Your eyes snapped open instantly. Without thinking, you reached behind you, your hand gliding over the mattress in search of something familiar.
Warm, toned skin.
Sae.
Not what you were looking for.
Your hand continued to wander over the blankets, your brows slowly knitting together as your search grew more frantic.
ââŠWhatâs wrong?â Sae asked, his voice low and rough with sleep.
He turned onto his side, lazily wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you against his chest. His warm breath brushed the back of your neck as he buried his face into your hair.
âGo back to sleep,â he mumbled, already closing his eyes again.
âI canât.â
You slipped out of his hold and sat up, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. They swept across the bed.
Nothing.
You climbed out of bed, crossed the room, and flicked on the light.
Sae let out an annoyed groan, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand.
âWhere is he?â
You planted your hands on your hips.
ââŠWho?â
He didnât even bother looking at you.
âYou know exactly who I mean.â
Sae sighed dramatically before finally cracking one eye open.
âThe shrimp?â
âYes. Sheldon.â
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
âSheldon? Your stuffed shrimp actually has a name?â
âOf course he does. His name is Sheldon Shrimp.â
You said it with complete seriousness, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
âHm.â
Sae closed his eye again.
âMaybe Sheldon Shrimp decided heâd rather spend one night away from you. Lucky for you, youâve still got Sae Itoshi.â
âI donât want to spend the night without Sheldon.â
âLifeâs unfair.â
His answer was so flat that it only made you glare harder.
âWhere did you hide him?â
There was genuine concern in your voice now.
You couldnât shake the horrible thought that Sae had done something to your favorite plush.
âI never said I hid him.â
He sounded far too innocent.
âAnd why would I?â
âSaaae.â
You dragged out his name with a frustrated whine.
âWe canât sleep like this.â
âI could.â
He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at you with that usual calm, unreadable expression.
âIâd actually sleep better if my adorable girlfriend hugged me instead of a stuffed shrimp.â
You blinked.
âWe can cuddle all together⊠if youâre nice to Sheldon.â
Sae stared at you for a long moment.
ââŠIâll pass.â
âSo?â
You crossed your arms.
âWhere is he?â
He let out another quiet sigh.
âIn the closet.â
Without another word, you hurried over and opened it.
Sure enough, Sheldon Shrimp was sitting neatly on one of the shelves.
You smiled triumphantly, hugged your beloved shrimp tightly against your chest, switched the light back off, and climbed into bed again.
Satisfied, you tucked Sheldon safely between you and the blanket before instinctively reaching for Saeâs arm, wrapping yourself around it as well.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you felt it.
The slightest twitch at the corner of Saeâs mouth.
A smile.
Tiny enough that heâd deny it if you ever mentioned it.
You smiled to yourself, cuddling both Sheldon and Sae a little closer.
âź â â đŸđđ¶đ°đž đ»đŒđđČ ! | okay first off, WHY is this SO FUCKIN EMOTIONAL for no absolute reason. damn. consider this a 1000 follower special! likes & reblogs are appreciated!
NOTE: this is đ§đšđ romanticising blindess if some of y'all didn't get that. quite the opposite, actually. from how i intended it, it's supposed to show that visual impairment is no issue, and love has no boundaries. đč
the thought settles deep in your chest like a stone, familiar and heavy, as you lie on the silk sheets of the massive bed.
your fingers trace the embroidered patterns on your robeâsome floral design you can't see but can feel beneath your fingertips. the fabric is soft, expensive. everything here is expensive. everything here screams luxury and power and wealth.
but none of it screams love.
you hear nothing from his side of the bed.
the man is so impossibly quiet, it makes your skin prickle with unease. you've been here for three months now. three months as the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, the most feared ruler in all the lands. and in those three months, he has barely spoken a word to you.
at first, you thought it was a game.
some twisted test of patience. you were clever enough to know that political marriages were rarely about love. you'd been prepared for indifference, for coldness, for a husband who saw you as nothing more than a strategic alliance.
but this? this silent treatment that stretches night after night, this deliberate distance he keeps?
it cuts deeper than you expected.
your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.
princes would see your face firstâthe one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossibleâand they'd fall to their knees.
they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.
you were used to it.
but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.
and you'd felt hope.
you hate yourself for that hope now.
because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.
but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?
it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.
the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.
but you can't navigate him.
you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a voidâa massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.
tonight was bad.
you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.
then you'd almost fallen down a staircaseâthe grand staircase with its uneven stepsâyour foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.
and the whispers.
you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.
"the blind empress."
"does he even notice her?"
"i heard he hasn't touched her once."
"what a waste of a pretty face."
"she must be so lonely."
"she must be so pathetic."
you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.
but inside, you were crumbling.
and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.
does he ever sleep?
you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.
a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.
and you can't take it anymore.
"ryomen?"
your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.
silence.
you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.
just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"what."
it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.
you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.
"i...i want to ask you something."
more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel itâthe weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
"ask."
you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.
"do you hate me?"
the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.
"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?
"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'mâ"
"stop."
the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.
but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.
and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.
you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so bigâso impossibly largeâthat you feel like a doll in his arms.
"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "whatâ"
"quiet."
his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.
"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"
you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.
a low sound escapes himânot quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.
"open your eyes."
the command catches you off guard. "what?"
"your eyes. open them."
you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.
"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."
"i can't see you."
"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."
please.
the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?
you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.
"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."
your heart stutters. "then whyâ"
"because i'm fuckin' terrified."
you blink. "what?"
"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."
"butâ"
"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"
his voice drops to a whisper.
"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."
tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.
but he was...
...afraid?
"you don't hate me?" you whisper.
"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."
a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.
"but you neverâyou never talked to meâ"
"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."
"then don't stop."
the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.
"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."
sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.
"you don't know what you're asking."
"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."
"i'll hurt you."
"i don't care."
"i'll break you."
"i don't care."
his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.
the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.
he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.
he pulls back, breathless.
"tell me to stop, and i will."
"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."
he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel himâhis weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.
"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."
your breath catches. "ryomenâ"
"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."
you nod, unable to speak.
his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.
"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."
you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.
"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."
he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.
"more," you gasp. "pleaseâ"
"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."
he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wetâembarrassingly wetâand he lets out a low growl when he feels it.
"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"
"yes," you whimper. "only you."
he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.
"tell me what you want."
"i wantâ" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."
his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"
"please," you beg. "ryo, pleaseâ"
"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."
he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.
and then his tongue touches you.
you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."
he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.
"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."
his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.
you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.
when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.
"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."
his eyesâyou can feel themâsearch your face.
"are you sure? we can stop. we canâ"
"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."
he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.
"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know ifâ"
"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."
he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.
"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."
"okay."
"promise me."
"i promise."
he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.
he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's hugeâso much bigger than his fingersâand you wonder if you can actually take him.
"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."
you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.
just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.
"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."
he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and thenâ
a sharp pain.
fuck...you forgot.
you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.
"did i hurt ya'?"
you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.
blood.
his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.
"fuck," he hisses. "you'reâyou're a fuckin' virgin?"
you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"
"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i justâfuckâi didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."
"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."
"you're fuckin' bleeding."
"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.
he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."
but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.
when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.
"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."
"move," you beg. "please."
he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythmâslow, deep, deliberateâeach thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryoâ"
"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"
"yesâyesâ"
his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.
"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."
he presses down, and you feel itâthe outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.
"more," you gasp. "harderâ"
"y'sure?"
"yesâpleaseâ"
he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.
"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"
"inside," you gasp. "pleaseâi want to feel youâ"
he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel itâhis release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.
at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.
he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.
"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."
you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.
"i love you too."
a long moment passes. then another. and thenâ
"we're going to do that again."
you laugh, breathless.
"right now?"
"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."
"promise?"
he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.
"promise."
you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.
"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."
Your eyes snapped open instantly. Without thinking, you reached behind you, your hand gliding over the mattress in search of something familiar.
Warm, toned skin.
Sae.
Not what you were looking for.
Your hand continued to wander over the blankets, your brows slowly knitting together as your search grew more frantic.
ââŠWhatâs wrong?â Sae asked, his voice low and rough with sleep.
He turned onto his side, lazily wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you against his chest. His warm breath brushed the back of your neck as he buried his face into your hair.
âGo back to sleep,â he mumbled, already closing his eyes again.
âI canât.â
You slipped out of his hold and sat up, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. They swept across the bed.
Nothing.
You climbed out of bed, crossed the room, and flicked on the light.
Sae let out an annoyed groan, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand.
âWhere is he?â
You planted your hands on your hips.
ââŠWho?â
He didnât even bother looking at you.
âYou know exactly who I mean.â
Sae sighed dramatically before finally cracking one eye open.
âThe shrimp?â
âYes. Sheldon.â
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
âSheldon? Your stuffed shrimp actually has a name?â
âOf course he does. His name is Sheldon Shrimp.â
You said it with complete seriousness, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
âHm.â
Sae closed his eye again.
âMaybe Sheldon Shrimp decided heâd rather spend one night away from you. Lucky for you, youâve still got Sae Itoshi.â
âI donât want to spend the night without Sheldon.â
âLifeâs unfair.â
His answer was so flat that it only made you glare harder.
âWhere did you hide him?â
There was genuine concern in your voice now.
You couldnât shake the horrible thought that Sae had done something to your favorite plush.
âI never said I hid him.â
He sounded far too innocent.
âAnd why would I?â
âSaaae.â
You dragged out his name with a frustrated whine.
âWe canât sleep like this.â
âI could.â
He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at you with that usual calm, unreadable expression.
âIâd actually sleep better if my adorable girlfriend hugged me instead of a stuffed shrimp.â
You blinked.
âWe can cuddle all together⊠if youâre nice to Sheldon.â
Sae stared at you for a long moment.
ââŠIâll pass.â
âSo?â
You crossed your arms.
âWhere is he?â
He let out another quiet sigh.
âIn the closet.â
Without another word, you hurried over and opened it.
Sure enough, Sheldon Shrimp was sitting neatly on one of the shelves.
You smiled triumphantly, hugged your beloved shrimp tightly against your chest, switched the light back off, and climbed into bed again.
Satisfied, you tucked Sheldon safely between you and the blanket before instinctively reaching for Saeâs arm, wrapping yourself around it as well.
For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you felt it.
The slightest twitch at the corner of Saeâs mouth.
A smile.
Tiny enough that heâd deny it if you ever mentioned it.
You smiled to yourself, cuddling both Sheldon and Sae a little closer.
I really do like this, I think it shows how much Marcille loves Falin, and how much she's willing to sacrifice for her. Doing something wrong for the right reason.
What can you learn from looking at someone's hands?
The answer is a lot. Especially in Witch Hat Atelier, where a person's hands are a representation of their entire identity.
Hands are especially instrumental to a magic system built around drawing sigils, so it makes sense for them to get extra attention through storyboarding and animation, but the crew at the impeccably named studio Bug Films took it to a new level, giving hands a leading role in their visual storytelling, even beyond what's in the original manga.
The theme is practically stated outright when the magic cops come to erase Coco's memory and Easthies examines her hand to see if she's a terrorist, but finds only the calouses and ink stains of a novice apprentice, literally learning her identity by looking at her hand.
But nowhere are hands more central than Qifrey's secret confrontation with the Brimmed Hat, and this 15-second-long close-up on where the camera tracks his hand as it stretches close to Dr. Eyeball, even intermingling with the almost finger-like tassles at the bottom of the robe and hangs there in anticipation for a tantalizing ten frames,
Only for the tassles to dematerialize just as he tries to grab them, and having exhausted its last bit of energy, Quifrey's hand collapses to the ground, now animated on 1's, and the camera stays locked on to this close-up.
After a brief pause in defeat, Qifrey starts to drag his hand back towards himself and it gradually forms back into a fist and rotates toward the camera for the first time as he swears not to give up. Only then do we return to a wide shot.
That's the main chunk of it, but there's an entire mini-narrative here that plays out almost exclusively through hands. There's some dialogue, but this scene would honestly work just as well without it, maybe better!
This is an adapted excerpt from this video, so check it out if you want:
â° imagine you and katsuki bakugo get into a fight about your relationship and he starts crying tw: cursing, arguing, angst+fluff
youâve both been going back and forth for a while now, 35 minutes and 2..25 seconds to be exact, not that katsuki is counting or anything.
âdo you even want me bakugo?!â you raise your voice, but his face drops âwhat happened to kat?â you roll your eyes âim asking you if you even fucking love me anymore and your talking about nicknamesâ you scream your voice shaky. âthis is what i talk about, you never take shit seriouslyâ
he furrows his brows, he opens his mouth just to close it. katsuki feels his throat close up and his eyes sting..
what the fuck, is he about to cry?.. over a girl?
âyou really have nothing.. nothing to say?â your hands start to shake holding back tears of your own. âiââ he pauses and looks down his knees weak has he holds onto the wall. you nod âfine, fine thatâs- thatâs just great kat, just fucking perfectâ you throw your hands up in the air and sigh.
âwait hunny, mâsorryâ his voice is soft and strained, you freeze halfway through your spin around.
âwhat?â ââŠplease, justâ i love you so much donât leave meâ he grabs your wrist and sighs âyou know i love you, please i understand I canât show my love the way you want, I just uhm i donât wanna lose youâ
you look into his eyes âwait wait are you crying?â katsuki looks down tears continue to roll down his face.
his voice cracks over itself, he stammers his words trying to express himself so you quickly cup his cheek and kiss him. he desperately grabs your waist and softly places his tongue on your bottom lip.
âfuck.. please never leave me, you know I fucking hate begging, i hate arguing with youâ he tightens his grip on your waist backing you up further into the wall you were previously leaning on. âletâs never argue againâ âmhmâ you seamlessly melt into his rough arms.
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
2087
