#black home schooler

[angelic-petty]

finally old enough that this song is physically painful to listen to

[thisantithesis]

thinking of professor lupin teaching a bunch of middle schoolers. he’s the kind of odd teacher that everyone knows about, but every year without fail his students end up loving him because of how fun he makes class. he has a picture of him with another man on his desk, and it’s kind of blurry, not really showing more than a young, smiling Remus holding a person with long, black curly hair, which he never talks about, but one day one of the more outspoken students asks him about it and all he says is “oh, just me and an old friend” and then promptly moves on. of course no one believes him, because although they might be children they still have keen eyes, so they see the small, fond smile on his face when he glances at the picture from time to time. word gets around school, not in a malicious way, just children curious about who odd professor lupin could be so fond about. eventually weeks pass by, to the point that the picture on remus’ desk is almost forgotten, until one day in the middle of class, a strange man knocks on the door. the class erupts into whispers when they see the long curly hair, all holding their breaths to see who exactly this person is, and they’re not disappointed when the man walks up to professor lupin, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and hands him a lunchbox with a small whisper before turning around and leaving. everyone is dead silent as remus puts his lunch away, gaping at the professor over what just happened. eventually one of the kids speak up, asking the question everyone is wondering: “was that the same man from the picture on your desk?” remus seems unfazed by the looks he’s getting from his students, replying with a simple “yes” as a smile slowly shapes his lips. “why did he kiss you on the cheek?” another student asks, to which remus replies “because he’s my husband.” his answer sets off an avalanche of questions, a chorus of “HE’S YOUR HUSBAND!?” echoing through the classroom. the shock of the discovery makes it a highly discussed subject for many weeks to follow, students across the school still in disbelief over it because they can’t believe that the man, remus’ husband, is real. they all talk about how he must be an angel, because no one can be that beautiful. with his curly hair, bright blue eyes and sharp gaze, and it’s all remus can do to relay every single word he hears to sirius when he makes it home in the evening, knowing how much his husband enjoyed flabbergasting the minds of those young children.

[zombiec]

Rent Due | Toji Fushiguro

(Top male reader) (could be read as gender neutral reader)

(Normal au)

Synospsis ☆: Toji has to pay rent some how

Warnings: Ass eating, fingering, riding

A/n: I was gone for a LONGGGG time but we are so back. Please request things. But I also have something being posted tomorrow so stay tuned!

‘Why the fuck are pomegranates $6 this is ridiculous’ I think to myself. Currently I’m at the grocery store getting food for my apartment because I have none. ‘Inflation is insane. I shouldn’t be paying $6 for pomegranates’ I think as I put the pomegranates in my cart. What can I say? I love pomegranates. As I’m in my own head fussing about pomegranates I bump into someone, causing them to stumble a bit. “oops, I’m sorry” I say before looking at the person who I bumped into.

“Oh, Toji, it’s you.” I say staring into his green eyes that are glaring right back into mine. “Watch where you’re going next time.” he huffs before walking past me. Well..tries to. Before he could walk off, I grab him by his wrist. “Wait, I actually need to talk to you.” As he turns back around with a glare, I look him up and down (kind of checking him out..) He’s currently in a black sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, slides on and no socks that show his crusty little toes that I refuse to look at or acknowledge.

Toji clears his throat and yanks his wrist out of my grip. “What did you wanna talk about?” he asks, staring straight at me with annoyance. “I haven’t gotten your rent for this month.” Toji rolls his eyes in annoyance. “The month just started give me some time.” I scoff at him, “You’re late on rent every month—and on top of that—you’re supposed to pay rent every 1st of the month.” He sighs and grunts before looking up. “Ok, fine. Can you just give me until the end of the week?” I roll my eyes. It’s currently Tuesday; how the hell is he gonna come up with $1,079 by the end of the week? “Alright, fine. But if you don’t have it by the end of the week, I’m gonna have to kick you out.” With that, I walk away before he can say anything else.

That man is ALWAYS late on his rent. It’s like he’s allergic to paying on time. To my knowledge, he’s living by himself. I know he has a kid, but all I know is that he doesn’t live with him. The only way I know he has a kid is because I was being nosey and listened to him speaking to his son on the phone. He doesn’t bring his kid around here, but I know he goes and visits him.. or atleast I think that’s what he does. I don’t know, guys kinda a mystery and I’m intrigued to find out more.

As I get all my things and head to my car I get a call and pick it up without looking at the contact name. “[nameeeee] let’s go out tonightt” you hear the annoying voice of Satoru Gojo, one of your best friends. “What are we high schoolers? Don’t you have a life Satoru?” “Oh come on you’re only 27 live a little!..come on even Shoko is coming” I perk up at that name. I love Shoko. We were so close in highschool and we still are but we rarely talk because we’re both so busy. “Ugh ok fine. You knew mentioning her would make me come” I respond to Gojo. I have nothing better to do anyway, what’s wrong with having a little fun.

“no fair you have favorites [name]” I hear Getou speak up in his sultry ass sexy ass voice. I almost purr into the phone when I hear his voice. Me and Getou have some history, in highschool we dated for 2 years until we had a mutual agreement to end our relationship, liking each other as friends more. But ofcourse we fuck sometimes. Getou is sexy as hell how could I ever pass the opportunity to hit that. “Oh you know you’re my favorite suguru” I coo into the phone deepening my voice when I say his name knowing he likes that shit. “Ok stop flirting on my phone I don’t wanna hear that” I hear Gojo say in the back ground before I hear fighting noises. I sigh and chuckle. “Ok I’ll see you guys later bye.” I hang up the phone and head home.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“fuck that bitch get sexy” Gojo sings along to the song playing in the club dancing on literally anyone near by. That man is a mess drunk. Such a light weight he’s had literally one drink. I chuckle watching him dance the night away with Getou and Shoko right next to him. I watch from a distance a little woozy from the few drinks that I had. I talk about Gojo being a lightweight but look at me. Can barely stand straight. If a cop told me to walk in a line I’m so fucked.

“Never expected to see you here” I jump a little bit at the unexpected voice. I turn to my right, lo and behold Toji Fushiguro. I smirk looking at him “what are you doing here? Don’t you have rent to pay at the end of the week?” He chuckles and rolls his eyes “you don’t know how much money I have..” he says looking me up and down. “Well I know it’s not enough if you haven’t payed yet” Toji groans and downs his shot that was in his hand “yea whatever” we sit in silence for a little bit, but I turn towards him and realize he’s been staring at the side of my face the whole time we’ve been here.

“You know you’re actually kind of attractive” I freeze and fight back a giddy smile. “Thank you, I could say the same to you” he laughs “oh I know by the way you were eye fucking me in that grocery store” my hand runs down my face, mostly in embarrassment ,and let out a giggle “well you looked good can you blame me?” He smirks and I flag down the bartender and ask for six shots. “Wanna go half and half?” I ask Toji. “As long as you’re paying” I grin. “Ofcourse.”

3 shots. It was only 3 shots. I don’t even remember what liquor I got, but I’m out of my mind right now. Toji downed the shots fast as fuck and I watched him do it. Some of it trickled down his chin to his chest and I watched as it went down his shirt. Wishing I was in there…”let’s go dance” I spoke out surprising Toji and also myself. “Ok” he simply says as he grabs my wrist and pulls me to the dance floor.

As we’re on the dance floor I kind of just stand there because I can’t dance and I don’t even know what to do..toji has been dancing well more like grinding his hips and looking into my eyes.The alcohol starts to hit me hard, I smirk a little bit and grab him by his waist pulling him infront of me so he’s grinding into me. My hand trails up to his throat and turns his head to me so we’re staring into each others eyes whilst we’re dancing.

We’re both drunk as fuck grinding on each other. He presses his ass into my groin a little too hard causing me to groan and grind into him. He makes a noise and I chuckle before he turns around and wraps his arms around my neck “you wanna take me back home?” He says and looks up at me. His eyes are hooded and the way that he’s looking at me is making me think he wants to eat me. “Sure.” I order an uber and text Gojo that I’m leaving and that they need to take a taxi home. The uber gets here and I grab Tojis hand and we get in.

The ride is gonna be 15 minutes. Thank god it’s not that long. Toji is cuddled up to me, his head is leaning on my shoulder and I’m leaning against the car door. “You good? You don’t need to throw up right?” He opened his mouth and I thought he was going to say something but he just stared at me for what felt like 5 minutes. “You oka-“ before I could finish my sentence Toji grabs the back of my neck and slams his lips onto mine. I froze for a second before cupping his cheek and kissing him deeper.

Toji moans into the kiss and lifts his leg putting it over my lap. I grip his thigh and rise my hand towards his buldge that I noticed a while ago while we’re were in the club. Before my hand could even get there we’re sprayed with water. “HEY NO KISSIN IN MY CAR GET OUT WERE AT YOUR DESTINATION” the driver yelled at us. “Ok what the fuck you didn’t need to fucking spray us” before the driver could retaliate Toji grabs me by the collar of my shirt and pulls us out the car.

We stumble up towards the apartment complex. Toji still has me in his grip and is fumbling with his keys. He’s been fumbling with them for like 2 minutes I get irritated and just take the keys from him and open the door. He’s laughs and pulls me in, leading me to his room I push him on the bed and notice him smiling super hard. I laugh and look down at him. “We’re not fucking right now” he sits up so damn fast “are you kidding me?!” “You’re drunk as hell I’m not gonna take advantage of you like that” “you’re a fucking asshole” “byeeee Toji see you at the end of the week for rent” you say before stumbling off to your own apartment.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

(POV switch)

Welp. Gotta go kick his ass out. You stand up with a sigh and head to Toji’s apartment. Before you even get to knock on his door the door busts open. He looks kinda mad. Too bad you have nothing to do with that! “What the fuck do you want now” you quirk your brow and look around, because who is he talking to....”uhh I’m here for your rent. It’s the end of the week” toji groans and pulls you into his apartment. “Look I don’t have the rent okay! But you can’t kick me out” you frown “says who?” You say and scoff spinning around to leave, until he grabs your shoulder and spins you back around. “Says me. I have another way I can pay…” he says and looks up into your eyes.

“What did you have in mind…?” You knew exactly what he was getting at, And you weren’t gonna turn him down. At all, but you’d think it’d be funny to make him say it. Toji walks closer to you and wraps his arms around your neck “you know how..” I chuckle and look clueless “how am I supposed to know if you won’t tell me?” “You’re so irritating you know that?” He says and frowns up at you. “I want to pay with my body” he says in your ear. You shiver a bit at his deep smooth voice. You step back from him and sit on his couch legs spread and back relaxed. “Ok. Show me what you got” I smirk up at him.

“You cocky fuck.” He says before swinging his leg over your lap, and sitting on you kissing up your neck. “You know you left me all riled up that day” you look at him weird. “What day?” Toji stops and looks at you. “You don’t remember?” He asks and you just wince a bit. “Uhh no. I don’t remember anything from Tuesday” Toji rolls his eyes “whatever forget it” you were going to say something but he kissed you and grounded his ass into your lap. You moan a little bit and grab his waist making him grind on you so you can get more friction, which pulls a small gasp out of you.

Tired of the teasing you flip Toji over and place him on the couch on his back. Toji gasped Surprised by your strength,because he is pretty heavy. “Take these off” you say referring to his sweat pants. Toji extremely turned on by you right now rushes to take his pants off pulling his underwear off too in the process. You eye him and smirk getting an idea. You change the position again instead this time he’s on all fours with his ass facing you, and his face resting against the arm of the couch.

You stare at his ass because holy fuck it is actually so fat. You never really noticed his ass because the baggy sweatpants he’s always seeming to wear covers it. You smack his ass watching it jiggle and hear a small moan from Toji. You smack his ass again, but harder this time causing him to moan out louder. “Fuck [name] do something already” “as you wish” you say and press your face into his ass teasingly licking his hole “mmm [n-name] please” he moans out. “Please what” Toji clicks his tongue in annoyance, and looks over his shoulder at you looking at you with lust and irritation. “Please eat me out”

As you kneel behind him, Toji lifts his hips invitingly, presenting his ass to you. His cheeks are firm and round, the pucker of his entrance visible between them. He reaches back to spread himself open for you, giving you a perfect view. “Ohh, just like that” he moans as your tongue makes contact with his sensitive flesh. “Fuck [name] lick my hole, make it wet and ready for that big dick” you eyebrows raise a bit surprised by his words. Toji rocks hips against your face, grinding his ass against your mouth as he loses himself in the pleasure of your ministrations. “Shit, your tongue feels amazing…” you move your mouth off his ass a little bit,causing him to whine “look at you already lost in pleasure and we’ve barely started” I say slapping his ass again and adding a finger into his hole with my tongue.

Toji cries out at the slap, his body jolting in surprise. Then he relaxes, submitting to your dominance as you continue to feast on his ass. His means grow louder and more desperate, echoing off the tiles. “Ahhh, yes! Fuck yeah, [name]!” He gasps out. “Use my hole, fill me up with your fingers and tongue!” Toji pushes back harder against your face, impaling himself on your digits as you thrust them in and out of his clenching hole. His breathing grows ragged, precum starts to leak from his cock as he gets closer to the edge. “Moan for me baby” you command, and Toji obeys, letting out series of wanton and needy noises as he rides your face.

“Damn you’re acting so fucking needy clenching so hard, what’s got you so pent up?” You thrust your tongue in him faster while adding another finger to his hole. Toji moans escalate into high-pitched whimpers as you increase the pace and intensity of your oral assault. The added pressure of the extra finger stretching him wide has him seeing stars.

“Nnngh, it’s you, [name]! Being around you always makes me so horny and desperate for your cock” he admits breathlessly, his voice strained with pleasure. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long since the club, I was so mad when you left me to deal with my boner myself, been so pent up all week ” Toji hips buck wildly, chasing the impending orgasm as his prostrate is stimulated mercilessly by your probing tongue and fingers. “Ahh, ah, ah! Right there, don’t stop! I’m gonna cum, gonna paint this couch with my load!” He screams out gripping the couch arm with his nails. “Then cum for me” you say wriggling around your tongue and thrusting 2 fingers into him deeper.

With a hoarse scream, Tojis body seizes up as his climax crashes over him. His cock throbs and pulses, spurting ropes of hot cum across the couch as he convulses in ecstasy. “FUCK YES [NAME]!!” He shouts, his voice raw with pleasure. “OH GOD, SO GOOD, DONT STOP!” Toji’s inner walls clench rhythmically around your invading fingers, milking them for all they’re worth as wave after wave of intense bliss washes through him. Finally, spent and trembling, he collapses forward onto the arm of the couch, panting heavily. “Holy shit….that was incredible,” he mumbles, his words slurred with post- orgasmic euphoria.

“Yeah well I’m not done with you so why don’t we take this to the room” you smirk at him slapping his ass again. You can’t help yourself you love seeing his ass jiggle. Toji yelps at the sting of the smack, his sensitive hole fluttering in response. He quickly scrambles off the couch, turning to give you a sultry look over his shoulder. “I hear you loud and clear," he purrs, sauntering towards the bedroom with an exaggerated sway of his hips. “Can't wait to take that massive cock for a spin and milk you dry."

Your brows rise in surprise and your cock pulses at his words. Once inside, Toji climbs onto the bed and lies back, spreading his legs wide in invitation. He reaches down to stroke his softening cock, giving it a few lazy pumps as he gazes at you with hungry eyes."Well, aren't you going to come join me, [name]? My hungry hole is waiting for its main course..." you smirk and tear your clothes off (not literally, you care too much for your clothes) and stalk towards him with a predatory glint in your eyes. You lay between his legs and kiss him. Toji melts into the kiss, moaning softly as he feels the impressive girth of your erection pressing against his stomach. “You drive me crazy”you speak up.

Toji reaches down to wrap his hand around the base of your shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then why don’t you show me just how crazy I drive you, hmm?” He guides your dick to his entrance, teasing you with the promise of his eager hole. “Fuck baby” you moan slipping inside him, and thrusting into him. “Shit you’re so fucking right. It’s like you saved it just for me” you say with a cocky grin. Toji arches his back, a sharp cry escaping his lips as you sheath yourself inside him. His inner walls clench tightly around your invading length, the heat and friction sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Oh god, yes! So big and thick, filling me up perfectly” he gasps, his voice strained with the effort of accommodating your size. “Your right, I saved the best for you. No one can make me feel like this.” Toji begins to rock his hips, meeting your thrusts with increasing enthusiasm as he becomes lost in the sensation of being taken so deeply. His nails dig into your back, leaving faint marks as he holds on for dear life. “Don’t hold back, give it to me hard! I want to feel every inch of that magnificent cock splitting me open” wow the way he was talking he seemed like a whole different person. You were reveling in the fact that he was acting like a dumb whore on YOUR dick.

You flip the the position around so that Toji is sitting on top of you, and start fucking into him. Bouncing him on your cock watching his pecks bounce as well, smirking and bringing my mouth to his nipple sucking on it. Toji lets out a delighted squeal as you flip him over, his legs clenching beside you anchoring himself. He grinds down on your pistoning cock, reveling in the feeling of being bounced on your rigid member. “Ahhh, yes! Make me ride you harder, [name]! Make those fat balls slap against my ass” he demands, his voice pitched high with arousal. You chuckle a little at his eagerness. As you latch onto his other nipple Toji throws his head back, a strangled man tearing from his throat. His free hand comes up to tangle in your hair, holding you close as you lavish attention on his sensitive peak. “Oh fuck, just like that! Suck and bite, mark me up as yours!”

I beam up at him loving how he’s losing himself while you fuck him. “You’re so naughty. You say biting his nipples and sucking on them, and gripping his waist fucking into him harder and spreading his legs a bit so he could feel it more, hitting something that you think is his prostate. Tojis entire body jolts as you strike his sweet spot. A guttural wail ripping from his lungs. His vision blurs, overwhelmed by the onslaught of pleasure coursing through his nerves.

“FUCK RIGHT THERE [NAME]! POUND ME, MAKE ME YOUR FUCK TOY!” He screams, his voice cracking with the force of his climax building rapidly. His hips buck wildly, trying to meet each brutal thrust as he loses himself to the sheer intensity of the sensations. Tears stream down his face, mixing with the sweet beading on his brow as he rides the edge of ecstasy. “IM GONNA CUM, [NAME], PLEASE FILL ME UP, BREED ME, MAKE ME YOURS FOREVER!” “Fuck Toji!” You curse out his words driving you insane causing you to piston into him coming to your own end. Toji’s back arches sharply as he feels your cock throb within him your hot seed painting his insides. His own release explodes from him in a cascade, coating your stomach and chest as he cries out in rapture. “YES, [NAME], FILL ME UP, MARK ME AS YOURS!” He chants deliriously, his body shaking with the force of his own orgasm.

You slap his ass again which only serves to heighten his pleasure, pushing him over the edge. Toji collapses forward his weight settling heavily on you as he struggles to catch his breath. “That was….incredible” he pants. Rolling over on the other side of the bed and covering himself with the cover.

You cleaned Toji up after you two finished having sex and gave him some water. You ordered food a little while ago and you guys are just chilling in his room watching tv “oh I almost forgot” Toji says pulling out a white envelope which was kind of thick and threw it at you. “Jeez” you say and open the envelope brows rising in surprise as there is a stack of money in there. “Umm I’m not a prostitue” he slapped your chest. Which kinda really fucking hurt with his heavy handed ass. “It’s the rent idiot” your jaw dropped. “YOU HAD IT THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Thanks for reading ♡!

[saturnscafe]

͙˚ ༘✶Le Pew | Skunk Hybrid (GN Reader)

Smut Below

A/N: did I write this after remembering Pepe Le pew? Yes. Yes I did. 😂 Hence the tittle. I wrote this in a daze so bear with me if there’s any mistakes lol.

Skunk hybrid hating humans because they always run away from him. He doesn’t understand why, I mean he does. However he doesn’t understand why they wouldn’t give him a chance. So when he was injured and you found him he was shocked that you didn’t care.

He just stared at you trying to figure out when you’d run, or when you’d say something about his smell. When you patched him up just smiling at him he was entranced with you. Blurting out quick and loudly “Will you be my mate” he didn’t even know where that came from. Neither did you but you’d be lying to yourself if he wasn’t handsome.

That sleek black hair with a small stripe of white. The small scar that went up the side of his cheek, and not to mention how tall he was.

“How about a date first?” You said smiling at him and he thought he could melt right then. He scattered trying to plan the best date for you. He was always a super confident man but you had him feeling like a middle schooler getting ready for his first date. You suggested just a relaxing day at your place, just hanging out and getting to know each other one on one.

When he came knocking on your door the smell of strong cologne washed over you. It was like he bathed himself in it. He was scared you’d change your mind if he smelled. So he drowned himself in a whole bottle of the stuff. You couldn’t help but laugh it just came tumbling out. “Did you use the whole bottle?” You teased. His ears folding down to his head like he did something wrong. “Most humans..” he started to say before you cut him off. “I grew up around skunks, I don’t mind the smell. Quite frankly I don’t even smell it anymore.

His eyes lit up, asking you so many questions as to why. After telling him your father was a vet helping any animal in need. You told him about how he’d made it a mission to help any hybrid that wasn’t treated well. Always opening his home to skunks, snakes, spiders and many more that didn’t meet the “cute” standard.

You both chatted all night, about everything and anything. He’d open up about how he honestly hated humans because how they treated him like the plague. You reassured him that, that wasn’t the case with you. That you knew many people who just loved his kind. The night turned into you both curled on the couch at 1am watching movies.

He felt really comfortable with you, his confidence oozing back. His hand found its way under your chin pulling you into a sweet longing kiss. Your eyes fluttered close taking in how gentle he was. The kiss turned into hands pulling at each other’s clothes. Lips kissing at any part of skin they could find. When he slipped into you it his head fell backwards taking in the feeling of your warm walls. The smell of the cologne finally had faded away, and you could smell his natural musky sent. His smell was different though almost like it was a sort of pheromone. It was driving you crazy.

His cock hit the back of your walls, nails digging into one another as trails of curses left both of you. His eyes found yours making his hips stutter he felt like he was in love. He leaned down kissing you passionately as both of you reached your climaxes hot ropes of cum spirting into you. His arms wrapped around you holding you close as he possibly could. Like you’d float away if he didn’t. He broke the waves of breaths “so does this mean you’ll be my mate?” He said his fluffy tail slowly moving behind him. “I’d be honored” you replied.

People couldn’t grasp why you’d choose to be with a skunk hybrid. They didn’t see him like you did which was honestly their loss. With your love and support he became even more confident. Talking to other humans and finding people who liked him for him. Even meeting your father who absolutely adored him.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 11)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: Mentions of barfing.

Word Count: 3989

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10)

Notes: Sorry I haven't put anything out in a while, I've been mad sick.

_________________________________________

“I still think this is a bad idea,” you whisper-yell as you and your two roommates sneak across the lawn. There’s no need to sneak, really. The Hockey House is packed to the brim with people, some even spilling onto the front lawn of the two-story home. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t even notice if you walked right through the door and up the stairs to begin your search for their precious trophy. 

Mor and Gwyn halt where they’re pressed against the side of the house to stare at you. You all are dressed in black from head-to-toe, which, in your opinion at least, makes you stand out even more from the plethora of people inside.

“Where’s this sudden conscious coming from?” Gwyn asks. She’s right, even she’s here, though this entire scheme was her idea in the first place. For some reason, she hates everything and anything that has to do with the word hockey, and yet, here she is.

To steal a trophy, your mind supplies. It’s not like she’s here to party.

“Yeah,” Mor tacks on, and it’s difficult not to duck out from under her scrutinizing gaze. “My cousin’s in there and you don’t see me complaining.”

Funny she mentions that, because that’s the exact thing you’re worried about. Running into Rhysand.

“Nothing,” you stammer, trying to console your roommate. “It’s just…we should be cutting Gwyn’s cake right now, not pulling some prank like high schoolers.” At first, the idea of pulling a prank on the hockey team seemed like fun. Now that you’re here and the buzz of the wine you drank has wavered, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. Those hockey boys take their superstitions seriously, you can’t imagine how they’d feel about a trophy disappearing.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t take it out for fear that it might be Rhysand. You can barely believe he called you, flirted with you while his cousin was one room over. He knows that nothing can happen between either of you, it would only spell disaster. Mor would have an aneurism, at the very least.

“Stealing this will taste so much sweeter than cake!” Gwyn insists. She wobbles on her feet and catches herself against the side of the house, waving Mor off when she reaches out a hand to steady the redhead. Gwyn blinks her big cerulean eyes at you in her infamous innocent look. “This is what I want for my birthday, but I won’t force you to join us. We’ll go inside, steal the trophy from right under their noses, and meet you back at the apartment, if you want.”

“No,” you shake your head. Maybe this will be fun. Maybe you can do this for Gwyn and return the trophy before the boy’s notice. Maybe they won’t even notice at all. Yeah, right. “we’ll find it faster if there’s three of us. I’m in.”

Gwyn beams and throws herself into your arms. You stumble, unprepared, but manage to keep the both of you upright with a startled laugh. Mor quickly joins the hug and it takes five minutes for the three of you to stop giggling and get your heads straight.

“Right, so where do we think they’d hide it?” Gwyn asks as the three of you huddle together to form a plan. When you left your apartment, the only idea in motion had been to walk into the house and steal the trophy. You have a feeling it’s going to be a little trickier than that.

You and Gwyn look to Mor who makes a face. “What the hell are you looking at me for? How would I know where it is?”

“He’s your cousin,” you supply and Gwyn nods vehemently.

Mor scoffs. “And? That doesn’t mean I’d know exactly where they’re hiding a giant trophy! I’ve been here the same number of times as you!” She points in your direction. “Do you remember seeing it around?”

You think for a moment. No, you don’t remember seeing at the last party you were here for, but you don’t think you’d miss a giant, gleaming trophy, even if you were distracted by Rhys. “No,” you mutter quietly.

Mor crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin haughtily. “Exactly.”

“So, we sneak inside and split up and hopes one of us finds it?” Gwyn asks. She’s not giving up on this easily, that’s for sure. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so hungry for revenge. Maybe if you knew exactly why she disliked the hockey team so much, it’d help psych you up.

“No, we need a better plan than that.” You offer a silent apology. “Who’s the most superstitious?”

“What?”

“Well, if we decide who’s the most superstitious of the group, maybe we can narrow down where the trophy might be,” you explain. “Like, if Rhys is the most superstitious, do you think he would hide it under the kitchen sink or something?”

Mor’s brows furrow as she thinks. Nearby, a boy shouts drunkenly across the lawn. You can’t make out what he says with the way his words slur, but the three of you huddle closer to the house, nonetheless.

“Azriel or Rhys,” Mor decides. “Cassian wouldn’t care about some trophy. He’d mix drinks in it. Which leaves us with Azriel or Rhys.”

And well, that narrows things down a little.

“Where would they hide a trophy like that?” Gwyn asks.

You and Mor exchange a knowing look. “Their room.”

The three of you decide that after you sneak upstairs, Gwyn will keep watch, Mor will snoop through Azriel’s room, and you’ll try and find the trophy in Rhys’ room.

“Why do I have to look in Rhys’ room?” You all but complain. You didn’t like this idea before, but you sure as hell don’t like it now. Snooping through someone’s personal things is so wrong, and the fact that you’re going to be digging around in Rhys’ things, the boy who stirs reluctant feelings in your stomach, your tutor, doesn’t sit well with you.

“Because I can’t look through his things!” Mor protests, then shudders. “What if I find something that changes my perspective on my cousin forever? I spend too many family holidays with him, it’ll be too difficult to avoid eye-contact with him if I saw something weird.”

And yeah, that’s a good point. Maybe for more reasons than one. If you find something that puts you off from Rhysand, it won’t be such a struggle to stay keep away from him like you’re supposed to be doing. Being his tutee will be much easier if every time you see him, you’re thinking about a stiff sock under his bed or a Playboy beneath his mattress.

“Okay,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

Gwyn puts her hand out and looks between you and Mor eagerly. “C’mon. We need a chant.”

You don’t, you really don’t, but you divulge her, anyway. You place your hand on top of hers, and Mor rests hers on top, completing your best friend hand stack. Gwyn bounces her hand up and down. On the third bounce, when you all break and toss your hands in the air in triumph, she cheers, “These hockey boys don’t know what’s coming for them. Revenge is best served over ice!”

Revenge? Who on the hockey team is Gwyn beefing with that she wants to enact revenge on these boys?

Before you can ask, she slips around the side of the house into the darkness of night.

“Shit,” Mor curses, “Let’s go.”

There��s really no need for the three of you to be sneaking at all, but if this is what Gwyn wants for her birthday, then you will deliver.

College students are still elbowing their way inside of the house. The three of you slip into the crowd easily. It takes a few minutes of patience to get through the front door because people keep pausing to greet newcomers, but once inside, your all-black garb really does seem to help you blend in. The lights are dim in the house, and it’s all too easy to wind your way through the living room to make your way to the staircase, clutching tightly to your friends’ hands.

“Duck!” Gwyn yelps and tugs you lower. You don’t question her, ducking deeper into the crowd.

A behemoth of a boy ambles past, like a drunken bigfoot. You’d recognize those broad shoulders and loud voice anywhere. Cassian.

“Who’s up for a game of flip-cup?” He shouts directly over your heads. Thankfully, he’s too busy counting the number of hands that shoot up for a chance to be on his team. You and your friends quickly slither away from him, keeping your heads tightly tucked to your chests. “Shirts vs. skins!”

You roll your eyes at the suggestion in his tone. Then, you wonder if Rhys is playing.

Something hot prickles your gut, but before you can read into the feeling, Gwyn’s leads you further into the wolves’ den.

You straighten your posture as you pass the kitchen, hoping that you’re in the clear, only to catch a glimpse of the other two members of the household you’re attempting to prank tonight.

Your breath catches when you spot Rhys. He stands beside Azriel, the both of them leaning casually against the counter. They look cool. Effortless. They look fucking hot.

Your mouth runs dry. His shirt is tight, stretched across those broad shoulders that are the basis of your dreams. The material stretches across his bicep when he reaches a hand up to brush back the strands of his deep, dark hair. His violet eyes glow, and a dimple indents his cheek when he grins down at the person who stands before him. You follow his line of sight and this time, when you see the petite, pretty brunette that holsters his amusement, your stomach churns violently. It’s definitely jealousy this time.

You clench your jaw and shove the emotion away. You hold no claim on him, nor that you can. He’s Mor’s cousin, you remind yourself vehemently. He’s your tutor.

Neither of those chants does anything to ease the sourness in your stomach.

At least all three boys are occupied. It makes getting up the stairs all that easier. As you ascend, you can’t help but think that maybe you do want to steal this trophy, make their lives a little more vibrant tonight. It’s petty, you think, but you continue anyway.

When the three of you reach the landing, you and your roommates reconvene.

“Any idea whose room belongs to who?” You ask, looking up and down the hall. There are five doors. One has a line of people behind it, so you count that as a bathroom. Maybe another is a closet. You’ll have to look quickly.

“No idea,” Mor shrugs, and glances down the stairs. None of the boys have caught wind of you here yet. Good. “We’ll just have to look.”

“What if their doors are locked?” You wonder and both of your roommate’s stare at you. Shit. None of you had thought about that possibility, and unless Gwyn or Mor secretly know how to pick locks, your prank might be doomed.

“Worry about that if it happens,” Gwyn answers hurriedly and shoos you down the hall. “If you hear a turkey call, the missions been compromised and you need to run. If we get split up, meet at the rendezvous point by one a.m. or the search party will come out.” Rendezvous point being your dorm, search party being whoever makes it to the dorm first.

Turkey call? You share a look with Mor. You’re learning so much about Gwyn tonight.

You split from your friends without another thought. If the three of you pull this off, you’re won’t hesitate to interrogate innocent, little Gwyn about all of the revelations you’ve learned tonight. Apparently, you don’t know your roommate as well as you thought you did.

You rip open the first door you come across. You’re met with a bare ass and the lewd moans of a girl getting her world rocked. The pair don’t even notice you, but you blurt in shock. “Holy shit! I’m sorry!” You gape for a moment longer, truly impressed the kind of leverage the boy draped over her back has in the tight confines of this linen closet. You slam the door shut and stumble to the next room.

Aha! The door is unlocked. You take a quick glance over your shoulder. Gwyn’s attention is on you. She offers you a huge smile and a big thumbs up, then avert her gaze back to the stairs like a rottweiler on duty.

“Please, don’t let anyone be naked in here,” you mutter before slipping inside.

Thankfully, you don’t hear any sex-induced noises. No squeaking of a mattress. No headboard hitting the wall. Just the bass of the music through the floorboards.

You flick on the light after shutting the door. It’s a typical boy’s room, you note as you look around. A bed with navy sheets, surprisingly made. There’s a wooden dresser pushed beneath the three large windows that overlook the small backyard. A closet door hangs ajar near the corner of the room.

You aim for the dresser. There’s a picture frame of the hockey team on top, along with a stack of clothes that hasn’t yet been put away and a few textbooks, but no trophy. Damn.

There’s a small desk that looks like the legs are going to give out if the slightest breeze brushes up against it. A laptop sits shut on top, along with a cup stuffed full of pencils and pens. There’s a notebook flipped open, and you recognize a few words as psychology jargon from some of your classes. Rhys room, you deduce immediately.

“Where are you, where are you…” You mutter. The closet produces no results, either, just perfectly lined up sneakers and a surprising number of suits and dress shirts. On the shelf, there’s an entire bin of beanies, and thrown on the floor in the middle of the closet is a hockey bag. The smell that wafts out of it makes your nose scrunch.

You’re about to dive to the floor and check under the bed. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing in your veins. You don’t have high hopes that the trophy will be stashed under his bed, but you’ll give it a cursory glance before reporting back to Gwyn.

You kneel on the floor and peer under the frame, praying that you don’t find some weird sex toy or something. That’s the last thing you need to be thinking about right now. You hold your breath and open your eyes, exhaling a loud huff of relief when you don’t find any monsters under his bed.

“And just what do you think you’re doing in here?” An all too familiar voice rasps from behind you.

You almost hit your head on the metal bedframe when you jump in surprise. You whip your head around only to see Rhys towering over you. His arms are crossed over his chest and though he’s trying his damned hardest to keep the smirk from breaking out across his lips, you can tell how amused he is by the glittering of his violet eyes.

“Fuck!” You scramble to your feet, dusting your knees off. “You scared me!”

Where the hell was Gwyn with her turkey call? Were you so invested in searching his room that you missed it completely?

“As much as I like the idea of you in my room, darling,” he drawls, and his voice sends shivers down your spine. “When I pictured you in here, you were in my bed, not under it.”

Fuck. Now you’re thinking about being in his bed, too, and that just won’t do.

You swallow harshly. If you rip your gaze away from his hungry eyes, you’ll look directly at said bed. And then you’ll be even more tempted to fall into it, and pull him in behind you.

Stop it right the fuck now.

“I was just, ah,” you scramble for a lie. “Looking for some psych notes.” You wince. It’s not terrible, but there’s no way in hell Rhys is going to believe you. “My test today really got me down. I thought I would start studying for the next one early.”

Rhys quirks a brow. He’ll play along, if that’s what you want. “And you thought I keep my notes under my bed?”

You glance at the floor where you were just face down, ass up, snooping. Your cheeks flare at the thought of him standing right behind you. You must have looked like you were his for the taking.

“I thought I dropped a piece of paper,” you nod solemnly. “Thought I saw it drift right under the bed.”

“And?”

“And what?” you ask, mustering all of the innocence you can.

The corner of Rhys’ mouth tips up and your breath hitches in your chest. Gods, he looks good enough to eat. All you’d have to do is take one step forward and you’d be pressed flush against his front. One step to the side and you’d be falling on his bed, where you really would offer yourself up to him.

Damn the wine you drank.

“And,” Rhys teases. He takes a step closer and you’d move back if you were of sound mind. If your feet weren’t glued to the floorboards. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

His breath brushes the tops of your cheeks and your lashes flutter. The warmth of his body floods yours. Your nipples tighten painfully under your shirt. Your chests brush with every sharp inhale you take, but does nothing to help calm your racing heart.

“I, uh,” your gaze flickers to those perfect, pink lips of his. You think they might be your favorite thing about him. How soft yet demanding they felt against yours at the Halloween party. What they look like wrapped around the top of a pen as he studies. Fuck. You want to taste him again, you’ve forgotten what he tastes like. When you drag your gaze back to his violet eyes, you find them teeming with the same pent-up arousal that courses in your veins. “I think I just did.”

You’re not sure who moves first, if you roll up onto your toes or if Rhys ducks down. All you know if the sensation of his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate kiss. Like you’ve gone without for far too long.

This is bad, this is sin, your mind refutes. You’re breaking rule number fucking one!

But your heart tells you to move closer, to press your body flush against his. It’s like you’re in a trance, and you do just that.

Rhys’ fingers thread into the hair at the nape of your neck where he grabs a fistful of hair. You gasp erotically against his mouth and he swallows the sound with a growl that makes the innermost parts of you ache. He guides your head this way and that, and you give into him, allowing him to take you how he wants.

You aren’t taking the time to run your hands up his body to explore like you want to. Nope, your fingers are curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt. You’re unable to move, completely entranced by the feeling of his tongue dipping into your mouth and laving against yours. It’s dominating, it’s sensual, it’s fucking perfect.

“Rhys,” you whine. It’s not a whine for him to stop, like it should be, but a desperate plea for him to keep going. You’ve thought about your kiss with him every night since Halloween. Touched yourself a few times to it as well. This, this is better than what you remember.

He shushes you softly. It sounds like a promise, like you have all the fucking time in the world. And you do, you think. You can’t remember what you were doing before this moment. Don’t even know what you’re going to do after this moment.

Have sex with him, hopefully.

Rhys hand wraps around your hips, then lowers. He grabs a handful of your ass, which spurs you into his arms. You lock your hands around his neck and all but climb into his arms, twining your legs around his trim wait.

“Fuck, darling,” he grunts as your nails scratch his scalp. It feels good, everything you’re doing. He wants you up against the wall, on the bed, bent over the dresser. Hell, he wants to sit you right upon that flimsy desk and fuck into you until it breaks. His teeth scrape against the skin of your neck. “Take your shirt off for me.”

You can’t obey fast enough. Rhys eyes are dark with desire, drinking every inch that you reveal to him like it’s his last meal on earth. Your pussy clenches at the sight and if he doesn’t start touching you, removing more clothes, you think you might just combust.

Like he sees it in your eyes, he slides his hand beneath your bra and cups your breath roughly. You moan, head falling back on your shoulders and he praises gruffly. “That’s it, darling, I’ve got you.”

You can’t even respond. Your brain doesn’t work. Any words you can form get caught in your throat. Rhys dips his head to kiss and suck at the tops of your breasts. He tweaks your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Rhys!” You hiss. You tug the hair at the nape of his neck. He fights against you, and it makes you even hotter. He knows what he’s doing with that mouth, and as nice as it feels on your chest and crawling up the column of your throat, you need his lips pressed against yours right now. “Please!”

“Okay, darling,” he whispers, and latches onto your mouth again.

You melt into him with a noise of pleasure. You grind your hips into his which makes his hands around your waist tighten. You’re lost in the feeling of him, want him to move closer to the bed, to press his tongue right between your thighs and use that very same swirling motion around your clit, you want him to strip bare and press his hot, aching cock right between your—

“Holy fucking shit!” A voice exclaims, ripping through your psyche.

Holy fucking shit. You’re kissing Rhys. Your shirt is off, you’re in his arms, and you’re kissing fucking Rhys.

You rip yourself from Rhys and swing your attention to the door. Dread settles like lead in your veins and you drop your feet to the floor, scrambling to pick up your discarded shirt form the floor.

Gwyn stands in the doorway, struck. Her cerulean eyes are comically wide, which is saying something because she’s always doe-eyed. She sways over the threshold and you hope it’s the lingering wine in her body and not because she just witnessed you all but mauling Mor’s cousin.

Mor.

“Gwyn,” you say desperately, tugging your shirt over your head. She can’t tell Mor, no one can. This will ruin your entire friendship, and you can’t handle that. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise.”

You barely register the affronted noise Rhys makes. You’re struggling with the material of your shirt, and he reaches a hand out to help. You brush him off, making your way to your friend who stares, glossy-eyed at the floor.

“I can’t…” Gwyn trails off. She raises her head and you falter at the hurt look in her eyes. It makes a lump form in your throat. Shit. You’re going to lose both of your best friends in one night.

Except, Gwyn admits, “I don’t feel very good.” She turns back into the hall and proceeds to throw up all over the floor.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[reikook]

summary: y/n finds herself caught in a web of as she develops unexpected feelings for her brother's best friend once she comes back from uni for summer break. initial hesitation, the undeniable connection between them pulls her closer, leading to a forbidden romance that tests loyalties and boundaries.

parring: fuckboy!jk x richgirloc

warnings: jk has some anger issues.., they play tennis alott brother best friend trope, y/n brother is taehyung, situationship, secret relationship kinda?, jungkook used to fw y/ns bestie OOP, thier all rich asf smut. angst drug use. and many more to come in other chapters

“Y/n! Taehyung!” their mother said hugging them both. “it’s been so long i miss my kiddos!”

They unloaded the car quickly, and as soon as they were done, y/n picked up her suitcase and book bag and headed straight for her old bedroom.

It had calico wallpaper and a white bedroom set and not to mention it was huge. she went over to her night stand and saw a white framed picture of her as a middle schooler and she quickly put it in the drawer “ew”

Y/ns mom knocks on her door “get dressed Taehyung is inviting his friends over for dinner

Y/n groans knowing his douche friends are coming over.

“Wear something nice!” Y/n mother said leaving her be in her room. Y/n flops on her bed and sighs heavily falling to sleep from the long airplane trip.

Y/n decided to wear a black crop top and light washed blue baggy jeans with black and white converse. She went downstairs of her almost mansion and saw his friends. She already knew them but there was a new member?

He had fluffy black hair, black shirt and jorts with black sambas and tattoos going down his arm with sliver chrome hearts bracelet and a lip piercing. Holy fuck.

Y/n sneaked up back upstairs to her room and added mascara and concealer. Then went back downstairs and sat down at the neatly seat dinner table

“You have a nice home Mrs. L/n” jimin said stuffing his face with the salad. “Aw thank you sweetheart!” Her mom responded, Y/n almost cringed by her mom acting fake and nice

“Y/n can you hand me the bread please?” Taehyung butted in. She reached over and handed it to him

“So.. jungkook? Is that your name?” Jungkook nodded knowing he’s about to be questioned

“You have a lot of tattoos wow.. what did your parents say?” Y/n mom says

“Mom stop” Taehyung whispers to her

“It’s fine my parents didn’t really care about them and I like them a lot so”

Y/ns mom hummed

“And what about you y/n how’s school going? I mean they’ve been calling me alot so”

She shrugged playing with her food. This is the worst thing ever for y/n

After dinner y/n took a shower and changed into a hoodie and shorts and laid on her bed watching tiktok trying to keep her mind off that hottie. She went quickly to Instagram to find him but was quickly interrupted.

Taehyung barged in her room “yo wanna play tennis”

“Sure”

Y/n got up and put her phone on the charger and put on her tennis shoes and grabbed her racket from her closet .They both walked to the tennis court and grabbed the tennis ball

“Ready?” Taehyung yelled out

Y/n hit the ball.

“I’m gonna get a drink of water” y/n called out dropping her racket and walking out of the court and went to the clubhouse and there he was standing there with a blunt in his hand

“Oh shit” jungkook said throwing it away quickly

“I don’t care about that” y/n said filling up her water bottle”

“Wait I think i remember you” jungkook said looking at her intensely “oh shit it’s you! Weren’t you friends with what’s her name.. oh yea Elise. God she was a bitch, no offense”

“What?” Y/n said confused totally of what he just said

“Elise your friend? We dated for like a month or some shit senior year in high school

“I don’t know. I mean she’s my friend but she never told me about you

“Such a bitch..” he said looking up and getting flashbacks

“Shes coming to see me this week I think”

“Eh I don’t care I have no feelings for her anymore as long if I don’t see her dumb face”

Y/n laughed at that “when did u become friends with taehyung?”

“Like this year I was his plug then we just became friends I guess

“Taehyung smokes?”

“No edibles big baby”

Y/ns mouth formed a “o”

“Do you smoke?

“Um.. no I play tennis for my school”

“Boring. Anyway it was nice talking to you.. are u gonna get that”

Y/n looked to see her water bottle was overfilling “Oh thanks”

He walked past her and walked out of her sight. Y/n smiled to herself walking back to the court. “The fuck were you doing?” Taehyung called out

“Nothing? I said I was filling up my water bottle”

“Sureeee”

a/n: hope yall enjoyed this one pls give me feedback this is like my first story ever and this is inspired by euphoria and challengers the movie!

[moonmunson]

don't stop (thinking about tomorrow)

wc: 2.3k

cw: live!reader who can see wally, fun little meet cute that freaks wally out, tw for two sentence mention of harry potter, set in 2023 but nothing with maddie happens, and as always i am writing with a plus size!reader in mind, but this one is gender neutral!reader as well so far

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5

a/n at the end!

masterlist

He was never supposed to find out that you can see him. 

You could see all of them - the beatnik with the sour expression plastered on her face, the sweetheart in the jean jacket, even the blonde dude who’s always at the pottery wheel during your second period ceramics class.

You’d spent the last four years perfecting walking right past them, not looking up, not laughing at the jock’s jokes when you’re seated near them in the library.

Your ‘gifts’ are too confusing to explain, and even if you attempted to confide in someone about them, you know it would be too hard to believe.

It freaked your parents out when you were little - your comments about how Grandma talked to you long after her passing, how you waved to people on the street that nobody else could see. They never took you to be tested -  worried too much that you’d get taken away or put in psychiatric holding. 

So if you came home looking tired and drained, or sometimes, a little scared, your parents understood. 

When you started high school, you hadn’t expected there to be so many dead people. It was so weird, seeing people your age walking around stuck in the clothes representative of their times. 

You’d told your mom about the kids as you distinguished them from the living ones -  sadness in her eyes growing when you’d mentioned the lanky one in 80s athletic gear. She’d gotten her own Split River yearbook from the shelf, flipped to the memorial page and pointed at Wally. 

“Is that who you’re talking about?” 

You’d nodded, confirming her suspicions. She’d been in his graduating class, though not in his social circles. He’d been your stereotypical jock when he was alive, for all the pros and cons of it. King of the ragers thrown after games, not always a bully, but often a bystander. Gone too soon, but quickly forgotten in the grand scheme of things. 

For your safety, you’d agreed that you wouldn’t ever speak to any of the ghosts. Your mom had clocked the dreamy glaze in your eyes while looking at Wally’s picture, and while she couldn’t stop you from talking to him, she’d told you what you already knew. It wasn’t smart, and it wouldn’t end well. 

In your mind, letting any of them know that you could see them would be more cruel than just letting them go about their usual business. Even if you made contact, spoke to them - hung out with them - you were leaving after graduation, and they’d be alone again, without any contact with the living world. It seemed unfair; pointless. 

It’s not Wally’s fault he’s so fucking pretty. 

He moves about the school the same way you do - not looking at or paying attention to the people around him - because he has no reason to believe he can be seen. It’s worked out entirely in your favor thus far, because you can stare at Wally Clark for small periods of time without him noticing. On the occasion that he turns his head in your direction, a shift of your eyes to the right or left has him believing you’re just staring off into space. 

He’s so nice to look at. His slightly curled waves of black hair, gold chain gleaming under fluorescent lighting. There’s depth to him, too. When he’s around his friends, he’s energetic - bouncy, cracking jokes and patting people on the back too hard. When he’s alone, though, he seems calmer. More reserved. 

You get bolder with it, the staring, lulled into a sense of safety because you’re just another face in the ever-rotating crowd of high schoolers that pass through Split River. He’d seen forty generations of kids move on at this point, stuck as a fresh 18 year old with dreams and aspirations he’ll never be able to achieve. 

It must suck, having to stay behind and watch as other seniors get a chance to do what he never did. You wish you could comfort him, maybe even help him find a way to move on. It’s harder for the people who die traumatically. 

So much unfinished business and pent up emotions make it difficult to find the peace needed to pass onto the next plane. It’s easy to tell -there’s always a certain aura around the sad ones. Like the air around them is heavier, darker. 

You’re not complaining, though, as fucked as that may sound. Especially not when you’re lounging under a tree near the football field, not so subtly watching as a shirtless Wally picks up replicated footballs and throws them aimlessly in different directions. If you hadn’t been daydreaming about being able to talk to him, you would’ve noticed the ball soaring towards you. 

You look up, just in time for the phantom ball to hit the ground next to you, bouncing to land at your feet. Absent-mindedly - and almost jokingly - you kick it away from you, suddenly aware the ball was solid against your foot. In the time it takes you to realize you just interacted with a phantom football, it's faded away into the ground, and its sender is staring at you wide-eyed. 

There’s a beat of stillness, soundtracked by the cicadas and other teens on the field before you begin to move. 

You scramble to throw your shit into your bag, and speed walk back inside. 

“Holy shit? Wait! Hey, wait!” 

He follows you, because of course he does, and you try your best to ignore the panic and guilt rising in your throat. You just keep walking, hoping that he’ll give up. He doesn’t. 

“Can you slow down please? I know you can see me!” 

Wally catches up to you, jogging a few paces ahead to try to cut you off. You’ve never been this close to him - you have no idea if he’ll pass through you the way you’ve seen the other ghosts pass through living people before or if you'll make contact like you did moments ago with the ball he had thrown. 

It blows your cover even more than kicking the ball away, but when Wally goes to stand in front of you, you attempt to veer out of his path. And then he grabs you. Or, he tries to, anyway. He’s not fully solid, not enough to place a firm hold on you, but enough for you to genuinely feel it. 

His hand does go through you, but there’s resistance to it. It makes you shiver, the ice cold sensation of his palm trying to hold your shoulder but not being able to fully grip it. 

“What the fuck?” He looks down at his hands, then back towards you. 

He’s caught off guard enough for you to truly get away this time. Rest of the school day be damned, you make a break for it and throw yourself into your car. 

The stale air does nothing to help your nerves, your shaking hand turning the ignition to blast AC at yourself. You lean forward, resting your head on the steering wheel and try to breathe through it. This is bad. Like, really fucking bad. 

You don’t know much about him, but you seriously doubt that this is the kind of thing he’d just let go. 

You’re in it now, for better or for worse. 

You can’t tell your mom. It’s selfish, and misguided, and you hadn’t even said anything to him, but it was something. It was yours, and you don’t want to share. It makes the guilt worse, and your drive home is spent in dissociated silence. 

When you get home, your mom is in the kitchen, bouncing around to 80s music and chopping onions. The slam of the front door alerts her to your presence, and she pauses her music, concern etched in her features. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay? You’re home early.” 

You don’t want to lie. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just got a headache, that’s all. Thought I should come home and take a nap.” 

-

Spending a few days at home would probably be for the best - it would give you time to come up with some sort of plan on what to say to Wally. You have no idea what the best course of action is. He knows you can see him now. You can’t take that back and make him forget it, and you don’t even know if you’d want to. 

Instead, you barrel into school the next day, head down and earphones blasting music. Your eyes don’t leave the linoleum floor except to put your bag in your locker. The grumble of frustration and annoyance that leaves your body when three Tears for Fears songs play in succession draws the attention of other students in the hallway, but you pay them no mind. 

You don’t even make it to third period before you see him. 

Sitting in the corner of ceramics class, shaky hands denting an already uneven vase, the slam of the classroom door makes you jump - effectively destroying the soft clay cradled in your palms. 

“There you are! Dude, I've been looking all over for you.” He sidles up to you, plops down in the seat directly to your right, the heat of his gaze burning into the side of your face and making your cheeks hot. You sigh, squishing the clay down and shaking your head. 

“That’s fine, you don’t have to talk. I can talk for both of us. I can just talk, and talk, and talk, and-” 

Your hand shoots into the air, a frantic “Can I use the restroom please?” leaving your throat. 

It’s your worst nightmare and a dream come true, being alone with Wally. He walks next to you in the hallway, and when you pass the bathroom he pauses. 

“You’re not going in? I thought you needed to go.” He’s teasing, you know he is, but you still huff at him. 

You keep your pace, calling out behind you, “No, Wally, I don’t need to use the bathroom.” 

You don’t turn around to see it, but you can hear the slightly shocked giggle that leaves him. 

“Oh, c’mon, really?” 

He catches up to you, and when you crane your head to the side to make eye contact, he sucks in a little breath. It’s the first time you’ve actually looked into his eyes. It throws you off kilter a bit, and you feel the need to make up the difference with a quip. 

“What, you’re Moaning Myrtle now? You feel like talking and hanging around in public restrooms?” 

The laugh that leaves him surprises you, Your eyebrows raise, not expecting him to understand the reference. 

“Ms. Williams plays the movies during finals week like every year,” he shrugs, “I’m dead, not blind.” 

You’d taken your things with you - skipping the rest of your class to spend time with him, to answer the questions you know he wants to ask. You go back to the football field, under the same tree you’d been under when you kicked the football away from you. 

He’s waiting for you to speak, to help him understand what’s going on, but the words are caught in your throat, cheeks hot and skin itchy. Your hands fidget, picking dried clay from under your fingernails and flicking it onto the grass nearby. 

You look at him, trying to decide where to start. 

“I’m not really supposed to talk to you.”

“Why not?” He laughs then, shakes his head a little. “It’s because I’m dead, right? Do you have a problem with dead people?”

“No, I-” You start on the defensive, but soften when you see Wally’s smirk. He’s a little shit, you should've known. You roll your eyes, “You’re not supposed to know I can see you for your own sake. What good would it do? Hanging out with me for the next three months until I graduate and you can never see me again? It’s unfair.”

He looks away from you for a second, sly smile wiped off of his face, replaced with a sadness you hadn’t seen from him before. You reach out, trying to make contact, and your hand just meets the air. When he’d tried to grab you yesterday, he was slightly more solid than he is now. You don’t know why. 

“Yeah it is unfair,” He turns to face you again, brown eyes glassy and tear rimmed, “but you can see me, and that’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I’ve been here.” 

Something in your chest stirs, and you know there’s no universe in which you would’ve been able to stay away from him. You’re worlds apart, or planes apart, but it doesn't seem to matter as much as you used to think it did. 

“I think it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, too.” 

You spend the rest of the school day - without being caught, thankfully - in deep conversation. The shrill ring of the bell signaling the end of the day cuts you off in the middle of a sentence, and you stand from your place on the grass, dusting yourself off and gathering your things. 

The silence between you is comfortable now, as he walks you to your car. He can’t step off the curb - he’d explained the boundaries of the school to you, that he’d be thrown back to the field if tried to leave. You hover together, not wanting to part. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow? We can hang out more, I have study hall during 5th period.” You tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and he follows the movement with his eyes. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” 

You blast your 80s playlist on the way home, while you’re in the shower, while you’re doing homework. 

Wally Clark is gonna be the death of you.  

a/n: hiii i feel like this part was a little lackluster but !!!! i have a whole plan for what i want to do with this fic and i'm really excited about it. it should be four parts, but that's subject to change as i keep writing.

if you liked this and want to read more of my little stories, my masterlist is linked at the top! if you have ideas or just want to chat, my inbox is always open!

pls don't forget to like and reblog! love you mwah

[cloversnstrawberries]

oc intro post ! ! older brother!platonic yandere!80s slasher

masterlist | requests open !

warnings; yandere behavior, possessiveness, overprotective behavior, mentions of murder, violence, serial killings, and past bullying of reader; manipulation, kidnapping, imprisonment, delusions (zachary thinks he's just protecting you), mental instability, and there might be more i forgot :(( if so, please let me know if i should add!!

additional notes; i'm very tired right now, but i just had to get this out of my system,,, here is the next runner up from the poll, Zachary!! i don't know what else to say. uh. go subscribe to dead meat !!! also i hope u enjoy :)

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

Sometime around the mid-1980s, in a small town right dab smack in the middle of the American Midwest; resided you and your family, consisting of you, your mom, your dad, your family dog--

And your older brother, Zachary. By all accounts, he was the quintessential all-american teen. It was almost like he was ripping right from the sitcoms and various movies and TV that followed high schoolers.

...Except for one teensy little detail, that if discovered, would shatter his entire persona. All he was would be brought into question-- for good reason, he supposes, but that doesn't make it any less annoying to think about the possibility of his secret being outed.

That being the fact he was the Fools Killer-- I mean, no one would suspect Zachary! You'd have to be crazy to accuse him of being the maniac going around in a jesters costume, killing people with no obvious rhyme or reason.

You'd be right, but you'd still be crazy. Zachary wouldn't do something like that! He was a kind, caring, and popular guy. He was the kind that'd help you pick up books after spilling them in the hallway, or pay for his friends if they couldn't afford food at the moment.

He was your brother, and he was a great one at that. The part where he (noticeably) differed from the depictions of his kind of small-town golden boy, was that he wasn't cruel to you at all.

If anything, he was so nice to you that people questioned it. How could siblings be so close? Sure, you fought-- just like everyone else did. Fought over stupid stuff, like your brother pouring himself a 1/2 gram more of soda than he poured you, or for a spot on the couch;

Normal stuff. But other than that, you didn't really butt heads. No mocking, no mean-spirited teasing, or purposeful humiliation.

He was, however, very protective of you. At first it was manageable, when you were younger-- still was, to an extent. It all hit a head about a year ago, when he yelled at you for not telling him you were getting picked on. That he would've dealt with it, before you got the big blackeye you'd come home with.

That was the one and only time he ever yelled at you.

The boy who gave you that black eye disappeared shortly after-- and is commonly thought of as the first victim of the Fools Killer. You don't make the connection, even as more and more people disappear around you; people who dared to slight you,

Who dared to slight Zachary's precious little sibling.

He thought of it as... pest control, really. These people weren't going to go anywhere in life anyways, with how they treated you.

Really, you were the most precious thing on Earth to Zachary-- he refused to believe that it wasn't simply fact. It slipped his mind that everyone else was so stupid, unable to see how brightly you shined.

he was just protecting you, is all-- and it relieved his stress as well. He felt bad for snapping on you, he really does; but it'd been so cathartic to deal with the little shit himself,

It's for your own good, that he's secretly become Fools Killer. He's just protecting you-- both from others, and from him ever yelling at you again. You didn't deserve it.

It's for your own good that he keeps you in the dark as long as possible-- but when, eventually, his clever little sibling figures out Zachary's little 'hobby', or walks in at a less-than-ideal time;

Well, it's hardly his fault if he has to take you somewhere else, so he can take care of you. You don't need anyone else. He's always been here for you-- more than your parents, in his mind.

besides, he's a pretty damn good actor. He was practically born ready to play the part of a grieving brother, doing all he can to try and find his missing little sibling; afraid that they too had ended up as a victim of the recent killings.

Knowing damn well where you were, kept safe and sound in a little shed/hangout you two's dad had built Zachary when he was younger, as a place to escape from it all.

It was surprisingly easy to make into a living space for you-- and even easier to lock it down, lock you down, and make sure you can't leave.

it's all for your own good, after all! He knows the phrase usually goes mother knows best... but he's sure whoever invented the saying wouldn't be too mad if he altered it to fit his purposes, right?

[my313]

spring cleaning ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ choi beomgyu

now playing 𝄞₊⊹ sukidakara - beomgyu (og: yuika)

⋆ pairing: high school sweetheart!beomgyu x gn!reader

⋆ summary: in an attempt to declutter your home for the spring, you find an old camcorder filled with beautiful memories of your first love.

⋆ warnings: fluff, mentioned past heeseung (enhypen) x reader, jealous beomgyu, established relationship, italics are flashbacks, beomgyu is a musician? so technically kind of an au, insinuated that beomgyu and reader were high schoolers in the 2000s

⋆ word count: 2k

a/n: LISTEN TO HIS COVER NEOOOWWW!!! god i love him so bad...... this is also not proofread sry i wrote this out of pure delusion LOL. stuff might sound bad omg i just wanted to write fluff 😭 banner by @/saradika <3

it's nearly midnight when you decided to rummage through your drawers, cabinets, and now, your closet. while dipping your head into the various sets of clothes, you reach for a heart-shaped box with a matching pink ribbon sitting on the lid.

inside, you find an assortment of trinkets from your days in high school. lilac envelopes with silly faces drawn on the seal, addressed to you; postcards from your distant relatives; your university acceptance letter; even a nasty tube of your favourite (expired) strawberry lip balm.

what really distracts you from your spring cleaning antics is the silver camcorder that sits in the very middle of the box.

the clunky piece of technology is covered in dust and mismatched stickers, obvious once you bring it out of the black hole that is your closet and into the warm light of your bedroom.

you don't expect it to start up with the way it's been abandoned for years, but the familiar jingle fills the silence and you're met with a pixelated view of your carpeting. you habitually click on the gallery, immediately flustered with the thumbnail that greets you.

a fond smile makes its way to your lips as the video plays. it's shit quality, as expected, but even with all the pixels distorting the boy's face, you recognise him. it comes easy, with beomgyu's round eyes nervously shifting from the falling cherry blossoms and onto the lens.

you recall this specific spring. the one right before you were set to graduate. you remember how odd beomgyu seemed the entire walk back to his house until he clumsily led the way to the little park a few minutes away from his childhood home. your impromptu shoot now becoming a memory to savour.

beomgyu keeps his distance from you as you take the longer, more scenic route to his house. he had it all planned out. today would be the day he'd tell you that he liked you. the first week of spring, the cherry blossoms falling perfectly; it was as if the universe and the gods of romance were aligning everything to his favour. he even got your favourite strawberry yogurt drink on-hand, poking the straw through the film and handing it to you proudly when you gasp and proclaim your gratefulness to him.

unfortunately, that didn't play out the way he fantasised the night before, sprawled out on his futon with a dopey grin on his face until morning came. even so, he didn't let his sleep deprived self peek through for a minute since you exited the school gates.

that was until you mentioned lee heeseung.

"heeseung asked me to the internet cafe this weekend," you begin, harmlessly conversing about your day like you usually do. you take a sip of your drink, then extend it to beomgyu, offering a taste.

he leans down to catch the straw between his lips, heart fluttering ever-so-slightly at the thought of your lips just being on that flimsy plastic a few moments ago. clearly, that gesture wasn't enough to keep his mind distracted from the mention of lee heeseung.

beomgyu tries to remain calm. internet cafe? surely, a thing friends do. you've tagged along with him and soobin a few times.

"he said it was a date."

which explains your current predicament. it's obvious that beomgyu is upset, lips jutted into a pout and brows furrowed. his hands stay stuck in his pockets as if they'd been glued there, so unlike his usual behaviour. on days like this, beomgyu typically links arms with you, or tugs on the top hook of your backpack to ease the weight off you, or even sling his arms around you with a mischievous grin. right now, you're sure this is the farthest beomgyu has been from you.

the silence drapes over you two like a stuffy blanket. you're thankful for the loud honks and bicycle bells in the background, even appreciating the yelling of the street vendors as your typically boisterous peer is quiet.

a bike chaotically speeds through your side, the rider repeatedly hitting the bell as they make their way to you. beomgyu quickly grabs your arm and trades places with you before the bike catches up, him on the road-side and you by the fences. once the bike passes with a hurried apology, beomgyu lets go of your arm and maintains the former distance.

"...sounds like a shit date, to be honest." the silence shatters. he mutters, huffing out a breath as he walks just an inch closer to you, as if trying to be a barrier between you and the road.

you blink at him, lips flat and eyes unassuming. just relieved he's talking to you. "you think?"

"yeah, why would you wanna be inside when the streets look like this.." he motions towards the cherry blossom trees surrounding you both. "..right now. d'you even like him enough to say yes?"

"i dunno. he's cool, i guess. isn't he your friend?"

"just played a few games together."

his responses are straight to the point. none of his beomgyu bullshit spinning your conversations through circles, which you admittedly did enjoy.

"is something... wrong? did you guys fight? i can beat him up for you if i go." you try to joke, your eyes never leaving beomgyu's face to catch his reaction.

he winces, "uh, no, not really. that- that's not the problem..."

your silence prompts beomgyu to keep talking, but his eyes don't meet yours. instead, he's staring at the pavement, picking up the creases on his shoes he'd never seen before, distracting himself by counting the petals he comes across. none of it calms his heart or clears the lump in his throat though.

he abruptly lifts his head and stares back at you. a pleasant surprise that causes you to blush at how his eyes sparkle so brightly. he sighs defeatedly, not wanting to be upset any longer. with one look at you, beomgyu's stubbornness weakens, a small smile on his lips as he closes the distance between you both.

his shoulder purposely clashes into yours, "it's really pretty at the park near my house right now. wanna see?"

you pause the video upon hearing the doorbell ring. with a knowing grin, you take the camcorder with you to the door. once you pull it open, the comforting sight of your boyfriend floods your vision.

"m'home~" he greets in a sing-song tone, arms spread wide awaiting your welcome home hug that he always craves after hours at the studio.

beomgyu's eyes travel from your sunken but excited eyes to the familiar thing in your hold. he blinks repeatedly, craning his neck up stiffly to look up at you again. comically, he brings an accusatory finger to the front with a nervous chuckle.

"is that...?"

"yup!" you beam enthusiastically, like you had waited for him to step foot into your shared apartment to eat him up.

knowing what was inside the camcorder, beomgyu could say it was similar. his face feels warmer despite the late night breeze still whisking him away from behind. you tug at his outstretched arm and pull him inside, shutting the door.

usually, you'd ask how work was, or pester him to let you listen to a new song he worked on. tonight though, none of that.

beomgyu sits next to you on the sofa, cheek nuzzled against your head. his downward gaze is alert to every button you press on the camcorder, cringing slightly at the memory of his partly successful confession.

beomgyu leans in closer to have a better look at the viewfinder. he chooses to focus on something else entirely even as you're sucked into the pretty pinks of the sakura flowers and the shaky footage of his round head.

the wind was just slightly unforgiving that day, petals swirling around the park. you're a few steps behind beomgyu. he's biting the inside of his cheek, stare stuck to the pavement, desperately wishing you'd speed up and start walking beside him.

impatient as ever, beomgyu decides he'll just slow down for you. he's not very subtle about it though, opting to halt entirely and turn his head in your direction. beomgyu wants to see the surprise in your face; eyes wide and cheeks pink. instead, what greets him is the lens of your camcorder, a hand-me-down from your relatives that you couldn't stop talking about over text just the other week.

beomgyu strides forward and you stay still in your spot, tightly gripping the camcorder. "beomgyu, say hi to the camera!"

your voice echoes with excitement, beomgyu doesn't have to peer beyond the camcorder to know that your lashes are kissing the apples of your cheeks with the way you're smiling widely. he wants to be the one to keep you beaming like this for years and years on end.

you're about to back away as beomgyu gets too close for the camcorder to film him and the view. then, you feel beomgyu's lithe fingers over your own, tugging on the camera, extending your arm by result, and raising it to his eye-level. beomgyu makes sure you're looking at him through the viewfinder. with a lopsided smile and head cocked to the side, beomgyu braces himself for what's to come, "hey, i like you."

your arm falls limp as he releases his grip on you, shocked by his confession. he doesn't let you process it, though, running towards the opposite direction. it takes you a moment to run after him, camera long forgotten. "choi beomgyu..! you!"

"why are you running away from someone you like, huh?!" you huff out, catching your breath.

when you look up, you can't help but point the camera at beomgyu again. with plenty of cherry blossom trees in the background, beomgyu center in the frame, wind trying to pull his necktie away, how could you not? the boy you like, the one that just confessed to you on one spring day, looked too beautiful.

the camcorder manages to pick up your words amidst the scratchy noises of the wind. in a whisper, one can hear your voice, "i like you too, beomgyu."

"wow, i was really handsome since birth, huh?" he poses confidently, his lips and warm breath kissing your hair as he speaks.

you roll your eyes with a smile, and you don't disagree. you never do and it makes beomgyu blush and grin. if he wasn't too comfortable in your warmth, he would be laying down on his stomach with a coquettish smile and his feet kicking up and down.

"yeah, s'why i'm engaged to you, no?" you blow a raspberry at him.

an exaggerated gasp paired with a dramatic drop of his jaw has your stomach hurting from laughing too hard. "i thought you loved me!"

"i do!" you giggle, biting down your lips to stop more fits of laughter spilling out. you squish beomgyu's cheeks together, lips pursed and begging to be kissed. so you do. "you and your pretty face, baby."

your laughs settle down into echoes of contentment, beomgyu's palm rubbing against your belly as if soothing your self-inflicted ache. plus, beomgyu would stick his limbs to your body if he could.

he presses his cheek against your head, "did you know i liked you even before that spring?"

you hum in thought, resting your hand atop the one on your tummy and filling in the gaps between his fingers with your own. you smile even harder upon feeling the cold metal band of your engagement rings. "nah. i thought it was impossible, honestly,"

"didn't even really think you thought of me like that until then, bomu." you admit shyly, playing with your interlocked fingers. beomgyu's lips purse in thought, "i thought i was pretty obvious though,"

"was buying you strawberry milk everyday and carrying your backpack home even if we lived in opposite directions not obvious enough for you, honey?"

"well... it's obvious now!"

"yeah," he beams that sweet, silly, sly beomgyu half-smirk that you've always loved. he releases your hands momentarily to raise his fingers to the light, showing off his ring. "we're so locked in now."

[kivino]

PROBLEM I || HIGURUMA HIROMI X COWORKER!READER

sum. You have quite a crush on your coworker, but don’t know how to approach it. The opportunity to do something presents itself when you both get invited for drinks after not-so-voluntary overtime. 

tags. Suggestive themes, so MDNI; Canon divergent; Higuruma and reader work at a law firm; Japanese work culture is a warning in itself; Reader is a foreigner in Japan but it’s a little glazed over; fluff; cigarettes; alcohol consumption, obviously; Higuruma is a lightweight and a dork, I stand by that.

w.c. 3.4-ish

a.n. I’ve been having this Higuruma itch that needed a scratch (save me overworked lawyer disappointed in the justice system, save me), so I wrote this little fic! Plus forced myself to omit all the Japanese honorifics used cause apparently you kids find it cringe (/lh). Enjoy, and please, reblog/leave a comment, I really want to know what you all think and if I should continue writing for JJK. I’m planning to make a part two for this, so stay tuned!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

You feel completely lost. Not even lost, abandoned by your consciousness. And not in the tall pillars of paperwork on your desk, that threatened to fall over with a single blow of air from the AC blasting over your desk, as you should be. No-no-no, you’re lost in Hiromi’s deep, almost pitch-black eyes, so mesmerizing that you felt like you were falling right into their endless, warm void. Well, you were not supposed to be calling him Hiromi, it was Higuruma for you. “For now.” – you encouraged yourself. You’ll get there with him. Eventually. 

It only occasionally occurs to you that you were behaving like a dreamy-eyed middle-schooler…again. All that development of your frontal lobe goes right smack-dab into the trash when you notice those tired eyes stop on you for a split second as Higuruma gives you a polite nod with his lips twitching upwards, almost attempting a smile. Even in spite of the sheer exhaustion he is exuding all around. 

You don’t even have to look at him to notice how tired the man is – when you come into work, fifteen minutes earlier, just like everyone else in your firm, you see him sitting in his chair already, reading endless police reports, typing away on his computer, arranging for meetings with witnesses or clients. Even when you are heading for the elevator, calling out “Good job today” to the last people left in the office, hurrying for your last train home – Hiromi is glued to his visibly uncomfortable chair, his head almost bumping into keyboard as he wrestled with the sleep clouding his eyes. And even if you don’t see him around his desk – he is probably out somewhere, hounding for evidence on the case. 

Or in the smoking room. God, after you realize where Hiromi spends at least thirty minutes a day, you consider picking up smoking just to have an excuse to get to know him better. He’s definitely a bad influence on you.

But how can he not be? You physically can’t stop yourself from staring at him when you see him through the glass door of the smoking room, leaned on the wall, droopy half-lidded eyes looking up at the ceiling, dark long lashes pretty as a picture. You can’t help but imagine these puffy eyes tearing up or rolling into the back of his head along with his mouth falling open in a delicious silent plea; or looking down on you with mad fixation that would make liquid heat pool between your thighs. 

And you won’t even get started on his nose. The graceful arch of it, the perfect angle to…You stop before you stray too far, instead letting your mind wander to those beautiful eyes once more, intense and overwhelming, picturing desire clouding them until there is nothing but scorching fire burning up your skin, accompanied by Hiromi’s soft sighs, raspy whines or gentle praise, with those incredible voice cracks he would develop when he was oh-so-exhausted after a long day… you wonder how he would sound, as you grasp and store away in your memory each time your name is called by Higuruma.

Your eyes find your coworker once again at his desk, his deft hands are typing something out on the computer. You can see the way Hiromi’s fingers move, and your thoughts immediately settle on the image of them gently running over your thigh, hooking at the belt loops just to pull you into his warm, frail, charmingly pathetic form. You сan practically melt into a puddle, when your mind gets to his warm, large palms settling on your hips, setting electric currents running right to you brain, when the object of your fantasies suddenly catches your eyes on him. You can feel your heartbeat fall down somewhere to your feet – you’ve been caught! But before you can see how Higuruma reacts…

“Ah, Shimizu! Well done today!” you say with a polite nod to your coworker who emerges right in front of your desk, visibly ready to go home after yet another day’s grueling overtime – cute, mindful bag in her hand, work costume wrinkled after hours of sitting in one place; interrupting your session of staring at your higher-up. Which is probably for the best, you think. You are new compared to everyone else, you are supposed to be working twice as harder, not dedicating your time to undressing the poor, exhausted Higuruma with your eyes. All of a sudden, you feel shame burn at your cheeks. Just a tiny little bit. 

“Oh, not at all, you’re too kind!” Shimizu denies the praise with the dismissive wave of her hand, but you can see that she’s just being polite because you don’t know each other too well. “Yet” – You add in your mind. You’ll be accepted here, you just need a little time. “How are you settling in? Everyone’s nice to our cute kouhai I hope?” 

“Oh, yes! Everyone’s very kind! I’m looking forward to working and getting along with everyone in the future!” You say and add another small bow for emphasis – even though you are already hired it was instrumental to make the right impression on your coworkers. 

“That’s great to hear! About that actually…” You tense up for a moment, already running millions of possible scenarios through your mind. Did someone write you up or complain? That would be very typical for what you were used to here – no direct confrontation with you, instead an anonymous complaint made to HR and you’re out of here faster than you can apologize. Or maybe it’s a complaint from Higuruma himself, fed up with being stared at like he was a piece of meat, by “the foreigner” of the firm no less. You can feel your legs shake under a flimsy desk. “We’re going out for drinks! You’re going, right?”

Okay, false alarm. You are prepared for something like this. Shimizu was obviously putting you in a position where you’re not supposed to decline…But you were so tired, and the workload this week was just horrible, along with all the hours of overtime you did-

“Oh, and Higuruma’s going too.”

Come to think of it, you actually feel pretty energized and ready to go. You don’t catch the cheeky smile Shimizu sends over her shoulder to the previously mentioned man, and the most precious, thankful look he gives her in response.

“I-I suppose it wouldn’t hurt...” you mutter, trying your hardest not to seem as desperate as you are in actuality, to have an opportunity to finally get to know Hiromi somewhere outside work. This work crush has been driving you up the wall for too long, might as well start acting on it, if it’s here to stay. Maybe you’ll get to be friends with Hiromi, and that will resolve your yearning for him. It always dissipates when the person you desire is right by your side. 

However, you don’t get an opportunity for a one-on-one with Higuruma that you hoped for until much later in the night. You caught stray looks from him multiple times, but each time Hiromi met your eyes he would look away in an instant, with his neck turning so hard you were half-sure you could hear it crack. It felt pretty discouraging, looking at him silently pour the drinks down the hatch from the other side of the table, without even attempting to talk to you, while others were trying their best to make you feel welcome. Hiromi just made you so…confused.  

So, you decide to step out for a moment, lost in your thoughts. Lo and behold, there is the man of the hour himself, leaned up against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. You are surprised at how he can stand up straight, after all these drinks he consumed without eating anything (and you’re pretty sure you didn’t see him eat lunch either), but you just settle on the fact that Hiromi might just be like that – a mystery to you. His face is barely illuminated by the low light pouring out of the windows of the izakaya, a slight flush on his tan cheeks making your mind travel places. 

“Can I have one?” You blurt out, before you can stop yourself. Oh, this is so stupid. You can feel your face heat up, and not even a gentle autumn breeze is able to cool you down at the moment. Oh, you were so about to screw up all of this. Nevertheless, you slowly approach him, as Hiromi’s head slowly turns to you and you can see a corner of his mouth twitch when he registers it’s you speaking. Huh. Interesting. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Hiromi mumbles, taking a pack out of his pocket, clumsy fingers struggling to pull out a cigarette for you. Well, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see you smoke, since you only did that if you were drunk or stressed out. “I never saw you in the smoking room. Though, saw you pass by. Quite a lot.” Higuruma continues rambling, his head tilted forwards, eyes unsure and watery, staring up from under his eyebrows, focused solely on you. You can practically feel yourself getting hypnotized by the absolutely charming puppy dog eyes Hiromi is giving you, to the point of not noticing the man offering you the cig you just asked for a couple of seconds ago. 

“Uh, yeah. Guilty as charged.” You chuckle, not finding anything better to say, as you gently take what you’re offered. The silence falls over both of you, as your lips squeeze the “cancer stick” between them, Higuruma now fumbles to find a lighter. Well, it’s your chance to talk, but you, sadly, find yourself lost for words. 

Hiromi, much like yourself, cannot find the courage to speak up, as his eyes keep trailing back to your face, now more stunning than ever, surrounded by the blue air of the night instead of synthetic fluorescent lights of the office that rarely do justice to your beauty. He definitely overdid it with the liquid courage. Now he can’t muster up a thought to strike up a conversation with you. And it was supposed to be a chance for him to get to know you better, in an informal way. Way to go, you absolute nutjob. 

“You seem to be a very hard worker, Higuruma. I thought you’d stay for overtime instead of going out for drinks.” You finally say what’s on your mind, when you see Hiromi can’t seem to find the lighter he’s been looking for, for the past minute, maybe. 

“Well, first I was staying so long because of work, and now it’s because of you.” Hiromi blurts out with his eyes looking right at you. When the man finally realizes what he just said, his eyes are immediately drawn downwards, avoiding yours.

“What?” You look at him, for a moment thinking that your hearing gave up on you. Higuruma didn’t just say what you heard him say, right?

“What?” Hiromi’s tone is neutral and even calm, but behind it he was panicking. Why in the hell did he just say that?! He definitely weirded you out and now everything will fall apart, all thanks to his absolute inability to handle his liquor better. “I mean, you need someone to look at while you work, right? Might as well be me.” What was he talking about? If you weren’t standing right in front of him, so perfect and beautiful in the dim lights, with your hair exquisitely disheveled, and his eyes getting drawn to your figure in all the right places, his hands would definitely fly up to his face in exasperation at his sheer stupidity.

“You’re funny.” You finally chuckle out in a hushed tone, like you were saying something absolutely scandalous, and not just bashfully stating your opinion.

“No, I’m just drunk.” He states rather bluntly, and you’re taken aback for a moment. “I’m actually a lightweight. Without...” Higuruma makes a vague gesture with his hand, which you take as him referring to the copious amounts of alcohol running through his blood at the moment. “…I’d be too scared to talk to you.”

“Huh? Why would you be scared to talk to me?” You respond with yet another breathy laugh, feeling an incredibly strong surge of confidence, hearing that the whole time this grown man was scared of approaching you – polite and shy newbie, deeply infatuated with…everything about him. Which, Hiromi was so luckily and obviously unaware of.

“You’re just…” The unintentional pause is much shorter than it feels like, as a sudden hiccup interrupts his heartfelt confession. “Very…gorgeous. But uh…in a professional sense.” You can hear an uneven crack in Higuruma’s voice, and if for someone else it would’ve been a turn-off, you can already feel how breathing suddenly becomes a thing you need to be aware of. “Or whatever.”

“Or whatever?” You echo, with an amused smile tugging at your lips, as an idea dawns on you out of the blue. “Higuruma, could you…” you trail off, immediately bringing his attention to whatever you were about to ask of him. Oh, he was ready to do anything you’d ask. Jump? With pleasure. Drop down to his knees? Gladly. Kiss you? Please.

He freezes in place, as you lean closer to him, a surge of previously known, but supressed feelings rising with a tremble in his chest. The end of your cigarette touches a little burning cherry at the end of his, your eyes slowly drift up to his own, producing an incomprehensible, fiery spark when your gazes meet. Higuruma almost thinks the ground disappeared from under his feet right that moment, because in little less than a second of staring into your eyes like that, alluring, precious gemstones pulling him in with a siren’s song, he’s falling. Hard.

Hiromi’s face doesn’t hide even a sliver of what he’s experiencing at the moment, as he looks at you in awe, half-way sure that his heart is about to burst in a million of pieces while you’re lighting your cigarette with his. He wishes this moment would go on forever. He wished you’d reach out to him, throw out the damn cigarettes, close the miniscule distance that felt like kilometres and kiss him, so hard he’d surely loose his mind for you completely.

The seconds feel like hours, electricity and warmth bouncing inside of him, while cold air blows on his skin, failing to cool him down from the mad high he was experiencing just from your presence, so distant and at the same time, close.

“Thanks.” You mutter a short response, tactfully making a point not to mention the way his face got even redder (which you didn’t think was possible, yet here you are). Your lips wrap around the cigarette, inhaling the smoke, the slight hit of nicotine dulling your senses for a moment making you flutter your eyelashes in pleasure.

“You’re always…a problem.” He responds, quietly, and you arch your brow at his strange response. Higuruma immediately looks horrified as it dawns on him just what exactly he said in his…rather unsuccessful attempt to articulate his thoughts, as you mumble out an unsure “excuse me?”. Hiromi’s hands fly up to meet his face, exasperated sigh leaving his lips. Why did he always had to be…like this? He was confident and easily able to keep a cool head in the courtroom, faced with people representing and facing justice. Why, why was he losing face in front of you of all people? It was frankly frustrating, and he…

“Ha-ha-ha…I am, aren’t I?” You return playfully, seeing the sheer distress on Hiromi’s face and deciding to play off his probably unintentional slip-up as a joke. He didn’t, couldn’t mean what he said, right? He was always friendly (even if a little distant, but who weren’t like that to new, unfamiliar people, right?), polite…Unless?

“No! No! That’s not what I was trying to say…” Hiromi immediately corrects himself, a little too eager to fix the mistake he’s sure might cost him your precious attention at the moment. He can’t lose it. He absolutely cannot wait until the next drinking party to get close to you. It already feels like too much - keeping himself in reigns, containing the burn that threatens that spill over from the mere gaze that felt too intimate for his drunk consciousness.

Well…not that you aren’t an actual problem. It’s hard to concentrate whenever you are in the room. Higuruma’s eyes would inevitably drift over to you, observing every motion of your form, desperate for any sliver of attention from you. Didn’t matter if it was a polite nod, a quick half-bow or a smile, he always felt a dull ache in his chest, because that was not enough to satiate the hunger for you, cramping up in his insides, making him feel like he was utterly starved. And he definitely was. For affection, for gentle touch, for a soothing hand and for tenderness that came with it. Yeah, you were definitely a problem. One that needed an immediate solution.

“I was trying to say that…you’re always welcome and it’s not a problem. At the same time.” He finally managed to mutter out, explaining himself. A smile grazes your lips at that, and he can’t help himself but think how he wants be graced by the beauty of that smile first thing when he wakes up the morning. That would make going to sleep at night so much easier.

“Well, I’m glad that you don’t think I’m a problem then.” You say with a tiny laugh. Well, Hiromi didn’t exactly say that, but….

“Of course not. You’re…” Higuruma stops for a moment, before a sudden hiccup shakes his form. You stifle a chuckle from how cute for some reason it was, to hear a frown man hiccupping much like an overfed kitten. “Very hard-working. A good addition to the team.” He gives you a verdict with a nod, further solidifying his words. At that point, he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about, but that’s the first chance he ever got to talk to you informally, and by God, he’s going to make use of it. “If you ask me, you’ve got what it takes to be a great permanent addition.” To him, a sudden thought rushed through his mind, but he managed to keep his lips sealed.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Higuruma.” You say with another one of your pleasant smiles and nods to him, taking another drag of your cigarettes and blowing the smoke out to the side, blissfully unaware of how Hiromi’s droopy, desperate eyes fixated on the pout of your lips. You were truly thankful he had this opinion, but life-time contracts? Here? As a foreigner? It would be easier for you to get to the moon and back, than receive an offer like that.

“You know you can just call me Hiromi, right?” He almost whispered, not daring to meet your eyes after such a bold move on his part. You felt your heart leap inside your chest. If you weren’t right in front of the man, you’d start kicking your feet, giggling, then you’d scream in a pillow, run a couple of laps, high-five yourself and finally face-plant into the asphalt victoriously, but you were a responsible adult, so you had to keep those teenage-esque urges inside of yourself. Despite how much you wanted to let them out at times.

“Alright then…Hiromi.” You knew what you’re doing to him. You had to, right? Because how can your voice can get so alluring and sultry all of a sudden while saying his name? Why did you whisper it, rolling it around between your pretty lips, almost like you were tasting a candy? Higuruma was a goner, that’s for sure.

Higuruma can’t help, but look into your eyes, marvel at you smile and the way your eyes glimmer in the low lighting, how the perfect curve of your lips calls for him, and how your hips beg to rest his hands on them. In that moment he only can think with nothing but his heart, that keeps shoving the thought that rest like honey on his tongue.

He needs you. Utterly and completely.

“So…do you want to have another drink? On me, of course.”

Hiromi takes his shot, and he’s not going to miss it.  

check out this masterlist for more jjk fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

[muwapsturniolo]

✯𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐈𝐭✯

Matt sturniolo x black fem!reader

IN WHICH…Y/n has to put in work to get what she wants.

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!! drugs (weed), guns are mentioned but not used, oral (m receiving), lil bit of thigh riding. that's really it.

Matt watches as the car full of high schoolers pulls off, scoffing and shaking his head in annoyance. This was their first time buying from him and they tried to screw him over, saying that someone told them a cheaper price than what Matt originally charged.

It took roughing one of them up for him to get his full payment.

He sighs as he climb in the car, his once good mood now dampened.

He should go home, possibly take a shower, and smoke himself into oblivion so he can relax and be ready for the next day of dealing, but he has an even better drug.

Y/n

A cute little thing.

It was something about her that always pulled Matt in. Maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she saw him, or the way she would hug and kiss his cheek after dropping off. Maybe it was the way her pink glossed lips wrapped around the blunt when they would smoke at parties, making him imagine how they would look around his dick.

He doesn’t know, but he loves it.

He grabs his phone and clicks on the pinned messages with his favorite buyer.

Matt: in your neighborhood princess, you want your usual?

Y/n: yes plz! I just ran out this morning😔

Matt smiled to himself, instantly feeling a bit better about tonight.

she was always his favorite buyer

He makes the short drive to her house and parks the car, grabbing his bag and running up the front steps. He rings the doorbell and waits for her to answer.

The door creaks open and his eyes are instantly looking her up and down. She’s dressed in a baby pink cropped cami with lace trimmings, and a pair of light grey shorts that hug the mound between her legs perfectly.

He could see the outline of her lips along with the small damp patch.

“Matt?” Her soft voice brings him out of his trance. “Hey princess, you going to let me in?” She giggles softly at the pet name and lets the dealer inside.

He’s been in her house before, having been to the parties she’s thrown, or simply coming over to smoke with her.

“Shoes o-off, I know I know. Wouldn’t want to mess up your pink carpet.” He cuts her off, sliding his shoes off in the process. She smiles and skips past him, completely missing the way Matt watches her ass jiggle.

He sucks in a sharp breath and follows her into the living room. As he sits down on the couch, he notices a wine glass and a small charcuterie board on the coffee table. “Enjoying yourself tonight?” He questions as he opens up his bag, starting to pull out the paraphernalia. “Hm? Oh yes! It’s Saturday so I figured I’d just relax!”

He hums and grabs her weed jar off the table. As he fills the pink jar, Y/n goes to grab her wallet. She walks over to the stand her purse is on and looks for the small compact. Her brows furrow when she doesn’t see it.

“Where the hell is it?” She asks herself. She walks into the kitchen and looks across the counters, thinking maybe she placed it there.

She was wrong.

She goes to her bedroom and looks for it there, but once again she shows up empty-handed.

She bites her lip and begins to panic.

She’s not dumb, she knows how Matt is. He’s about his money and doesn’t appreciate people coming in the way of that. She’s heard the stories of Matt beating people an inch away from death for not giving him his payment.

He wouldn’t hurt her…right?

She begins to frantically run around her room, checking every crevice possible. She gets on her knees and checks under her bed, not noticing Matt walking in.

“Everything ok Princess?” She squeals in shock and quickly sits up, turning around with wide eyes.

“Hm?” She asks nervously.

He squints, noticing her timid posture. “I asked if everything was ok, you seem nervous.” She bites her lip and looks down, scared to tell him about the situation.

“Princes- I can’t find my wallet!” She spits out.

The silence between them is deafening, you could hear a pin drop.

“Matt I’m so-Shut up.” She quickly shuts her mouth hearing his tone. He’s never spoken to her like that, always making sure he spoke to her softly.

“You know, I had a very rough night. First, I had a bunch of high schoolers blowing up my phone because Chris was a dumbass who gave out my number, then the same high schoolers tried to fuck me over-“Her heart beats faster as he walks closer to her kneeling frame.

“I handled it though, but you want to know what?” Her hand shakes as Matt’s hand disappears behind his back and reappears with a gun.

She knew Matt carried, he was a dealer for Christ's sake, He would be dumb not to, however, she didn’t expect to have it possibly used on her.

The thought makes the dampness in her shorts worse.

Her eyes stay trained on the weapon as Matt stops in front of her, her whole body shaking. “I’m sick and tired of people messing with me and my money.”

She looks up at him with glossy eyes, her bottom lip wobbling slightly. “I-I don’t know where my wallet is! M-Matt I’m sorry I’m not trying to m-mess with your money!”

He coos sees the tears run down her face, raising the hand with the gun to wipe her tears. She flinches away making Matt take hold of her face, keeping her in place.

“A-are you going to hurt me!”

“Hurt you? Oh I’d never do that to you princess, you’re my favorite.” He whiles more of her tears away, enjoying the way her eyes glimmer in submission.

“And because you’re my favorite, I’m giving you a chance to make it up to me.”

“Make it up to you?” She sniffles. Matt places the gun on her nightstand, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

“You have two options. I can leave with the weed I gave you and you no longer are my favorite buyer or, you blow me. Because you and I both know there was always tension between us and I can see the wetness seeping through those grey shorts of yours.”

She moves around a bit knowing he was right. Her Saturday nights were always spent drinking wine and masturbating to the thought of her dealer.

She never got the chance to masturbate due to Matt coming over. Now she has the opportunity for something even better.

Matt could see the cogs turning in her head, an internal battle to determine if she’s scared or turned on going on in her mind.

Matt would never actually hurt the girl, she’s too precious. He’s always had a soft spot for her, giving her more weed for a cheaper price, setting everything aside for her. Hell, he even came over to kill a spider for her one night despite having to do a drop-off.

He watches as her hands reach for his belt, “if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I may be irritated but I’m not forcing you into anything. Say the word and I’ll leave princess.”

“I don’t want you to leave…”

He smirks down at her and lets go of wrists,

“Then work for it princess.”

The sexual tension is bursting at the seams, begging to be released. It’s been a long time coming, the two finally addressing the sexual tension between the two.

She pulls down his jeans and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. She instantly clenches her legs together seeing the aching phallus. It was long and had the perfect girth, a vein running up the side stopping at his mushroom tip that was a blushing red.

She wraps her manicured hand around the base and slowly begins jerk. Matt lets out a shakey exhale and closes his eyes.

“Come on princess you have to work harder than this,” she parts her lips and allows her tongue to dart out, kitten licking his tip before swirling her tongue around it.

She eventually wraps her lips around the tip, starting to bob her head, her hand working whatever else she couldn’t fit.

“Fuck- just like that princess.” Matt bites his lip watching her plump ones wrap around him. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for the day he gets to have his favorite girl the way his twisted mind desires.

His moans go straight to her core, the ache becoming bigger and bigger. She reaches into her shorts and begins to toy with her own clit.

Matt takes notice and chuckles, “Such a fucking whore,” she moans around him making him buck his hips in return. She gags, spit immediately pooling out the sides of her mouth.

“Shit-“ He removes the hand wrapped around him and demands for her to open her mouth. She does as told and instantly closes her eyes as Matt begins to fuck her throat.

Her gagging and choking noises bounce off the walls, driving Matt’s need for release.

She pulls her hand away from her clit, holding on to his thighs as he stalls in her throat. She looks up at him through salty tears as her body lurches, the salty liquid in her throat.

He groans loudly and bites his lip feeling her throat close around him as she swallows his seed.

He pulls away leaving Y/n to take a big breath, coughing slightly.

He should have stopped there, he should have told her that her payment had been taken, but he couldn’t.

Before he could even make his move, Y/n darts up and smashes her lips against his. She straddles his knee and grinds down, jerking her hips like a dog in heat. Matt helps her, grasping her hips tightly and moving her. He swallows her moans and whimpers, shoving his tongue in her mouth.

She pulls away panting, her eyes filled with lust and admiration.

“P-please Matt?”

“What do you want princess? My fingers? I always noticed you looking at them as I roll up. What about my mouth? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

“I-I don’t know- Do you think you deserve any of that?” He holds her hips in place, preventing her from grinding against his thigh.

“You think you deserve any of that considering you don’t have my money.”

She whines and tries to rutt against him, “Please! I’ll have it next time!” He finds her pleas pathetic but arousing at the same time.

He hums and flips them over, getting closer to her face.

“You’ll have it next time?” He begins to grind against her center.

She vigorously nods her head, more pleas and promises tumbling out of her mouth as he grinds against her.

"Good girl."

It takes everything in Matt to pull away and yank his pants and boxers back up. "M-Matt? What are you doing?"

"Your hard work paid off princess," He winks before walking out of the bedroom and trotting down the stairs, attempting to ignore the bulge in his pants

He hears a soft thud before fast footsteps follow him. "Where are you going?!" She follows him to the living room, watching as he packs up his bag.

"Leaving." He answers nonchalantly. Y/n stands there perplexed, the ache in between her legs sadly fading. "But you said you would- I never said anything princess. I never said I would fuck you, I said you need to work for it since you couldn't pay me with money." He finds it cute the way her face scrunched up, her brows furrowing as she opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.

He slings the bag over his shoulder and stands in front of her, "Don't be sad princess, there's always next time-" She follows him to the door where he slips on his shoes.

"That's not fair!" She stomps her foot like a child, except she's not a child, she's a grown woman.

Matt stares at her with a stone face, taking a step closer. Y/n takes a small step back seeing his usual bright blue eyes darken, his posture becoming firm.

"What's not fair is the fact you didn't pay me princess, but I'm not going to hold it against you after all I finally got head from my favorite buyer," he smirks and turns back to the door. He puts one foot outside before turning back to her.

"Oh and Y/n?"

"What Matt?"

"Your wallet was on the couch this whole time."

"Wha-" Matt cuts her off by turning around and closing the door.

She rushes into the living room and looks at the couch.

Sure enough, the wallet was there the whole time.

TAGLIST 🍑

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[sanrolii]

megumi is no stranger to sleepless nights. ever since he was a child he had been plagued by them. he would get nightmares, ones that woke him up in a panic, and kept him up for hours on end. now a high schooler, he still gets the occasional nightmare, but now most sleepless nights are simply because his own mind just won’t shut up.

so that’s how he finds himself, at 1:37 in the morning, standing at your dorm entrance, knocking on the door and praying to any god listening that you’ll let him in.

just come in, i’m too tired to get up 🙃

he smiles softly at your text, and slowly opens the door, avoiding causing any loud noises. last thing he needs right now is to be scolded by a teacher, or even worse, teased by gojo for sneaking into his girlfriend’s dorm in the middle of the night.

“sorry for waking you up like this.” he mutters softly as he crawls into your bed with you, making himself at home in your sheets. you sit up slowly, just barely making out the soft features of your boyfriends face in the little moonlight draining in through the window.

“don’t worry about it.” you shake your head and put a hand on his face, cupping his jaw. “you’re more important to me than sleep anyways.” your heartfelt words make the black haired boy flush softly under your touch. “what’s keeping you up?”

megumi just shrugs, leaning into your warm touch. “just can’t seem to stop overthinking.”

you hum softly. “restless thoughts, huh?” he nods, eyes closed. how is it he could already feel so relaxed by just being in your presence?

“how about we just lay down and go from there? if you want to talk about it you can, otherwise we can just try getting back to sleep, okay?”

“yeah, okay.” and so he lays, head against your chest and legs intertwined, as you run your hands through his hair, nails running softly down his scalp to his neck and over the thin t-shirt on his back.

“so, is it something in particular that’s occupying your mind?” you whisper in megumi’s ear, trying to relax him further with your voice.

“not really. just stressed i guess, between classes, training, and going on missions, there’s not a lot of time to just sit and relax, and it just got to me:” you sigh softly, kissing his head as it lays on your collarbone.

“well good thing tomorrow is the weekend, so we can stay in here and relax for as long as you want.” you can feel megumi nod against you.

“yeah…that sounds great.” he tilts his head up, meeting his lips with yours, pulling away after a few seconds, already feeling his eyes grow heavy.

“tired already?” you chuckle at the young man who just ten minutes ago had probably been tossing and turning in his own bed, unable to sleep. he only nods, leaving a small kiss to your collarbone.

megumi is no stranger to sleepless nights, but now he has you, the love of his life, who can calm the raging storm within his mind, lulling him to sleep without even trying.

[sleepynoons]

And With You Came Summer Thunderstorms

You're dragged back into the very hell that you had escaped from years ago, and this time, there's no way out.

yandere!jing yuan x afab!f!reader, yakuza!au, 18+

word count: ~10,600

cw: explicit language, mentions and descriptions of death/blood/gore/violence/etc., symptoms of severe ptsd + anxiety, stalking, blackmail/manipulation/coercion, kidnapping, suggestive tension, implied age gap, ocs as side characters

notes: i'm surprised this made it out of the wip vault. it's my birthday, so here's my gift to everyone. infinite thank yous to my wonderful betas, @staraxiaa and @pranabefall, because they both read through 4-5 different drafts, and entertained my jy brain worms and gaping plot holes throughout the entire process. i always feel so loved by the two of you. thank you to @lorelune as well for your very informative yandere jy thoughts, which helped form the basis of jy's and reader's characters in this au. this story is likely going to come in 3-4 parts, and each part will be around this length, if not longer, so please be patient with me. thank you for your support, and i will take a shot after i post this.

part i - part ii

LIGHTNING IS electrical discharge that occurs between charges within a thunderstorm cloud or between the cloud and the ground. Thunder is the sound that lightning produces, and depending on the length of silence between seeing a spark and hearing its subsequent boom, you can estimate how far away a strike was from you.

While thunderstorms are not something to worry about, it is necessary to take precautions. As such, safety protocols for when you are outdoors are as follows: seek shelter as soon as possible, such as a car or a building, but if not available, find an open space away from bodies of water and stick as low to the ground without lying down.

You will know if where you are located is in grave danger of a lightning strike if you can see and feel the hairs on your body stick up. Get as far away as possible as soon as you recognize the signs.

–

"Child, haven't your folks ever taught you to not follow strangers?"

There are two people in front of you: a man dressed head to toe in black and a child with dirty blonde hair carrying his backpack on the front. You can't identify the man, thanks to his baseball cap, tinted sunglasses, and mask, and if you weren't trying to intervene in the situation as you are right now, you'd scoff at how stupid the kid is. Speaking of the latter, he looks like an elementary schooler, probably attending the academy two blocks south from here. From what you can recall, the academy is prestigious in the prefecture, so you also pity him because, out of all of the school children who are walking home at the moment, he was picked.

The kidnapper (there's no doubt about that) snarls, and you're grateful he's wearing his mask or else he probably would've spit in your face. "Hey, I'm not a stranger. You know me, right?"

He stretches an arm out to the boy, as if beckoning the two of them to hold hands. It might just be a passionate gesture instead, but you couldn't care less about the difference, so you lean your weight onto one leg and wait for the younger one's reaction.

To your dismay, the kid nods. However, at the same time, his grip on his backpack tightens, pale knuckles and joints pulling taut and red, and as children are, untrained in deception and falsehood, a grimace spreads across his round cheeks.

You glance around. There are a few guardians looking your way, and most of the unaccompanied children have scuttled away at this point. If you don't finish and leave soon, you might be mistaken as an accomplice.

Squatting down, you lower yourself so that you're face to face with the elementary schooler. Someone, a long time ago, said that was the best way to communicate with children without instilling fear or intimidation. With a jut of your chin, in the direction of the kidnapper, you ask, "How do you know this bastard?"

"B-bastard?! You –"

The boy doesn't bat an eye at your crude choice of insult. "He's been following me around after school for the past week."

Clearly, aside from being a kidnapper, this guy also sucks ass at his job.

You decide to not say that thought out loud and proceed asking the boy questions. "So it's your first time speaking to him?"

"Yeah." The child nods, body and backpack jostling in unison. You've always thought those randoserus were too massive.

"Verdict's out, then," you say, holding your forearms up as if in surrender. Then, with a deep sigh, you stand back up and shoot the kidnapper a confrontational glare.

Without a word, the man lurches for the young boy, but having foretold his rashness and stupidity, with a quick duck, a jab of your elbow against his solar plexus, and a swift uppercut to the underside of his jaw, you disable the man's balance enough for him to fall over. Then, with a tug of your phone to release it from your back pocket, you activate an SOS alert.

"Child," you say, not even a beat later, as if nothing had happened, "I've notified the police. Next time, tell someone, before it's too late."

However, instead of relief, which you expected, the child visibly jumps at the word "police," eyes bursting wide open, mouth parting for rapid, shallow inhales, hands tomato red. He's panicking, way more than at any moment throughout his interaction with his almost-kidnapper. You wonder if it's just a delayed response to a traumatic event, but before you can even attempt to calm the kid down, he grabs you by your pants, and with a force that only energetic, tireless children have, he drags you down the block and around the corner.

"What the actual fuck – Stop fucking dragging me – Are you –"

You almost fall over when the kid suddenly lets go, friction and momentum ploughing into one another at your center of balance, and by the time you collect yourself, you've realized he's brought you to a parked car. It reminds you of the man from earlier – dressed and designed to conceal what's inside. The boy has left you to wrap himself around the leg of a man in a pressed suit, who's also wearing sunglasses. You're starting to wonder if you've accidentally stumbled onto a movie set or, worse, isekai-ed into some shitty Western Men in Black alternate universe without having been run over by a truck.

Anywho, you'd like to go home, so you need to extricate yourself from this situation as soon as possible.

Arms out by your side, hands and fingers spread out to show that you're not holding anything, you clear your throat to speak. "Hi, I, uh, helped that child escape from a suspicious person. I also called the police, but, well, um…" You sense two more individuals come up behind you. "It seems like the authorities won't be necessary anymore."

The man that the kid's clinging onto bends down. "Young Master, is that true?"

The boy nods, fiercely rubbing his flushed face into the crisp fabric of who you intuit is his primary bodyguard.

"I see."

With a flick of the primary bodyguard's wrist, the two behind you walk over and open the doors to the back row of the car. It seems like you've done a sufficient job to not be suspected, so with an informal bow, you excuse yourself and begin to turn around to navigate your way back.

“Could you wait for a moment?”

For a minute, the primary bodyguard turns around to face away from you, and from his hand that hovers over his right ear, he's mumbling into his earpiece, likely inquiring for further instructions from his employer or whoever's in charge. After a few minutes, he turns back around, and without making eye contact, you can sense his line of sight trained on the back of your head. In the meantime, you hear the kid shuffle into his seat, a door shutting behind him.

That means the other door remains open. Even with the engine grumbling, the body of the car thrumming for velocity and acceleration, it's clear they're not going to leave without you.

But you have no intention to comply. You fold your arms over your chest, and the space between your eyebrows divots into a frown. You spin back around and, in a firm tone, though without sounding too demanding, you state, "I’m on shift right now. I need to get back to my workplace."

The primary bodyguard doesn’t budge. "The Young Master would like you to accompany him home."

Your face wrinkles even more. The situation's becoming unnecessarily complex, and if you let them sway you now, there's bound to be more problems that'll occur later down the line that will complicate your life in irreversible ways.

You weren't expecting to save a kid that had adults at his beck and call, and even so, there's no reason for them to invite you over. Their stubbornness is problematic, and you want nothing to do with it.

"I really need to head back now. I'm not sure if your Young Master would like a stranger to accompany him, after all that has happened as of late."

The primary bodyguard fishes for something in the inner pocket of his blazer. You watch as he pulls out a pin resting in the curve of his palm, no larger than the pad of your thumb, flashing onyx and gold whenever it catches the trickles of sunlight that manage to seep through the wall of white concertinaed fencing and trimmed leafy hedges lining the road.

You bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough to pierce through the uppermost layer of skin. You didn't save a kid from an esteemed household; you saved the next head of a yakuza gang.

Just my fucking luck.

You curse yourself for your impolite behavior, even if it was deserved. At this point, you have no other choice than to comply because you wouldn’t survive a brawl with three trained bodyguards.

I’ll leave as quickly as I can and never bother with them again. 

With uneasy steps, you approach the car and slide into the seat next to the young boy. The primary bodyguard also joins, sitting in the front passenger seat.

The kid's strapped into his seat, still hugging his backpack close to his chest. Now you understand why that is the case. From this close of a distance, you can see the thick lining of the backpack more clearly, and the color is more matte compared to the usual shine of a typical randoseru. This boy knows there are numerous targets on his head, and he's making full use of the bag's bulletproof casing, designed to defend him during violent encounters.

"You're coming with?" he asks, voice more placid than before. In fact, you'd even go as far as to say that he's demonstrating interest in a stranger like yourself, but if you were to utter that observation aloud, you'd probably be dead.

"Yeah," you breathe, holding back any snark, and stare out the window, elaborating no further.

Promptly, the car peels away and rolls onto the main road.

The drive doesn't take long. The neighborhood is large, a residential area that spans the cleared side of a sloping mountain, and you watch as the car weaves through local streets before curving onto a private path that leads upwards. You've always been aware that there are filthy rich families settled in this part of town, but you never knew one of these properties belonged to a gang. 

Actually, it's more like you had hoped a gang wouldn’t have settled in this city at all. There's that statistic you heard way back in middle school – that, on average, one in seven people are sociopaths –, and from your experience, the sentiment's partially realistic. In any case, the yakuza are more present in normal society than you'd believe.

On that note, not all yakuza gangs are bad. Just like how not every person's born a genius and not every business can succeed, not every band of yakuzas can scale up to become massive syndicates. For that matter, some gangs don't even start off with that goal in mind, and prefer to play vigilante in protecting and guarding their territory. But you can't speak much to these "nicer" groups since you've never mingled with them before.

Regardless, it seems all yakuzas have the same taste in traditional Japanese architecture: aged hinoki and red pine, raked rock gardens of sandy white, ponds with speckled koi fish. The car pulls onto the property through automatic wooden gates and parks on the vast driveway.

You take a deep breath. For the most part, you remember your way back. You can’t help but feel grateful that you know this town so well – worst comes to worst, you can run home through various shortcuts and alleyways.

The driver speaks up, and it’s a little jarring, given that no one had spoken throughout the entire drive. "We have arrived, Young Master. Please let us help you out."

But the boy doesn't wait, already unbuckling his seatbelt and wiggling the handle of the door until his pops open. You, on the other hand, don't move, as you haven't been instructed to do anything yet. You watch as the kid pushes himself out of the car, stumbling over his feet when he initially lands on the concrete, and dashes into the estate as soon as he rights himself, the thumping of the heavy-duty backpack against his chest echoing even when you can't see him anymore. Without a moment to spare, the primary bodyguard paces after him.

"You," the driver grunts, as if you're a chore, "follow me."

As you step out of the car, you note a door to the side that leads out to the main road.

There are men everywhere. They stand uniform along the engawa, and all within your vicinity stare hawkishly at you. Most are in what seems to be the standard suit attire, but there are also those who are less prim and have opted for untucked white shirts and dirty sneakers. But the few deviants don't matter – it's clear this group works like an armed force, militaristic in aura, efficient in behavior, and no doubt merciless in combat. So far, you’ve walked past over a dozen, so it’s best that you don’t engage in any reckless fighting.

Almost instinctively, your nose scrunches in disdain. This atmosphere brings back a flood of unpleasant childhood memories, mainly of where you grew up and the people who raised you. It can't be helped, you suppose, with how eerily familiar everything is, and your expression subsequently smooths out back into one of caution and wariness.

You replace the flashbacks with inane observations, like the driver's habit of pulling his lighter out of his pocket before stowing it away again, almost like he's paranoid it'll be pickpocketed, an area of the mansion that's walled off for renovation, the distant honks of a train chugging by. Objectively, it's a neat and established place, and that makes this syndicate all the more terrifying. Yakuzas are only as rich as the number of lives they take. 

You're brought to a grand washitsu, but you don't sit, as there's no one else in the room yet. There are four doors to this room, one at each corner, but they’re all guarded from the outside as well, so you can’t escape. At this rate, you’re going to have to wait for an opening, and that’s entirely out of your control.

Strangely, there's no interior decor, aside from a long floor table and some cushions for seating positioned in the center of the room. You're not sure who you're going to meet, so you brace yourself for the worst.

Someone approaches the guard who led you here. There's a quick exchange of nods in greeting, along with brief whispers, before the former takes his leave immediately. You don't have time to surmise their conversation because the driver tells you.

"Our oyabun will be late. Take a seat first."

You have to pinch the inside of your wrist to prevent yourself from openly rolling your eyes and releasing a strangled groan.

Their boss?! Just! My! Fucking! Luck!

You do as you're told. As you tuck your calves underneath your thighs, the driver-guard shuffles some of the tea ware on the table around and pours your porcelain cup three-quarters full with floral tea. On the outside, the cups are glazed an indigo blue, overlaid with splatters of white and streaks of gray, and the interior is a muted navy, making the tea that reflects transparent chartreuse in open light appear murky and inky inside the cup. The drink itself is hot, tendrils of steam wafting into the air and moistening your fingertips that hover around the rim of the teacup, but you're not a connoisseur by any means, so you can't tell what kind it is by fragrance only. Not that you would drink it to find out, you think, because who the hell would be stupid enough to consume something that's prepared by strangers?

However, your unwillingness to consume the tea must be concealed. Otherwise, these people would take it as a sign of hostility, and then they'd have one more reason to treat you with distrust and suspicion. In times like these, you've learned, you just have to take it in stride.

You roll back your shoulders, stretching out and temporarily easing the knots and strain that are ingrained in your deltoids and trapezius. Then, picking your cup up with one hand wrapped around the side and the other plating the base, you hold the tea up to your nose and breathe the aroma in. It's a soothing scent, one that complements breezy spring afternoons that carry hints of summertime.

Summer… You pause, another flicker of a memory rousing your mind. It will be that time of the year again. You shrug the thought off, though, and go back to enjoying the humid sensation of the steam collecting droplets on the tip of your nose and the familiar, pervading scent of white flowers (is it jasmine? rose? maybe camellia?).

Just as you're tipping back your head, ready to fake a sip of your drink, you hear the collective shuffling of men standing upright, tensing into stillness. At first, you think it's to appear proper and cohesive, but with one look at those nearest to you, you notice their nervous grimaces. You consider the possibility that you're projecting and overanalyzing – Maybe that's how they all look when they're serious –, but again, your trained observations beg to differ. All of them are nervous, arguably intimidated by their approaching boss, and it's like they want to disappear. Even if they're holding you captive, you feel a little sympathy for these subordinates, and you prepare yourself as well.

From around a bend, you hear distant conversation. You can't make anything out, aside from a pitched, affirmative "Yessir!", but there's no time for you to guess because, abruptly, all four doors to the washitsu slide open, the sound of wood zipping against thick rug reverberating through the air and floor. A strong gust from outside spins through the room, which, combined with everything else, startles you. As a result, some of your drink sloshes out and burns your hand. You bite your tongue and place the teacup down onto the table, before turning your head around back and forth to see where the boss could be.

You continue to look around, but after a few circles, you give up, opting to still yourself and look ahead. I have to stay composed, you think. You don't hear any incoming footsteps either, so the oyabun’s probably making a stop elsewhere in the estate first.

Unfortunately, despite your rationale, you can see your quivering hands as they rest on the table. But they feel numb, as if your blood has stopped circulating through the joints and muscle and flesh there, and you take in a shuddering breath, the fresh current of spring air cool and minty against your teeth. You begin to work your hands, hoping light movement will assuage your anxiety.

You also figure that you should finally drink your tea. You take a few more moments to yourself before you reach for your cup.

But you never manage to touch the cup. Because, in a blink of an eye, across from you, sitting with one knee propped up to support an arm, a relaxed posture that either suggests a lack of interest or confidence in his ability or both, is the oyabun of this yakuza gang.

It’s by no means a new sensation, but the last time you felt this way was several summers ago, and it overpowers you instantaneously.

There's a dryness in your throat that no water can satiate, a neverending drop in the pit of your stomach, and a heaviness in your legs that chains you to your seat. And for once, your thoughts are gathered. But they're unanimous and concentrated on a singular definite, horrifying truth, one that weak prey are intimately familiar with when faced with an overpowered predator: you're on the brink of death.

It feels as if your death is guaranteed, and even if it isn’t, it's futile to bet on a yakuza's fickle emotions. Anything you do or say, or the lack thereof, can set them off. This is another lesson you’ve learned, over and over and over.

The oyabun's playful chuckle shakes you out of your shell shock, but it magnifies the fear that controls your entire body.

"Be at ease. You are not in danger."

You're not surprised that he responds so aptly, as if he can read your mind. This man is accustomed to killing, and is well-acquainted with the ghastly, terrified faces of individuals who are aware that they're about to meet their end. And judging by the way he entered this room without even alerting you, if he wanted to, he would’ve finished you before your mind could’ve even begun to process your death.

Even if following his instructions could save your life, you're not exactly sure you can "be at ease." Barely a nod, you dip your chin and avert your eyes, instinctively submitting to his presence.

He laughs again as he pours some tea into his cup. "Well, I understand that that is difficult to do. I know how dangerous it is to lower your guard in unfamiliar territory."

You hear the chalky slide of glazed porcelain against porcelain, followed by his satisfied hum as he takes a sip.

"Do you enjoy tea?" he asks.

Every nerve in your body is screaming at you because surely you're going to lose your life over an untouched cup of tea.

Please – I need my hands to move! 

You gulp, though there's no saliva for you to swallow and your throat stings with the contraction, as if you are sick with a cold, as if there are deep cracks and lacerations left behind by the dryness plaguing the length of your esophagus.

"Y-yes…" It's a half-assed response at best. Not that you're lying, but uttering even a single word is difficult for you at the moment. The placement of your tongue, the aperture of your lips, the opening and closing of your mouth have all become unfamiliar, your ability to speak stolen by the spring breeze and the personification of death it has brought along.

"Feel free to help yourself. I am quite a fan of it myself, and throughout all my years here, I have been delighted to enjoy a variety of high-grade teas."

He's foreign?

It's unspeakable for a foreigner, of all people, to be in command of a domestic criminal organization. In fact, due to national pride, foreign members struggle to receive even typical hierarchical promotions in order to give Japanese members priority. The only time you heard of a foreigner coming into power was when you were incredibly young, and everyone was stunned to hear of an ex-Chinese Triad member joining the kanbu of a Japanese syndicate.

You wonder where this person is from, but of course, there's no way you could pry information out of your soon-to-be-murderer. Regardless, your number one priority is to get the fuck out of this place.

"I-I see…" With shaking hands, you manage to pick up your teacup and drink, drink, drink until you've consumed everything, even the last dregs of petal and stem residue. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that he's observing you with an unperturbed smile.

When your cup is placed back onto its matching saucer, which takes an erroneous amount of focus and effort on your end, the oyabun continues talking. "I understand you may be quite confused as to why you are here."

He bows, and you lower yourself as well.

"My men and I want to extend our deepest gratitude to you for saving Yanqing."

"Please," you wheeze, voice wobbling, brain barely capable of a coherent thought, "there is no need. I-I am sure somebody else would ha-have helped."

The yakuza boss, now almost wearing a pained expression, shakes his head. "We cannot always rely on others to save our people. We will pay closer attention to ensure that Yanqing is safe in the future. You will be rewarded handsomely for your kindness."

"N-no, I don't want anything in return."

How do I get out, how do I get out, how –

The boss hums again. This time, it sounds more neutral, lacking the pleasantness from the first time around. It's still rich, a gentle rumbling from deep within his chest, but it's neither reproachful nor approving, and you fear that this impersonal response is leading to a third undesirable outcome.

"Mm, are you sure?" he asks, pressing his cheek deeper into his upturned palm. You didn’t notice earlier, but now, you can't help noting the peculiar silver of his hair and the placement of a mole underneath the outer corner of his left eye. Speaking of which, his eyes aren't even open, but you're sure that he can already see far deep inside of you without even trying. This man has so many unusual characteristics, yet at the same time, either because you're losing it or defenseless or both, they blend together into something familiar.

Truly, it's as if all the fight in you, the resilience and attitude you had earlier when dealing with his subordinates, is rapidly escaping you. Or, it might be more fitting to say that the man in front of you is silencing those parts of you, slowly extinguishing all semblance of hope, leaving you bare and vulnerable and wholly at his mercy. Even your voice of reason has vanished, becoming mute because you don't know what to do in this kind of situation.

"Yes," but it sounds more like a question. You're not sure if you should agree or disagree, acquiesce or refrain, take or pass on his offering. You stand by what you said, but you'd change your answer in a flash if that'd mean saving your life, and after all that you've been through, you need to live.

For once, the oyabun doesn't say anything in turn. Instead, as he straightens out his back and sits upright, several of his men scramble away, leaving only two who stay rooted to their position, likely executives of this gang's kanbu. The doors to the watsushi are not blocked anymore, but as long as you’re in the boss’ vicinity, there is no actual opening that you can take advantage of.

You’ve been ignoring this thought, but with every passing second, it becomes more and more impossible to deny – you’re stuck. Not only did you go into enemy territory on your own with no backup plan, but you also walked straight into the lion’s den. And the lion is simply taunting you, playing with you until he gets bored, after which he’ll promptly dispose of you.  

How can I stay alive?

He pours himself another cup as he says, "My apologies, I should have sent them away earlier. I hope you can speak more openly now."

Truthfully, you wish you could ask for permission to leave, but at this point, given how long this conversation has been going on for, you've lost your chance. Inwardly, you bemoan your foolishness and regret not having played the role of a terrorized normal citizen. That way, they probably would've released you to save the hassle of having to deal with a hysterical layperson. Then again, maybe they would’ve killed you on the spot. Regardless, the reality is that your leave will have to wait until the boss decides to let you go, if he wants to at all.

You manage to stammer, "Uh, no worries. Thanks…"

As you trail the end of your sentence, you realize you haven't been addressing him. There's no need for you to call him "boss" as you're not in his gang, and there's no way you can ask for his name either. You ponder, searching for a term that suggests formality and detachment.

In the meantime, it's silent in the watsushi. If he was any less intimidating, you'd think this scene – an objectively attractive man wearing a loose white kimono, his silver hair tied into a ponytail with a striking red cord, sitting motionless and quiet against a backdrop of uniform shoji screens – would seem serene.

Regardless, for better or for worse, it seems your bearings are returning, body and mind growing accustomed to the pressure in the room, so you're more capable of rational thought. Yet again, you urge yourself to keep it together.

It looks like the oyabun has no intention of re-initiating the conversation, so you figure he's gauging your next steps.

Sucking in a deep breath, you speak in your most polite tone. You still have no idea as to how you’re going to survive, but it wouldn’t hurt to buy as much time as you can and pay your respects. "Sir, I appreciate your generosity, and I've given it some thought. I'd be grateful to try any teas that are in season, if you happen to have any on hand."

For the first time, his eyes flutter open, and it feels like you've been struck by a bolt of lightning. Smelted gold, as thick and molten as the ichor of Greek immortals, far more dazzling than beams of sun. Your first thought is one of awe – how is it possible for a human to be capable of such unassailable power and beauty? Your second is one that’s far more bone chilling, an icy jet of adrenaline pumped straight into your veins.

For he is the foreigner in the rumors from your childhood, a cold-blooded man who single-handedly beheaded three dozen associates with ease to earn his role as an executive in his gang. Even if you had never witnessed the slaughtering firsthand, like a deafening clap of thunder that can travel as far as ten to twelve miles away, deep in your rattling skull, you realize that this man kills both with and without purpose. This is no longer about predictability, as there is nothing emotional or practical about this man. Brutality and carnage are intrinsic to his nature, and his carnal desires must be satisfied for his own needs.

You've gotten carried away once more. In fact, the moment your self-assurance came back, you unintentionally downplayed the gravity of your situation. Just because he hasn't done anything yet doesn't mean he won't do anything.

Yet, in spite of your insolence, it seems the oyabun is merciful. He dismisses you with an unreadable stare, along with an understanding hum from his still-smiling lips. One of the two men leaves before returning with a wrapped box that, from the cover reads, is from Hokkaido and contains sachets of plum and cherry green tea. You don’t even remember how you gathered the strength to stand, but you do, and through an alternating series of walkways and right-degree turns, you are brought to the entrance of the estate. Like a habit, like the manners that were beaten into your hands, feet, and back when you were young, you bow at the hips, hold it for three prolonged seconds, and, before you can bid the guards farewell, you sprint down the road that you came up from who knows how long ago.

You run, run, and run, pumping your lungs and legs until they feel as if they are about to rip off, and even then, you push them harder, all the way until you reach the door of your apartment. Relieved to find your keys lodged in your back pocket like they always are, you wrench them out and, after many failed attempts, open the lock to stagger into the entrance of your studio.

You collapse onto the floor. A shoe rack shakes as a corner of it bumps against your elbow as you face plant onto the hardwood floor. 

It’s all unbelievable. Your encounter with the ex-Triad member of your childhood nightmares, the long sprint home, the fact that you actually made it out alive and are back home – the past few hours seem surreal. It still feels like you need to keep running away, like they’ll find and catch you if you stop moving.

But you can’t muster any more strength. Your whole body feels sore and on fire, like you've doused yourself with gasoline and self-immolated, like there's electricity coursing through your heart, leaving first-degree burns in its wake.

But you don't believe this pain's solely the result of your mad dash home. Yet there was no static, no crackling sounds, not even a single hair raised.

Lightning can still strike, even if there are no preceding signs.

–

Like all weather events, it takes time for a thunderstorm to develop, and it dispels as soon as it can no longer rage on. Thunderstorms specifically go through four phases: growth, development, electrification, and dissipation.

Growth and development, together known as the developing or building stage, begin when warm, moist air rises in an updraft, and at a certain altitude, combines to form a large cumulus cloud. If the warm air inside the cloud is at a higher temperature than that of the exterior, condensation takes place and droplets form, but rain does not fall.

At this stage, the cumulus is only four to seven kilometres in height and five to eight in length on average, so to any onlooker, it has yet to look like a storm cloud.

–

Your phone buzzes as soon as you drop down onto the couch. While the restaurant owner takes her usual lunch hour nap, you choose to decompress in the backroom that looks more like a senior citizen's living room, no thanks to its old 2000s TV with grainy display, bulkish frames, and broken speakers, an unplugged kotatsu, and a large shelf full of dust-covered books and miscellaneous figurines from grandchildren located a bullet train away in Tokyo. After rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms, you check to find a text message notification from your closest friend.

Hana: wanna call

You: aren't u at work

Hana: fck work

She picks up on the first ring of your video call.

"Don't tell me you're in the fucking bathroom again," you groan as you lean further into the deflated back of the couch.

Hana scowls and flips you off. "You know this is the only place at work I can call you from without getting caught."

"Well, you've been caught once before –"

"Only because that blind ass bat decided to use this toilet for, like, the first time ever. Never again since."

You shrug. Your friend's always been spitfire incarnate, tongue a cutting thing, glares yet sharper. You suppose it's her expertise, aggravating others with only her presence. She's also incredibly impatient, and when you don't give her a vocal response, she snaps.

"Say something! I'm getting in trouble because of you!"

You stifle a honk of a laugh by clearing your throat instead. "My most beloved goddess, Hana the Terminator, thank you for bestowing me your time and grace."

"I’m not that unforgiving – you've been watching too many movies again," she spits, along with a slap to her forehead.

Despite all her controversial traits, though, she's your most trusted confidant – the only remnant from your past that you keep in touch with.

Hana quirks her eyebrow, to urge you to speak your mind because she already knows something's plaguing you. After all these years, you're convinced she can read minds.

You sigh. "Hana."

Paying no mind, she presses onward. "What happened? Did a customer throw their plate at you again?"

"No, work's fine."

Her eyes narrow. "Alright. Is it something we can't talk about?"

When you ran away, you made Hana promise that the two of you would never talk about anything of the past or your childhood again. After all, you escaped with the intent to leave everything you knew behind, and one necessary step was to never think about it all anymore. And she's made good on that promise this whole time, so it’s hypocritical that you’re breaking it.

You look away from the screen and mumble, "I know I said I never wanted to talk about it again, but… I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

She snorts. "Sure."

Your eyes flicker back to the screen, and you see that Hana's switched off her camera, most likely so that she can hold the call to her ear and lower the volume to prevent any eavesdropping.

"I think this happened when we were nine? Ten? It definitely happened when we were in the middle of that turf war, and then we suddenly got news that all these guys in the other prefecture got fucking oblitered by an ex-Triad member. Do you remember?"

You hear her suck in a breath through gritted teeth. "Fucking course. Shit – why are you asking about this?"

Hana's harsh whisper sounds… thin, like a leaf shaking in autumn, its stem clinging onto a branch right before it's about to snap and float to the ground, only to be trodden over and torn apart into several pieces, never whole again. After having met the person yourself, you understand why even a mere mention of him can send anyone spiraling.

Ignoring her question, you press, "What was his name?"

It's almost comedic how audible her gulp is – guttural, like she's about to vomit into the toilet bowl that she's sitting on. "Jing Yuan."

"What group –"

Suddenly, there's background noise that interrupts you. There's the clicking of heels, knocks against a bathroom stall, some garbled words made worse by a bad signal.

"Shit," Hana hisses. "That bat's back again – whatever you do, stay away from that motherfucker, alright? I love you."

And the call ends. You didn't even get a chance to parrot "love you" back, but it can't be helped, you think. You’ll call again next month, and there’s no doubt she'll drill you on your questions and the intent behind them. Anyway, for now, your focus is to ensure that your peaceful life won't be disturbed again. Even without Hana's warning, you've already experienced enough to know that you never want to cross paths with Jing Yuan ever again.

Nighttime falls before you know it. After the lunch break, you and the restaurant owner spent the late afternoon prepping for the dinner rush, and ever since the only other apprentice quit three weeks ago, the two of you have been busier than before.

It's not uncommon for young people to go without a college degree, as the national law only requires at minimum a middle school diploma, so when you left home on an arbitrary Tuesday night in the middle of your first year in high school, the only way to support yourself was to get a job. You had enough of an allowance to hop on a random train to a more remote town, and once you arrived here, you rotated between jobs as a cashier at a convenience store, a dishwasher and waitress at multiple diners and izakayas, as well as a librarian. Now that you're in your 20s, you've settled down in this restaurant as an apprentice, and eventually, when the owner decides to step down, you'll take over.

This place has grown on you, and you'd really like to stay.

There are no angry customers or broken dishes throughout the evening, and aside from a few hiccups with the cash register, you get off work without a hitch. On a good day like today, you can leave by 10PM.

Your place is just a five-minute walk away, and upon you return, you're greeted by a dark room that contains nothing except for a kitchen, a mattress, a computer charging in the corner, and a tall stack of borrowed books you plan to finish over the upcoming weekend.

There's also that box of Hokkaido tea sachets that's resting on your kitchen countertop. For some reason, in the month since you received it, you haven't been able to throw it away. You've already discarded the wrapping paper, and the box doesn't look like it's been tampered with. In fact, it looks new, as if Jing Yuan himself received it as a respectable present of sorts, but you never know what it could contain, and you don't intend to find out.

You're just relieved that you haven't been bothered by Jing Yuan or his gang since your encounter. Initially, you were paranoid, so disturbed and worried that they'd come after you to the point that you called in sick and didn't leave your room for a whole week. Then, you had no choice but to do your best to resume work and other parts of your usual routine, but you refused to make any deliveries (and still do, too). After all, the whole reason why you were in the neighborhood where you met Yanqing was because you were on your way back from dropping off an order, and you never want to go back there ever again.

It's a shame, you think, still staring at the large printed words on the cover of the box. I might have to leave this place soon.

–

Weekends are more relaxed because the restaurant’s only open for lunch. The owner reserves her weekend evenings to spend time with her son and granddaughter, and you're not skilled enough to run the establishment on your own yet.

You're awoken by the sound of your doorbell buzzing. Disoriented, you sit up with a jolt, the room spinning a little as you strain to clear your head. It rings again. With a shout – "One moment, please!" –, you roll out of your covers and hobble towards the front door.

From your peephole, you see that a deliveryman is waiting outside your front door with a package in his arms. It's a dark cardboard box with logos dotting the exterior in diagonals, but you don't recognize the design nor are there other legible clues for you to discern.

"Ma'am, I need you to sign this slip," the deliveryman announces.

You furrow your bows and, through your half-conscious daze, struggle to recount if you've ordered anything as of late. Try as you might, nothing comes to mind. You see the worker glancing at his wristwatch, and you feel bad for keeping him waiting. Fueled by guilt, you end up opening the door and signing the slip.

It could be the owner, you think. Sometimes, she likes to send you things without notice, so you figure it might be another load of cherries or a few hand-me-down shirts from her daughter-in-law who she's convinced is around your height. Anyway, with an impatient nod and a snatch of the sheet in your hand, the deliveryman leaves you alone to haul the package back into your apartment.

You heave it over and drop it next to your mattress for a closer inspection. You're almost tempted to look over it later and resume your post-shift nap, but common sense wins, and you need to confirm the nature of this mystery delivery. The packaging label tells you the sender seems to be a store located in Kyoto. More specifically, as you search them up on your phone, it's a pottery shop. By now, it's clear this package isn't something you had bought for yourself, and you doubt it's from the restaurant owner either. For a second, you consider the possibility that the deliveryman made a mistake, misread your apartment number or something, but another glance at the packaging label and your name is legibly printed on it.

You click onto the shop website where you learn that customers can go in to make their own creations, as well as purchase already-made goods, which you check out next. The catalog is a few pages long, but the products are all of the same thing: tea sets.

Struck with a chilling sense of fear and despair, you jump in your skin and choke out a horrified gasp.

How is that possible?

With wide eyes, your neck snaps to the side, towards the kitchen, at the box sitting on the countertop. You're on your feet within a second, and stride over to it. Without a single ounce of care or consideration, you rip the box open, shredding the cover into two uneven halves, and your eyes bore so deeply into the four columns of tea sachets that your vision begins darkening. But still, nothing seems out of place. You then dump all of the tea sachets into the sink, wondering if there's anything hidden beneath them. Yet again, nothing appears, so there's either nothing or a device so small that you can't discern it simply by looking.

Leaving the mess in your kitchen, you stalk back to the delivery you just received, and with sheer brute force that you can only summon when enraged, your nails tear through the packing tape and rip open the flaps of the package. You toss out the top layer of bubble wrap to unveil a white box with a translucent top that has an envelope taped onto it. 

At first glance, it seems like an obligatory thank you card that small businesses usually send with every purchase. However, the printed silver cursive reads: "A special gift to a special someone!"

It's tough choosing between laughing in disbelief and yelling disgusted expletives, so you opt to remain silent, a blankness that can mean nothing and everything all at once. You tear off the card and flip it over to find a longer message.

To a dear friend. I hope this present suits your taste, and may we find another time to converse over tea again.

The building stage of a thunderstorm can take as short as an hour. In other words, it's possible for a clear, sunny day to suddenly become overcast, an impending storm ready to unleash, no longer an impossibility beyond the horizon.

Just like how you were able to turn yourself around in one night, it is equally feasible for your current life to be disrupted, uprooted, and made into a hell, all within an afternoon.

–

In the development stage, the air within the stormcloud and between the earth has an insulatory property to combat the mess of swirling particles of both positive and negative charges. The magnetism between the opposite charges is not great enough to cause electrical discharge, so like river water flowing between pieces of driftwood that dream of the whole they've broken off from, the air keeps the particles separate enough to further delay the inevitable sparks and flashes of electricity, of the cloud's heated turmoil.

–

Jing Yuan can be an incredibly talkative person, you learn. From your last meeting, he seemed like someone who wouldn't mind awkward silence, but as you kneel across from him on the other side of the same low-rise table in the same watsushi, with your hands clasped together in your lap, you listen as he explains Yanqing's situation.

His eyes are closed again.

"We managed to apprehend the man. He was a mediocre hitman desperate to pay off a debt he owed to his landlord, so he was by no means difficult to track or dispose of. I apologize, again, for the trouble Yanqing had caused you. I have reminded him to tell us when he is in danger."

Because of how terrified you were before, you couldn't pay much attention to Jing Yuan, other than the grossly intimidating aura he encased the whole estate and everything within it. It's not like you're not scared of him this time, but it's clear that he has no intention of killing you. This, you know for sure, is not based on urges as flimsy as idealized delusion or optimistic preconception, but rather by the fact that Jing Yuan has, like the volume of a speaker, lowered his display of domineering might and is making space for actual conversation.

Listening, you nod once.

He continues, "Yanqing is still exceedingly young, so he may not know what is best for him. He has acute instincts that can alert him of danger, but I am afraid he lacks experience in properly responding and protecting himself."

His voice is smooth, thoughtful, like that of a quiet, concerned father. But there's also an edge of dissatisfaction – a warning, but to whom, you're not sure. Still, it comes off as generally easygoing and warm, a savoring of warm brandy on a full belly, and if you were daringly reckless, you would've suggested he switch careers to become an audiobook narrator instead. In the context of the yakuza world, though, you have no doubt that this soothing, borderline seductive tone of his has drawn out countless dangerous secrets and several pieces of classified information from lustful tongues and fatigued minds. You wonder, then, what he wants from you.

It looks like it's your turn to finally say something. After all, since your arrival 15 minutes ago, you haven't uttered a single word.

"I'm sure he's learning, Sir. He's in good hands."

Not that any of these people are good.

"We will see. He did mention that you advised him to speak up as well, so I figured there was no need for me to repeat myself too many times."

"Ah," your voice cracks as you lower your head, "I overstepped."

"No, it is quite alright. I am not his actual father, so I appreciate help from others. It is important for him to learn from as many adults as he can, from their successes, as well as their silly wiles."

You feel a lurch within your upper body, the familiar emetic sensation from a month ago hitting you again. While you're not an immediate threat, it seems he still has his reservations.

"Anyway," the oyabun transitions, "I wanted to ask. How do you like the gift I mailed to you? I hope the whole set came intact."

Frankly, you haven't spared the tea set another glance. All of your thoughts were ensnared by the laminated note card, and you still can't believe he went so far as to find your address.

The need to escape rests heavily on your mind, but the matter is no longer as simple as leaving the estate. Since he knows where you live, the only option that remains is for you to move away, and it’s not as spontaneously easy to run away as it once was when you were a teenager. You have to communicate and apologize to the restaurant owner, clean out your apartment, and find a new place to start anew – all of which require at least a few hours.

I’ll leave tomorrow night. I just need to play along and not get killed today. By tomorrow night, I’ll be safe.

The thought placates you sufficiently, and you redirect your full attention to Jing Yuan.

With a palm over your heart, you say, "They're beautiful, though I haven't had the chance to use them. Thank you so much for the generous gift."

He chuckles, though they sound more like a lion's heavy purrs. It's a rich sound, as obscene and dense as melted dark chocolate. "No rush, you received it just yesterday. I know they may appear simple, but mashikos are made with stark red clay from the town they are named after and are appreciated for their captivating minimalism. I hope you can find daily use in them."

You nod once more, fully knowing they'll never be touched – just like the torrent of questions swirling around and around in your head.

Jing Yuan speaks, as if aware of the conclusion you've come to. "Initially, I was hesitant in sending you the gift. But I am glad I chose to. While I do not mean to indebt you to us, I was wondering if I could discuss a matter… with you.”

With feigned stoicism, the kind that only years of practice can produce, you acquiesce, "Sure, but I do not know if I can be of much help."

You watch as he picks up a thin folder that’s laid on the ground to his right and sets it on top of the center of the table. He then opens it to reveal a neat pile of glossy photographs bound together by a paper clip.

"I am curious to know if you recognize anything in these photographs," he instructs as he lays four out in a row. "It can be any of the individuals or objects in the background. Anything that can tell you of the general setting."

Your ears begin to drum loudly as your head pounds and pounds with intensifying force and rhythm. It hurts so much that you can't resist the need to wince as beads of sweat form at your temples. It's as if you're the main character of a movie who's suffering from amnesia, and you're experiencing a brief moment of recollection, stabbing prickles of familiarity and bright flashes of images that slip away almost immediately. Except your flashbacks don't slip away. They linger and haunt, meandering and taunting you when you try to make them disappear. Even after all these years, all these kilometers of distance, the regret and guilt hit you with the same brutality, a bone-crushing punch in the stomach that wrecks your organs and renders you helpless and panicked.

Not now, you think, but your internal pleas are futile. You’re utterly helpless, and escape is no longer a priority, the possibility of succeeding having long been impossible.

The first photo, starting from the right, is a scenic snapshot of a hillside overpass. In late elementary school, you frequented this place every night with Hana and her older brother, Haru, demanding that you be brought here to see the sun set before you retreated home for the day.

How does he know?

The second is blurrier, the flash of the camera mostly blinding everything but the edges out. There are several flags with store signs waving out front, and if you're reading them correctly, some of the names are restaurants in the downtown area of your hometown. You never went downtown often as there were always way too many people, but you know all the store owners feared your family.

How does he know?!

You don't recognize the third, which shows a four-story office building.

The fourth, however, causes you to still. Anyone looking at the image would, too, with the amount of blood and specks of flesh smeared against the wall, the emptied shells of bullets lying on the floor, and, in the center of it all, a man's face that’s half-bruised, a disturbing palette of waste green, toxic purple, and old yellow.

But your blood runs cold primarily for another reason. The other half of the man's face is less damaged, features more intact and, therefore, recognizable. You don't know him, per se, in that he doesn't jog any sense of familiarity, doesn't trigger an "aha!" moments where a lightbulb goes off and a new memory plays in your mind's theatre. You can't put a name to his face or pick him out among the crowds in your memories. 

What you do recognize is the pin hanging loosely from the lapel of his torn blazer. Despite the camera flash, its reflection is dim, no thanks to the dried blood smeared entirely over it. Though it doesn't matter. Even if that pin was caked in layers of mud or glazed over with pitch black paint to create an opacity so deep it absorbs all light, you're sure you'd still be able to see the pen strokes, the exact points at which they overlap and interstice to form the kanji character that you abandoned at age 20.

HOW DOES HE KNOW WHO I AM.

If you could, you'd snatch the photo to see this man – who is closer than a stranger but too distant to be family – and sob out at once. Your hands would be shaking, one might even come up to cover your gaping mouth, and you'd continue to struggle to see the image clearly enough through your flooding tears.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that your reactions are not figments of your imagination. This battered mess of a man, albeit only a photograph of his aftermath, is pinched between your shaking fingers, your fingerprint smeared against the edges, and painful whimpers escape from under your breath. You don't want to think about how much you're crying.

There are a few moments of heavy silence before Jing Yuan's voice pierces through your grief. "I see you are aware."

Your eyes flicker to him. There's no smile stretching his lips, but he doesn't look like he pities or sympathizes with you. He's just waiting until you are capable of conversation again. You're sure that, internally, he's pleased, at the very least, that you’re finally playing his game.

You should be angry. Furious, even. Of course, you can't rage or else you'll get killed, but still, flames of wrath should be searing the back of your throat and pulsing through your arms, licking at your stone-cold feet to just fucking wake up and Run! – to Jing Yuan, to your apartment, to somewhere far, far away.

But there are no fires. There is no hint of rage. Instead, you ring hollow, outplayed and defeated in a game you never asked to be born into.

With a tumor in your throat, you croak, "How did you find out?"

"I did not."

His answer surprises you, but it withers away into indifference nonetheless. Though, maybe you're misunderstanding him, the oyabun sounds oddly candid.

"In China," he continues, "the people largely believe in this concept called yuan fen. I believe it is called en in Japan, which is very similar to the symbol of yuan. I am not as spiritualistic as I used to be, but I believe, in certain matters, that fate can be a source of interference. And in this case, this relationship between you" – his voice drops and thins out, louder than a whisper, dimmer than his usual speech – "and me may be a result of fate's fickle tricks. It is a result of our yuan fen that we have connected as such."

Your head drops. The photo's crumpled from your unrelenting hold, so you set it on the table to prevent further damage. You've already caused so much harm, not just within this tatami room, so if you can spare anyone any more pain, you'd like to refrain from humiliating yourself further. All you can do is wait for this motherfucker to tell you what's to come next.

"Though, at present, I am sure my words are meaningless and serve barely any comfort," Jing Yuan says.

When you don't respond, he hums. It's a thoughtful rumble, as he ruminates on how he should proceed.

You save him the effort and, through drying, cracked tears, croak, "I grew up in this town. If it is information or connections you want, I can try to help, but just know that I have not been back there in years."

Even though you're no longer looking at him, you can hear the smile – unperturbed, sickeningly mild – on his face. "That sounds like the perfect arrangement."

With a brush of his ponytail behind his shoulder, a subordinate paces over and stands at attention. You wonder how wilted you must look to the guards surrounding your perimeter, how lifeless and placid and bleak you've become within minutes, even if none of them have known you for more than a day.

The oyabun instructs, "Prepare a room for our guest. We will be relying on her, so treat her well. Tell Yanqing, too, that he should be mindful not to disturb her."

Unfazed, you raise your hand, which causes Jing Yuan to turn his attention back to you.

"Yes?"

"How long will I be staying here for?" you ask.

"We would like to move on from this matter within a week. Will that be a problem for you?"

There are no promises of leaving you alone afterwards or compensating you or, at minimum, apologizing for the mental anguish he's inflicted on you from everything that's transpired. Those promises would be empty anyway, but that's not the point. Jing Yuan is demanding because he intends to be. He’s consciously taking full advantage of the fact that you can't refuse even the most outrageous of his requests, while going so far as to sugarcoat his exploitation with a charming voice and an irritating smirk when he doesn't need to. Every single action is premeditated to help you realize how powerless you are.

But you already know. You've always been too weak. You've never let yourself forget.

You shake your head. "Not at all."

One by one, his subordinates take off, until only the two of you remain. You find that a little odd, as to dismiss all of his men means he is exposing himself to being ambushed, but you shrug, figuring that Jing Yuan is more than capable of defending himself. It wouldn't surprise you if he's able to catch a flying bullet and tear apart limbs with his bare hands.

"One last question," Jing Yuan states.

You peer up at him, to find that he has stood up and is rounding around to your side of the table. Naturally, your body tenses up, muscles and joints locking up, and you follow his frame with rapt dread as he makes his way to you.

He sits down right beside you, and with a downward tilt of his chin, opens his eyes to gaze at you. He has only just decided that you are worth being seen, being perceived, and you wish you could spit in his face.

Instead, you bite down on your lower lip with gritted teeth and a jaw so tense it shakes with strain. And when you watch his hand come up to trace the hollows of your cheek, you have to pierce your nails into your palms to prevent the screams bubbling up your throat. Even worse, when he leans closer, enough for his slow, tempered exhales to tickle your forehead, you freeze, body paralyzed from the lightning of his eyes.

"In order for this arrangement to work," Jing Yuan mutters, though with the way he's speaking into your ears, it sounds like a ravenous purr, "we need to be transparent with each other, yes?"

Out of sheer instinct, your hands fly up, about to push the man away. But simultaneously, you have no urge to touch the man, or have him touch you, so they simply pause midair.

Another rumble of amusement resounds from his chest and reverberates through your ears. You can feel his fingers cascade down the side of your face before his hand wraps around to settle at the base of your neck, with his thumb propped underneath your jaw to lift your head up. You want to tear yourself from his hold, but the unwavering steadiness in his hand – not a single tremble, surgical in precision – and the unfamiliar warm touch warn you not to, beckoning you to savor the murky sensations instead.

You're cheek to cheek, so close that you can catch the scent of something green, and musky, then metallic. And, like the final gust of chilling wind right before a storm unleashes, he breathes, deafening and hushed all at once, "Can you promise me your utmost honesty and sincerity?"

There's no air in your lungs. He already knows your answer.

[w2hoonki]

k.t | birthday sex

beware i dont write for txt so stay with me yall

MDNI! (please)

"im home!" taehyun yelled out into your shared apartment. he walked into the dining room which had been covered fully in gifts and a cake. his eyes widened at the amount of things you had gotten for him. the table was small but with the amount on it made it look like a lot more. his smile turned into a frown as he realized how much you actually got him.

"um isn't this a lot?" he asked with concern in his eyes. even though you had both been successful idols, you didn't make THAT much. "don't worry, most of it was cheap" you said trying your hardest to convince him. he looked at you with large eyes and smiled. "well there was something i really wanted this year." he said while making his way over to you. your brows arched as you knew what he was in want of.

"is there a specific person in mind for this thing you want?" you ask teasingly. he nods and motions to you, while his eyes wander from your eyes to the outfit you had worn for him. the dress you had was was slightly sheer especially around your breasts showing your lacy bra you had worn for him. his hands reached out to pull you by the waist to set you right on his crotch. groans left his lips as you added pressure to his crotch area. your core felt his slowly grow beneath you. he chuckled at your reaction of him growing under him.

"mmm tyun!" you whimpered out as he grinded your hips down onto his. your cries that had been let out slowly turned into louder moans as your lips formed into an 'o' shape. your hands gripped tightly onto his shoulders as his cock grinded into you. his breaths became ragged as you got up and sat hard on his crotch. your hips moved sensually on his as you both became needier each second.

"i missed you so much" he groaned into your ear. you whimpered at his neediness and want that he expressed to you. his hands gripped onto you breasts as yours tangled into his black locks. his groans turned into moans as you sucked gently onto his neck. he smiled at you as he was just the happiest person to be with you. "i love you so much" he smiled into your next kiss. your cheeks heated at the confession and want he had in his boba eyes.

"ready for me?" he asked picking you up, carrying you to your room. you smiled as he kissed you like a high schooler, filled with teeth clattering and just lips crashing hard against each other. your hands gripped the back of his hair as his thrusts put you on cloud nine.

"can i take it off?" he asked while stopping his hand right above your dress. as soon as you nodded his was ripping off your dress from your figure. when it was off you were left in your bra and panty set. your eyes looked up as if asking for him to strip also. he smirked at your look and took off his belt then unbuttoned his shirt. his hands were slow, causing you to quickly lose your patience you had. one his pants were off your eyes wandered to the bulge that was being shown off in his boxers. he was hard and ready to enter you but he wanted to make the most of his night.

"do i get something special tonight?" he asked jokingly. you nodded and pushed him onto the bed. most of the time in the bedroom you barely ever or even never rode him. he was normally always the one in control but you knew he had wanted you to ride his dick the first time you sucked him off. you grinded down onto his laying body as if he was up to your use. you smiled as he groaned out from the amount of weight you had on him. your hands traveled across his chest as you balanced yourself on his lap. his erection stood up in his boxers before you took it out and slowly rubbed his cock up and down. you placed yourself so your hole would be able to ride him.

"ready?" you asked breathless. he nodded quickly and moaned as you slowly dropped yourself onto his dick. the fullness was out of this world, his size always hitting every spot you needed him. his hands gripped your hips as you slowly rode him. whenever you adjusted his dick hit a different spot in your core. you whimpered as this was the deepest he had been inside of you, and if you were enjoying boy was he enjoying it also. his eyes rolled back fast as you clenched down hard on him as he was fully inside of you.

"t-taehyun!" you moaned out as you rode him faster. you raised yourself up and dropped back down, his hands tightening whenever you fully sat on it. you looked at his face noticing how his face broke out in pleasure. you clenched down as his groans became louder in the room. his hips met yours as you rode him. his eyes couldn't stay open as the pressure you had on his cock was so perfect. he loved the way he fit himself inside of you, the way he hit your spots without trying, how he could have you cumming with just being inside of you. your eyes rolled back as you felt your orgasm reaching fast. this had to be one of the fastest times you had cum and it was from riding taehyun.

after a while taehyun grabbed you and rolled you on your back so he could fuck you. your eyes widened as you were taken off his dick but without feeling too empty before you knew it he was filling your hole harshly and fully. his hips thrusted harder as he was getting closer to his orgasm.

"im going to cum babe" he moaned out as he pushed himself all the way in before cumming hard in your hole. as you felt his cum fill you up you came with a scream. he thrusted a few more times, milking his orgasm for all it's worth before stopping completely and kissing you.

"you feel so good" he smiled into your kiss. his hair stuck to his forehead from all the sweat and your hair was messy from the fucking he had done. you kissed him back before getting off his cock. "ready to open your gifts?" you asked smiling but he shook his head. "no you're the best gift. my perfect girlfriend"

[stevesbipanic]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 10: "Where were you?"

Steve didn't need anyone.

He learnt that from a young age. Back when his parents told him he was a big boy now at the ripe age of eight. No more nannies, no more parents.

It didn't matter that he needed to stand on a stool to reach the stove, or that he couldn't reach the first aid kit when he burnt his hand. He didn't complain when the cupboards were empty and he smashed open his piggy bank and rode his bike all the way to the store, he's sure his mom would give him more when they got back.

Steve didn't need anyone when he won the championship game in middle school. Tommy got the team to lift him up on his shoulders and it felt just as good as if his parents had come.

Steve obviously didn't need anyone but it felt nice when a girl smiled at him, kissed him touched him, and made his bed feel less cold. He didn't need Nancy, it felt like he almost did but love is bullshit and he doesn't need that either.

Steve didn't need more friends, friends were stupid and cruel, but maybe friends could be goofy middle schoolers, it's not like he needed them if they ever got tired of him. He certainly didn't need another best friend, but he'd rather die than let Robin be hurt and maybe he doesn't need people but Robin is more than just a person to him so maybe that's ok.

Steve definitely doesn't need anyone to love him.

Love is cold homes and empty shelves.

Love is black eyes and spilt punch.

Steve doesn't need anyone. He certainly doesn't need Eddie. But Eddie needs him right now, he needs him to get him out of hell, to sit by his bedside, to drive him home.

Steve doesn't need anyone but he does want people to stick around. He wants the kids to call him for anything because he wants to be there for them. He wants Robin to always be by his side at every job they work. He wants Eddie in his bed, holding his hand and in his heart.

He doesn't need anyone but he wants to leave the past behind. He wants to pack up boxes with his boyfriend and pack them into a van and leave it all behind.

He doesn't need his parents anymore, and maybe that's why they finally show up. He doesn't need them he's all grown up. There's only one thing to ask.

"Where were you?"

He doesn't need the answer, he can hop in the van and watch the house fade into the distance, he finds he doesn't want the answer, not anymore.

He found the love he needs, wants and cherishes, and didn't need anyone but the ones who loved him just the same.

[earlgreylatte]

Play to Lose

Marshall is a huge dick who probably hasn’t ever gotten laid. For some reason, you want this pathetic man.

Marshall Ward is so fucking weird.

The first time you ever interacted with him (if you could even call it an ‘interaction’) was watching him argue with a bunch of dumbass high schoolers.

Sat on his doorstep with a bowl of cereal in hand and a lit cigarette resting next to him, you watched a trio of teens happily heckle him as they practically skipped past his house on the way to their school.

“Hey, you’re not going to find a girlfriend at the bottom of that bowl, Marshall!”

“He’s nothing but a cuck, anyway!”

“Bitchless!”

High schoolers are particularly mouthy these days.

You watch him swing his spoon around wildly as he retorted, “I’ve gotten more than you virgins could ever dream of! Have fun getting killed by global warming before you ever know the touch of a woman besides your mom, who I also FUCKED, by the way!”

“Go fuck yourself!” The kids shout, flipping the man off as they turn the corner.

He sticks up his middle finger in response, spoon clutched in his palm, scowling before he catches sight of you across the street, your neighbour’s dog sniffing the ground, your grip on his leash slack from the scene you just witnessed.

He stares at you for a moment before realizing he’s been inadvertently flipping you off. He opens his hand into an awkward wave, spoon cluttering to the ground.

“Hey—oh fuck,” He bends down to retrieve his spoon, but only ends up dropping his bowl in the rush.

You shoot him one more judgmental glance before leading Stewart the Black Labrador back home.

It becomes a part of your routine, after that.

Every other day you would take Stewart on a walk, stop to watch Marshall get bullied by some kids, and then indulge his attempts at conversation.

(“Yeah, no, I’m like the cool older brother to them, we’re just joking——I didn’t actually fuck any of their moms, haha…”)

Soon, jilted conversations across the street turned into movie discussions at his doorstep (after the high schoolers were long gone, you didn’t want to become a target.), where you learned his eyes were a bright, almost electric blue. They were…nice.

He was definitely an asshole, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He always had something to say, someone to disparage or scoff at (usually high schoolers), was unusually invested in the new hero Radiant Black, but despite all that, he was considerate. With how he always put out his cigarette when you approached even when it looked freshly lit and the way he listened intently to your words when you decided to deem him with anything more than a dry stare.

(“All people do is talk shit without knowing the details, I——Radiant Black shouldn’t have to deal with their crap. Honestly, fuck everyone else and their moms…too far?”)

Eventually, conversations outside his door transferred to ones into his house when you realized he had a very adorable dog by the name of Orson, with charming, floppy ears and an appreciation for cuddles.

Yes, Orson is the reason you warmed up to Marshall.

(“I see how it is, you’re just using me to get to Orson! Well, Stewart and I don’t need you, anyway! Wait, come back—“)

Okay, so maybe you’ve become a bit fond of him and his stupid looking face. But that’s solely because of Orson. Definitely not because you caught a slip of his defined stomach when he was stretching.

So, when you find yourself next to him on his couch, watching some 80’s movie, as Orson naps by your feet, you make a decision.

“So, do you usually just pass out on your couch, or do you actually have a bed?” You speak up, turning your head to look at him, his face only illuminated by the TV.

“Uh, random, but yeah,” He responds, attention shifting to you as he raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

You rise from the worn couch, “Show me.”

“You’re so weird,” he says, but he acquiesces, leading you to his room.

A twin sized mattress rests next to the wall (no bed frame?), clothes and comics scattered across the floor. It was cluttered but not necessarily a pigsty, as from just a sniff you could pick up a whiff of laundry detergent and shampoo. Luckily, he mostly smoked outside.

He almost looks sheepish as he observes your reaction, “Trying to figure out if there’s anything valuable for when you decide to ransack the place?”

“No, nothing like that,” you respond before turning to face him, “You like me, right?”

He seems to blank out for a moment, “What?”

“You’re into me,” you nod, “And, I’m into you.”

“Huh?”

“Are you going to stand there slack jawed or are you going to do anything about having a girl that likes you right in your bedroom?” You ask.

He seems to snap back to reality, letting out a near hysterical laugh, “You confess like you’re talking about the weather, and what? No, actually, why am I even supposed to do with that!? This is a lot all at once! Are you expecting me to ravage you or something—“

“Yes.”

“I was joking? No, I was definitely joking—“

You tilt your head, “You don’t want to?”

“Well, I didn’t say that…”

You grip the hem of your hoodie before shrugging it off, letting it drop to the floor. He stares at your chest, still covered by your bra. You’re tempted to ask if this is his first pair.

“Is this your first pair?” You ask, gesturing to your breasts.

“No! I was just wondering if girls just——don’t wear shirts under their hoodies?”

“Shut up,” you order before stepping out of your pants.

“Shutting up…” He replies, fingers twitching at his side watching you intently as you slowly approach full nudity.

“Okay, you can talk,” you toss your bra next to his comics, an arm covering your chest as you move to his bed, propping yourself against the wall, seated on the mattress he called a bed. “Take off your clothes already, weirdo.”

Within an instant, his shirt and pants lay discarded on the floor and he joins you on the bed, crowding against you, a hand resting on the mattress near your hips, while the other places itself where your neck and shoulder meet as his mouth presses against yours, lips slightly chapped but incessant, as he hungrily devours you. A far cry from his earlier hesitancy.

You taste the smoke on him as he groans into your mouth, tongue pressing against your lips before you open for him, letting him suck and lick, swallowing your noise of surprise when a hand starts groping your chest, thumb rolling over your nipple.

He parts from you, letting you catch your breath before he dives down to envelop a breast into his mouth, teeth nipping as you jolt while he pinches you with the other.

“Ah, Marshall—!” You try to chide him, but you’re cut off when he does it again, “Ugh, seriously, you’re going to make them sore!”

You feel his laughter against your skin before he pulls away, meeting your gaze with a grin, “Really?”

“Yes, you—ow! Seriously, Marshall!” He pinches your nipples with another laugh, is this actually his first pair of tits? He’s acting like they’re a new toy to fiddle with. He continues to squeeze and flex his hands as you wiggle your hips impatiently, the heat in your stomach growing at his impromptu massage.

“Okay, okay, sorry!” He grins, hands trailing down your stomach to your thighs, fingers rubbing comforting circles, appreciating the softness.

You huff, hand reaching back to position the pillow against the mattress, nudging him to shuffle back with your foot as you lay down, shifting before looking up at him expectantly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he smiles, keeping your thighs bent and apart, fingers brushing over your underwear, before his palm rubs against your clit, making you gasp. If you were more clearheaded, you’d have expressed surprise at him finding it so quickly.

“You know, you were complaining earlier, but you’re pretty wet now,” he comments smugly, watching you squirm at the continuous pressure against your sex, “Maybe if I…”

“Nnn-no,” you moan, back arching when he snakes a hand to pinch your hardened bud again. You’re going to kill him.

“Okay, last time, I swear,” he promises, now focused on helping your discard your last piece of clothing, pausing as the two of you silently stare at the clear liquid stringing from the fabric to your mound, “…you really don’t like it when I play with your tits?”

You glare at him and he pulls off your underwear, staring at them mournfully for a moment before tossing them on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

His finger runs up and down your slit, before pushing against your hole, sliding into you, and a second finger enters, as he begins a rotation of scissoring and thrusting as he stretches you out. Your stomach flexes, squirming when he speeds up.

“Keep still, you’ll be the one crying if I don’t prepare you enough,” he scolds you lightly, more focused than you’ve ever seen him.

“Confident?” You say, breathing hitching as you clench around his fingers. “Doubt you’re that big…”

He stops, face unreadable before he pulls away, and you glance at his prominent bulge. Okay, he’s not small.

He shoves his boxers off, and, okay, definitely not small.

He plants his hands on either side of you, settling in between your legs as he leans down to your face, kissing you again, as your hands move to trail up and down his back. You’ve never heard him talking about working out despite his built frame.

He pulls away, member rubbing against your hole, “You still want to do this?”

You dig your nails into his flesh, “Obviously.”

And without any more fanfare, he pushes into you, slowly feeding you each inch, as you shakily exhale, trying to swallow your noises and failing when your mouth drops opens and you swear you can feel him in your gut.

He starts to move, thrusts slow and long, gradually increasing his pace, as your chest starts to heave, your breath coming out in short pants and moans. You shut your eyes as you writhe under him when he moves to grip your hip with one hand as the other grinds against your clit, causing you to let out a choked whimper.

“You look innocent but you’re as desperate as me, aren’t you?” He speaks up, pace increasing enough to rock your body back and forth with each thrust. “You’ve wanted this as l-long as me, bet you touched yourself too…couldn’t get yourself to cum though based off how swollen your clit was from a little groping, heh. You needed me to help you cum, right? You particularly threw yourself at me—”

“Dick,” you choke out.

“Didn’t deny it…you acted all high and mighty earlier, but now you can barely string a sentence together—“

“Shut up,” you scrunch up your eyebrows, as you clenched around him, his pace faltering as he shuddered, wisps of hair sticking to his forehead.

“D-don’t do that….”

You do it again.

He pinches your nipple.

“Ah, f-fuck you—“

“Already doing that,” he grunts, finger still moving against you, his other hand leaving your breast to lock fingers with your hand, which was lying limply next to you, “You’re close, so just let go and—“

“Marshall—“

“Come on, there you go—“ he coaxes you, enraptured by the increasingly fucked out expression on your face.

With an embarrassingly loud moan, you orgasm as he fucks you through it, before he finishes, shooting his load into you with a low moan and shudder.

You both pant, eyes locked as he pulls out, cum oozing out of you onto his sheets, before his head falls to slump between your breasts.

You stare at the ceiling as he nuzzles against your moist skin.

“We didn’t use a condom.”

“Oh, fuck—“

(Shoving your head and arms into a borrowed graphic shirt, you flinch when the coarse fabric rubs against your nipples. You whip around to glare at Marshall, “I told you that you were going to make them sore!”

“Just go shirtless, and boom, problem solved,” he replies, pulling up his boxers.

“Kill yourself.”

“Love you too, babe.”

“We’re seriously doing things out of order, aren’t we…”)

I already know no one is going to read this and the small number of radiant black fans on this site are going to block me, but IDCCC! I’m the first one to make radiant black x reader content!! ME! (Why do I do this to myself…)

Reader and Marshall about each other: they’re so weird, thank god I’m normal…

read radiant black…

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