Would You Be Kind Enough To Add Me To The Taglist 🥺 So Exited, Hope You Had A Great Day/night :))

┌─ “ ! „ PSYCHO KILLER

tw slasher!mattsun, final girl!reader, noncon, coercion, size kink, cevix fucking, fear play, blood play, cutting/marking, he uses a knife on reader, degradation, spanking, manhandling, forced cheating, murder mentions, mattsun's giant cock wordcount. 5.6k

a/n. another commission from an anonymous amazing person so make sure to say thank youuu to them!!! this time we got matTSUnnnn and omg this was such a blast to write anD AAHHH i hope you enjoy it and that it fuels your slasher fucker urge a little bit, thank you so so much for commissioning me again and hERe she is!!

You never really thought much about mortality, before. But the flashing lights reflected on the brick walls, red blue, red blue, red blue, and the wailing of the sirens, paint a haunting picture. One that even someone positive, bright-eyed and preppy like you feels down to the bone. You have the displeasure of standing with wide eyes, hands stiff and shaky from the evening chill, as the armed men move people out of the way and the person from the alley towards the ambulance; and though you’re across the street— you can tell. 

The way onlookers cover their mouths and gasp and try to unsee as the stretcher passes by them doesn’t paint a promising picture. Your spine feels all flimsy the longer you stand, one hand wrapped frozen around your bag of groceries, apartment only a few blocks away. It’s in the way the senior police officer glances around the blocked off street and tells a passer-by to hurry home or to move along, and the yellow tape keeping the alleyway separate as it trembles rapidly and noisily in the wind. You take a deep breath against the sudden chill that travels all the way down your body, and pick your heels up to walk back.

Back down the opposite way and to the blue lit 24h corner store you left mere minutes ago. The melody of the store chime is comforting, and you speed walk all the way down the aisle back to the register. The charming, delicate features of the young man across from you light up when he properly looks up, and he tilts his head much like a curious animal- one brow raising. “Babe? You’re back?”

“I’m waiting out your shift here,” you softly declare, sneaking back behind the counter where you usually dare steal a few kisses, and dragging out a shitty, plastic chair to rest your head to his hip as he blinks down at you in confusion. Eventually though, Haru just nods, his honey brown hair falling a little further over his brows when he leans down to brush his hand over your head.

“Okay. You alright?” You nod, and he doesn’t ask more— and eventually you two fall back into conversation, only stopping every so often to serve the scarce customer. When you two walk back home in the early hours of the morning, the people have gone, but the yellow tape still stings as you pass the quiet street.

+

The apartment smells of the cheapest of Chinese takeout when you drag yourself back inside late from work. Your boyfriend just barely peeks his head around the corner to come give you a kiss, gentle as he is, and slides back into his spot behind the stove. “Food’s here, and I’m just making some extra eggs for mine, because I gotta leave in half an hour.” The routine ramble is nice, you suppose, finding a smile on your face by the time you make it into the kitchen with him to wrap your arms around his back, and he hums. “Oh, one of your friends swung by, so I let him in a little bit ago- I left him on the couch.”

Haru’s hands are quick to pull you back when you let go, for just a second, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and one to your nose. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. I’m gonna go see who needs me- real quick,” you smile, “and then we eat together?”

“Mhm, perfect.”

The door out of the small kitchen leads into the main room, and you look around as you swing your bag over one of the chairs- but find the space strangely vacant. Though a small pout comes to your lips, you just walk along, passing by the desk with stacks of books and lecture notes, to pull open the door to your bedroom. Your house simply isn’t big enough to lose anyone even if you wanted to. The bedroom lights are off, as you step inside, toes curling instinctively into the carpet; before finally clearing your voice. “Hello?”

At the very moment you turn, the tiny door to the bathroom swings open and a tall shape clad in all black steps out— and you jerk with a loud gasp, only to start laughing when your hands meet his chest and you glance up properly. Matsukawa’s dark eyebrows are furrowed in surprise as he finishes drying off his hands, before he gives you a ‘what gives’ sort of look. “You scared me,” you chuckle, as you lean in to give him a hug. “It’s been a while, how are you? And why’d you swing by?” The way he manages to move his arm over your head without having to change positions to throw the paper towel into the trash isn’t lost on you.

“Can’t a guy come see his favorite ethics tutor on a tuesday?” The familiar deep rumble of his voice fills the room, and you make room to trail back to the couch.

“Well, considering I dropped out,” your voice is a little softer when you take a seat in the squeaky chair, “I’d say that it’s probably a waste of your time. But I guess I’m pretty glad to see you again.”

Mattsun plops down on the couch facing you with a little sigh, before that same self assured smile you’ve always known him to have returns. “Don’t make me feel too special, teach.”

“I’m younger than you! It’s not my fault you took ethics again and needed my help.” The banter is nice, reminds you about the hours and hours spent in the library that always grew too rowdy for a study session. Mattsun’s a good friend. A better one than you are, maybe. His long legs stretch out to the coffee table, before he nods.

“This is a nice place. Cozy.” The compliment makes you feel all warm inside. Despite everything, despite the struggles you and Haru have to deal with, the money, the debt- it’s nice to hear someone appreciate it. Even if that someone is the most well accomplished out of your late friend group. “And the boyfriend seems pretty fucking smitten too.” His dark eyes find your face when you smile wider, lacing his hands together over his knee. “Nothing to add? Come on, I missed you so~ much. I haven’t even seen you properly for the last 4 months. Talk to me. You normally don’t hesitate to run your mouth.” He chuckles when you put on a faux-pout.

“Fine, fine, hang on!” you beam after a second of thinking, and roll your eyes. “Let me make a pot of coffee. You jerk.”

“You love it.”

+

You aren’t the most observant of people, but you swear… you’re losing more shit than normal. Some of the stuffies that were proudly displayed on the shelves are gone, and you can’t find some of your panties no matter how hard you look. And while the small closet in the bedroom is more mess than order, now you can’t even find most of your old photo albums, and some keepsakes from highschool and uni. But with your boyfriend catching his sleep when you leave for work, and you returning late- no one has time to go looking for clothing that’s grown legs, let alone do a thorough clean. So you brush it aside, and move on without your favorite pair of lacy baby blue panties.

It’s only when your boyfriend’s watching the news on his laptop one day, that it tickles something in the back of your brain. As you stuff another bite of pasta into your face, your hands still on top of the unfolded laundry.

A feminine voice flies over the topics at breakneck speed, as the honey brunet suddenly turns up the volume a little and stops eating. “Yesterday, another casualty in a devastating string of murders was found. Passerby’s found the body walking by an alley in Miyagi prefecture at around 9pm. The victim has now been identified to be Kawada Eiko, the 25 year old nurse that was reported missing a few days ago. Strangulation or suffocation are the two current debated causes of death, authorities say. She might have been the unfortunate victim of a lover’s spat, as she was found with blue panties constricting her airways. More about this at 6.”

“Turn that down,” you quickly breathe, and Haru turns over his shoulder with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry. ‘S a bit grim for lunch…” He simply gives you an understanding look, before suddenly turning to knock his knees with yours. “How about you pick something to watch? Here.” His hands reach out to pull you a little closer, and cradle you against his chest. It’s sweet. He always is. And though you nuzzle into his touch, the story doesn’t want to leave your brain. There it is again. That faint flicker of mortality staring you in the face.

+

The stern face of the police officer- burly, heavy mustache and old- is exactly how you imagine it’d be, made very clear by the dead-like tone and eyes as he gives you an up and down. “This your house?”

“R-rented, yes,” you’re in the pajama-est of clothes from when you pulled open the door, “of me and my boyfriend.” The officer gives a tiny nod to the other two men behind him, and pulls out his badge to present it to you. It’s too early for your brain to function properly, but you still swallow at the sudden severity of the situation. “What’s- the issue, officer?” Your voice sounds even mousier when his eyes narrow in on the scene behind him, and your measly apartment feels even more inferior than usual.

“Sasaki Haru’s been arrested and is currently being questioned for multiple accounts of aggravated assault and first-degree murder. And we have to search the property, young lady.”

You stop breathing.

Murder.

Your head thumps, and you feel a flare of heat bite at your neck, clutching the door handle a little tighter.

Murder, he said. Haru… arrested for murder.

“We’ll have to take you in for questioning as well. Why don’t you walk towards the car and have my colleague escort you—” You focus as hard as you can on the words that are thrown at you, but really, nothing hits. There’s a blanket of static over everything in your vision. You might puke.

+

“Hey, breathe out. You’re turning blue,” Mattsun’s deep voice washes over you like a wave as you clamp the phone to your chest and try your best to relax a little, a warm, heavy hand softly stroking the area between your shoulders. It’d been a total coincidence that he’d called just as you were done with the hours of terrifying questioning, but as soon as you’d sniffled out that Haru had been arrested, he took time off to come over. Here you are now, hovering between sleep and frightened awareness in the painful, sticky seats of one of the dead waiting halls.

And though you’re glad someone’s here for you, because Haru’s parents haven’t even called yet— you’re also a little too wired up to appreciate the sarcasm and jokey attitude. After another few minutes of nervously fiddling with your phone and staring through the small window at the other doors, Mattsun clears his voice. “So… murder, huh.” His dark eyes are intense as they flutter over your face, eyebrows straightened. “Do you think he did it?”

You find yourself glaring, even though you can’t say why. “No, of course not. He’d never. He’s… he’s so gentle—”

“They’re saying there’s evidence, y’know.” You know that. It makes you want to rip out your hair and sob, because they showed you the proof. The dna, a kitchen knife out of your drawers, traces of the perfume you always, always wear— but you can’t shake the feeling that only if you could talk to Haru, if you could see him, ask… Your intuition tells you he didn’t do it. Couldn’t have. And they’re wrong, they have to be wrong. You would’ve known if you’d been living with a murderer. You would’ve. You just have to wait for an alibi to show it.

“He didn’t do it, Issei,” you softly end up repeating, and Mattsun’s eyes basically roll themselves as he looks away. “I’m telling you, I know him, and he didn’t do it.”

“Maybe- you just don’t know people as well as you think you do, teach,” the brunet places his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth as he leans in as glances over at you. “You’re wonderful, ‘n smart, and kind. But you’re also naïve, baby…” The last word falls deeper, and drags a cold shiver up your spine that only gets more intense when he doesn’t laugh it off, or look away. Luckily though, the door to the waiting room is pushed open that very moment, and a tired looking woman taps her clipboard.

“You can go home for now. Get some rest. And please stay available so that if we need you to return-”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” you start, and wring your sweaty hands together a few times, “what about Haru?”

Her sharp eyes soften a little when finding your face. “He’ll have to stay until they’re done with the investigation. It might be another couple hours, or days. He can’t see anyone until then.” Your dejection must show, because she sighs. “Head home, child. Try to sleep some. You’ll be okay.” You barely manage to have enough energy to get out of the chair, letting Mattsun take your hand and rub a few comforting circles into it with his thumb. And then you’re walking home as he holds the umbrella high above your heads, and that cold only worsens. You don’t feel okay.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

“How about my place instead of yours?” Issei’s more reserved when he asks, laying an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side a little. “Doubt you wanna hang out there now that the cops have gone through it all.” It doesn’t matter, really, so you nod- let him walk along the crosswalk and steer you down the familiar streets in silence for a while. It really doesn’t make any sense. Haru’s been at work all evenings that the murders happened, there’s security cameras to prove it. And killing someone in broad daylight, alley or not— it doesn’t line up.

Issei squeezes your hand in his when the silence continues, and you briefly look up at him to give him a little smile that doesn’t feel like it reaches. “Sorry I’m so quiet. I’m just…”

“Lost in thought, I get it.” He hums, before pointing at the long line of buildings. “It’s just along there, we’re almost inside. Then we can talk about it, or you can take a load off, or whatever.” The short chuckle is meant to disperse the tension, you know that, but even the tall brunet seems on edge. You’re still holding his hand, and you find yourself blinking at it in quiet confusion. But the thoughts are louder than logic right now. And if Haru didn’t do it, which you will yourself to believe with all your heart —you have no choice but to— how the hell did stuff out of your house get to the scene of the crime. You never lended anyone that knife, and definitely not the even more private stuff—

Issei leads you through the gates into the courtyard of the apartment, then to the door, into the dim staircase all the while softly humming. And you don’t know why your heart sinks as you climb the stairs with him in tow, because the building smells nice, and the walk to the door is clean and high-class. “Tch, you really are,” his low voice barely reaches, and you raise a brow. “Naïve that is.” The humming goes into a soft laugh when you turn to look at him, and the tall man smiles down at you. But though he’s smiling, the hairs on your neck go to stand on end, shoulders squaring. The vivid, unnatural sort of intensity in his eyes rolls your stomach.

And you go to pull your hand out of his, only for Issei to resist the pull harder. “Shh, calm down. I got you, don’t I? Don’t tell me I scare you.” He does, though. “Come on, princess, we’re friends. And friends are there for friends when they need each other. Now you're poor boyfriend's gone.” Your mouth corners turn down into a half pout, half open in confusion. And you don’t know why, you never felt unsafe with him before— but every fiber in your body is screaming at you to run. You want to. But your body refuses to budge, let alone turn your back on him. Issei’s always been a very tall guy. Tall, but wired with athletic muscles from the years of sports, and strong, and fast— and all of these things never scared you.

But they do now. The shivers that roll down your spine are almost painful as you stare up at him and that happy-go-lucky grin still stays on. The corners of your eyes sting when you try again to pull away, to no avail, and Issei’s long legs pull you towards the door of his fancy apartment anyway.

“Issei, let go.” Your voice breaks, and tears creep up in your eyes and your shaky whimper. “This isn’t funny, let me go.”

“Nah ah, I got something to show you.” His casual sing-song response almost makes you angry. But you can’t be when you’re too busy fighting off a full-body panic and planting your heels into the tiled floor. “I got something to show you,” he repeats, glancing over his shoulder again. “Y’see, because I really like you. You make me feel all- hm- good inside.” His curly hair bounces with each step towards the door, before he repositions his grip to hold around your wrist when your sweaty hand almost manages to slip out. “But then you went and got a boyfriend, and disappeared on me.”

He fiddles with the keys for a second as you use your other hand and try to pry your fingers into his painfully tight hold, and frowns. “And I- stop struggling- I don’t blame you. I mean- it’s not like I can even explain this little earworm I’ve got. About how you and I just fit together. I should know better, right?” He’s rambling so fast, and the door manages to be swung open, and you bite back a sob. You want to scream. You want to scream, call out for help, do something other than get pulled in further and further, but it doesn’t work. Your body refuses. Your head’s blank. “I know I should know better. Yet here we are.”

He pulls with his entire body to get you over the doorstep, and grabs your face between his hands to aim it up to his, squishing your cheeks until your lips are a puckered pout. And his deep voice goes low as he whispers. “You didn’t like my little stunt with the panties?”

It short circuits you. Before you get to think about it, you knee him right in the dick with all your might, and push at his face until he jerks back— turning and sprinting back towards the door. But his reach is longer, and he tackles your feet, sending you straight onto your belly with a loud, unforgiving thump as your head knocks against one of the book cases, and his large hands wrap around your ankles. He pulls you back a few feet across the floor, and though you try to kick at him, he’s quick to get above you and restrain you.

”Help!” you squeak, voice more air than actual sound. “Help me!” Issei grabs you by your neck and kicks the door closed with his long legs, before going to sit on top of your back and squeezing the air out of your lungs.

“Awww, fuck, babe,” he groans for a long breath, before grabbing your head and pushing it down into the cold floor as if in punishment. The loud knock of your skull against the floor is enough to force your thoughts out of you. “That really hurts, fuck.” Then he shifts, one hard knee in the middle of your back. You can barely breathe, and the little bit of air you do get is obstructed by the tears blurring your vision. “Little kitty’s got claws, huh.”

“Issei,” you start to whimper through your hickuppy breaths when his palm slides down your neck and under the edge of your shirt, “please let me go. We’re friends. We’re friends, right? So let me go home, and I won’t tell anyone.I swear, I won’t- wo- please, please, ‘ssei.”

“Tch, don’t go begging on me yet, baby. I’ve hardly even started.” His large hands roam around your skin for a moment, before he rolls you over like you’re a ragdoll, and grabs your face again as he bends down until your noses are touching. Him, overtop of you, his free hand training down the surface of your thigh through your sweatpants.

His dark eyes glitter in the low light, animated and joyful despite the way you’re trying to calm your wheezes. Which doesn’t really help. The harder you try, the less air you manage to use— Mattsun’s heavy palm sliding to your throat to squeeze the tender skin there. “Hey, guess what.” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, before he starts picking anxiously at the stretchy band of your pants, sliding two fingers under it. “you turn me on so much it makes me want to fuck you until you’re raw. But you might’ve guessed that already, right?” There’s a low chuckle, while you’re sniveling under him with wet cheeks and a hot face, before he starts tugging your pants down your thighs.

You cross your arms over your face, and Issei laughs a little harder. “Aww, don’t cry. I know what you’re thinking, all the murdering and stuff, the blood, the choking, cutting open— it’s a lot. But luckily for you… all of that isn’t going to happen to you. Look, here-” he mumbles, pulling your arms away from in front of your eyes to force your smaller hand back in his, linking pinkies, “promise. They weren’t you, so I had to get rid of them sooner rather than later.”

By the time he finishes talking, you’re shivering without your pants, on his cold floor and tears all over your face- and for a moment Issei looks like the guy you knew when he pouts down at you. But then he licks his lips, and the relief is gone. “And you get I can’t let you go after this. So it’ll be easier for both of us if you play along.”

Then he gives you a once over like you’re a slab of meat, and hums, whispering under his breath. “I like when they play along.” It makes you cry harder, but barely any noise manages to come out, staring resolutely at the ceiling as soon as his hand lets your chin go to trail his fingertips along your tits. “So fucking pretty, baby.” The lilt of barely veiled excitement in his voice makes you want to sink into the floor, to just stop breathing altogether. You trusted him implicitly, and- though your skin is covered in goosebumps, it barely sets in that Issei was the one who— 

You remember the disemboweled girl on the stretcher, the yellow tape. And bile rises in your throat, so you have to put a hand over your mouth not to throw up. Oh god, you’re… You’re cold on the floor, your tits being gently squeezed by Mattsun’s large, rough hands through your shirt as you try to make your mind go anywhere else, to no avail. Suddenly he gets up on his knees to slide his arms under you, and you start struggling against him enough to make him glare down at you. “Don’t be a brat. If you want me to-”

“Let me go, Issei! Let go, let go!” You’re squished to his chest, but you manage to smack him across the face and get a little bit of wiggle room, and he lets out a low rumble of displeasure, before dragging you further into the house and tossing you down onto the bed. It’s even darker here, smelling faintly of spices and men’s shampoo- but that isn’t what frightens you. It’s the heavy duty cuffs dangling from the metal bedposts, and the way Mattsun grabs a fistful of your hair to yank your head back into the bed.

“Don’t move. Unless you want me to get mad.” The painful tug makes you whimper, but you find yourself trying to slide out the other side of the bed as he bends to search through one of the bedside tables. Your legs are going a bit numb, toes tingly as you dare brush your feet along the floor and make a run for it. Of course, you have to round the bed, and he doesn’t have much of a hard time grabbing the back of your shirt. With one stern move, he swings you over his shoulder, large hand palm landing so hard onto the soft skin of your ass it makes you gasp and tear up. The touch pulses and aches as he slaps the same spot again, and now you’re crying- this time from the stinging of your skin as he tosses you down and forces your hand into sharp, cold handcuff.

His slight frown and the stern look he gives you make your body freeze up, but then he leans in. “You’re a dumb little baby, hm? You don’t get it?” His eyes are wide, pupils dark and blown all the way out to take up almost his entire iris. His hand appears from behind his back with something that glimmers in the low light, and is sharp as he pushes it to your cheek. “Not gonna play along?” The knife’s cold edge next to your ear makes you entirely wooden, staring up at him with shallow breaths and your lips trembling. As he peeks out his tongue, the knife digs deeper and breaks skin on your cheekbone.

And it hurts, clenching your teeth hard as tears spill over, it really fucking hurts. Burns, instantly making the skin feel taut and pounding and irritated. You gasp again, grabbing at his arm with a pitiful cry. “No, no, stop. Stop, please. I’ll play along,” you plead, voice hoarse as you clamp your hand around his wrist. The hot, searing feeling on your cheek and the way you feel blood run along your face and ear takes away all other rational thought. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You want it to stop. “Please. Please, ‘Ssei, please.” The knife’s edge tingles as it leaves your wound, but the pain doesn’t go away, and you can’t help but sob. “Mattsun~”

However pathetic you must look, Matsukawa clearly doesn’t care. Because he groans, before leaning in to press his tongue to your wound, and then kissing you. And the coppery taste makes him moan into your mouth, while you try to turn your head away instinctively. His tongue forces open your mouth and melts with yours, sloppily claiming your mouth with a soft hum, heavy, large body coming to cover yours. He’s everywhere, as he grinds his hips into your panty-clad center and licks your mixed spit off his lips when he pulls back, throwing his head back.

You’re feeling a bit lightheaded, one cheek pounding painfully as you stare at him, and your one arm slowly but surely going numb from the uncomfortable position. But as you’re looking at him, he quickly rids himself of his shirt, and scoots you up the bed a little to drape your legs over his thighs. Even in the half-dark room, you can see them. The scars on his shoulders, his chest, ugly lines that healed over sloppily— proof that someone dug some nails of a key so sharp into him. Fought, and lost. It only makes you take a deep breath that makes a pinched, little noise. And Mattsun grins, rubbing his one hand along the skin.

“They were never close enough to you, y’know? Always something missing.” His one hand goes back to your chest, playing with your pebbled nipples through the fabric, before the knife returns and he drags it across your chest this time, pressing hard enough to cut your shirt and also the thin skin of your breast bone. “Oops, sorry.” The thin line of dots of blood that beads up has him bending to run his tongue along the little wound again, before ripping the rest of your shirt apart and sucking your tits into his mouth too. The warm mouth paired with the painful stinging and aching of your body has your stomach flipping and your mind blank.

Your free hand runs along his head to grab his curls in support, and his moans before biting one of your nipples. Then he pulls back to slap your tits around a bit, and running his thumb over the wound. Seeing the red before he slips it into his mouth is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut, trying to block everything out. And Issei chuckles. “Aw, scaring my little baby, am I?” The sound of his zipper and the shuffling of fabric lasts for a few seconds. Your heartbeat is so fucking loud, and the stinging is loud, and his voice is loud, and everything is so fuzzy. You open your eyes again, only to find that same disturbing look in Issei’s eyes as he rubs his thumb over the slit of his cock, spreading all the precum around.

There’s a lot, you notice, and also that his heavy, flushed cock is big. Really big, too big, making your breathing even more rapid. It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt, it’ll hurt, it’ll hurt— your mind blanks when he starts peeling off your panties and manhandles your legs around however he wants, before the thick head of his cock is lined up to your too-dry pussy. There’s some wetness there, but not enough. You tear up more, because of the hurt, the pain, the fear, your lungs aching and everything else- and shiver when Issei talks again.

His voice is low enough to shake your bones. “You’ll have to fit me, okay? Okay?” His sing-song teasing has you nodding your head, and he puts on a cheshire-like grin again. “Because when they didn’t, I had to cut them open to make room-” he points the knife into your lower stomach then, point stinging as soon as it touches and digs into your soft belly, “-and I don’t want to cut up my favorite girl.” His thumb rubs lazy circles into the top of your slit, brushing your clit, before he spits on it.

Then he lines up, and starts pushing into your tight, clenched pussy without giving you a second to prepare, placing both hands next to your head and pushing himself into you while each inch fills you up more and more. It’s such a painfully tight fit your legs shake as he pushes you all the way full, and keeps pushing. “Aw, aw, aw, Issei- hurts, that hurts-”

“Uhuh,” he just nods, and kisses you again, smiling into the kiss and pulling back to watch you tear up. He moves one leg to push against your chest, and starts grinding his cock even deeper, pushing you open too much, and you cry— only to make him pull back and do it again, groaning. “Ah, fuck, princess. Fuck-ing- godly pussy, agh.” His huge dick pounds against your cervix every time he pulls back and bottoms out, bulging your stomach in a way that hurts even despite the pleasure. But his body slamming against your pussy each time does feel good, as much as you hate to admit it. It sends tingles down your spine that makes you forget about the hurt you’re feeling. “Tell me it feels good, hm?”

He leans into kiss you again, before turning your face to the side to rub his finger along the bloody mess on your cheek and make it hurt again. “Tell Mattsun senpai that his cock’s your favorite. And I’ll make you come so hard you go cross-eyed.” The pounding of the sticky, warm blood and the skin that aches, the way he fills you, makes you feel it all the way in your throat, how loud your heartbeat is in your head and how your lungs fill only with shallow half-breaths, has you crying out long and hard, squeezing your fingers into his bicep.

“Mattsun senpai~ cock-ahg- hick- my favorite.” You’re not sure you recognize the way your voice sounds as you say it, getting your mouth full of his tongue again as you choke on it and the way he forces his cock through your cervix. Hurts, hurts, feels so good it aches. You can’t tell up from down when his fingers return between your bodies, and he jackhammers his fat cock through you.

“I know, baby. I know. S’all for you now. All yours.”

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𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 — ft. rin itoshi/sae itoshi

────────────✧ ˚ · “ ɪ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴏ ᴀɴxɪᴏᴜꜱ, ᴍʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ..

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ.

ɪ. ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ — itoshi rin & fem reader (ft. itoshi sae)

ɪɪ. ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪꜱᴛ

ɪɪɪ. ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ — nsfw & dark content, dub-con, infidelity, jealousy, heavy angst, foul language, characters are aged up (in their 20's), revenge, & more coming soon

ɪᴠ. ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ — when a family holiday comes around and rin has to face his brother, he’s not surprised to see you, sae’s sweet fiancée, tagging along. what he doesn’t expect, though, is his urges slipping out of control.

ᴠ. ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɴᴅᴇx — coming soon

ᴠɪ. ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴀɢ — ✧˖*°࿐ series: after dark

· ˚ ✧──────── ..ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴘꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ, ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ʟᴏꜱᴛ „

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@xatsumuxluvrx , @oo-mi-ru-oo , @hellokittykuroo , @sagejin , @aclownstay , @katasstrophy, @caramelcandescence, @kittysinon137, @xxkaeya , @strawberriesandcream12 , @sqno , @somemydayy

reblogs are greatly appreciated ! :)

© itoshi-s. do not plagiarize, repost as your own or mention on other sm platforms.

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

---

genesis | hayakawa aki

this is part one of the series menthol.

PAIRING.  aki x bff fem!reader

PLAYLIST.  nightdrive + sesh

SERIES SYNOPSIS.  after a string of casual dating mishaps leaves you unsatisfied, you find that the grass is greener in the front seat of your best friend’s car.

PART ONE LENGTH.  5.5k words  |  coauthor @akishroom​

PART ONE WARNINGS.  slight nsfw (18+, minors do not interact): fantasizing; vaping + smoking; aki is a Car Guy ™ so he drives a slammed car, teaches you to drive stick, and fixes a car up for you; reader and aki have a long history, reader is in makeup and a sundress, reader has a backstory and a personality; there’s a slight age gap (less than two years), but it’s exaggerated as a running joke between them.

A/N.  heavy nasty smut in the next part HEHE this one’s mostly just buildup <3 ENJOOOOYYY

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

Keep reading

sure thing – part two.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part two word count: 10.8k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five

note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡

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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

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PART TWO

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It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox. 

Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times. 

This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message. 

From: yangj@vesselsoft.co 

Subject: Printer Issue

Good morning, ___. 

I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience. 

Thank you in advance, 

Jungwon

Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection. 

But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom. 

As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. 

There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room. 

They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose. 

As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came. 

Where he softens, however, you cage up. 

“You have one minute,” you tell him. 

“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion. 

“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”

Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation. 

With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”

He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”

Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”

Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”

“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”

But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know. 

After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”

“Could have fooled me.”

“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”

“You don’t get it–”

“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”

“____…” 

Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well. 

As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message. 

Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead. 

You were right about the apologies, though. 

Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?

Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think. 

It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding. 

You: I’ll plan on Friday.

…..

Friday morning comes with a vengeance. 

Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work. 

Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office. 

But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit. 

Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it. 

“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”

And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too. 

Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon. 

Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers. 

 ___, it reads. 

I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you. 

– J

Frowning, you read it once. Twice. 

Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight. 

You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket. 

Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense. 

Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available

Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry

Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you. 

Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”

You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”

“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”

“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”

“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”

Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.” 

“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”

You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.

It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting. 

But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two. 

And your message is still completely unanswered. 

The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time. 

And Jay still hasn’t texted you back. 

That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up. 

You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text. 

Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. 

Sister’s baby shower. 

That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you. 

You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home. 

At his older sister’s baby shower. 

Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie? 

Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be. 

Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight. 

Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint. 

In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines. 

You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week. 

It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment. 

Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out. 

2013.11.13 King Pen

You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is. 

It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search. 

The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city. 

That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007. 

Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant. 

Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area. 

You skip down a few more lines. 

When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”

You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead. 

This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion. 

Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym. 

Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym. 

There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you. 

Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name. 

Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy. 

Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot. 

It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition. 

Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied. 

Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. 

But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car. 

“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere. 

And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him. 

For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards. 

But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one. 

Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight. 

You want answers. 

So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym. 

Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty. 

Eerily so. 

All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence. 

Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense. 

But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago. 

It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch. 

The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym. 

You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door. 

It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–

Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound. 

Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again. 

Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp. 

Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.

This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound. 

Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down. 

Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness. 

Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin. 

Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge. 

No. No. 

You’re trapped. Effectively locked in. 

As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop. 

Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you. 

What if this is the only entrance?

You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot. 

You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…

Both of their warnings start to come back to you.

“He’s not who you think he is…”

“I just want you to be careful…”

“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”

Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?

The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense. 

Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting. 

Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase. 

After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder. 

On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway. 

You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn. 

Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side. 

Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side. 

Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door. 

The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open. 

You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty. 

But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below. 

There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor. 

And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:

King Pen.

It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen. 

Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”

He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room. 

“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”

But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan. 

No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work. 

The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight. 

The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!” 

The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly. 

Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being. 

But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him. 

It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring. 

“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins. 

“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison. 

Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon. 

Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it. 

Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains. 

It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away. 

This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel. 

One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes. 

As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation. 

Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight. 

“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring. 

“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.

“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. 

“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs. 

“Fight.”

It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to. 

Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening. 

Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer. 

He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next. 

But even dancers stumble sometimes. 

You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring. 

Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red. 

Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place. 

Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter. 

The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine. 

Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus. 

His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern. 

There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct. 

It’s messy, sloppy, angry. 

They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely. 

And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done. 

It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him. 

Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring. 

Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight. 

Anything goes. 

Your stomach twists with nausea. 

Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands. 

You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body. 

Jungwon’s mouth moves again. 

This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough. 

With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again. 

Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair. 

He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction. 

ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give. 

Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring. 

Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn. 

If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence. 

The door opens before you do any of it. 

“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”

…..

Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.” 

“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”

“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”

“What?”

Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”

And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief. 

He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay. 

He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”

“Go away.”

“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”

“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you. 

Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you. 

You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Why are you here?”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter. 

You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either. 

And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it. 

So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really. 

But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him. 

Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you. 

Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room. 

A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it. 

And, of course, there’s the two of you. 

Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look. 

He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath. 

He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin. 

Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”

“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement. 

“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”

“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”

“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”

This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down. 

Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room. 

Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop. 

Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you. 

Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago. 

This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him. 

Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream. 

“This might sting,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. 

If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you. 

Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first. 

As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips. 

“It stings?” You ask him. 

“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips. 

You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes. 

It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity. 

Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit. 

With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him. 

Jungwon swallows audibly. 

Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage. 

After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you. 

And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face. 

Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.  

He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up. 

“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe. 

“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across. 

“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”

His thumb stills against your skin. 

“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”

You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”

“But,” Jungwon whispers. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”

Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”

He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.

You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”

You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”

You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.

Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him. 

His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from. 

Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”

“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette. 

Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts. 

“You like him, don’t you?”

The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.

 “Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”

Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”

Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”

“What?”

“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.” 

With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”

It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding. 

It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but– 

“You don’t have to say sorry–”

Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”

“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy. 

Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still. 

It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now. 

Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true. 

Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it. 

But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin. 

Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”

He is. 

“I mean it.”

You do. 

“Thank you, ___.”

He means it too. 

When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high. 

You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure. 

But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them. 

…..

Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread. 

Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him. 

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them. 

So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding. 

Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person. 

Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten. 

“___,” he breathes. 

The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off. 

In the end, you just look at him blankly. 

“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”

The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago. 

But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding. 

It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication. 

But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes. 

So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”

The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look. 

Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”

“What are you–”

“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”

You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue. 

“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”

Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”

He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”

Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”

The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring. 

Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”

No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager. 

“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”

Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”

You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears. 

“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”

It makes sense. It does. 

“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”

Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again. 

You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.

“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale. 

“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”

Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.” 

His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow. 

“What are you saying?” you ask him. 

“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.” 

He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom. 

“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by. 

“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”

He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head. 

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”

Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching. 

“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.” 

There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth. 

It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours. 

A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue. 

Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin. 

You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest. 

You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile. 

But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him. 

So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape. 

You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless. 

And for once, it feels like a sure thing. 

…..

epilogue 

Jungwon: SOS

Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy

Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages 

Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help

You: I’m BUSY what do you need

Jungwon: The printer is jammed again

You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance

Jungwon: Oh please 

Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them

Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you

You: Literally what are you talking about

You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks

You: The entire floor was mad at me

You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS

Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE

Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance

Jungwon: I promise

You: …

You: FINE

You: On my way

Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown. 

Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen. 

And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.

You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you. 

Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer. 

Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”

He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray. 

“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss. 

“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”

Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”

“I’m not ly–”

“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.  

And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there. 

“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”

“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

outtake — seven months ago.

The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work. 

Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper. 

Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees. 

Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind. 

What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?

He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook. 

Twice. 

With annotations. 

Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw. 

It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day. 

Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly. 

He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now. 

And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will. 

To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him. 

He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down. 

But part of him is excited too. 

He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once. 

He actually fucking did it. 

All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity. 

They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world. 

He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his. 

So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door. 

And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch. 

“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before. 

And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh. 

Oh. 

Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking. 

“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly. 

Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal. 

Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –

“Hi, Jungwon.” 

Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land. 

“Hi,” he manages. 

Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”

Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”

___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl. 

“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent. 

“You know the printer in the workroom?”

Terry nods. 

“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”

Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.” 

And then it’s just the two of you. 

“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about. 

Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain. 

“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”

“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words. 

You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels. 

“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”

A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it. 

“Thank you.”

Your brow furrows. “For what.”

“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”

“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”

He hopes you mean it. 

And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath. 

“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡

darknets | 03 yandere!jungkook au

pairing: yandere!jungkook x reader (f)

genre: yandere

warnings: 18+, obsessive & unhealthy behavior, spying, non-consensual videotaping, tormenting, graphic violence,( TW; human trafficking, heavy themes, non-con touching/groping, mentions of physical abuse )

word count: 14.5k

Playlist

A/N; i just want to make it clear, im no expert in criminology so forgive me if there’s inaccuracies, I tried to do my best with research but it’s purely fiction!

summary: You should’ve known better than to chat with strangers online…

Parts: 01 / 02 / 03

The paper cup was held tightly in his hand. He had dropped a tea bag inside , Chamomile. It usually helped with nerves. He watched the girl through the glass, she didn’t look particularly nervous but she did look distraught. The dark eye bags gave away the limited sleep she must have endured, her oversized hoodie making her look smaller than she really was. The added bad posture wasn’t helping either. Her shoulders were slumped, her arms resting on the table in front of her as she stared down at her hands.

Detective Namjoon sighed, opening the door which immediately caused her to turn her head over to him. He gave her a reassuring smile, passing her the cup as he seated himself across from her. His long limbs sat a bit awkwardly on the small chair but he squared his shoulders nonetheless.

“I understand you said she had been acting a little strange for the past few days.” He stated, maintaining a steady gaze on the girl.

“Did she have any mental health issues that you know of? Was she struggling with depression, anxiety or anything of the sort?”

Mina swallowed, bringing her eyebrows together in feigned concernment.

“No, not that I know of.” She explained, letting out another shaky breath. “ It’s just, she was acting really paranoid like, just off, you know?”

Namjoon listened, nodding slowly as another question sat on his tongue.

“Was she scared of someone perhaps? An ex-boyfriend, someone she was romantically involved with?”

“No, I mean the last boyfriend she had was over a year ago and he transferred to another college months ago.” Mina shook her head, then hesitated a bit. “But-“

The detective raised an eyebrow in question, eyes darting around her face as he silently urged her to continue.

“But..?” He added quietly, the girl seemed to be unsure of herself which wasn’t always a good sign. The behavior usually signaled she was holding back, knew a bit more than she was willing to confidently say or was afraid of saying it.

“She had a crush, a guy in our college.” She replied, frowning slightly. “ Jaehyun. I don’t why I brought it up, it’s just a stupid crush.”

Keep reading

BLACKMAIL KISS — h. ran

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a single night of rebellion against your husband, the mayor of Tokyo, in an underground Roppongi club, traps you right in Haitani Ran's web of blackmail and deceit—where every move you make could potentially be your last one.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a bonten!haitani ran miniseries inspired by hametsu no itte

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bonten timeline, fem!reader, wife!reader, reader is feminine coded (wears dresses, heels, makeup), heavy angst, heavy tones of cheating/infidelity, D@RK CONTENT, blackmail, political drama, non-con recording, drügging, mentions of alcohol & drügs, D*m/s*b dynamics, non-c0n -> dub-c0n, expl!cit photos, canon typical v!olence, corruption k!nk, unprotected s*x, n!pple play, sh/ibari, B/D/S/M, voyeurism, edg!ng training, tease and den!al, org@sm control, phone s*x, smok!ng, publ!c play, g@gs, impact p!ay, pr@ise + degradation, roleplay (forced prost!tuition), mentions of conceiving, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of m!scarriage, pet names (baby, love, slüt), collars, b0dy writing, throat fücking, d@ddy kink, sp!t play, finger!ng, or@l s*x, rindou is a simp for his girlfriend, süspension p!ay, publ!c s*x, n!pple clamps, mentions of v!brators, overstimulat!on, k!dnapping, tortüre, more tags to be added...

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bittersweet blackmail with this playlist

{{𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗}}

#1: i made another mistake

#2: the way you bend, the way you break

#3: when the curtains call the time

#4: will we both be satisfied?

#5: love's the death of peace of mind

#6: will we both go home alive?

#7: i miss the way you say my name

... more tba

{ rbs to boost are appreciated !! }

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy the concept, sentence structures and scenes without prior permission from the creator.

blindfold - (1)

Jeon Jungkook x reader

‒ blindfold. (m) ✎  [8k words]

genre: smut, nsfw, college!au

warnings: oral, fingering, blindfold, sex with a stranger? Basically, a contract/smut au where you are offered money to let a stranger do sexual things with you.

part 2.  part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6. masterlist. 

Keep reading

┌─ “ ! „ FLUIDITY

tw. dubcon, monsterfucking, explicit size kink, interspecies sex, reader has sex pollen like effects, communication barrier, manipulation, yandere (other parts will contain a lot more explicit dark kinks so please read every individual part's warnings!) wordcount. 8.7k

part 1 of —

a/n. ♡♡ thank you so much rhi for keeping me going through this, idk if i would have pushed through if not for you so ily ily ily and this fic is just indulgence as a period piece and a monsterfucking fic but i hope you give it a chance and like it bc there's moresomes a-coming and this is just the beginning so! yeA i hope you guys enjoy mwuah mwuah mwuah ♡♡

tachibana makoto x fem!reader ( x other characters coming)

Dragonflies glint the prettiest, richest silver you’ve ever seen under the right light. The rosy evening sun casts the entire river into a blooming glow— complete with a soft blanket of fog that rolls along the base of the trees. “Your maiden servants worry about you, you know,” a voice softly calls, and the rustle of shrubbery makes you turn.

You don’t really want to know how long the man’s been guarding you without a word. If it were anyone but one of your father’s most trusted men, you’d probably have some distrust. Instead you only pull your knees to your chest, and continue tossing rocks into the babbling brook.

“Lady, it’ll get dark soon. Your parents don’t want you playing out here so late.”

The small area isn’t open enough to lure any visitors. You’d be fine. Still, you slowly bob your head, waiting for him to step away from the tree edge into the river bank with you. “I had a weird dream, only it didn’t feel like a dream.” The reeds sway in the wind, and you almost let the perfect surrounding whisk away the thought. But the man’s hand drops from his sword, and he gives the faintest of nods. “There was a monster here when I fell asleep— one with a huge mouth packed full of teeth. I saw eyes in the water, and hair so long it covered its whole body.” The tart remnants of your delicately applied makeup wash away as you swallow. “I think- it was a yokai.”

“There’s no yokai here, lady,” he patiently responds, and you turn to him better. This time taking a proper look. If the damp hair tied in a bun is anything to go off of, he was most likely called out of his bath to come out looking for you. You bite your lip, apology lingering on your tongue. But that’s where it stays, as the man continues. “There’s monsters only where people don’t go. You needn’t worry.”

“Are you comforting me?” A slight giggle passes your lips before you can help it. “I know you think I’m lying. You don’t believe anything you don’t see with your own eyes.”

“... It’s not for a lack of trying.” He smooths a hand over his hakama, before resting it back on the pristine handle of his sword. The dragonflies buzz over the low edge of the water, and your feet ache a little from the cold. You’d love to ask to be carried right about now, but spare the poor man the effort. It’s the least you can do. After another few minutes of silence and watching the sun disappear entirely below the tree line, he finally clears his voice. “Come on, lady. We should really get back. You’re precious to your parents. You’re precious to us all. I can’t leave you here.”

This river runs from the high mountains all the way through the small lake that borders the gates of your home; and all the way down the lowlands— and it’s said that on the day of your birth the river flooded, and provided the most bountiful harvest of the last few decades. Even as a child, there was no ignoring the gleeful whispering of the ladies, nor the calculated introductions of sons of poorer lords at every birthday or feast. Some day not too long from now you will get married and spread providence over the land… and there won’t be time for napping by rivers or running off half-dressed into the forest.

Somehow, despite the honor, a small part of you goes cold at that. The water glistens under the last of the light— and you take a long look into the deep of it. The eyes the color of hot coals flash through your mind once more, and you start pulling the fabrics of your dresses aside to put your zori back on. “I know it was a monster- but-” The wind picks up when you turn over your shoulder and smile your most genuine smile. “I wasn’t scared, I think. Perhaps it was friendly.”

The guard is quiet as he watches you get up from the riverbank, and sticks a comfortable distance after helping you gently up onto your feet. You suppose he doesn’t really have the heart, or perhaps confidence, to tell you what he really thinks of your childish talk. The barely-there path back to your home has you growing much more tired— as if weights are tied to your legs. You wish you could stay. The moss crunches softly under your feet, and the dewy air starts to feel a bit cold to the touch. Despite everything, it’s always peaceful here. You cast a brief glance up to the man as he pushes the shrubbery aside. His face has a vacant sort of look, until he catches you looking, and his mouth curls up. “I’ll tell your maiden servants to prepare a purifying ritual for you.”

“Ugh, no, please. Anything but that.”

+

“The koi fish aren’t around anymore, are they, lady?” There’s a slight hesitation in her voice as your maid walks up.

You nod, lift your sleeves to brush your fingers through the water and wait. You got them as a present for your coming of age festivities— the most beautiful blue grey with red fins— much too expensive for your liking but a courting gift nonetheless. You’d been quite fond of the walks out of your houses’ walls because of them. The feed floats sadly on the surface of the inlet, where the clear river water shows no sign at all of the normally curious animals. “It seems like they’ve gone.” What a shame.

Your other maiden scans the area, before rushing to help you up onto your feet as she lowers her head. “Should we ask the master to procure some more? We know feeding the fish brings you much joy.”

The girl helps to fix your sleeves again, before awaiting your call. “No, that’s quite alright. There’s no use replacing a gift.” You cast a wary glance at the bay once more, not quite sure what you’re looking for; but fail to find anything out of the ordinary. A sight furrow comes to your brow, before you hike up your layers of skirts- much to the shock of your two servants- and turn to them with a softer smile. “I would like to be alone for a bit—”

“Lady!” one of them squeaks, but you only laugh.

“I am certain, Hitsu. Tell my father I will be home before tea and dinner, and if you could prepare my bath…” The dark brunette has a question on her tongue, but does nod with the same trained properness that you’ve come to know. “I simply wish to walk along the river, I won’t swim. It’ll be quick, I promise.” It’s not a lie. You have no intention of ruining your beautiful, expensive clothing by going any further than a shallow few steps. But there’s a nagging memory somewhere in the back of your mind— 

You used to have so many dreams, all of them now too faint to recall. Both young ladies give each other a look, before eventually bowing deeply and heading back towards the palace gates.

See, that nagging sense that you’re forgetting something important, something crucial, overcomes you. It’s almost impossible to ignore, and you kick off your shoes to tread carefully along the edge of the deep pool of fresh spring water. The moss is soft under your feet, keeping a tight grip on your embroidered silks.

When you were only a few years old, you used to have these dreams. Dreams of drowning, of ghouls and demons. They grew scarcer the older you got, and eventually even the weekly purification spells and chants became declared unnecessary. But where the memories once sat, now only a blank hole remains in your mind. And however hard you try to remember, you can never quite get there. You make it to the sloped edge of the river not much later, stepping up the small sputtering waterfall and a few round stones between stray bamboo— nearly still water pooling at your feet.

It’s chilly, but not freezing. Something scratches in the back of your skull, deep down. It trickles down your neck, and with a steady heartbeat, it breathes.

But you can’t catch the thought, and the harder you try, the cloudier it becomes— eventually you click your tongue and start walking along the water edge up stream. You should look for your fish. If they swam out of the inlet somehow, maybe they’d be around. They are, much like you are, bred for captivity and wouldn’t survive too long on their own. The sun casts warm spring rays onto your skin, walking in much needed solitude. When you barely realize you’ve spaced out, you’ve already made it to a bend in the river where peach blossoms float on the otherwise pristine surface of the water— and despite your previous care, you drop your dress.

The blossoms swirl in slow circles. And a raindrop lands on your nose. 

Arms, wrapped tight around your chest. Claws. Wide lashless eyes.

Something floods your brain so suddenly that you stumble back a few steps and gasp, sucking in a breath.

It was here. You can’t exactly make out what, but your gut recognizes the trees, the scraggly stones sticking out of the water. Your lungs full of water, and hands all over.

Bumps rise all over your back as you look around, and water seeps up along your tarikubi robe. It’s so quiet, and the stillness starts to trouble with each droplet that comes down. But you breathe. You’ve been here, perhaps more than once, and the aching, pressing itch deep in your head grows more unbearable. When a metallic flicker catches your eyes, you glance down. The rain now starts up more properly, and though the trees provide some shelter, there’s no hiding away from the cold as you walk in just deep enough to bend and pick up a dainty golden chain from between the smooth rocks.

It’s fine like thread, and cold to the touch, and though you can’t quite explain it; something about this finely crafted piece is familiar too. Even through the rain and the chills crawling all the way up your spine, you study the necklace closer. The intricate detail is almost too pristine.

A soft splash on the other side of the river startles you— The sudden scare makes you lose your balance and fall back onto your lower end. Hard. The ache immediately has you whimpering, but instead of worrying about the pain, you slowly try to catch yourself on the rocks; pained enough in the motion that you swear — you see a person diving underneath the water edge. Something pale and fast. You scream, and whatever you saw dashes away before you can think about doing different. The blossoms drift off as you scramble back up; your bruised palms sting, and your heartbeat still hammers hard in your throat when the silence returns.

But the blurry flash of maroon hair and fiery red eyes you caught is long gone.

And much too soon, the clouds that had seemed so fluffy and beautiful earlier turn a dreary grey. You turn on your heel and book it back down the river side on bare feet— still clamping the chain between your fingers.

+

The wick of your lantern splutters with thick oil as you fail to catch sleep. Even with the spring weather it’s chilly, with you remaining wrapped under a thick blanket. You breathe a long sigh, and listen to the crackling of the candle beside your bed in the absence of any other sound. The earlier lecture of your father, your mother, and even the normally quiet and collected matron of the house still lingers on your mind— it’s not like you can blame anyone. You wouldn’t be the first stupid, brazen young girl who happened to drown, and despite the quiet lives most girls like you live, you most likely won’t be the last.

You shouldn’t have been out there. Your servants had been ghastly pale from fright upon seeing the state in which you returned, and even the thorough scrubbing and hours-long bath didn’t do much to alleviate the ache in your lower back.

Despite all that, you’re stuck. Eyes -monstrous, unnatural eyes- appear in the crevices of your mind each time you close your own. No amount of prayer makes the longing fade, and the longer you lay here, the deeper they seem to dig into your flesh. Goosebumps crawl all over your skin once more. When you throw your blankets off you, you go digging in one of the woven baskets for the thickest bland garments you’ve got— tying them around your hips until you’re dressed enough to peer out into the hall. The frigid air current howls through the house when you gather your lantern, some woven socks, and after a brief bit of deliberation; snatch the golden chain from beside your pillow.

The palace is quiet at night, an almost eerie sort of calm that is broken only by the soft ‘pats’ of your feet on the hardwood— with the lanterns barely providing enough light to see a good arms length at a time. The wind pushes you forward, nuzzling deeper into the collar of your clothing until you make it outside. Even under the starry sky, there’s no doubt that this is a stupid idea. No good can come from nightly outings — though you’ve seen girls come and go in similar ways under the cover of night, you’re quite sure their purpose was less out-for-trouble than you are now. But what else can you do?

How could you ever sleep soundly not knowing what’s out there.

With only the flickering reflection on the water, you bow before your home— you’d be back soon enough. You love your clan— and you have no intention of getting caught in long lectures twice in a night. The guards at the gates have no way of noticing you as you slip into the brush and cover the lamp from sight, as cold breaths form clouds before your eyes.

Your legs move almost instinctively until you come upon the peach tree, and the pretty white flowers rain down with the breeze. You place the candle by your feet; and hesitate before taking your own seat on a round rock right by the water edge. You’ve never seen a yokai. Not that you can remember at the very least, but if you would have-you didn’t expect to here. Not the river that blessed your birth, or the one who gives everyone life by way of harvest. Maybe what you saw was a farmer bathing, or a particularly pale, large cod— wouldn’t that make more sense. Isn’t that exactly why you didn’t tell your father?

Because naïvity and silly wonder seems better than monsters lurking among the shrub.

Sadly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, a soft splashing in the water sets every hair on your body upright— and your mouth goes dry. It’s so dark. So awfully dark that it’s hard to see even past your own feet, if not for the broken reflection of your candle in the water. You know it's there. You feel it, by the rancid sort of churning in your stomach, the rapid beating of your heart. You swallow the tightness in your throat as best you can. “I’ve come to return your necklace. I didn’t mean to steal it, so I’ve come to give it back.” You wish you could let your eyes grow used to the dark, but without candle light, it’d be so much harder to get back home in one piece.

After just the sounds of the river drag on, you slowly take another breath, and try to bite back the wetness that rises every time you try and fail to find the eyes you know are looking at you. “I don’t wish to harm anyone.” The wind seems to howl harder across the river, and you can’t fight the horrible visions of monsters all around you, just there in the darkness; tightening your hands into fists. “So I wish you would not harm me either. You can have it back.” Your hand shakes when you hold out the chain above the water— not nearly far enough for anything to reach it without coming into your sight. But you’re too frightened to go any deeper, and your lungs tighten.

“Please, I-”

The peaceful spluttering of the water is suddenly disrupted by a much louder splashing, and you freeze up with a sharp gasp, shoulders trembling despite yourself. You don’t dare move any more than that— only after a minute or so of silence, you continue. “Hello? Don’t you want your necklace back?”

The reeds shake in the wind, and one of the blossoms brushes along your cheek as it falls into your crouched lap. Your breathing is tense enough to almost hide the little mumble that reaches back. It’s soft, sweet like dripping honey, and makes your whole spine tingle. “We want.”

If you had any less sense, you’d probably run right back home. But the idea of moving is too terrifying, so you’re stuck rooted in place as you take a breath. The voice sounds young enough, but the Japanese is distinctly older than your own dialect, rolling off the tongue with a vague foreign lilt— and it takes your frightened brain a little longer than you want to process that the voice isn’t simply human. When another little splash sounds a bit closer, you pull your outstretched hand back to your chest. “Can you see me?” Your own voice wavers when trying to make out any shape in the river. Alas, it’s just so dark that any further effort hurts your eyes.

“Yes.”

“I’ve come to give back your necklace. I got scared and took it, I’m sorry. I mean no harm-”

“He told.” The voice is unbearably clear. Almost like it’s being spoken directly into your head, even though it’s just a mere whisper among the rippling water. It’s distracting, and feels ice cold between your ears.

“Who’s he?” you try, biting your lip. The river seems to stare back at you, and you can’t do anything but hope you aren’t making some horrible mistake. Are you supposed to talk to the monsters that go bump in the night? “I- I don’t know where you are, I can’t see you.” Despite the soft, gentle nature of the voice, your heart patters wildly, unable to let go of your fear when there’s another closer splash. You must only be a dozen feet away from each other now, and still you can’t even see past the water at your toes. The voice stays quiet for a while.

“You don’t see is … better.”

You don’t respond for even longer. But for whatever reason, you almost want to agree. Not seeing, he almost sounds like a childhood friend of yours. The soft, honeyed words aren’t so frightening when you can’t see what they’re being spoken by; and you gather your last bit of courage to softly open your palm out again towards the night. “I’ll throw it over to you. Can you catch it?”

“No ‘throw’.” The -whatever- struggles with the word as he says it, before going quiet. You’re not sure if he doesn’t want you to throw it, or he simply doesn’t understand— so you just bite your lip and wait for any further comments that eventually do follow. “You put paw- h-hand.” Then, after another breath, “Come.” With a slight tremble in your voice, you breathe out a little laugh. You are really being asked to be braver than any girl with sense would— dragging your lantern closer over the pebbles until it’s right by your feet. Cursing yourself, you blink back nervous tears, trembling as you hike up the edge of your skirts, just the tiniest bit, and place only one foot into the shallowest part of the river for stability.

Your hand drops halfway outstretched, and you watch the flame where she glints back on the chain.

More splashing makes way for a more disturbing sound once it surfaces, of a body dragging over the shallow of the river towards you, scraping along the blunt stones— and you almost dart away when the sound comes close enough to reach. But your fingertips are almost frozen solid when another hand comes ever faintly into view, and wetness drops into your palm. To call it a hand is gracious, you decide. There’s longer digits, clawed, and webbed between each bony finger, and the wet glossy skin is more curved spike than thumb. The paw slides carefully along your hand, swiping up the chain as it goes— and leaves a cold coating all over your palm that you snatch back too quickly.

It’s unbearable to stay so close to something and not see it now, and you quickly hurry back to the safety of your rock as the same shuffling goes back to the water. Your heartbeat’s in your throat, and you can’t find any polite words to offer it until the yokai speaks again.

“Rin present, with- no, f-for you. You give present back, make happy. I am thank you.” You’re welcome, you think, but you barely manage to paint on a little smile before wringing your hands together and picking your lantern back up for safekeeping.

“I’m heading home now. If I’m not back soon my guards will find out.” It doesn’t feel entirely appropriate to thank it for not killing you when it had ample chance to, so you stay quiet. But there’s also a sense of gratitude that washes over you. Soon you’ll be back in bed like all of this was a dream. That seems right. That seems good. Your tongue lingers on your words. “You … What's your name?” The river bank feels much safer now you’re back on solid ground, and you can see the peach blossoms you almost slipped on.

There’s another long pause, where you almost make a run for it back all the way home, before the voice sounds out again from the dark— sugary sweet in its tone.

“Makoto.”

+

You’re pretty sure you should be questioning your own sanity. Everyone else wouldn’t hesitate to, and after the few restless nights you’ve had, you should be staying as far away as you can. But curiosity, mixed with a slight sense of obligation, has you walking the river bank like a little droplet flowing back to the sea. The quiet, scruffy man following behind doesn’t say much… never does, and you can’t say you dislike it. But you feel the glances your way, distracting you. Soon you find yourself clearing your voice. “You’re wondering why I’m walking this same path again?”

The older man only hesitates for a moment. “No, lady.”

“Sure you are. I would wonder if I were you.” There’s a faint smile that makes its way up, glancing out over the babbling brook to your left as grass tickles your ankles. “Not too long now and I’ll be engaged…” The peach blossoms above are almost done blooming— and you’ve never known your father to be an indecisive man. “Walking gives me a little break from all the fussing attendants, and father's advisors. Which is why it’d be even better if I were alone-”

It doesn’t take much pushback at all for the man to stop in place and give you a little look, resting his hand on the handle of his sword. “Lady.”

“Oh, please Azuma-san, we’ve had this same conversation for years.”

“I am not to leave you unprotected-”

You turn on your heel to face him. “I want to swim.” The stubborn frown on his face doesn’t move an inch, as your eyes go a little more puppy-esque. You have to know, so you have to lie. It doesn’t bring you joy either, but you might go insane if you have to live with questions for the next twenty years barred in some fancy prison of your future husband’s making. “-Swim right here. Without my very expensive clothing getting ruined.” Still that stone wall refuses to budge, and you throw your last bit of dignity into the ring. If this was anyone else you’d never hear the end of your unrefined words. “So I am going to get undressed.”

“—Ag-lright, just quiet. Your servants hear you and I’ll be lynched in the square.” He sighs deeply, rubbing his hand over his scruff, then gives a little bow. He wants nothing more than to roll his eyes when you offer back a self-satisfied grin, but instead takes a few steps the way you came with a stern look. “I’ll ask one of your maiden servants to make her way over here.”

“Don’t tell her to hurry!” you chant back, only taking off the heaviest layer of clothing once he’s out of sight. You lay it safe out of reach, before kicking off your shoes and socks and waddling towards the big stones again. Sure enough, the river here is a lot deeper than it looks. There’s a ledge in the pool that’s dark enough for almost any kind of monster to hide. This at least means your midnight escape wasn’t a total delusion. The peaceful sway of water grass settles when you dip your toes in the water, and wonder. There’s only a brief few minutes where you sit to think, before a slight thrashing once again captures your attention.

Only when you look up, the river is still, safe for a few tiny fish jumping out of the water. You get up, and tie your skirts up higher to inspect. A large maroon shape darts away into the darkness before you can take a good look, splashing droplets all over the river bank— and you hold your breath. You aren’t crazy. That definitely was much larger than any fish you’ve ever seen, and such a brilliant color that nothing but yokai could possess it. Brighter than all the finest silks, shimmering like a mirror. You wait for what could be a few seconds or an hour, before… someone- something else starts coming up from the darkness.

The olive-golden glitter rises so slow you have no choice but to take in another breath, but luckily don’t scare it away. His light chestnut hair is chopped short-ish, and a strangely human face— with cloudy black eyes, and green gashes either side of his neck— where he hovers below the water surface. It’s not human though. The eyes are big, round and deer-like, nose flatter, and his skin seems almost pearlescent. You don’t have the ability to think if you’re brave or just frozen solid. But whatever the case, the humanesque monster seems to stare for quite a while before judging it safe enough to approach.

It’s only then that you get to see the full extent of his body, scaled from ribs down, with a snake-like bottom half that’s at least longer than your entire body, and ending in a beautiful fish-like tail that feathers out in glittering threads. “Oh…” you breathe, and your arms wrap around yourself for protection, but you still don’t move further. Can’t, more like.

The half-man is close enough -and real enough- to feel a bit nauseating. Close enough to set every hair on your body on end and have your heartbeat a wild patter. But it’s the voice that really makes you feel frigid, gulping for air when that soothing tone comes out of a monstrous mouth. Whatever you had expected to see… wasn’t this. You can’t make out if the near-resemblance is comforting, or more frightening. You shiver at the black tongue, against porcelain white teeth.

“You come back.”

Your nod is hesitant, and you fidget with your jewelry in an attempt to calm your nerves. “I- wanted to see who I’d been talking to, that night. I haven’t slept well since then.”

He hoists himself a little further out of the water onto both hands, clawed and boney. “That was you, right? Makoto?” The brunet only gives a single nod of response, and doesn’t take his dark eyes off you for a second. And you want to laugh, though it isn’t too funny. The scene is just so absurd that you have nothing else to do, but laugh. “Isn’t this weird, talking to each other? How come yokai speak Japanese?” your voice comes, and you only hear how childish you sound when it seems to hang over the river without answer.

Out of all the questions you can ask, that’s what is most important to you? Makoto is gracious as he scoots a little closer once again, scraping his long, heavily muscled tail up over the pebbles and stones. “I listen very many year. Always listen, listen woman, listen warrior, listen you.” He blinks, and blondish lashes are the only normality you have staring back at him. “All can’t speak like me. I -hmm, pras-”

“Practice?” you try, and he clearly agrees when his tail pats happily on the ground. When you smile, he grins back wide and kind, his teeth are much sharper than yours. There’s something so human about the look, that you feel your muscles unwind a little further. You suppose, if he wasn’t so strange looking, with the wrong shades and fins here and there; he’d be quite handsome. He’d go over well with the maiden servants in the clan, too. “Many years, huh? Then- How old are you?”

“Hmmm- old. Very…” He doesn’t seem it, though. You avert your eyes when the water flicks over your feet, slowly dropping your shoes to the side. When you look back, he’s gotten closer yet, and is reaching out his hand towards the edge of the water, towards you. Despite your hesitation, and slight disgust— scaly and seemingly frost bitten pale lips, and unnatural greenish marks along his neck that flare out and in— there’s something that makes you want to follow.

A call, or instinct, to glide into the water and feel it embrace you. “You want come in?” he prompts, softly, and you do. You aren’t much of a swimmer even in high summer, and yet. You find yourself closing the distance and reaching out for his hand, letting your fingertips glide along as you get up to your knees into the water, and then get pulled along further step by unsure step. “Good, come.”

“Ah- it’s cold!” you squeak, but Makoto’s fingers wrap around your hand to support you even when you get almost up to your chest into the river, water crawling up your clothing and making your chest feel tight. “Sh- it's so cold.”

“Water not cold. You warm.” Only when he comes up in front of you do you truly notice how much bigger he is. His hands dwarf yours, and even though you’re higher up, his tail is curved aside to fit on the ground so he stares down at you— covering the sun from your view. He towers over any man you’ve ever seen, and his human-esque top half is still much broader than most. Like a hard plane of muscle, marked with thousands of golden freckles that shift in color the longer you look.

Shivers climb up your legs, and the water seeps your energy out of you. Wrapping your free arm around yourself, you rub some heat into your skin. Those pale lashes flutter as he gives you a half lidded glance, and the freckles that also go across his cheeks color a little more amber. “Lady is … cute.” Large hands suddenly slide along your sides up, before dragging over your shoulders and slowly taking your clothing with it, removing one of a few layers as he leans in. “Here, better without.”

“Oh. No- I don’t- think-”

“Shhh. Better, I know,” he seems to get closer, even though you are too busy staring back into the darkness of his eyes to really notice; and let him untie the robes enough to toss it towards the water edge. Then he pauses, and gets up higher onto his coiled tail to pull another layer off and throw it. Until you’re left standing in only your flimsier linen undergarb, and you’re suddenly much too aware of how peaked your nipples are against the scratchy fabric. But his hands slide up along your thighs to start peeling that off too, when you grab for him and shake your head.

Makoto insists. “No cold when not -this.” His hands keep going up even with your pressure on them.

Having a night encounter with a man is one thing, but you don’t know how you’d ever explain this if someone saw. You can’t dart away in a flash and escape the consequences. You have to go home after this. “I need my clothes to go back—” you quickly beg, ignoring the soft pads of his fingers along your upper thighs, “and if people see- Makoto, please.” Your whole body aches with the cold, and though the touch feels nice, it doesn’t seem right. Your nakedness isn’t a simple thing, even if his is.

“Clothes heavy. Water don’t like clothes.” He turns you around and you lose your footing on the stable flooring, arms quickly clinging onto his wide shoulders for support— it does make his point. Your clothes are incredibly heavy soaked, and pull down on you as strong arms ever so slowly wrap around your waist; nose only a few inches from yours. You can’t help it, your face gets hot. Cheeks, ears, nose- everything starts getting a distracting warm glow that you do your best to ignore, pulling your lip between your teeth. Even so, he seems to look down at you with intrigue, water reflecting in the black of his eyes. “What?”

“You’re very close…” you confess, and also try to release some of the tightness of your embrace— but amusement only brings him closer. He tilts his head, before leaning in until your foreheads meet, and the cooler skin consumes you. “Makoto-sama-”

“Human kiss, hm?” He’s so close, and his mouth is right there -and though you have no clue why, you really want to. The thought is almost as real as the air you breathe, feeling his hands roam all over your body through the soaked linen. Your voice doesn’t make it out when you nod, but he still lifts you into his chest, and your fingertips dig into his shoulders instinctively. “Show me how to kiss? You little one -hmm- good- fit.” You can’t help it, in place of physical heat there’s a sort of aching fire that spreads through your limbs the longer you stay close— and once you start you can’t stop.

Your mouth meets his first, lips moving with yours as his arms squeeze tighter; but when your tongue brushes his lips and meets his, he makes a noise. A low sort of purring that rattles his chest, and has him leaning in harder, trying to bury you into his body as your tongues brush and you suck and moan. His taste is mild but his tongue is heavy, and much longer than yours when it slips further into your mouth. Much longer, bigger, and the wetness soon has you feeling like you can’t breathe.

You pull back with a gasp, staring at the way his long tongue brushes along those sharp teeth before he leans in more. “Again.” You try to make some separation between your two bodies, but clearly Makoto doesn’t care for it when he clamps his hand down around your hip and kisses you more, melting to you as his tongue brushes against yours. He kisses like you’re the first and last thing he’s tasted, even when you moan a little whimper at the lack of air. His cold skin prickles against yours, grinding his waist against you slowly as your head pounds. Still, it feels good.

You don’t ever want to leave— and it’s this exact feeling that has you pulling back for air. You must be out of your mind. He stares with a blown out sort of hunger when you say his name again, and run your fingers along his shoulders up a little. “I’m going to get in trouble if someone finds me here- and- it’s not like we can—” Your cheeks get even hotter when you try to say the words, not even sure if he’d understand. Does a yokai’s understanding include human nighttimes? When he shows no intention of putting you down, you bury your face into his chest, feeling even smaller than before.

Though his skin is cold to the touch, there’s an intense amount of heat surging between you two, almost impossible to ignore— and the way you’re positioned against him, large arms caging you against his waist that pushes into you— doesn’t help anything. You can feel yourself get more slick each time you move your legs. He seems to chuckle when you groan- and as if sensing your train of thought, he rubs his nose along your ear and down the sensitive of your neck with a lower voice. “I want see. Human body so little. Want see it.”

That’s the tipping point. Every fiber in your being aches to obey, to let yourself get touched, seen, taken by him— and your mouth drops open a sliver as you struggle to find words. Your feet can’t reach the bottom here, and Makoto seems content to keep rubbing against you in a slow sea-saw motion that makes your center feel entirely hot. And eventually you crack. Blinking up at him, you breathe a faint “okay”, and let him turn you around. His hands are quick in their exploration, sliding under the last layer up your thighs, squeezing every few inches as he goes up. When he gets to your center, there’s a little flutter of his eyes, before those digits slide in and brush over your pussy, rubbing just soft enough to leave you wanting. “Warm,” he breathes, and then pulls you a little closer. “You do me too.”

As he pushes your last layer of clothing open fully and starts sliding it off your shoulders, you allow yourself just a little curiosity. He’s handsome, and he’s close, and you just feel so needy. Your breathing is still short against his chest, but your numb fingers glide down his sides with purpose as the muscles flex under your touch. His chest rumbles when you whine at the prodding and circling of his fingers around your dripping pussy, and you glide your hands down to his tail. The touch feels a little coarse, but he’s warmer there, and when you rub your palm over the area he’d been grinding into your waist, your fingers feel a softer, spongey slit. Makoto hisses when you rub a finger up and down, and you feel more heat burn onto your face. “Here?”

The question is answered when your finger slips in and is all hot, and something bumps you. But he picks you up and with one swift dash, lays you down on the river bank to get up between your legs. You need to open wide to allow him to fit, and can only whine out his name when the weight of his body over yours pushes you into the cold stones. He licks the air a few times, before grunting. You wish you could do anything other than just flush and look away when his hands descend onto your tits and start touching and rubbing, and the pressure leaves you all exposed. But it doesn’t take long for his attention to shift back to between your legs, and now with a better angle, he sinks down to nose below your navel. “Hmn-”

The purring is paired with a flaring of the gashes on his neck, and his eyes roll back. When his hands spread your legs up as wide as you can go, he nuzzles into you, and that long black tongue peeks out to lick slowly. You can’t help it, you moan. Loudly. It feels like a million pinpricks are traveling your body, as the very long, heavy tongue drags a long strip up your center, and then the tip of it laps at the wetness coating your hole— that quickly gets pushed open further with each sloppy lick. His tongue pushes inside you as he sucks and the feeling of something so hot and so- squirmy makes you squeeze your eyes closed. It’s too strange, but you can’t pull back.

Your hands even reach for his head to tangle your fingers in his hair and whine, your back curling from the floor. You’re drenched- no longer just water as your pussy clenches around his tongue that he forces in to lick places you’ve never been licked. Makoto wraps an arm around your thigh to pull it over his shoulder when you curl and wiggle against him- you can’t help it, it feels so good. Everything’s so sensitive, like your entire body’s been doused into hot water and you’re drowning— only difference is, you’re actively longing for more.

It’s better than any drink-induced daze, late night tussle with a stable boy. It’s even better than your own touch and mind, because he’s just so big and you’re so full, so hot. Your hips grind against his face when he sucks again, and his nose brushes your most sensitive area— and try not to let the water into your mouth when you yerk again. “Ah, ahg, Makoto-sama. I can’t- I can’t handle this much, please. Oh dear gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Ah-ughhh, f- ah, please -keep going.”

Your lower belly is wound so tight, and even the sound of his breathing against you feels good. You could melt into the floor with how much slick is coating your insides, dripping out of you around the suction on your cunt. And Makoto doesn’t have any intention of moving. Your mind aches— you want more. You want to wrap your entire body around him and come apart— as his large hands squeeze your thighs tight and wrap them around his head like he can’t get deep enough.

The sloppy, wet sounds of his face burying between your legs to stuff you full of tongue, licking and sucking at your sensitive pussy. It has your muscles so tight as you roll your hips against him, and you can’t stop shaking. “Oh, I’m g-gonna cum— I can’t! I can’t. It feels so- gud. Ah, ahh. What is happening?” When your fingers clench in his hair, he lets out a long, animalistic groan as he glances back up. Still his tongue isn’t fully inside you. “I can’t- Makoto, I can’t!” Even though he’s reaching further than fingers can, he’s still able to fold the deft black muscle over your clit and slot his lips around it to suck. Hard.

And your body can’t handle any more. While his heartbeat pulses through his tongue against your clit, everything goes white, your muscles clenching so hard it hurts. And your heart beats so hard it feels like it stops altogether. If you make any noise at all, you can’t hear yourself over the pounding in your head, rattling your body so hard that nothing except you and him exist. Your eyes are shut until you’re aware of how he grunts against you and pinpricks get too unbearable. But he doesn’t stop, lifting your body to his face and allowing you to ride out your orgasm against him for what feels like forever.

When you feel like you can hear yourself breathe again, you unwrap your legs from around his head. “I thought my heart was going to explode. If Hitsu knew…”

Your eyes are teary when they flutter open against the light, and the black abysses that stare back are barely narrowed slits. Dipping his gills into water briefly before getting up above you again, Makoto seems different. There’s something predatory that wasn’t there before. You can’t help but go quiet. As his hands drag your body down a few inches, you swallow. “Are you okay? Sorry. I feel like I should thank you— I haven’t come that hard, ever. I don’t know about yokai but I don’t think I could feel that good.” His muscular body covers most of the river from your view, but you find it almost too hard to look at him. You’re still hot; but your skin feels cold.

His fingers slide down along your side when he lets out a little groan. “Yokai don’t do this.” Then he goes to brush his face and mouth along your throat, and you shiver a little at the feeling. “So pretty. Warm. I like warm. Stay with me?” You let him grind himself on top of you and embrace him the best you can, only fitting around the narrow of his waist, but after just a second you yerk up. Makoto pulls his head back when he notices, and you get another brush against your slit that makes a cold shiver run up your spine. Where the slit sat before, a dick has emerged- and your mouth drops open a little. The thing is vaguely dick shaped, but has spurs at the base like an anchor, is more pointed at the tip; and it also pulses with each breath.

“Pretty warm body, good. Smell good too.”

You can’t help but swear when you avert your eyes, and instead wrap your arms back around his neck. “Oh, fuck.” Surely, this is where you’d draw the line. Right? But the touching of that against you doesn’t make your body react the way you think it should. The prodding along your inner thighs just leaves you feeling empty, like you’d like to start all over again. Makoto grunts out a little breath when your tits brush his chest, before staring down at you.

After a few seconds of studying your face, and probably the heat that’s flooding your features, he licks his lips. “Human men have… hm-”

“Yes,” you quickly say. He smacks his lips and grinds against you again. “They uhm- put it inside.” If the answer shocks him, he certainly doesn’t show it— looking like he’s barely holding back from crashing his face back to yours and turning you over to fuck you like the begging whore you feel like. The longer he just keeps his solid body against yours, the harder it is to ignore yourself getting wet again against the pulsing of his cock. The purring, clicking noise coming from him feels nice, and you pull at him. “You’re not done yet, right? I can do more.”

You angle your hips a little, and try not to sound so desperate when looking up at him for a kiss. “Please- put it inside me. I- I want to feel you.” Your hands slide over the rougher scales down between you two to reach for him, and hesitate a little when his cock is heavy and covered in some sort of slime; and it seems to follow your touch. But you’re too far past embarrassment to truly care, and Makoto groans when you wrap your fingers around him to squeeze softly. “I need you.” You really don’t know what’s wrong with you. You feel like your body’s being torn apart. You want to be filled, fucked full of him, and get pumped round of his kids— all things that you shouldn’t be thinking about. You didn’t with any men you’ve been with. You can’t.

Even though you know you’re being ludicrous, when he goes in for a kiss, you cling onto him hard; digging your nails into his back. You don’t even know if he could fit. His cock is proportionate to him- but it’s big and long and girthy enough to put any man to shame. You should care. You should care that you could regret being filled up to your breaking point, but you’re just so, so desperate. You might die if he doesn’t fuck you. You can feel it. “Please, please, please—”

—You slide a few feet across the floor, angry thrashing scaring you up into a flounder as you breathe in deeply. Makoto’s dragged off of you and down before you can even blink, water splashing everywhere; and you struggle back to the riverbank with wide eyes. Now you’re no longer side by side with another person- no, creature- you suddenly feel the entire ache of the cold water. The shortness of breath, the numbness of your lips and hands and feet. You feel the painful sting of your back where you’ve been sliced by a dozen sharp rocks, struggling to keep your head above water. And you feel the soreness between your legs of having been filled by something too big.

When you get over the pure shock, you notice the struggling has stopped, and you notice your creature’s golden shape next to someone else. They glitter and glint even in the low light of the afternoon, and you furrow your brows. The second shape only gets clearer when the light shines through the water and colors the flickers a blinding maroon. Your tongue feels cold.

Your arms wrap over your chest and cover up the best you can when Makoto surfaces again and gives you a kind smile, but you take a slight step back. His long, pale lashes flutter when he reaches out a hand. “Sorry. Rin don’t want to bleed you.” Your back and your painful scrapes are the lesser of your worries though. Whatever spell you were under, you’ve been snapped out of. You feel entirely strange- enough to have hot tears welling up along your waterline. What the hell have you been dragged into? You were going to… do things with some monster you didn’t know existed until today. Your brain screams and pounds, and your stomach is entirely flipped. But the brunet softly continues. “He don’t like I take you. Can you come here?”

“No.” Your hair now sticks to your neck and chest, and every second you’re out of the water, is one where the feeling comes back to your limbs. Your arms are so heavy as you keep them up. “There’s more of you?” You don’t know what you expected, really. Maybe you should have known. Maybe you should have questioned. But how could you have truly known?

“Yes.” he answers after a beat, and swims up a little closer with a frightening ease. “Shhh, okay. He will come. You stay.” You try to tell him not to, but he dips below the water surface before you get the chance to ask him not to, splashing water all over as he does— and you don’t know what else to do but to stare at the small bubbles that pop as peach blossoms wash over your feet. Before too long, the reddish shape surfaces alongside Makoto. He lingers in the deep of the river however; fiery eyes zeroing in on you without blinking at all. He stays submerged from the nose down, and you can’t help but feel too watched. 

Your heartbeat doesn’t calm when the brunet swims up closer, and you take a little breath. “Who’s that?”

“Rin,” Makoto softly, sweetly answers, as if he was expecting the question all along. He smiles wide like a saint, and you have to ignore the voice in the back of your head that tells you to get back in the water. His hand reaches out though, and you almost want to. Almost. Your arms and back break out in goosebumps. Then Makoto looks back at the other yokai, and gives you a smiley once-over. It takes you a little too long to recognize something else that plays over his features though. A strange sort of knowing, like he’s seeing right through you. “You Rin’s mate.”

You don’t know why you don’t get up and run.

“Come back in?”

Only that the voice in the back of your head gets more unbearable. You wrap your hands over your ears, and try to hang on.

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