Cried. - Tumblr Posts

Bothersome beast, comforting friend

something small and sweet for rev because if he's distressed im distressed and i need this.

based in this post i found on tumbly.gob:

heres the thing in parts if its difficult to read or anything

every so often i think back to when i heard take me to church on the radio for the first time as a closeted gay teenager and thought "this really resonates for some reason idk why though" like i really had no idea huh. absolutely no clue at all.

so true 😩😩😩

As someone who doesn’t play Overwatch, who did the what now and what’s with McCree’s name???

The dude McCree was named after is part of an ongoing sexual harassment suit against Blizzard and Blizzard's changing his name instead of, you know, making their company less of a disgusting frathouse.

So now he's "Cole Cassidy.”

Also shoutout to this person for having the only correct take on this entire thing.

bathtime w/ Jiro (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Jiro (Yuri visits, but is not the focus)

rating: SFW but suggestive. Reader is Lustful.

warnings: reader is lustful but respectful. Jiro is naked. GN reader. Reader and Yuri are not necessarily besties.

First Tokyo Debunker fic after being a dead blog for months :thumbsup:

He looked worse than he normally did. It was hard to determine his state on appearance alone, given that he normally had dark circles, a pallid tone to his skin, an empty stare, and hair that was several nights past simple bed head. However, you were familiar enough with his movements by now, how calculated and deliberate they usually were, to tell when something was different, and today they were definitely different. You had positioned yourself in Mortkranken to keep an eye on him under the not untrue guise of hiding out from Romeo and Jin, both of whom were demanding your presence for various tasks you had no responsibility to complete. Your phone lit up constantly while Romeo sent you increasingly deranged threats for not answering him. You flipped it over, screen side down.

Jiro stood at the desk in the back of the room preparing Yuri’s tea. He had a teapot in front of him and a few small canisters of tea leaves he was mixing from. You'd watched him do this plenty of times before, his actions, the sounds, even the smell of the tea was like some kind of elevated ASMR video. Today though, instead of relaxation, you felt a grating sense of wrongness. He moved slower, like through something viscous and dense, and took several seconds to decide on what teas to use when it normally seemed arbitrary he was so decisive and instant. And then it happened. He did something you'd never seen him do before. He spilled tea leaves all over the floor.

You let out a soft gasp and sat up instinctively.

He stared, expression unreadable, down at the mess and you felt a little sharp prick in your heart at how absolutely exhausted he seemed. There was no way of knowing what he was thinking, but there was a universal sense of disappointment in that sidelong stare he gave the wasted tea leaves. He stood for a second more and then lumbered across the room for the broom.

“Let me help,” you offered, hopping up from your seat and hurrying over to him.

“Why? It's not your mess,” he responded in that monotone voice of his, grabbing the broom and turning back to clean up.

“Right. I don't have to help you anymore than you have to make Yuri tea every day,” you reached for the broom and grasped the handle, not quite prepared to wrestle it from the man you regularly saw hauling corpses to the morgue over one of his broad shoulders, but threatening nonetheless.

He stared down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose. “He'll complain if I don't. It's a hassle. I won't complain if you don't clean up after me.”

You frowned at his succinct, pragmatic answer. “Maybe I just want to help you because I care about you, then.” You tugged at the broom. To anyone else, you might have felt embarrassed being so forthright, but Jiro’s bluntness rubbed off on you in his presence. Besides, it didn't feel like a great revelation to share. You did care about him, and by this point, he'd have to be in serious denial to not notice it.

Jiro stared at you a few more seconds, then relinquished the broom. “I'll get the dustpan then.” He acquiesced in a way only Jiro could acquiesce. 

You scoffed quietly and started sweeping the mess into a neat pile while he shuffled back across the room to retrieve the dust pan. He returned and crouched down to hold it so you could sweep up the tea and a fair amount of dust. Looking down at him, you saw just how, dare you say, fucked up, his hair was. It was a bona fide rat's nest, there may have been rats living in it currently, and you weren't sure if the slight discoloration on his bangs was dirt or blood. 

Without thinking, you reached out and plucked a little piece of fuzz from his head and flicked it into the dustpan below. He stared up at you, utterly silent. You stared back. Seconds passed as you processed what you just did and he seemed to understand it no more than you did. “When was the last time you bathed?” You finally broke the silence. There was no point in beating around the bush with him, he surely wouldn't with you.

“Hmm,” he stood up and trekked over to a trash can to dump out the pan. “Before we autopsied that anomaly with 5 heads.”

“That was on Monday.” 

“Yes.”

“It's Friday.”

He turned to look at you, “Oh. It's been four days.” 

Did he not know the date?? You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to calm yourself. “And sleep? When did you last do that?” You pressed.

Jiro blinked slowly at you. 

You were going to kill Yuri, but that was for another time. This time, you had a giant, dirty, and sleep deprived Jiro to take care of. “You HAVE to take a bath and get some sleep.”

He considered this long enough to give you time to take another deep breath and prepare to nag him. “Okay,” he turned and started shuffling towards the bathroom, only to stop suddenly and put his hand against the wall to steady himself.

Rushing over, you put a hand on his arm in case he collapsed. “Jiro!” 

He blinked away the dizziness, nausea, lightheadedness, whatever he was feeling in that barely reanimated body of his, and barely straightened up. He seemed to have the intention to respond to you in some way, but the energy to do so was missing. He shuffled another step forward and you went with him. If this was how it was going to be, you clenched your jaw, this was how it was going to be.

He regained enough strength on the way to the bath that you felt confident he'd be able to survive cleaning up at least. You rushed in and around getting the water up to a warm temperature, grabbing a towel, and pushing him the last few steps towards the tub.

“It would be faster to take a shower,” he commented, kicking off his shoes.

“Do you think you have it in you to stand in a shower long enough to get clean?” You retorted with a raised eyebrow. You lifted the glasses from his face and set them carefully next to the sink.

He let you take his glasses with the familiarity of having had you done it a hundred times before. A hundred times might have been a bit off, but you'd maneuvered them off his head a few times when he was nearly passed out over an operating table and when he had blood all over his hands and couldn't wipe them off himself. It was an action not unusual for you two, which is why the tilt of his head came so naturally when you reached for them. Lifting back up, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “Maybe not. I could also faint and drown in the tub.” 

“That’s why I'll stand guard to check on you every few minutes to make sure you haven't inhaled lungfuls of bathwater,” you promised, avoiding looking too closely at his scarred back as he shrugged out of his shirt. You grabbed it up before it hit the ground and set it aside on the counter.

“Because you care about me?” He asked.

If a person could turn to sand and crumble away or deflate like a balloon and fly around the room making a pitiful little whining sound, you'd have done either. It was one thing to say it yourself to nag and scold him for his poor self care practices. It was another to have it thrown back at you in a way where you couldn't tell if he was teasing you or just earnestly asking. Face flushed an deep red, you turned around to give him privacy (and hide your blush) and stood at the door. “Because I care about you,” you agreed, regardless of the embarrassment.

A minute or two passed and you heard the sound of the water sloshing as he got into the tub. 

You held his towel in your folded arms, facing the door intently. “Just make a noise or something every few seconds so I know you're not drowning, okay?” 

He was quiet.

“Any sound,” you insisted, drumming your fingertips over your arms.

He was quiet, the water was not sloshing.

“Jiro?” You called behind you, suddenly very tense.

He didn't respond and all you could hear was your own heart hammering in your ears. He'd passed out and was currently breathing in water and soap. You'd have to haul him out of the tub and try to perform CPR, but would that work? What if you broke his sternum, could he survive that level of damage when he was already so weak? A million visions of Jiro’s untimely death flashed in your head and made your chest tighten.

You spun around, already halfway towards him before you realized he was fine.

He was resting his head on the back of the tub, looking at you with the smallest curve to his lips, his eyes shut slightly in contented amusement. He might have let out a rare bit of laughter if only he weren't so drained.

Your chest tightened and you considered a few choice words to call him for scaring you like that, but they all caught in your throat. As sweet as he looked, that barely there smile on his face, he looked so worn out and fragile sitting in that tub that could barely even fit him. You took a few steps toward him and set the towel down on the counter. “You scared me,” you admit.

“Sorry.” He responded, his smile had started vanishing, less because his amusement faded and more because the urge to sleep was becoming too strong.

You watched him for a second more and he made no move to start scrubbing himself down or washing his hair. With a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and crouched up on your knees next to the tub. You had filled it with an absolutely absurd amount of soap and bubbles, so there was no chance of seeing much more than the top of his chest and his knees that poked out over the water. “I'll wash your hair, so take care of the rest of yourself, alright?” You pushed.

He nodded.

You filled your palm with a bit of shampoo and foamed it up between your hands before diving into his mess of knotted hair. You had seen dolls at second hand shops with fewer knots and less tangled hair, and some of those had gone through the dryer or maybe a wind tunnel. You took your time, scrubbing down to his scalp with your fingers as tenderly but insistently as you could.

Jiro relaxed into your touch, slumped so fully into the bath that you had to gently lift his head to reach the back of it. He let out a quiet hum of satisfaction when you raked your fingers up the nape of his neck. His eyes were fully closed now, his eyelashes thick and dark and brushing the tops of his cheeks. Without his mask hanging down around his chin, you could see the cute little beauty mark under his mouth. Droplets of water rolled down his neck, over the little star shaped scars, down his chest and-

His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at you. It wasn't particularly different from how he usually looked at you, and maybe that's why it felt so much more intimate than you were used to. If you let yourself get caught in these thoughts, it would recontextualize everything between you and nothing would make sense anymore. You felt paralyzed by him, by your thoughts, by your hands in his hair, by the slow rise and fall of chest and the shifting of bubbles. “You stopped,” he announced, his voice not betraying any real tone of displeasure, but you felt it nonetheless.

“Oh!” You got back to scrubbing, carefully working through the knots, carefully controlling your breathing. “Sorry,” you mumbled. You rinsed out the shampoo, dumping little rinse cups of water over his head, your hand over his eyes now both to hide his near unblinking watch and to prevent soap from getting into them.

You rushed through conditioner, getting as much of his hair as saturated as possible (you had no clue when he'd use it again, after all), and pulled your hand back to stand up. “Okay. Just finish cleaning up and then rinse that out and you'll be right as rain,” you lectured as robotically as you could. The bubbles had started to pop and dissipate and any glances down at him were revealing more that you thought appropriate to see at the moment.

He wrapped his fingers around your hand as you retracted it. His hands were wet and his fingers slightly wrinkled from being under the water for so long. He pulled your hand inward just slightly, enough to indicate he was asking you to come back, but not enough to force you or pull you down.

You settled back on your knees in front of him. He looked pitiful, in the cutest way possible. His hair dripped water down his cheeks, his entire body barely fit into this tub and still he was cramped down into it, reaching up for you like he could pull you in with him.

His lips parted slightly and the pins and needles feeling in your calves erupted.

“Jiro- AAARGG!” 

You shot up, Jiro's hand slipping from yours as you turned to see Yuri pointing at and screaming at you. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!” Yuri demanded, expression crazed with suspicion.

“I was washing his hair!” You insisted, guilt tinging your tone, and then realized you weren't at fault here. He was the culprit. Plus, he'd interrupted whatever moment you were about to have with Jiro. His second major offense. You clenched your hands into fists. “Which he hasn't done in four days since you never give him any time to take care of himself!” You snapped.

Yuri withdrew in indignation, “How dare you speak to me that way, worm!” His hand pressed to his chest, over his heart. “Jiro has 24/7 care from the world's best doctor and foremost researcher on anomalous medicine. He should be grateful!”

You were ready to throw hands when Jiro spoke up. “Yuri, I'll finish up here in a few minutes and bring you tea after.” If only he knew the amount of blood he just prevented from being spilled.

Yuri bristled and rearranged his lab coat. “You do that. I'll be in the lab and you,” he pointed at you again with distaste, “will be going anywhere but here!”

Waving an annoyed hand at him, you retorted, “Let me just wash my hands and I'll be on my way.”

Yuri glowered at you and opened the door to leave, “Don't forget my tea,” he commanded, slamming the door behind him

You positively steamed while washing your hands in the slightly cool water of the sink. You couldn't even ask “who does he think he is” because he had to announce it every five minutes. Dr. Yuri Isami, genius and visionary. Best doctor ever, blah blah blah. Distracted with frustration, you almost forgot Jiro was soaking in the tub behind you until you turned to dry your hands and leave and caught him sitting up and staring at you again.

He was running a washcloth down his shoulder and arm when he spoke, “I'll let you help me again.”

You snorted. It seemed so flippant a conclusion, and yet… you weren't ready to walk away without one last question. “You're capable of doing this yourself. Why would you let me help you?”

He considered this, wringing the washcloth out over his chest, sending a cascade of soap bubbles and water down his skin that you watched with nothing more than scholarly interest. He didn't even look at you when he answered, his voice as cool and apathetic as always, “It must be because I care about you.”

Husband Higuruma

A/N: Kinda fantasising about this fine ass man so naturally I gotta write about him 🤭 Enjoy! <33

Oh the way this man adoresss you. His saving grace from the continuous painful cycle of surviving a capitalist economy.

Spoils you to no end. Of course you live in a massive comfortable house where all your makeup, hair, nails and every other luxuries is cared for. And being the humble man he is, he’ll simply shrug his shoulders and kiss you when you thank him for all the gifts.

I know everyone sees him as a easy going man but I can totally see him being a mean flirt.

“I’m so tired” he’ll say, “me too!” You reply as you straddle him, “Aw is procrastinating hard baby?” he replies as he wraps an arm around your waist, you tut in annoyance and try to move his hand away but his hand doesn’t budge, “shut up Hiro!”, “make me” he’ll quickly retorts with a chuckle when you hit his chest in retaliation.

But don’t get me wrong, he’s still a massive simp for you. This man does not play when it comes to you, he is at your every beck and call. “Hiro can you give me a back massage?” “Yes ma’am”

The second the lawyer walks through the door, his tired eyes scan the area for his pretty princess. A small smile graces his face as he watches you skip towards him in your skimpy pyjama romper.

“Come here beautiful” he says as he stretches out his arms.

He doesn’t like undressing himself it’s so much more fun when you help him. It starts with you on your tip toes loosening his tie as he kisses your neck as a thank you, which soon turns into something more as you reach for his blazer, then his shirt, then his trousers.

“Where’s your hands going angel?” He’ll ask amusedly without taking his eyes off your figure. And he knows it’s over for him when you stare up at him with big hopeful eyes as you pretend innocence “hm? Just helping you undress handsome” you lie, and he chuckles knowing he’ll give in to your trap willingly.

“Careful sweetheart, don’t start something you can’t finish” he warns but when you giggle in response and decide to hook a finger into his boxers, he’s done with self control.

And that’s how you find yourself getting railed in the bathtub. Water splashes out of the tub with every thrust from the much larger man pounding into you, his fat throbbing cock deep inside you. You whine “o-oh Hiro~” and attempt to grasp his broad shoulder for stability goes in vain, because this man is a beast when he is pussy hungry, “so fucking good” he praises in your ear, nudging your cheek with his Roman nose when you blush. The sloppy squelches from your pussy had hiromi’s eyes rolling back before both of you cum, hot ropes of his thick cum eventually leaks out of you. But that’s okay, because he’s going to make you lick it up in a sec.

So yeah.. quite an experience dating hiromi huh? ;)

𓈃 ❝ TO YOU, WITH LOVE . ❞ — lee heeseung !

PRECIS. four months after heeseung's death, you find the tape recorder he left for you ( wc. ≃ 2.12k )

GENRE. angst, minimally fluff, humour in traces

WARNINGS. profanities, angst / bittersweet, lots of flashbacks, death and mourning, mentions of breakup and arguments, crying, mentions of kissing, heeseung is insecure

NOTE. repost yas pls forget the times when i said im tired of hee angst. ps. this was inspired by lang leav's poems so there are several reference. italics text signify the audio / hee's dialogues. happy reading <3

they say relocating and starting over marks a new beginning, or to put in better words, signifies the end of a chapter of your life. you didn’t believe that initially, for new beginnings always commence from heart and not from where you live or what you’re doing. however, heeseung’s death changed that for you. and here you are, four months later, sitting in the living room of your newly bought apartment in osaka with only the setting sun keeping you company through the dreadful silence.

the unpacked boxes occupy almost every corner of the room, telling you to get up and arrange things, but your limbs have given up; partially from exhaustion and partially because of helplessness. but we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever. healing is a slow process, and an important part of the remedy is the will to heal.

so you get up, almost stumbling on thin air because of your hazy gaze, picking up the smallest box and rummaging through the stuff, only to come across a tape recorder you’ve possibly never seen before. there’s a note on top, and it reads— ‘to you, with love.’ it doesn’t even take you a second to interpret that it’s heeseung’s handwriting. an impassive smile makes its way to your lips and here you are, ignoring all the work and sitting in one of the corners as you tune in the recorder.

‘so, you’re out with your friends to shop for your friend’s wedding when you should be with me,’ a tear rolls down your cheeks, the smile trembling as you sniffle, leaning against the wall and closing your eyes. his voice resonates with love. ‘and i’m bored, so this recorder is my last straw.’ and then he pauses, the faint sound of movements reaching your ears. you chortle, knowing he’s probably making himself comfortable on the couch.

‘we could’ve spent the noon watching movies and baking but no, you had to go out with that fri—fuck,’ your eyes shot open at the sound, some profanities escaping his lips as audible through the audio. you presume that heeseung dropped the recorder while using it. after all, he is clumsy. ‘shit, i hope this is still working— yeah it is. anyway, where were we? right, your friend who you ditched me for.’

you chuckle, reminiscing about the mentioned day. you remember it perfectly. well, how could you not; because uncharacteristically enough, heeseung was at the peak of his dramatic behaviour that summer afternoon and despite the fact that you love his clingy personality, he really managed to get on every single one of your nerves. well, that was a typical day for you. hurried mornings, whinings from heeseung, busy afternoons due to work or friends, in some cases. and now that he’s gone, you find it hard getting accustomed to a stagnant lifestyle.

‘talking about friends, do you remember sunghoon? yes, the ice skating fanatic from high school. i met him the other day and do you know what he asked? if we were still together. like, c’mon, we’re in for a long run, right?’

there are days when melancholy settles on you like a sudden change in weather. the kind of sadness that is intangible. like the presence of an ache where you can’t pinpoint where exactly it hurts, you just know it does. hearing those words feels exactly the same. those are the words that were supposed to bind you both forever; the words you would count upon when you’d have an argument with him, knowing you both are eternal.

‘do you remember when we had our very first fight?’ a lifeless laughter rolls off your tongue, spinning in the gloomy atmosphere engulfing the room. ‘it was so pointless. desserts, really? i still laugh thinking about it.’ the heeseung from back then would’ve said otherwise. it was a minute conflict but, maybe that’s how the greater arguments arose. ‘it must’ve hurt, right?’

his voice is no louder than a whisper, voice morphing into much more of an apologetic tone. and you realise— heeseung never properly apologised for your first fight. neither of you did, actually. you don’t mind, really, for the reason behind it was incredibly stupid.

a long silence follows, rather a painfully consoling one. soon enough, the sound of him humming the melodies of your favourite song fills the room, accompanied by your muffled snivels. you close your eyes and let your mind trace over the slightly blurred image of heeseung you see often in your dreams. you let it trace over his shoulders. you take a deep breath, and try to put those dark thoughts aside. a smile climbs up your lips.

loving heeseung is a wild ride. it’s like your eyes met his’, and the stars sighed in admiration. when you kissed him for the first time, your body gravitated towards him like those rides at the fun fair, where you’re spinning so fast that the motion fixes you to the wall. love chimed in your laughter, in the sense of wonder you found in each other. if you had your doubts, then time had told you otherwise. you and heeseung were a symphony of melody and melancholy, but it takes two to sing a duet.

‘remember when we fought and you left to live with your parents for a whole month? that was hell for me.’ you want to tell him that it was hell for you too. even though it was you who suggested that you both should take a break, you’ve spent nights spilling tears on your pillow, living on the edge with your mind contemplating you to call him. ‘the day you left, i went through all my old journals, frantically looking for my first mention of you. i know it sounds stupid, but i was scared. what if you never return— that was my first thought.’

‘people are right when they say we don’t know what we have until it’s gone and god, those thirty days made me realise how important you are to me. i know i can be a handful at times, and i end up lashing out for no reason at times. goodness, i wouldn’t even date myself but you, yn, thank you for choosing to stay.’

it was your second anniversary when heeseung had the worst breakdown. he had woken up from a nap, exhausted with puffy eyes due to the soccer match lost the same morning. he thinks it’s embarrassing to cry, heeseung believes it makes him look weaker than he already is. he hates to have you console him, wiping tears off his cheeks, cradling him in your arms like a toddler. heeseung doesn’t hate you, he hates how you were always there for him when all he ever did was give you a mere half of what you gave him.

heeseung believes there’s penance in yearning. there’s poverty in giving too much of your heart. when your desire for another is not returned in equal measure— nothing in the world could compensate for the shortfall. sometimes, the loneliest place to be in is love. between all the memories, through hugs and kisses, amidst all the i love yous that were shared, he knew you’re too for him. so, heeseung gave you numerous opportunities to leave; to hurt him like everyone before you did. but instead, you’d hold him dear, a little closer to your heart every time you hugged, a little deeper into your mind everytime you kissed, as if you were telling him to blather about his insecure mind that kept nagging him regarding all the things he couldn't do and, you'd explicate how exquisitely it told him lies that he believed.

you sniff, wiping tears with the sleeves of your clothing, wondering; ‘what about people who do know?’ because you knew. you knew you loved heeseung more than anything else, knew that he was your world— and still is— and good god, you tried your hardest to hold onto him. little by little, corner by corner, even if all you had was a fragile thread to tie your heart with his, you did. you never took a damn thing for granted; not him, not his love, not his antics— nothing. so, losing him, you wonder, isn’t it so much worse for you?

‘i’d like to marry you, someday. as in, soon, very soon. and it’s not only because i love you. it’s because i don’t think i can love anyone else the way i love you. besides, the thought of a mini you running around the house doesn’t sound bad.’ your eyes flutter open at his confession, tears resting on your lashes like pearls shining in moonlight. you could feel his lovestruck smile from the words he recorded.

heeseung loved kids, always. if there was a reason why you’ve spent your sundays looking after your cousins— on popular demand from heeseung, of course— it’s because he loved spending time with them. the sound of tiny feet pacing up and down your house, innocent giggles spinning in the air along with heeseung’s poor jokes. ‘you’d be the best dad,’ you remember telling him, and you could’ve sworn, heeseung’s eyes shone brightest then.

he says it’s ‘the heeseung effect’ because coincidently, even your neighbour's son has heeseung’s eyes. same colour, same passion, it reminds you of him. apparently, you’re his favourite after his mother. you were heeseung’s favourite too, after his mother. it’s sweet, but it hurts so much because there’s a glimpse of him in everything around you. you see the stranded pieces of memories floating by in every thing, and the worst part of holding memories isn’t pain, it’s loneliness. because memories are supposed to be shared, and you’re all by yourself.

‘i’m running out of things to say,’ he sighs, another trail of silence following. you’re running out of tears. ‘how did i manage to have you love me, yn? you’re too good for me, gosh, i don’t deserve you, not at all.’ your heart escalates a little, hands dying to hold his face for the last time and tell him how wrong he is. heeseung looks down on himself, but you want to hold him close, cupping his cheeks as you plant soft kisses on his face, telling him that behind his precarious mind, there’s a murmur of love. you want to trace his cold fingers with your lips, reciting tales of all those moments he made you feel like the happiest person alive. you want him to know that he holds your heart in his trembling hands, and you feel safe. his touch is sweet like honey drizzled strawberries, kisses like the first blooms of a cherry blossom.

you want to tell him that even if he feels like he doesn’t deserve you, he has you nonetheless. he always did, even when the world wasn’t. you don’t know where it comes from, all this love that you possess for him. you don’t know where to put it now that he's gone.

‘can you promise me one thing?’ your ear perks up at his request, though of no use now, probably. ‘promise me that you will never settle for less than what you give. i know i shouldn’t even be talking about this but yn, you deserve the whole world, even more. thank you for keeping up with me, tolerating me; thank you for not leaving like everyone else. and if you ever choose to leave, promise me that it’ll be for someone better than me.’

last night, you had a dream that felt like a memory. like a glimpse of what could’ve been crossed signals from another life. where instead of all this, you had heeseung. life was exquisitely simple, and you were desperately happy. just when you have convinced yourself that you’ve learnt to live without heeseung, you’re pulled back into the endless spiral of all the feelings you harbour for him. he’s someone you keep in your heart. settling for someone else isn’t even an option; loving someone else isn’t even a possibility. because you can tell that you only love once. anyone who claims to have loved twice in their life— they have not loved at all.

‘and i promise i’ll be there for you no matter what,’ he whispers and it feels as if he’s right next to you, holding you into a warm embrace, whispering sweet nothings to you just the way he did. another tear traces down your cheek, the sound of shuffling shoes emerge from the recorder, marking your arrival from. you hear him shift on the bed, and he mutters a last message before the tape goes silent. ‘let’s make it till forever.’

just like that, lee heeseung breaks another promise, leaving you with a broken heart, and the tears come back.

taglist in the rbs.

good mroning tecchou suehiro

cause my love is mine, all mine.

maximum pout

♡♡♡

heartthrob cr. namuspromised (old version)

gummy smile!!

shy shy shy 

smiley taehyun for @choiyeonjuns

240817 YIZHIYU Fansign ©THM0205 | Do not edit, do not crop logo.

imagine serving this hard.

[HUENINGKAI Wants to Start a Band] - EP.2 🎸

hi