the rim of mugs.

at night you heard him come home late –keys, shoes by the door, soft footsteps past your room. sometimes he paused outside your door for a second, long enough that you held your breath, waiting for a knock that never came. then the creak of his own door closing. the apartment settled back into its familiar gloom, but now it felt personal.

the silence grew heavier, thicker than the fog that rolled in every morning from the sewers. you stopped setting the coffee timer. what was the point if he wouldn’t drink it?

you started avoiding the kitchen during his usual hours. ate cereal standing at the sink, headphones in, pretending the music drowned out the emptiness. you studied in your room with the door closed, even though the lamp there flickered and the chair was less comfortable. anything to not sit at the table where you used to share a space.

you kept replaying every word you said to him, every detail you had with him. maybe you crossed a line, but didn’t know which one.

you cried once into the sleeve of his hoodie you still wore. then you folded it neatly and placed it on the chair in your room. you wouldn’t wear it again until the ache dulled.

megumi sat in the dark of his own room, back against the door, staring at the single dried white camellia he never dared to tuck among the rest: eternal union. he’d kept it hidden in his nightstand drawer –the one place you never looked.

you had to move out, you decided one mid-summer afternoon. in fact, you had already scouted your options and found a place that fit your budget. the plan was flawless: go to the interview that evening, sever the ties you thought you had with the stranger who offered you a roof, and then head to europe for a literature research trip. the perfect plan.

you got home to pack your bags, fuming at yourself for not confronting him, only to find yourself locked in a sudden struggle with that sticky bottom drawer, forgotten amid junk.

you yanked it open with force. twice. thrice. four times.

petals exploded out like confetti from a forgotten party –dried orchids, tulips crumbling at the edges, carnations flaking pink, roses curled inward, gardenias browned but fragrant. lilies, daisies, violets, hydrangeas –a secret florist wilted in time. notes fluttered to the floor, dozens of them, all in that familiar neat script.

you sank to the carpet, surrounded. read them one by one, breath catching. quiet mornings. thoughtful. steady. kind. beautiful. calm. stories. loyalty. see more.

tears pricked your eyes. it was him. all him. how long? why hide? shyness? careful distance?

you felt so foolish for believing the smell belonged to the park outside, convinced it was just the bushes budding. but it was the apartment itself. his scent.

when megumi came home, the key turned slowly. rain dripped from his hood. he stepped inside and froze.

the scent hit first–alive, familiarly overwhelming, cutting through the usual mustiness. then the sight: flowers. everywhere. every surface softened by petals and stems. low candlelight dancing on glass. flowers mirroring every secret he’d buried. on the shelf where he kept his books. by the window he'd stare out during insomnia. on the counter next to the coffee maker. spilling over the couch.

a city apartment transformed into a private meadow.

you spent the afternoon at flower shops gathering freesias and peonies (tenderness); chrysanthemums and magnolias (sacred solemnity); hibiscus and poppies (warmth intertwined with solace); geraniums and petunias (true companionship and comforting presence); sunflowers and daffodils (hidden hope and a new beginning). in summary, a blend of pure trust, timid devotion, and unwavering loyalty.

you stood in the center, in his hoodie again, hands clasped nervously. petals dusted the floor around you.

“i found the drawer.” you said, voice barely above the rain. “everything was there. all of it.”

megumi’s bag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a muted thump. his face drained and then flushed crimson.

“i thought you weren't interested.” he stared at the floorboards. “since you never said anything.”

“i didn’t know.” a small, broken laugh. “i was so stupid. i thought you were always blunt with me. i had no idea."

he rubbed his neck, avoiding your eyes. "didn't want to make it weird. you like the quiet. i like the quiet with you. if you didn't feel the same..." he trailed off, vulnerable.

"you didn't ruin anything, megumi." your voice cracked a little. "this is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done. all those months..."

silence stretched, filled with floral whispers.

then you smiled, that soft one he loved. "hope i didn't get it too late? to say i feel the same. have for a while."

his head snapped up, pacific-ocean eyes wide. "not too late."

relief flooded your features, and your shoulders relaxed.

"maybe next time," you mumbled. "just hand them to me?"

he nodded, a real smile breaking through. "yeah. i can do that." with deliberate parsimony, he crouched down toward his backpack, pulling the zipper with a mysterious slowness until he pulled out a white camellia. it wasn't withered or dead, but fresh –newly acquired and ready to be given. “let’s start now.” he said.

and from then on, the drawer stayed empty.

7haze

my heart is mega full rn

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