alex

i might be insane but i swear its bc i cant touch type

[alexfranbow]

WELCOME TO MY BLOG ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

❤︎ my name is alex

❤︎ i am 15

❤︎ chronic x reader consumer

❤︎ black, female, and sensitive (triple combo i know)

❤︎ i would sell crack to go a mitski concert

❤︎ bingewatcher of anime and manga

❤︎ d1 gooner and yapper

❤︎ this blog is technically for lolsies

❤︎ but i do write on the side

❤︎ so maybe ill post my fics

!!!! OPEN TO MOOTS OF ANYKIND !!!!

reblogs !! fics !! talks !! edits !!

ps. i dont have a dni list, just dont be surprised if you randomly get blocked lolol

[lovabu-deactivated20260526]

𖥔 “counting down to you” ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

fluff kissing lots of physical affection from MARTIN. year is 2027! slight insecurity/self-deprecating thoughts from reader party setting implied mutual crush/friends to lovers (1.1k wc.)

──────── ❤︎

The apartment was loud. Music pulsed through the speakers, bass vibrating faintly through the floor while people shouted over each other with plastic cups in their hands. Someone near the kitchen was already wearing “2027” glasses crooked across their face even though there were still fifteen minutes left until midnight.

You sat curled into the corner of Martin’s couch with your knees pulled up, lazily stirring the melting ice in your drink. Across the room, Martin laughed at something one of his friends said, head tipped back slightly, eyes disappearing into crescents. Every few seconds, though, he glanced toward you automatically, like checking to make sure you were still there.

And every time he did, your chest squeezed a little. You liked watching him when he didn’t notice. Unfortunately, he noticed everything.

The second your expression shifted into something quieter, he excused himself from the conversation and crossed the room toward you. “There you are,” he said softly, dropping beside you on the couch. “You disappeared.”

“I’m literally right here.”

“Mentally, though?” he teased.

You huffed out a laugh. Martin leaned closer, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours. He smelled like his cologne and winter air and the peppermint drink he’d stolen earlier.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but your mouth twitched. He waited. That was one thing about Martin. He never rushed you. He’d just sit there patiently until you eventually cracked under the silence. Which you did.

“…I don’t know,” you muttered. “New Year’s stuff is just kinda overrated.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “You were excited all week.”

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged, staring down at your cup. “Everybody keeps talking about midnight kisses and relationship goals and all that corny stuff.”

“And?”

“And I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss before.”

The words slipped out quieter than you intended. Martin blinked once. You immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh my God, ignore me,” you groaned, covering your face with your sleeve. “That sounded so pathetic.”

“It didn’t.”

“It literally did.”

“It literally didn’t,” he argued.

You peeked at him through your fingers. He looked completely serious. Your stomach flipped.

“I just mean…” you sighed. “Every year it’s always someone else, you know? Watching couples kiss at midnight while I’m standing there holding sparkling cider like a loser.”

Martin’s expression softened instantly. “You thought about that this much?”

“No,” you lied immediately.

He snorted. “You’re cute.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re dramatic.”

You leaned your head against the back of the couch. “Maybe.”

For a second, the noise of the party faded behind the warmth of sitting beside him. Martin stretched one arm along the couch behind you casually, fingers brushing the hood of your sweatshirt.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I think midnight kisses are overrated too.”

You looked at him suspiciously. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, seriously.” His lips twitched. “The whole screaming countdown thing? Sticky floors? Somebody always spills a drink.”

“That’s true.”

“And there’s always one guy yelling the numbers wrong.”

As if on cue, someone across the room shouted, “TEN MINUTES!” despite the television clearly showing eight. You burst out laughing. Martin grinned proudly, like he’d proven a scientific theory.

“But,” he added quietly, eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second, “I think it depends on who you’re kissing.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. The air between you suddenly felt too warm.

Before you could respond, one of his friends yelled his name from across the apartment.

“Martin! Come take a picture!”

Martin groaned dramatically. “I’m being summoned.”

“Go,” you laughed. “Your fans need you.”

He stood reluctantly, but before leaving, he squeezed your knee once. “Don’t disappear on me.”

Your chest fluttered stupidly fast after he walked away.

The last few minutes before midnight became chaos. People crowded around the television. Someone turned the music down while others passed around party poppers and noise makers.

You ended up standing near the balcony doors, watching snow drift lazily outside under the city lights. You checked your phone absentmindedly.

11:58 PM.

Your reflection stared back faintly in the glass. Couples were already inching closer together around the room. You tried not to notice it. Maybe you should’ve stayed home.

You were so distracted that you almost didn’t notice Martin weaving through the crowd toward you. His hair was slightly messy now, cheeks pink from the heat inside the apartment.

“There you are,” he said again, softer this time.

You smiled a little. “You found me.”

“Obviously.”

The TV began the final countdown preparations in the background. One minute remaining. The room erupted into cheers. Martin stepped beside you near the balcony doors, close enough that your shoulders touched.

Your pulse instantly sped up.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. But Martin looked at you for another second like he knew you were pretending. Then, without saying anything, he reached down and intertwined his fingers with yours.

Your breath caught. Warm. Steady. Intentional.

The crowd suddenly started yelling.

“TEN!”

Everyone joined in immediately.

“NINE!”

You looked up at Martin. He was already looking at you.

“EIGHT!”

Your stomach flipped violently.

“SEVEN!”

The city lights reflected in his eyes.

“SIX!”

Your fingers tightened around his automatically.

“FIVE!”

Martin took one tiny step closer.

“FOUR!”

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely hear the room anymore.

“THREE!”

His free hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“TWO!”

You stopped breathing.

“ONE!”

The room exploded into screaming. Confetti flew through the air. And Martin kissed you.

Soft. Warm. Perfect. The kind of kiss that completely silenced everything around you.

Your brain went blank instantly. One of his hands cupped your cheek gently while the other stayed tangled with yours, grounding you there with him while fireworks burst somewhere outside the building.

You melted into the kiss before you could even think about it. Martin smiled slightly against your lips like he could feel it happening. The kiss deepened just enough to make your knees weak before he finally pulled back.

Not far. Never far.

Your eyes stayed closed for half a second longer while you tried to remember how breathing worked. When you finally opened them, Martin was looking at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured.

You stared at him in complete disbelief. “…You planned that.”

A grin spread slowly across his face. “Maybe a little.”

“You knew I was upset about never having a New Year’s kiss.”

“Mhm.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And now you can stop acting like the universe is against you.”

You laughed breathlessly, cheeks burning. Around you, people were still cheering and hugging and shouting over the music restarting, but everything felt blurry compared to him standing there holding your hand.

Martin brushed his thumb lightly across your cheek. “For the record,” he said quietly, “I’ve wanted to kiss you way before midnight.”

Your entire brain short-circuited.

“Oh.”

He laughed softly at your expression. “Yeah. Oh.”

Then he leaned down and kissed you again while fireworks lit up the windows behind you.

[reneewarren23]

I love you, I'm sorry

Summary: After getting to know his dad, Billy starts to change. After your breakup, he begs for your forgiveness.

Warnings: mdni, explicit smut, heavy angst, cussing, reader is talked down to

WC: 4,600 ish

You had been the perfect couple for a year and three months. Until you weren't.

When you started dating, Billy was the perfect boyfriend. One of those old school romantics. He was a gentelman. He would never let you walk next to the road, never let you open or close your own door, and he would write you letters on how much you meant to him. While his friends had never seen the soft and sweet side to him, he never hid it from you. He was infactuated with you, deeply in love. His mama raised him right.

It wasn't until Billy has met his dad four months ago that things started to go sideways. Being the supportive partner you were, you encouraged him to get to know him. You didn't know it then, but this would lead to the end of your relationship.

As Billy spent more time with his dad the more he tried to change to get his fathers approval. The first sign started with his behavior and a lack of love letters. He became more stiff with you, holding back emotions. No more deep conversations of how much he loved you, what you meant to him. Even when you initiated first, telling him how important he was in your life, he would only give a few words in response. The second sign was he started to not have time for you. He began to spend more time with his dad, spent more time at the gym, and began studying alone. You only saw him a few times a week, compared to every day.

The final straw came when Billy invited you to have dinner with his dad. You throught it was a step in the right direction, that with his dad's approval, you'd get your Billy back. But you were very wrong.

Billy came to pick you up that night. You walked out to greet him with a smile. You had spent and hour on your hair and makeup. Wearing a cute pink dress that went to your knees, a white cardigan, and a cute pair of sneakers. It was the same outfit you wore for your first date with Billy- the one where he had asked you to be his girlfriend.

He was standing outside the car on the passanger side with his arms crossed. Your smile wasn't reciprocated. In fact his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"You're wearing that?" He said coldly.

His words and tone took you by suprise. You stopped in your tracks, looking down at what you had on, and then back up at him. "Uh-I, yeah. Why?"

"Never mind, we need to leave." He said as he yanked open the door for you.

The car ride was quiet. It was only about 10 minutes to the other side of town. Billy had told you a little bit about his dad, that he was a decorated Major who was now married with a wife and three young girls. He hadn't mentioned how he came into contact with his dad. You knew he wasn't there growing up. It was just him and his mom.

You pulled onto a nice street in an already expensive neighborhood. Their house was a huge two story home, painted a fresh white. As you got out of the car after Billy had opened your door, you noticed the yard. It was perfect, every plant had a semetrical counterpart and with no weeds in sight it was a far cry from what you were used to. Everything about the house, inside and out screemed perfection.

As you two made your way to the front, a younger woman, mid-thirtys opened the door to greet the two of you. She was stunning- you noticed right away- not a hair out of place, literally. She wore a navy blue dress and heals, she was the perfect notion of a steryotypical TV house wife. She gave Billy a quick hug before turning her attention to you. She wasn't rude but her polite smile indicated that there was more to be said. You thought of Billy's comment earlier. The one about your outfit. You understood now. And you felt like a fish out of water.

The Major turned the corner entering the foyer, the air shifted imediatley. You felt Billy and his hot step mom tense the second he entered the room. Under normal cercumstances you would have been nervous. But, being with Billy calmed your nerves.

"Son-" He said sharply. "Who is your friend?"

Friend. Yeah friend, you thought to yourself.

"Uh- Sir, this is my girlfriend." They both turned their gaze to look at you.

You smiled politely and stuck your hand out to introduce yourself by your first name. He grabbed your hand, his shake firm.

"Do you not have a last name?"

You laughed slightly. But the air in the room indicated that his question was not a joke. "Oh, uh- Y/L/N."

It felt odd. A name is usually personal, just one aspect to an individual. But his question made you feel like it was more of a category to put you into. His whole deminer felt weird. And even more weird was Billy, who would not meet your gaze.

After some small talk, lead by his dad. The four of you made your way into the dinning room. You immediately noticed the large painting of the family. Their three little girls sat with their mom as the Major towered behind them. It clicked for you then. The family's perfect presentation, or almost perfect. For a man as detailed oriented and old fasioned as the Major the painting was missing something. A son. Billy. Your Billy.

You thought to yourself, is this why he reconnected with the boy who he never bothered to know? To complete his perfect idea of a family?

His father sat at the head of the table, with his wife to his left, Billy to his right. You sat next to Billy. While the conversation was mostly controlled by his father he turned his attention to ask you questions. Coming off more as an interrigation.

"So, my son tells me you met at university. W hat are you studying?"

"Oh- uh, I am in secondary education. Literature specifically."

A moments pause fell over the table before Billy chimed in. "She wants to teach high school. She will be a teacher."

"Are you not smart enough to study anything better," he said casually.

His words took you by surprise. Your major was actually quite hard and time consuming, you probably had read more books in the past two years that the old man had read in his lifetime.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right."

"Well sweetheart I guess I'm just curious about your future. Teachers usually become stay at home moms, and while that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I think my son deserves a woman who can dress up every now and again if he's going to be supporting her his whole life. Not a girl who dresses like a bimbo."

Your heart sank. The implication that your major was nothing, that you were stupid, that you were just going to be a stay at home mom, and that you dressed like a bimbo crushed you. You tuned to look at Billy. He wouldn't meet your eyes. Rage filled you in that moment. You pushed back your chair, stood up and slammed your fancy napkin on the table.

"You know what 'sir', your a fucking prick. And your age gap with your wife is fucking creepy. Enjoy having your son all to yourself, I won't be bothering him anymore."

You didn't wait to see anyones expression. You ran out of the room, down the hall and out the front door. Stomping across the perfect lawn as you made your way down the hill.

You walked to the end of the street before looking back. To you suprise and devestaing disappointment, Billy had not followed you out at all. Tears grew hot in your eyes as you turned back and began to walk back to your house. Shortly into your walk, it began to rain.

It took your 45 minutes to get home from the Majors house. Your mind was blank, the only thing you focused on was walking. You walked up to the front door of your old rented house, opening the door where you were met with a group of people. You lived with three of your friends, Clem (Hanks girlfriend), Lucy, and Rachel. Clem had been the one to introduce you to Billy your freshman year, and as always she was right, you two hit it off right away.

The room consisted of 8 people, all three of your roommates, Hank, and four of Hanks friends: Richie, Art, Pete, and Ray. All of whom, went dead silent as soon as you walked through the door. You were soaking wet, eyes blood shot, and you looked exhausted from walking. You couldn't help but burst into tears immediately before you ran to your room, slamming the door behind you.

Your best friend Lucy was the first to knock on your door, with your other two roommates in toe.

"Honey, let us in. What happened?" She sounded concerned. She had been your best friend since middle school. Once you and Billy had started dating you had actually set her up with Richard Harkness. Both of them were shy, so it took some convincing, but they had been together for nearly a year.

You didn't respond, you couldn't find the words. But that didn't stop your friends. "If you won't respond I'm coming in," she pushed open the door. You sat in front of your bed with your knees to your chest. Your wet hair sticking to your face and neck.

"What happened?" She moved to sit next to you, her hand moving strands of hair out of your face. The other two girls came in as well and stood against you wall.

It took you a while through sobs to tell them everything. With the door cracked and your wall right against the living room the boys listened in as well. You started with Billy's weird behavior before you got into the mess that was the dinner with his dad. When you were done the girls were fuming.

"Hank!" Clem yelled. Her boyfriend came rushing to your door.

"Yes my love?"

"We're going to kill your roommate, when is he supposed to get home?"

"Babe. Why don't we all calm down."

"You did not just tell me to calm down."

"Okay that definatley came out wrong. Look, why don't we do this. The guys and I will go back to the house and we will talk to Stebbins when he gets home. You four stay here and rela- rest. Stay here and rest."

"Fine, but you better tell him to avoid me from now on before I make his death look like an accident."

"I will let him know."

Shortly after their exchange the guys left. Your friends helped you out of your wet clothes, sitting on the bathroom floor while you showered to keep you company.

You felt numb. The boy you loved would never do this to you. Which meant that Billy was no longer that guy.

Two months had passed since that night and you were doing better. Your roommates barley left you alone, they had been your rock through it all. They encouraged you to get back out there, so much so that Rachel had set you up with a cute boy from her job. In her words "it's a no pressure date, just see it as dipping your toes in the water".

It was Friday, Lucy and Rachel had left for the weekend and Clem was going out with Hank. Leaving you space to get ready on your own.

You had proped the back door open for air, leaving just the screen door shut. You walked down the stairs into the dubed "Creepy AF basement" to gether your laundry. The washer and dryer were located in a room to the left of the stairs. The room was mostly stone and concrete walls besides the one wall that was wooden separating the room from the rest of the basement. As you gathered your laundry you thought you heard someone enter the house.

"Clem, is that you?" You asked but to no reply. You just shrugged and continued pullung laundry out of the dryer.

That was until you heard the door shut behind you. You jumped in response and crained your neck to look behind you. There he stood, hands folded in front of him, nervous. He looked like he had been crying for days.

"What the hell are you doing here. You scared the shit out of me!"

"I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to talk and I knew you wouldn't meet with me. I asked Hank and Clem to help me and the back door was open. I know you are mad and you have every right to be. I just need you to hear me out for five minutes." He sounded so defeated and desprite.

"Why would Clem even help you? She hates you after what happened."

"Well she does, or rather did I guess. I begged Hank to help me and I guess she came around once I talked to her. Or after I-" you cut him off

"I don't have time for this Billy. Much like you didn't have time for me. Besides I need to get going. I have a date." You knew your words would crush him and they did. You saw his face drop.

"With who?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not your concern anymore," as you spoke you began walking towards the door behind him with your laundry basket. Nudging him with your shoulder as you walked passed him, your very straightforward way of telling him to get out of the way. You reached the door and as you pulled on the handle it cracked. Leaving the knob in your hand.

"Fuck," you began to panick. You tried pushing the knob back into the hole, twisting it but to no avail. You began to bang on the door, trying to put your fingers in the cracks to pry it open, but nothing worked. It was shut.

"What happened?" you heard from behind you. You turned to face him, holding up the door knob.

"My other roommates are out of town for the night and let me guess. Hank and Clem left to give us some space?" You asked coldy, setting your laundry down.

"Uh- yeah. Yeah, they did."

"Great. Just great! Well Billy you got what you wanted. I'm not making it to my date and you have your five minutes. Hell five hours! What do you want to say to me?" You yelled.

"Look I'm sorry. I didn't know the door would lock and I should have asked Clem when she would be back. I didn't mean to ruin your night." He looked remorseful.

You laughed at his response, "Don't you have dinner with your dumb daddy? I'm sure he'll be worried. Don't want him to think his little boy is with some stupid bimbo."

The words his dad said thrown back in his face made his heart sank. He knew they affected you but hearing them come out of your mouth to describe yourself made him tear up.

"You're not stupid and you're not a bimbo. I am so so so sorry he said that to you. I haven't talked to him in six weeks. I told him I never want to see him again. That he blew up the most important relationship that I have ever had." A tear moved down his face. Your face softened as he began to cry. You had never seen him cry before.

"I didn't know that," you whispered.

"I asked them not to tell you. They told me how upset you were and I didn't want to make it worse. I've been trying to give you space to heal but Hank told me you had a date tonight and I had to see you. I love you so much, and I fucked up horribly. But, I can't live without you," more tears began to fall as he kept talking. "I miss you. I miss you every day. I miss waking up next to you. The way you hum to yourself while you do your homework. How you play with my hair when I'm stressed. Even the way you talk through every movie. You're the only person besides my mom that has ever loved me."

You tried to keep your face neutral, but his words were starting to affect you.

"Billy-"

"I'm not done apologizing. Please, I need to say everything." You nodded at him to keep going.

"Growing up I thought all I ever wanted was to meet my dad. That when I did my life would be perfect. But meeting him, getting to know him, was horrible. I never felt like I was enough, I guess I thought if I just acted a certain way or if I said the right thing he would care about me. But, the only thing that it acomplished was pushing you away. I was horrible to you for nearly three months. I was closed off, I avoided you, I understand if you never forgive me. I don't deserve it." His face was covered in tears, his lip quivered, he struggled to breathe between his sobs.

"I love you so much. When I think about my future, my life after college, there isn't a moment where you aren't in it. I know I have a lot to work on, a lot to fix. But, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Just-just please don't go out with that guy. Let me take you out instead. We-we can go slow. Start with a few dates. Just please give me a chance. I promise I will make it up to you."

Your eyes also filled with tears, your throat hurt as you tried to get the words out. "Why didn't you come after me when I left? Why didn't you tell him I wasn't any of those things? I walked 45 minutes home in the dark when it was pooring rain. And you didn't come for me."

"I was scared of what he would think of me, what he would say. But, I reliezed that I have never been more wrong about anything in my life. If I could go back I would have stopped it after his first remark. I would have told him off. Taken you out of there before you would have even tried." He shook his head, moving the back of his hand up to wipe his face. "I should have never acted like I was embarressed of you. You are perfect. I am sorry I was so mean. I know why now and I will never let it happen again. I love you so much."

You sniffled, "I love you too. I never stopped even though I tried so hard. I've been so angry and sad. I don't want to feel like that anymore, I just want you back. I want the Billy who brings me flowers, who helps me wash my hair in the shower, the guy who knows the names of my stuffed animals and who doesn't throw them off my bed."

He smiled at the throught, he had always been kind with you, and kind to the things that you loved. "I promise. I will never make you cry again. I am so so sorry baby." He walked forward to you grabbing you into a hug.

He held you while you cried. Your face pressed into his shirt, as he rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. You both stayed like that for a while. You moved your head to rest on his shoulder, leading him to kiss your forhead. Before you knew it you were kissing. Moving your bodies, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed on hand on your lower back and his other on the nape of your neck pulling you closer to him. It didn't take long before he lifted you up, your legs wrapped around his waste.

You pulled away first, breathless. "I want you Billy."

He sniffled, nodding his head. He looked behind him and saw a wooden table. You followed his eyesight, nodding in agreement.

He walked to the table and gently placed you down. Your butt was placed on the edge. You continued to kiss, your hands in his hair as he moved his hands down by your waist, moving the fabric of your skirt up.

He pulled back from the kiss, just enough to ask you, "Can I baby? Please let me make it up to you."

"Yes."

He quickly got on his knees in front of you. Lifting your skirt and spreading your legs, he began to kiss the insides of your thighs. You leaned back slightly, arms placed behind you, holding yourself up. You sighed as he kept kissing you. You had been pent up for the past two months. No matter how hard you tried to rub or finger yourself it just didn't feel as good as his hands, or his mouth.

He moved his head up and placed a sloppy kiss on your panties, right over your clit. You began to pant, breathless. His eyes shot up to look at you. You were beautiful. Mouth slightly open, brow furrowed, eyes shut. He grinned into you, you could feel it.

He brought one of his hands from the tight hold it had on your thigh and hooked his fingers under your panties, moving them to the side. He started with a soft kiss, and slowly started to make out with your most sensitive area. He was always so good at this. He never rushed sex with you, in fact he always warmed you up before he pushed inside of you. Always making you cum once before making himself feel good.

"Billy please," you whinned. He knew what you wanted. He took his middle finger, parting your folds and pushed it inside of you. He began to stretch you slightly before adding his ring finger. Moving his fingers up he began to curl his fingers, repeatedly pressing your sweet spot. The feeling made your legs clamp around his head.

As he continued the pressure began to grow in your lower stomach. You moved on arm forward, grabbing his hair pushing him further into you. You moaned as he continued.

"Billy, I- fuck. I'm gonna. mhmmm," you gripped around his fingers as you came. He continued until he felt your body relax.

He pulled his mouth back, wiping the back of his hand over his lips. He then stood up to stand over you, leaning down to kiss your forhead. You looked up at him, meeting his lips. You could taste yourself on him.

"I don't have a condom, I didn't expect to do this. I honestly thought you were going to kick me out," he chuckled slightly.

"I'm still on the pill." You could tell by how anxious he was that your answer raised more questions than anything. You knew him well enough to know exactly what he was thinking. "I haven't been with anyone else. I just decided to keep talking it."

"Good." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you okay if I put it in without one?"

"Yes. I want you, I want to feel you," you reached up grabbing his face, kissing him again.

He made quick work with his belt before pulling down his pants and boxers. You leaned back, giving him access to you. With one hand holding open your thigh and the other pumping himself, he lined up against you before pushing in.

You both moaned. His hand moved up to grab your hip, keeping you steady as he plowed into you. He alternated between kissing your lips and your forhead.

While he quickened his pace he began to babble into your ear:

"I'm so sorry baby, it will never happen again."

"God I missed you, I missed this."

"I love you so much."

"You're so fucking tight like this."

Each sweet and each dirty word made your head spin. As he bucked into the table would creak. Your panting and his groaning filled the room between the pats of his balls hitting your ass.

"Are you close baby? I'- I'm so close. Can I cum in you?"

You grinned, looking into his eyes. You knew he was close. "Please cum in me baby, I missed you so much. I want to feel you. Please baby."

Your words did it for him. He quickened his hips, becoming sloppy. His teeth gritted together and his eyes were closed tight.

He let out a whine as he released into you. Before then you both had always used a condom. But, given the circumstances of being locked in the basement and the two of you being so pent up after over two months of no sex, you didn't care. Once he stopped bucking his hips into you he practically collapsed on you. He leaned against the table, chest against yours, with his head pressed in your neck. His breating was heavy, so was yours.

You reached your hand up to play with his hair as he gathered his bearings. He giggled into your neck, loving the framiliar feeling.

"I missed you. I've hardly been sleeping."

"I can tell, you look like shit," you laughed. And he joined you.

He moved off of you slightly, reaching down to pull up his underwear and pants. As he buckled his belt he kissed you on the lips. You slowly pushed yourself off the table, legs wobbling. You moved your ruined underwear back into place and flattened out your skirt.

You to reached for one another. Moving back into a hug, as he pressed kisses on your head.

"You can stay here tonight," you mumbled into his chest. "You might sleep better."

"I'd love to. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too."

Almost on cue you heard the front door slam open above you and the sounds of Clem and Hank arguing above you.

"Yeah I agreed to let him talk to her but you didn't tell me it would be right now. I wanted to be here in case she needed me."

"He said he just wanted five minutes, I didn't think it was a big deal."

"She's not in her room."

"We're in here," you yelled through the ceiling.

A second later Clem flung open the door. Seeing you both side by side. Billy's arm over your shoulder.

"What the hell are you two doing in here?"

"The door knob broke," you explained.

"So is that why the two of you decided to have sex in here?"

"How in the hell do you know that?" You asked.

"Sweety, it's dripping down your leg," she laughed. She shook her head and turned to walk back up the stairs.

You and Billy were both red from embarrassment. You looked down at your thighs to see a slight bit of liquid.

Before either of you could say anything Clem yelled from upstairs. "Hank and I are going to get dinner if you two want to come. You know- after you clean up a bit."

You turned your head up to look at him, he nodded at you.

"Yeah! We can eat."

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you all for reading. I am about to graduate with my masters. Which means I have a busy few weeks ahead of me. I hope I have time to write some more soon. I have another Collie fic and a Harkness one in the works. So hopefully I will post again soon.

[frickingnerd]

you're everything i want

pairing: jin 'jiji' enjoji x gn!reader

summary: jiji shows up at your place one night, desperate to finally confess his feelings for you, that he's been hiding so long...

tags: (best) friends to lovers, silly & wholesome fluff, confession, kissing, mutual romantic feelings, happy ending

jiji was the type to show up without a warning or invite himself over to your place. but when he showed up in the middle of the night at your place, panting from exhaustion, after having run all the way to your place, even you began to think that this wasn't usual for him.

“jiji, what are you doing he–”

“i can't stop thinking about you!”

jiji gave you no time to even finish your question. he didn't even have time to just walk to your place, so maybe you should've expected that he'd waste no time to get to the point.

“i can't think about anyone else but you. even when i try to forget about you, to just be your friend, you're still always on my mind. i can't hide it any longer, i can't pretend that i'm just joking around with you. i'm serious about this; i love you–!”

jiji was still panting as he finished speaking, leaning against the doorframe with one hand. you had never seen him like this before, so desperate and so vulnerable. you could tell this was important to him. you were important to him.

a soft smile hushed over your lips, as you looked at jiji. slowly, you reached out your hands, making jiji flinch for a second, before he leaned towards you, allowing you to gently cup his cheeks with your hands and get a closer look at him.

“you could've just told me any other time, you didn't need to pay me a visit in the middle of the night.” you teased, a grin on your lips. “but… i love you too, dummy. i thought you already knew that…”

“he, guess i am a dummy.” jiji grinned, taking a deep breath, as his breathing seemed to finally stabilize. “but… i could be your dummy, if you let me~?”

“are you asking me out right now~?” you teased, slowly leaning in closer and closer with each word. you were desperate to finally kiss jiji, but you couldn't pass up on a little more banter.

“i'm asking if you'll let me be your boyfriend.” jiji clarified. “and if you'll let me kiss y–”

you didn't let him finish that sentence, simply pulling jiji in closer and giving him that kiss that you both wanted to have so desperately. you could feel him smile against your lips during it, before pulling away and cheekily asking: “is that answer enough~?”

jiji chuckled, leaning in a little closer and whispering against your lips: “maybe i need just one more kiss to know for sure…”

[kashimopilled]

Barou’s secret <3 cw: fluff, mention of Hello Kitty Island Adventure

He doesn’t need anyone knowing about it. Not because it’s embarassing, he’d never be embarassed about anything that concerns you. However, the guys at Blue Lock are just too immature and annoying. They’d probably ask him stupid questions, or invasive question, and he’s pretty sure Bachira would whine to join the fun.

Tch, brat.

He watches the figure—a sheep with hanging ears and pink spots all over—twirl around his own character on the screen. You do the compulsory happy dance each time Barou joins your island.

You’re so cute. He misses you so much.

Today’s quest involves collecting special kinds of shells around Seaside Resort. It’s a special event that will eventually earn you a pretty, beach-themed dress in the game. Most people would assume that Barou isn’t the kind of man who’d play Hello Kitty Island Adventure with his girl, or who’d have a girl in general. He’s rough and tough. But that just means he’s aggressive in the way he loves.

He takes your interests very seriously and sees it as his duty to make you as happy as possible. Something as small as your hand lingering on a cute blind box will have Barou hyperfocused on that one item.

Make no mistake, Barou is not the ‘only soft for you’ type, which make his attempts at romance all the more entertaining. He tells you he loves you so, so much with the firmness and passion of a soldier taking orders from their superior. He gets cuteness aggression whenever you take a big bite of food and your cheek puffs out on one side. The urge to squeeze you as hard as he can becomes very strong but of course, he never gives in to temptation.

“Look, look, we only need three more,” your voice, an excited whisper, comes from the phone’s speakers.

Barou hums, hyperfocused on collecting those stupid shells. He lives for how excited you get. That little hitch in your breath, your voice sliding an octave higher.

“On it,” he says and even nods to himself. Getting you those shells is the most important thing now.

He becomes so absorbed in that little task that he doesn’t hear someone enter the dorm. His eyes stay glued to the screen, your soothing voice drowning out everything else.

<3 all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.

[winter-pear]

i think barou gets unexpectedly lonely without you when you start living together. it comes as a surprise.

his father wasn’t around much growing up but his mother and sisters made the house pretty lively. then he went to bluelock and was surrounded by people all of the time

and by the time he was an adult he really didn’t spend much time alone either. he was always too busy and rarely got the time off and busy meant a lot of pr and galas and training.

i think in a relationship, barous iron tight grip on soccer shifts. he just matures with age and spending time with his mom, his sisters, with you, especially becomes more important. he accomplishes what’s important to him and he’s clear with at the beginning that until he achieves his dreams he’s unwilling to commit to being your partner

you agree to your relationship with this in mind. so you don’t date for a long time. but slowly, and carefully - you become a routine in barous life. it’s small stuff. getting meals together, short phone calls, text.

you’re not dating. you have your own aspirations that take up your time. but you have this thing between you, and barou really does cherish it. he becomes more resolved in his desire to make his dreams come true to be with you in full capacity

he reaches his goals one day. you get together after he wins a few world cups or something ridiculous. and after a long time, barou asks again to be your partner

admittedly, life isn’t very different at first. barou is still committed to soccer and you have your career, but things have mellowed. you’ve moved in and become more official, but barou has more days off now. his schedule feels more normal.

but you’re still working, moving up in your career. sports is a little different from what you do. you get more responsibilities with time and it means you’re away a little more than when you were a little younger

and he really, unexpectedly, gets very lonely without you. he’s not used to it in general. but he didn’t really know how much you built up his life with you until one day - you’re on a business trip and the bed is too big without you. and breakfast is too quiet. there’s no bad singing in the shower or stray clothes from when you came home from work and cracked open a beer.

it makes him sad and it makes him fond and sentimental and lonely. when you were younger, you can’t imagine barou saying anything like ‘i miss you’ directly. he’s never been good with that

but you do get a text now. a few of them. they’re short and sweet but you know how much it must’ve taken for him to say it.

‘i miss you. come home soon. and make sure you’re eating. alright?’

[skyamajor]

yandere duke x witch reader

Synopsis: You’re a witch known for making love potions. They're fake. The reviews are real. Your track record? Immaculate. Until a duke walks in, covered in blood, and demands you reverse the spell you cast on him. You didn't cast anything. He doesn't care. And now you live in his mansion.

Love Potion or Love at First Sight?

"Are you sure this is it?"

"Yes yes! This is the love potion. Now pay up or leave because I have other customers to attend to!"

You groan at the woman hesitating in front of you, wasting your time.

You're an infamous witch known in the black market for selling all types of spells and potions for a hefty sum.

Your most popular item? The love potion.

Which is actually just… an aphrodisiac.

But after selling 170 potions? You've only ever received positive reviews. All from noblewomen, lovestruck and happy with the results.

What can you say? You've always known men to be lustful creatures, barren from emotions. After selling a 170 with zero bad reviews? Your ideology is proven correct.

"Are you sure it works?" the woman whispers.

"100% customer satisfaction guaranteed!"

She still looks nervous.

"And if it doesn't work, you can come back and I'll give double your money back as refund."

The woman nods. Pays. Leaves.

Another positive review, you think to yourself. Already confident and marking this as your 171st success.

…

You just didn’t expect your first bad review to appear right in front of your face.

The door slams open.

A man stands in your doorway.

Black hair. Red eyes. Blood splattered across his face, his clothes, his sword.

"So," The bloody man starts.

"You're the witch selling cheap love elixirs all over the market."

You don't answer. Your hand slides toward the defense charm under your counter.

Because this wasn’t just any man, this was the war-crazed duke feared by all of society.

"You better pay for this."

…Guess you'll be closing the shop for a while.

___________

And… you've been working at his mansion ever since.

Tasked with reversing whatever spell you supposedly casted on him. Despite all your protests, despite swearing up and down that you never did anything.

He doesn't believe you.

He won't believe you.

Because how else do you explain what he felt when he walked into your shop? That made his sword hand waver and his heart stutter, and his threats turn into something softer?

Obviously, you’ve cursed him. There was no need to investigate this any further, nor did he feel the need to tell you about all these symptoms.

So now you're stuck in a massive estate with a madman who thinks you cursed him, brewing antidote after antidote, watching nothing work.

You could only curse that woman.

The one who bought the potion and slipped it to him. The one who left you with this mess and then promptly left this world, if the blood on his sword was any indication.

Damn her.

What the hell did she see in this man anyway?

Because here's the thing you're learning, piece by piece. The duke? He's not just some nobleman. He's the nobleman. The one everyone whispers about. The one who's had three fiancées and buried all of them. The one who allegedly keeps a dungeon beneath the east wing and a graveyard behind the west garden.

The madman of high society.

If only you'd known he was the target that woman was after, you would've never sold her that potion. Never agreed to the commission. Never opened your stupid mouth about the satisfaction guarantee!!

But you didn't know.

And now you're stuck with the aftermath…

___________

At first, the madman kept you confined to a workspace somewhere within the mansion.

Close enough to monitor. Far enough to ignore.

Then, he started calling for you more often. Checking on your progress. Standing just a little too close while you worked. Watching you with scrutinizing red eyes.

And then, he started sticking around you 24/7, following you from room to room like some clingy puppy who couldn't bear for you to leave his sight.

Even that wasn’t enough. At some point, you stopped being assigned a room at all.

Wherever he was… that became your workspace.

You’d turn around and he’d be there.

In the doorway. Behind you. Leaning against the wall like he’d been there the whole time.

Like he had nowhere else to be. Don’t dukes have better things to do? Go tend to your paperwork or something!!

Through it all, he's never kind. Still angry. Still demanding. Still barking orders about reversing the damn spell.

But he never hurts you.

His threats are loud. His hands are rough. His voice could shatter glass.

But you've started to notice something.

He always stops. It’s all bark but no bite…

And it becomes a routine.

You work. He watches. You brew. He hovers. You try to leave. He blocks the door.

At some point, he has you working in his bedroom.

No, like, actually. He stooped to this level of stupidity, allowing needing you to stay in his chambers at night.

He's sleeping on the bed and you have to sit beside him. On the floor. With your books and your herbs and your constantly dying patience.

You don't know when this became normal.

You hate that it feels normal.

__________

Tonight, you try to get up.

His hand immediately shoots out to grab your wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?"

You don't flinch anymore. The first few times, you did. Now? You just sigh.

"I'm trying to study for a reverse spell. Or a cure. For you, remember?"

"Stay."

His voice is flat. Unreasonable. Like he's not even considering the possibility of you leaving.

"I can't work if I'm stuck by your side, your grace."

"Leave and I'll rip your throat out."

You've heard this before. The first time, you froze. The second time, you nearly cried. The third time, you started noticing the pattern.

He never follows through.

Not with you.

"Your grace," you say, calm as anything, "you can't do that. Who will reverse your spell if not the caster?"

His jaw tightens. His grip on your wrist doesn't loosen.

But he knows you're right.

He's quiet for a long moment. Thinking. And you can see the exact second he shifts tactics.

"Then I'll slit the throats of all the guards outside who allow you to leave this room."

"…I'm sat."

You sit back down on the floor. Head leaning against the bed where his hand lingers limbly. Sometimes brushing your hair unconsciously, like it was to make sure you were still there.

And you work on the spell in his chambers all night long. Barely getting a blink of sleep.

He, on the other hand?

Dead to the world.

The madman who threatened to rip your throat out twenty minutes ago is now curled up on his ridiculous silk sheets, snoring softly.

His face is slack. Peaceful. Innocent in a way that makes you want to throw a pillow at his head.

You've noticed this before. The way his eyes get heavy when you're nearby. The way his shoulders drop when you enter the room. And the way his threats get lazier the longer you stay.

At first, you thought it was the potion's side effects.

Now you're starting to think he just… can't sleep without you.

Which is not your problem. You didn't sign up to be a nobleman's sleeping charm. You're a witch. A busy one! One who is currently being held against her will in a mansion that smells too much like old money and fresh blood.

And yet.

Here you are.

Watching him sleep.

Because if you move, he wakes up. And if he wakes up, he gets grumpy. And if he gets grumpy, he threatens to kill someone.

Usually the guards.

You've started to feel kind of bad for the guards.

"I hope you wake up with a stiff neck," you mutter, dipping your quill in ink. "I hope you stub your toes when you wake up. I hope your breakfast is cold and your tea is bitter and your horse steps on your foot."

His lips curl up softly. Like you're singing him a lullaby.

Your quill scratches to a halt.

"…I hope you dream about spiders," you try, weaker this time.

His smile deepens.

He doesn't wake up. He just… rests. Peaceful and content. Like your curses are the sweetest words he's ever heard.

You stare at him.

Then you look down at your notes. At the page full of failed antidotes and useless counter-spells.

At the truth you've been avoiding for weeks.

Nothing is wrong with him.

The potion didn't work.

He's just like this.

You set down your quill.

Press your palms to your eyes.

And wonder, for the thousandth time, what in the hell you did to deserve this.

Maybe its time you suggest a psychiatrist.

___________

Little did both of you know.

The potion didn't work on him.

It never could have. Years of assassination attempts had made his body resistant to poisons, potions, anything ingested.

The drink that woman slipped him? It passed through his system like water. Barely a flicker of discomfort. A vague pulling in his chest that he dismissed as irritation.

He came to your shop that day ready to kill the witch who made it.

Not because the potion had affected him.

But because he was annoyed.

Someone had tried to enchant him. Someone had failed. And he wanted to make an example of the person responsible.

Until he saw you.

And something in his chest pulled again.

Not the potion. That was already gone.

Something else.

Something he didn't have a name for.

He still doesn't have a name for it. He calls it a curse. A spell. Your fault.

It's not.

He was just love-struck at first sight.

And he's been falling harder and harder with each day that passes.

Deep in his sleep, one thought surfaces in his mind.

He’s never letting you go.

[fayelero]

can you do barou as a whipped but lowkey sub bf after teasing him a lot #imsowhippedforbarou PRETTY PLEASE

The locker room was empty except for the two of you. Barou Shoei stood there in nothing but low-slung black sweats, arms crossed over his broad, sweat-glistened chest, crimson eyes narrowed like he was still trying to act like the king of the fucking pitch. But you’d been teasing him all day—brushing your ass against him during warm-ups, whispering the nastiest shit in his ear every time the coach turned around, sending him videos of your fingers buried knuckle-deep in your soaked cunt during lunch break with the caption thinking of my king’s fat cock.

He was rock-hard the entire practice. You made sure of it.

Now his jaw was clenched so tight you could see the vein in his neck throbbing. “You think you’re funny, huh?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was that tell-tale crack at the end—the one that always gave him away when you pushed him too far.

You smirked, stepping closer until your tits pressed against his abs through your thin crop top. “I think you’re about to beg, Shoei.”

His nostrils flared. He grabbed your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but you just tilted your head up and licked a slow stripe up the center of his chest, tasting salt and pure frustrated man.

“Fuck…” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

You dropped to your knees right there on the cold tile, yanking his sweats down. His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, angry-red at the tip, already drooling precum like it had been waiting hours for you. You wrapped both hands around the base and gave him one slow, torturous stroke, thumb swirling over the leaking slit.

Barou’s thighs tensed, hips twitching forward involuntarily. “Don’t—don’t fucking tease—”

But you did. You licked him from balls to tip in one long, wet drag, then pulled back with a filthy pop, strings of spit connecting your tongue to his cockhead. “Say please.”

His hand shot into your hair, gripping tight, but he didn’t push you down. Not yet. His chest was heaving. “You’re really testing me today.”

You sucked just the fat head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it like candy, hollowing your cheeks hard before pulling off again with a wet smack. “I said… please, babe.”

Barou’s eyes rolled back for half a second before he caught himself. A low, broken growl tore from his throat. “Fuck—please. Suck it. Please.”

You rewarded him by taking him to the back of your throat in one go, nose pressed against his trimmed pubic hair, throat contracting around him. Barou’s knees nearly buckled. “Shit—fuck—your throat’s so tight—ngh—”

You bobbed your head fast and sloppy, gagging loudly on every downstroke, spit dripping down your chin and onto your tits. Every time he tried to fuck your face harder you pulled back, leaving him panting and desperate.

“Baby—fuck, don’t stop—please don’t stop—” His voice cracked again. The big, arrogant Barou Shoei was whimpering for you.

You pulled off with a gasp, strings of spit everywhere, and stood up, turning around and bending over the bench. You hiked your tiny skirt up, no panties, your pussy glistening and puffy from how long you’d been edging yourself just to torture him.

“Look at this pretty cunt, Shoei. Been dripping for your cock all day. You gonna be a good boy and fill it up?”

He was on you in a second, chest pressed to your back, one massive hand gripping your hip while the other guided his throbbing cock to your entrance. The thick head nudged against your slick folds, but you clenched and tilted your hips so he slipped right past, rubbing uselessly against your clit instead.

Barou snarled, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Stop fucking playing with me—”

You reached back, grabbed his cock, and slapped it against your pussy a few times, making him hiss. “Beg nicer.”

His voice dropped to a wrecked whisper right against your ear, hot and shaky. “Please… let me fuck you. I need it—need to be inside you so fucking bad. I’ll be good—fuck, I’ll be so good for you, just let me—”

You lined him up and pushed back. The stretch was brutal—Barou’s cock was stupidly thick, splitting you open inch by inch until your eyes watered and your mouth fell open in a silent cry. He bottomed out with a guttural groan, hips flush against your ass, balls pressed tight to your clit.

“Fuuuuck— so wet— so fucking tight— gripping me like you’re trying to milk me dry—”

You started rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his cock while he stood there shaking, trying not to thrust. You wanted him ruined.

“Move, Shoei. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He snapped.

His hips slammed forward so hard the bench scraped across the floor. The wet, filthy sound of his heavy balls slapping your clit echoed through the locker room—pap-pap-pap-pap—obscene and loud. He was growling, groaning, biting down on your shoulder to keep from screaming.

But you kept teasing.

Every time he tried to set a brutal pace you clenched around him and slowed down, forcing him to feel every ridge and vein dragging along your walls. “Slower. I want to feel you throb.”

“Baby—please— I’m gonna lose it—fuck— you’re squeezing me so good—shit—shit—”

You reached back and grabbed one of his hands, guiding it to your throat. Barou’s fingers flexed but didn’t squeeze—he was too far gone, too whipped. You did it for him, pressing his palm tighter until your vision sparkled.

“Harder, babe. Ruin this pussy.”

He broke completely.

Barou started pounding you like a man possessed—deep, punishing strokes that kissed your cervix every single time. His cock had that perfect upward curve and he was using it, grinding against that spongy spot inside you until your legs shook violently.

“You’re so fucking deep—oh my god—right there—right fucking there—”

“Yeah? This the spot that makes you stupid?” he rasped, voice hoarse, but there was no dominance left—just desperate, worshipful need. “Cum on my cock—please—wanna feel you creaming all over me—please baby I need it—”

You came so hard your vision whited out, pussy gushing around his thickness, squirting down his balls and thighs. Barou whimpered—actually whimpered—as your walls fluttered and pulsed around him, trying to suck him in deeper.

He didn’t stop.

He flipped you onto your back on the bench, threw your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half. The new angle made his cock drag against your g-spot relentlessly. His abs flexed with every savage thrust, sweat dripping from his dark hair onto your tits.

“Look at me,” he begged, voice cracking. “Look at what you do to me—fuck—I’m so whipped for this pussy—can’t think—can’t fucking think when you’re like this—”

You reached up and tugged his hair, pulling his face down to yours. “Then don’t think. Just cum. Fill me up, Shoei. Breed me like the desperate little slut you are for me.”

His eyes rolled back. A broken, guttural moan tore out of him as his hips stuttered. “Cumming—fuck—cumming so hard—take it—take all of it—nghh—!”

You felt the first thick rope blast against your cervix, hot and heavy. Then another. And another. Barou kept grinding deep, pumping load after load into you until it was leaking out around his cock, creamy white mixing with your own slick and dripping onto the bench.

Even after he finished he didn’t pull out. He stayed buried to the hilt, panting against your neck, hips giving tiny, involuntary little thrusts like he couldn’t stop.

“…Don’t pull out yet,” you whispered, kissing his ear. “Keep it warm inside me.”

Barou shuddered, nodding frantically against your skin. “Yeah… yeah, anything you want. Fuck— I’m so whipped for you. You own me. You fucking own this cock.”

You smiled, clenching around his still-hard length just to hear him whimper again.

“Good boy.”

a/n : sorry if this is bad… I’m bad at writing for characters I don’t particularly find attractive… anyway, hope you liked it :)

[inventorsokka]

— Bully ( sokka x fem!reader )

pt.1

Summery : sokka takes it upon himself to make you absolutely miserable , but makes up for it.

Includes : mentions of bullying, physical touch , kissing , indications of intercourse .

You had been taken in months ago, joining the others in long trips and forced training. You all got along very well, you never bickered or complained unless it had something to do with sokka. You had absolutely no problem with him, he was a silly guy, but damn was he annoying. He always seemed to be bothering you and only you. He'd make comments that felt too specific to be a coincidence and occasionally he'd 'bump' into you and cause you to tumble over . It came to a point where it just felt like he was bullying you , picking on you constantly. You almost stepped down and left everyone behind, but you knew this wasn't about sokka. You weren't doing any of this for him.

" I'd appreciate a bit of kindness from you, sokka." And yet there you were, sitting in front of him while he laid on his side, lips curved into a grin as he watched you speak. Your hands gripped the fabric of your skirt as you saw that grin, because you knew he wasn't taking any of this seriously.

"Can't you just be serious for once!" You suddenly snapped, in which he hushed you. " quiet now , everyone's sleeping. " He'd coo, and oh how you just wanted to grab him by his ponytail and swing him around.

"Can you just listen for once, sokka? I wish you'd stop picking on me. I want us all to get along, but I feel like.... you don't want me around ."You felt that sudden embarrassment wash over you, and now you felt pathetic, sitting there practically begging for him to be nice to you. You pressed your lips into a frown, and you could've cried when sokka refused to response. He just laid there, staring at your face as it heated up in embarrassment.

"Goodnight sokka." You suddenly snapped in a voice of hurt, as if you were holding back tears. Well, that's because you were. You just wanted to get along with him so bad. The worst part of this all is that you liked the guy. It was hard for you to crush on any man. One could say you were picky, but you were just extremely specific and well... your eyes had been on sokka the second you met him, perhaps that's why no other man caught your attention. Everything about him caught your attention, you were fascinated by him, and you hated yourself for it. Hated for wanting your bully . Finally, you stood from your spot, ready to leave before suddenly he spoke.

" I'm sorry . " and you would've brushed it off as him thinking this was all just some game and going along with it as he always did. Goes along with it until your feelings are hurt. " I don't want to hear it, sokka. I'm sick of your little jokes ." And you felt like you'd choke on your own words.

" no , I mean it." His tone was firm, and he was now sitting up and crossing his legs in front of himself . You turned to look at him, and you could confidently say this was the first time you had seen him so serious. It seemed sokka struggled to find his words, perhaps he was just trying to say the right thing ? You pressed your lips together in a frown when he said nothing else, again, you turned around to leave. He called for you a second time but you chose to ignore him until you felt a hand grab your wrist.

You were startled. It was so unlike him, he only ever poked at you or would bump into you but never did he grab you. His grasp wasn't tight either, it was gentle , just enough to keep you from walking away. You wanted to pull away , but you couldn't, because he was pulling you closer, both hands on your shoulders to keep you from turning away from him. You still looked down, refusing to look him in the face.

"Listen, y/n, I didn't mean to come off as mean. I just... I just thought...I don't know what I was thinking. " and now even he seemed confused, just as much as you. " I never meant to hurt your feelings, or make you feel like I meant everything I've said or done, but I, I couldn't find any way to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Now you looked him in the face, taking him in. You knew this conversation would be serious, but your eyes wandered. You had never been this close to him, let alone been able to admire him as much as you did in that very moment . Your eyes darted from one thing to another, taking in those eyes of his, his nose, his lips, everything on his face, every last inch.

"Hey, are you listening?"

"What?" You let out a nervous laugh, " I'm listening. "

" what did I just say?"

" uh..." you went silent , " I- i dont know.."

Sokka dragged his hands over his face. " I said I like you." He groaned, and now you did hear him, loud and clear. You felt your face heat up, your heart began to pick up its pace and suddenly you were at a loss of words. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Now you both just stared at each other , both feeling... a little dumb, but finally, you were able to speak. " is this another joke of yours?" Because you had to be sure, you couldn't say it back, and be made fun of. Your little heart couldn't take it.

"No its not !" Sokka whined.

" sokka - " just when you had found your words, knowing exactly what you would say, it was cut off . His lips were on yours, and you froze, but didn't pull away. You didn't kiss back , just stood there , frozen in place, your eyes fixed on sokka . It was a little silly, because his eyes were closed, and he just kept going and hoped he'd get some sort of reaction but you almost didn't know what to do with yourself. Then he pulled away, and again, he let out a complaint, something he seemed to be a professional at. "You do know this isn't how it works , right ? We're both supposed to put the work in."

" it was a little unexpected.." then you laughed, finally snapping out of whatever daze you were in. you both broke into a little fit of giggles , something you both rarely did together. It was nice, you could feel butterflies in your stomach, your face was still warm too.

" I like you too , sokka." You whispered to him, something to quiet down his giggling, but you didn't give him a chance to respond because you were already cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to kiss him. He was tall, and you had to stand on your toes , but he was sweet enough to lean down for you to stand on your feet and be comfortable. Now your eyes were closed, letting yourself melt against his lips. His hands were on your hips, pulling you closer and it was silent, no talking, just the sounds of crickets chirping outside in the dark , and the faint sound of windchimes ringing when the wind hit it.

It was meant to be nothing more than an innocent kiss, but there was desperation to sokka's kissing. His fingers pressed into the plush of your skin, ... and then there it was, he practically threw himself at you, snapped himself against you and closed any bit of space between you two, wrapping his arms around your waist too. It once again caught you off gaurd... as always because gosh was this man unpredictable.

"What are you doing." You whispered, but couldn't help the way your lips curved into a smile , oh and the butterflies in your stomach were making you sick in the best way possible. You felt your heart would beat out of your chest , just from the closeness... too close actually. It was tempting .

" don't leave, stay the night with me. " he was begging for you to stay with him, but there was desperation in his voice now, as if he wouldn't be able to make it through the night if you left.

"Sokka you know I can't do that. We'll get in trouble ." But still, he didn't let go, and your breath was suddenly caught in your throat when you felt those hands of his move lower, tracing over your curves and... his hand, so carefully lifted your skirt, so he could slip a hand under and feel your exposed skin . You wore long skirts, specifically for this reason, so no one could touch you, but it seemed sokka had no shame.

" no one will know.. please, y/n. Let me make it up to you, for all I've put you through.." then he paused , his hand resting just above your right thigh, " Let me show you how sorry I am."

Now you really couldn't say no.

Hope this was good, this is part 1 of the story. There will be a part 2 and yes it does include smut.

[qinsylus]

04/16/26; 03:10pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

|| legend of aang: the last airbender

[ how they make love to you ]

featuring: aang (24), sokka (27), zuko (28)

notes: no i did not see / watch any of the leaks. these are just screenshots that were all over my twitter / x feed. i just want to write something to distract me from my body aches and pain 😖 i have the flu.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

aang is the one who’d worship your body and move with you rather than just rutting against you.

his eyes would often sparkle with an unbidden adoration for you, slotting himself between your thighs like you were something sacred. he feels your body beneath his, relishing in the disparity between his hardness compared to your softness.

your hero’s voice would take on an almost reverent tone, allowing you to feel the way his calloused hand outline the curve of your body. warmth quickly rushes through your veins when you felt aang’s warm hands settled over your fluttering sex.

he admires the beauty of you, eyes darkening considerably when he slides a finger within your heat. upon feeling the way your silky walls clench around him, he knew he would not be able to hold back much longer. keeping a hand pressed down on your abdomen, never once breaking eye contact with you when he slowly begins stroking himself to full hardness.

the avatar spreads your legs wide open for him, allowing him to brush the tip of his cock against your entrance before slowly sheathing himself within your slick. your back inevitably arches in response to his gentle intrusion, allowing his hands to lightly grip at your hips before lifting them slightly off of the bed. aang then proceeds to thrust his cock in and out of you, setting a pace that wasn’t too fast nor too slow-

but was more than enough to allow you to feel every inch of him.

running on pure instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you allowed aang to surge forward and capture your lips in a searing kiss-

never wanting this moment to end as he brought you to heaven over and over again.

sokka would always be willing to make you laugh even when tangled in such an intimate dance with you.

there was a neediness you had never felt before when sokka presses you against the wall of a random building. his usually half-lidded eyes (ones that were always filled with amusement) were dark with desire for you.

he whispers a few naughty phrases within your ear, sliding off your dress before angling his cock in front of your entrance. he teases the underside of your cunt for a few moments, collecting the evidence of your arousal for a brief second before sheathing himself completely within your heat in one, swift thrust.

apparently, he had underestimated just how powerful his entrance could be, as you found your head being hit against the brick wall, earning a low hiss of pain from you.

the panic was clear within sokka’s eyes, his cock still rock hard as he was buried half deep inside of you. almost immediately, he begins rubbing comforting circles at the back of your head. all too ready to pull out if you were in pain, he was ready to leave you when the feel of your legs tightening around his waist prevents him from doing so.

you smile at him before giggling softly, causing your lover to visibly relax. confusion was seen in his gaze, and you simply shook your head before ultimately undulating your hips against him, the feel of your hips moving up and down his cock nearly unraveling him. letting out a groan of your name, sokka buried his face with the curve of your neck. lifting up one of your legs, he keeps you pressed against the brick wall before pounding into you-

allowing your cries and moans to echo through the city.

zuko expresses his love with a silent devotion.

candles would surround your shared bedroom as the fire lord settles your body back against the silk sheets. his gaze remains hungry for you, and you swore that his eyes could trail a blaze of fire down your form. your breathing hitches upon feeling his hand on your neck, giving it a light squeeze before trailing downwards.

with a deliberate slowness, zuko would spread your legs for him before inevitably settling himself between them. seeing the way his powerful body lays so completely languidly whilst between your legs causes a sudden warmth to settle against your cheeks. you watch as he closes his eyes, rubbing the scarred half of it between the silky feel of your thighs. he basks in the sweet and musky scent coming between your legs-

allowing his mouth to water before pressing his nose against the underside of your cunt. keeping his eyes clenched shut, you suddenly felt a jolt of red hot pleasure coursing through your veins. your hands automatically delves themselves into his hair, feeling your beloved firebender devouring you like you were his last meal.

mewls of his name would fall from your lips coupled along with his grunts of your name. the sensation of his deep grunts would send pinpricks of pleasure down your spine, and when you could feel your release approaching you-

your hands already tightening your hold on his hair-

zuko would pull away, not allowing you to bask in your release.

cries of frustration would be ripped from your throat as you clawed at the sheets. you were ready to lash out at the cocky man had he not suddenly slid his thick cock within your heat, making your walls flutter and clench around him just seconds later.

with your cries quickly morphing into desperate moans of his name, you allow zuko to pound himself into you, eyes set ablaze when he sees the way your breasts bounces in tune with his movements.

and when he suddenly leans forward to capture a hardened nipple within his hot mouth all while thrusting in and out of you at a rapid pace-

you knew that you were an absolute goner now, never once wishing for this achingly intimate embrace to end.

end notes: i’m too sick to edit ;;;;;;;;;;;; so just have this in its clear, unedited and messy form.

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[blackhearteddoll]

the liquor on your lips

(makes you dangerous)

wc: 1.4k, || tags: kidnapping, noncon, somno (kind of). trying something new, lmk if u liked it <3

The first word loser!kidnapper says to you is “Please.” As in, “Please don’t yell.” Juxtapose this with the last thing he ever says to you, when you are finally able to escape him: “Please don’t leave me.”

These two sentences pretty effectively summarize the duration of your relationship with him.

The Oxford English Dictionary has eight definitions for “please,” but perhaps only two definitions apply to loser!kidnapper.

transitive (reflexive). Please: to do as one likes, to have one’s own way (frequently with dismissive force).

Please, as in, “please talk to me.”

It took you seven weeks to talk to him. Of course, you talked at first, mainly in a loud, interrogative tone (“Who the hell are you?!;” “What is wrong with you?!”), or in a desperate, bargaining tone (“Please just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anybody at all.”).

None of this shouting or crying led to a particularly fruitful conversation, at least not in the way he’d hoped (i.e., conversations that fizzled out after he responded with “Don’t you remember me? Please just look at me. I’m a regular at that coffee shop you work at!” and “Please try to understand that I can’t let you go! I’ve sacrificed so much by bringing you here, you can fall in love with me, please try!”).

After this short spat came a long, agonizing period of weeks that seemed to blend into one. He could not tell Monday from Saturday. In the morning, he would wake up, go to his mundane job, come home, silently rock himself back and forth while watching you do… nothing.

You would just sit with your hands in your lap, like a doll — albeit a very solemn-looking doll, but he thought of you as a doll nonetheless — but dolls are meant to be played with, are they not? They are not meant to sit angrily and waste away, refusing to eat.

“Please just take a bite. You look sickly. Please… do it for me?”

Do it for him? You can’t help but look away, lips twisting up in a sick laugh. Who does he think he is? There is little more amusing than someone who overestimates their importance in your life, which he certainly does.

He knows none the better; in fact, he’s delighted when your breathy giggles escape from your mouth, although you immediately slap a hand over your lips to silence yourself.

“You laughed,” he notes, “I’m so happy. Your laugh is so beautiful. I could cry at how beautiful it is.” It’s the first sound that’s come out of your mouth in weeks.

The second sound that comes out is a toe-curling scream when he attempts to take your face in the palm of his hand, the way a grandmother might hold her grandchild’s face to kiss them on the cheek.

“I won’t ever touch you again, not without your consent,” he shyly promises you afterwards as he watches you nibble on the toast he’s cooked to your liking.

Transitive (verb). Please: to be agreeable; to give pleasure or satisfaction. With till, to, with.

“I just want to please you,” he says frustratedly months after that.

“You can please me by leaving me alone.”

You’ve come to terms with the fact that you can't sit here doing nothing for months. This, of course, does not mean you’ve come to terms with his very existence.

“Just say the word and I’ll do it. Should I make you something special for dinner? Is there a movie you’d like to watch? Something we can do together? I feel like we don’t spend any time together.”

“I literally spend all my time with you.”

“But we don’t talk to each other enough. It’s just—It’s taking you a lot longer to fall in love with me than I thought it would. Perhaps if we did more things together…”

He’s annoying when he’s like this, insistent and needy, eager to please, whatever, whatever.

The secret third meaning of the word “please” — one not listed by the Oxford English Dictionary — is its sexual, devious connotation, one that hangs in the air every time he’s sprawled at the carpet besides your legs.

You’re sitting on the ground, back leaned against the sofa, one of your favorite movies playing on the TV at a low volume. In your lap is one of those sudoku booklets that they sell at gas stations. The room would be quiet (only the soft scratching of paper against the cheap, thin paper and the muffled movie soundtrack) if it weren’t for his constant whining and complaining.

He wants so badly to throw the sudoku booklet away and lie down on your lap instead of the floor. To devour you, perhaps, to rid you of the expensive clothes you’re wearing that he bought especially for you.

To please you, and to be pleased by you.

But he promised he wouldn’t touch you again, and he’s too embarrassed to ask you for permission. It would be impossible to handle the sharp sting of rejection. Again, that is.

It had been a few weeks since an incredibly awkward encounter that he wished he could erase from his memory. The only memory of you he’s ever wanted to erase, actually, when he’d drunkedly cried and pleaded for love — touch, passion, whatever you call it — in the middle of the night.

You’d noticed a row of not all-too-cheap liquor bottles (brandy, champagne, wine, vodka) hidden on a bookshelf when you first started exploring the house. He’d explained that they were for celebratory purposes — New Year’s, birthdays, holidays, things like that — but you’d reprimanded him, uncomfortable with the idea of spending your birthday trapped in this house.

Regardless, he’d gotten near black-out drunk that one night after you’d gone to bed.

He watched your sleeping figure. The house was hardly a house; it was a studio in a tall residential building facing a metropolitan city. You slept in the massive king-sized bed. He slept on the fold-out sofa.

But why, he wondered, swirling his glass of brandy in one hand and running his other through his hair, should he? Sleep on the sofa, I mean? Why couldn’t he sleep beside you like a normal couple?

Such were his thoughts as he drank glass after glass until even his breath smelled like brandy. Drowsy and drunk, hazy were his thoughts. With how much he drank he expected he would not remember the events of the night when he woke up hungover next morning, but he did in horrible, excruciating detail.

Just a taste, he reasoned with himself, letting himself hover over your form. Would one kiss really hurt? Perhaps somewhere hidden far, far behind his nervous, bubbly facade — the same way there was a line of alcohol bottles hidden amidst the books — was a sick, sick pervert.

And, well, yes, one kiss on your cute cheek didn’t hurt. You obliviously snored softly away. But who stops at one kiss on the cheek?

He couldn’t even taste you, which was the whole point of kissing you in the first place anyways, so the kisses escalated, from chaste, close-mouthed pecks where he inhaled the scent of your warm, perfumed skin, to sloppier ones, teeth trailing against your soft skin, tongue savoring the salty flesh flavor of the side of your neck, and so on, so forth.

What's that saying? A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism? If you hadn't woken up, stirred awake from the mattress dipping under his weight as he recklessly climbed on top of you, he probably would've eaten you.

“WHAT are you DOING?!”

You pushed him off with some struggle — he tried to keep going at first, hands wandering where they should not wander until it was as if he snapped back into reality.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized profusely. “I’m so, so, so, sorry. I had too much to drink, I wasn’t thinking straight,” blah, blah, blah. He was on his knees now. You clutched the blanket close to your panicked, heaving chest. He cried pathetically. “I love you so much. Is it wrong to desire you, to want you carnally? I just wanted to please you.”

Perhaps the Oxford English Dictionary should add a ninth definition:

(Modal verb). Please: your kidnapper's most-used word; a term of manipulation; a word he uses when he tries to force himself onto you, or when he wants you to do something for him; please, the thing a petulant child tells their parents when requesting a Christmas gift (ie, “Please buy me that doll.”).

Because you are nothing but his doll.

[loverstv]

yearner!phainon is over the moon when he hears auditions for a boyfriend position are open! (*≧ω≦)ﾉ

cw: very!!!! suggestive and creepy, feminine fem!reader, popular!reader, downbad!phainon, like.. loser-level down bad but its kinda hidden cuz he's super gentlemanly and stuff, pervert!phainon, like.. this got creepy kind of fast tbh so yandere!phainon just to be safe, kinda forced intoxication, my attempt at an unreliable narrator phainon, college au, written with chubby reader in mind, inspired by the song: 'boyfriend' by big time rush cuz i'll never ever get over that song it's still 2011 ok? ok

also heavily inspired by @diz-eaze and their countless phainon aus. i love every single non they've got.

when phainon overheard your friends tease you about your lack of luck in love, it was like the stairway to heaven appeared in front of him. and when he heard you admit you really, really wanted a boyfriend, he got hard so quick he got dizzy. he had to lean against the wall, breathing heavily. a few people, including his best friend mydei, gave him weird looks, but he didn't care.

he had an opportunity to finally do something about his pathetic 'pining'.

it all started when he dropped his pen, and being the angel you are, you picked it up and gave it back to him. the seed was planted instantly upon your eyes meeting. your radiant smile, your soft: 'there you go', and the brush of your fingers against his..

his obsession, however, was gradual. after that encounter, he started noticing you more and picking your voice out of the noise in the halls.

then, he started paying attention to your wardrobe. your cold weather jacket.. your warm weather jacket and how you're shit at gauging the temperature so you're constantly either too hot or too cold.

he started sitting closer to you in class, eventually ending up behind you. much to his friend's dismay at having to sit somewhere else with each class. he took in your handwriting, tried to imitate it while writing his own name.. the dreamy sighs only got deeper from then.

he started noticing irritation bubbling in him whenever he saw you speaking to other guys. he didn't do anything to them, yet.

phainon doesn't know when he started to dip into the 'creepy' territory. he started feeling the urge to take your paper cup from the cafeteria table after you forgot it. his eyes followed the chewed-up piece of gum as you threw it out.

it's when he saw you talking to one of the male teachers. a, in his eyes, sleazy one who just couldn't wait to ruin his career by sleeping with one of his students.

oh-so coincidentally standing next to the open classroom door, he tried to listen to the conversation. though, he heard the phrase 'extra credit' and alarm bells immediately went off in his head. isn't that how most school-girl porn starts?

he immediately entered the classroom, a polite smile on his face. "hey there, professor! oh? sorry for interrupting, i had no idea you were busy.."

he quickly glances over to you and your clueless expression, of course.. you couldn't tell what that prick was trying to do.. you're too kind to assume that kind of thing.

he then looks back at the professor, and swears he can see a glimmer of irritation passing through. hah, knew the guy was planning something.. it's a good thing i interrupted him.

he follows you home that day, just to be sure. which, unsurprisingly, becomes a habit.

from that point, you started to bleed into every part of his life. like this one, in his bedroom at 2:47AM. sat in his deskchair, scrolling through his usual rotation of porn. through, recently nothing has been hitting like it used to. it started annoying him that none of the girls in the videos looked like you. so he went on a mission to find a pornstar that reminded him, at least a bit, of you.

he finally finds one. there's no face shown, so he's free to imagine yours, but the body.. oh, the body was so similair to yours it sent blood rushing down south immediately.

an addiction starts that night, as he is now unable to go without looking at this one video of the girl laid out on her back, her tits bouncing deliciously as she gets pounded, for more than a few hours at a time. it's simple, it's basic, but it just stirs something in him..

he escalates again. fast.

a week or two after his new porn addiction, the video unfortunately stops sufficing. he needs the real thing. thanking whatever entity is out there that you basically live in short skirts, regardless of weather. bonus points if you wear thigh highs. he adjusts from following you from a distance to walking up the stairs whenever you do to take some upskirt shots. gradually he gets really fucking good at those.

then, his irritation about you speaking to other men turns into a crippling amount of anger, fury, disgust. so, he does what anyone else in this situation would do. he invites the men behind the building to smash their nose in. and maybe get in a threat if he's level-headed enough that day.

he doesn't even notice when he had stopped resisting the urge to just pick stuff up after you and taking it home until a tiny shrine of you forms in his room. doesn't notice the shock in your eyes when every man you speak to comes to campus with a broken nose the next day, either.

back to present day, where he's trying to gather himself while still leaning against the wall. mydei rolls his eyes, grabbing phainon by the shoulder to shake him out of his daze. "idiot, you good? you've got such an obvious tent they're for sure gonna send you home if you don't figure it out. what even happened?"

phainon takes a few deep breaths and stands up straight again, trying to fix himself. his face red, he glances back at you and your group of friends one more time before putting on his signature polite smile, "all good, bro.. just some hormone flare or whatever... don't worry, it'll go down soon."

his friend raises a brow and looks over his shoulder, finding the most probable cause of phainon's.. predicament. "her? again? you do know she has grounds for calling the cops if she knew all you were doing, right?"

not even considering how his friend knew of any of his new habits, phainon just chuckles, throwing an arm around mydei. "what do you mean? haha.. let's just go, okay?"

he galnces back one last time, accidentaly making eye contact with you. you exchange a polite smile before phainon walks off with mydei.

later that night, he started recalling every time you spoke to some guy. what did they say that made you laugh? what was something you didn't like when men did? and most importantly, what kind of men did you speak to most?

he comes to the conclusion that he must be close to your type. sure, he didn't read much.. doesn't play any sport, doesn't like parties.. but he goes to the gym! that counts for something. right?

so, he starts an instagram. goes through every inspo page possible, researches the best angles and ends up posting gym thirst traps. girls like that, no? you must, since he's followed you to the gym a multitude of times. if you go.. then you must be attracted to men who do as well!

he follows you immediately, of course. and the joy he felt when you followed back was immeasurable. finally, you could acknowledge him instead of the burner he usually used.

after a week of basically living at the gym between following you around and posting all those pictures and stories, you respond. you comment on a picture he strategically captioned: boyfriend workout. imagine all this coming home to you.

he almost passed out when he saw your daring comment, a sweet and simple 'i could take him.'

it was basically free from that point. adjusting his clothing style to fit your preferences, a cheeky heart as a response to your more risque pictures and a wink as he 'spotted' you in the hallway. as if he wasn't creeping on you, as usual.

until it finally progresses. mydei's frat is hosting one of its many parties, and hearing you'll be there.. phainon goes all out on everything he has learned about you. what cologne you like on guys, the black compression shirt and his hair messy and partially covering his forehead.

he's waiting anxiously, leaning against a wall with good view of the front- and back door. he pretends to listen to mydei's annoyed grumbling about the mess people are making when he finally spots you. dressed in a tiny miniskirt and even tinier tanktop. shameless little thing.. he smirks.

"hey, pretty girl," he greets, "you look stunning, as you always do."

his sweet smile replaces it immediately and he takes his chance to approach you right away. he's had enough of your little social media back and forth.

he notices you tense slightly, the heat that rushed to your face so strong he could feel it radiate onto him. he coaxes you into a couple drinks, ones he's only pretending to drink himself while he observes you getting more and more tipsy while making small talk.

your guard visibly lowers, and he takes that chance to make a move by placing both his hands on your hips. he leans in, your faces an inch or two apart. his sweet smile on his face as he feigns concern, "oh my, you seem to be quite the lightweight.. you're already swaying. you're hard to hold when you move like that.."

he texts mydei that he's leaving, and guides you to his car, chuckling. "my, my.. are you always this feisty when you're drunk? don't worry, i'll take good care of you."

he leans in to whisper into your ear,

"i'll care for you so good.. you'll never want to leave."

a/n: lots of first attempts in here, so especially now constructive criticism is welcome ♡

[saltswrites]

Thinking of a Yandere who finds their Darling years after they managed to somehow escape them.

All of those years trying to figure out how their Darling could have possibly ran away, what they could have done to make them stay, the life they could have been living if they had stayed.

The sleepless nights wondering where their Darling went, who they were with, what they were doing, how they were, oh the questions were endless.

Everyday searching, looking through old social media waiting for a new post that could indicate their location, going to places their Darling frequented before, even stalking people close to their Darling to get even a clue.. yet nothing, it's like they had just vanished into thin air.

They counted every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every month and single every year that their Darling was away from them, feeling like a lost dog with no purpose now that their Darling was gone.

Well that was until they spotted them, at first, they barely believed their eyes, it must be an illusion, it must have been a cruel trick by their mind.. but no, there they were, their precious Darling, alive and well, just as beautiful as they remembered.

The Yandere's mind already had plans to take them back, how to take them, to memorize their routine and to snatch them away just at the right time but then they paused, when they really got a good look at their Darling, they were happy, happier than they had ever been with them, that's for sure.

Their Darling was happy, so happy with this life, not looking like that scared animal that the Yandere had known when they were with them, they had always dreamed of them feeling this happiness with them.. yet now they watched as their Darling felt what they had dreamed of for years without them.

They couldn't bare to take that happiness off their face, couldn't handle the idea of making their Darling miserable once more when they clearly had found themselves a new, joyous life.

They had been selfish once.. so perhaps it was time to be the selfless one now and finally let them go.

So after that, they just watched from afar, even if their heart ached watching their Darling so happy without them, the envy that filled their heart as they watched their Darling with others.. yet, they didn't do anything.

Love was about sacrificing after all.. and even if it hurt, deep down, they knew they wouldn't feel fulfilled either if they were to once again, cruelly snatch their Darling away from a life they loved.

Their Darling's happiness was what mattered and that was enough for them to be happy too.

[sunee-syrup]

the knot. [ushijima wakatoshi x reader]

» There's a knot under your throat that you can't seem to get rid of when he's around. It turns out he's the only one who knows how to untie it. «

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TAGS: childhood friends to lovers, one-sided enemies (?) to lovers, stoic ushijima x constantly confused reader, Alders!Ushijima x PR!reader, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, side friendship yachi x kageyama is my favorite thing ever

a/n: when i tell you guys that before writing this i was not an ushijima girl,,,, and now i have my eyes WIDE OPEN,,,,, everyone please thank @sweetberrypies for this commission!!!!

[commission honee here!]

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Ushijima Wakatoshi is the embodiment of confusion.

He's three, and you're three, too. At that age, he shouldn't confuse you, but he does. He should just be the boy next door with the ball that he keeps rolling around and picking up and setting down, but he's not. He frowns at it, like he's very upset — you don't know it yet, but you'll come to understand over the years that that's what he looks like when he's concentrating on something that matters to him — and when you try to join him, crawling through the hole in the fence to play with him, he frowns at you, too.

In twenty years, he'll confuse you just the same. Frown just the same, stare just the same.

But you don't know that, either. For now, he's just the little boy who always seems upset, and you're just the little girl who wonders if he's mad at you.

Confused.

—

"Y/n… that boy is staring again…"

You turn over your shoulder, following your friend's concerned gaze to the school gates. He's there, just like he always is, eyes trained on you.

He's ten, and you're ten, too.

"Ah," you say, adjusting your bag on your shoulders. "I should go."

Your pig-tailed friend tugs on your sleeve. "Aren't you weirded out by him?"

Yes.

"No," you sigh. "That's just how he is."

When you approach him at the gates, it's with raised eyebrows. "What is it, Toshi?"

He's stern as ever, brows furrowed. "School ended seven minutes ago."

You frown. "I was talking to my friends…" When he doesn't seem to understand, you look away. "You can leave on your own, y'know. You don't have to wait for me every day."

He shakes his head. "Mom says we're too young to be walking home alone. I'm supposed to stay with you."

You turn away so he doesn't see how you roll your eyes. "Okay, fine." You start to walk away, but he sticks his hand out in front of you.

"We're supposed to hold hands."

Your face burns, because there's a group of boys walking past laughing at you. Their teasing 'ooh's are impossible to miss, and one of them even says 'yeah, Y/n, hold Toshi's hand'. You grit your teeth, eyes flying up to Ushijima's.

"That was just something our moms said. We don't actually have to."

He shakes his head again. He loves doing that to you. "I have to keep you safe. You could get taken when I'm not looking." When you only glare at him, he tilts his head. "What's the problem? We did it yesterday."

"I thought that-"

"And the day before-"

"No, I know. I thought-"

"And the day before-"

"I know. I'm just sayi-"

"And the day before-"

"Stop!" You stomp your foot, snatching his hand out of mid-air and dragging him through the gates. "Let's just go!"

He doesn't say anything else, quiet as you lead him down the familiar neighborhood streets. At an intersection, you start to cross, still angry, and then you're yanked back to the sidewalk.

A car speeds past right at the moment that you would have been in the road.

"See?" Ushijima says. "This is why we hold hands, too. I have to keep you safe."

You throw his hand down roughly. "Stop mocking me! I was only about to cross because I was distracted by how angry I was-"

He just takes your hand again. "I know. More reason to hold hands."

You're silent, letting him lead the way as you try to process how someone can be so stubborn.

"You don't have to take everything so seriously," you finally say, quiet and contemplative. "The kids at school are teasing us because you're always so serious about me."

He turns his head slightly but doesn't fully look at you. "What's wrong with being serious about you?"

You try not to let your blush show. "Nothing. Nevermind."

The rest of the walk home is silent, your head rattled with thoughts of confusion and the inability to understand him.

When you get to your neighboring homes, he lets you go. But before you enter your gates, he clears his throat.

"Y/n."

You stop, turning back to him. Tired, because this feeling of frustration is common around him.

He's staring right at you. "I have practice tomorrow. Wait for me."

You scoff. "I'm not waiting two extra hours, Toshi. I'll just-"

"Wait for me. Please."

You frown, your mouth twisting up and your pout emerging. Because you know you will, no matter how much you gripe about it.

He takes your silence exactly as it is, nodding and starting to walk away.

"Wakatoshi."

It stresses you out when he stares at you like that. It always feels like he's mad at you, even if you know he's not.

You swallow. "Thank you. For earlier."

He just blinks. "I told you. I have to keep you safe."

"You don't, Toshi-"

"I do." He holds out. "I do."

You stare at each other. There's a feeling in your chest that you always get with him. A knot that you can't untie, no matter how hard you try.

You get the feeling that only he can.

—

High school isn't any better.

He becomes something of a legend in the world of high-school volleyball, and you become something of an Ushijima Whisperer to anyone who wishes to understand him. Despite how many times you say that he's a lost cause even to you.

Your time in middle school spent waiting around for his practices to be over carries on to high school, your disgruntled presence lingering on the sidelines until Washijo finally points a wrinkled finger in your face and declares you manager.

You tend to just fall into roles whenever it concerns Ushijima Wakatoshi. Tend to fall into place, wherever he makes room for you.

The dating rumors are both expected and baffling, because you can't possibly fathom how someone could see your dynamic with him and assume it's anything but hopeless.

He's already grown into a boy of few words, his teammates learning his limited communication like a mystical code. But with you, he's worse.

Where Semi will comfortably offer help setting up the nets, easy conversation flowing between you, Ushijima prefers taking the poles from you wordlessly, barely a glance spared in your direction while he talks to someone else. You always end up snatching them back, ignoring the single, dark brow he raises in response.

Where Goshiki will bow deep and thank you repeatedly for things that are objectively your job, Ushijima tends to take the towel and water bottle from your hand with only an examining stare, one that feels far too much like a glare. You're quick to glare back.

Where Satori is playful and teasing when he begs for help with his finger wraps, Ushijima only barks your name from across the room, the request unsaid. He only holds out his hand and the tape when you stomp up to him, and you feel when he just stares down at the top of your head while you wrap his fingers, grumbling the whole time. He always manages to find something to silently critique when it happens, his free hand tugging on strands of your hair and fixing them, as though there was anything wrong to begin with.

There is no world in which you can understand how people think you're dating him.

Except for the instances, more common than you're comfortable admitting, when he says or does something that leaves you confused without fail.

Where Semi can get a bit heated, kicking things over when he messes up and not realizing that it's you who has to pick it up, Ushijima is almost always the one to do it, his sharp eyes finding Semi's so fast that you barely have time to be upset about the mess before the boy is at your side with an apology.

Where Goshiki can be a bit zealous, overshooting his spikes and sending the ball spinning right at your head, Ushijima always appears at the very last moment, his hand or back in your face as he takes the full force of the hit with no more than a quiet grunt. It's always over before you even register that you should've been afraid, and he's always gone before you can think to thank him.

Where Satori can overstep your boundaries — a joke taken too far, a playful squeeze of your cheeks or ruffle of your hair on a day that you're really not in the mood — Ushijima is a towering shadow, an unseen glare sending Satori away whistling or a hand wrapped tight around the boy's wrist, dislodging it without a word. You're never able to figure out how Ushijima had noticed your mood before anyone else.

Unsurprisingly, he drops one last confusing moment in your hands the night that you graduate — the night before he leaves the country for college in America.

—

The walk home is silent, just like almost every walk home before it. You turn your diploma over and over in your hands, not really examining it at all. Just listening to the silence, his footsteps matching the rhythm of yours.

You feel strange. You've been feeling it for months, ever since he'd announced he'd be leaving. It's exactly the same now as it had been then. Satori had joked at the time that you must be excited to have your shadow gone, but that excitement had never come. You'd only felt the tug of that knot, the one that had sat in your chest from the moment you'd realized Ushijima Wakatoshi was permanent.

The knot hurts now. It hurts a lot, so much that you can't find your voice. Silenced, same as the part of your brain that wants to celebrate the freedom.

Your gate looms ahead, and you realize that this is it. He leaves at three in the morning, so this really is it. You're not sure where you'll be — who you'll be — when he comes home in four years. If he comes home.

You stop in front of your gate, staring down at the metal and feeling the creak of the neighboring gate as he pushes it open. Feel the creak in your throat, right under that knot.

But then it stops.

When you look up, he's looking back at you. Waiting. He doesn't ask what's wrong, but you hear the question deep in the pit of your stomach — in the way he blinks down at you, in the way his hand slides off of his own gate. In the way he says your name, only ever that. Nothing else.

"Y/n."

Your eyes burn. It's too late to be realizing that you might feel lost without him, after so long of wishing for exactly that.

"Wakatoshi."

He tilts his head. You only say his name like that —

"Cut it out, Toshi!"

"Jesus, you scared the fuck out of me, Toshi."

"I'm serious, Toshi, you're pissin' me off!"

"Thank you, Wakatoshi. For earlier."

— when something doesn't feel right. When you don't feel right.

"Will you come back?"

He doesn't know where the question comes from. You know that, because you're unsure, too.

"Yes," he says plainly. "I have to."

You lift your brows. "You have to? I'm sure any country would kill to have you-"

"But you won't be in 'any country'," he cuts you off. "You'll be here."

You have no idea what that means. "So?"

He doesn't answer you, asking his own question instead. "What will you do at Tokyo? Communications?"

You'd certainly considered it. "I think so. They have a strong department."

"What will you do with it?"

You warm, not wanting to answer. You'd had the feeling for a while, but you hadn't said it aloud.

As usual, he waits you out. Eventually, you sigh.

"I was thinking about PR."

The only signal he gives that he's surprised is the shift of his weight, the slight widening of his eyes before they fall flat again. "For volleyball."

It's not a question.

"For volleyball," you echo anyway. "But, you never answered-"

"I go where you go," he says. Like it's a fact. Not a possibility, a fact.

"What-" you laugh. "What're you saying? That you'll be back just to work with me?" When he only nods, you laugh again. "How are you going to make that happen, Toshi? You don't know what team I'll be working for. What if they're not the right fit-"

"I go where you go." He puts his hand back on the gate. This conversation is over. "Always."

You furrow your brow, frustration growing when you realize that this is really it. He pushes the gate open, and you stumble forward, suddenly upset beyond comprehension.

He's eighteen, and you're eighteen, too. You might never see him again.

"Wakatoshi."

He turns, surprise flying across his face and a grunt leaving him, because you're throwing your weight against his, arms tight around his neck.

There's something you want to say — but it's trapped under the knot. You can't get it out.

He's unmoving for a moment, and you think that's it, so you start to pull away.

His palms press against your back, pulling you back to him. They drop to your waist, his diploma clattering to the ground as he hoists you up and belts his arms tight around you. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he keeps you there. Keeps you safe.

The knot loosens slightly.

You suck in a breath, taking the chance.

"You don't have to come back. You shouldn't, if it's not what's right for you," you choke out. "But if you do, I'll be-"

The knot tightens.

-here.

-waiting.

You swallow around it, eyes pricking with tears.

Your shadow's hard to get rid of, it seems.

"Okay."

He lowers you to the ground gently, arms sliding away from you as he steps back. There's a look in his eye that you can't place, but that frown is familiar. You cling to it, remembering yourself.

"Okay," you whisper. "Be safe."

He watches you a moment and then nods, turning on his heel and disappearing into his house.

Something taps against your foot. His diploma. You pick it up, examining the tube that matches yours, his name etched along the side.

You carry it inside, laying it on your desk beside yours.

—

You don't speak to him for four years.

When your PR classes use examples of news coverage from volleyball, professors gravitate to Ushijima Wakatoshi. You keep tabs on him through a screen. Learn about him, through the eyes of someone who doesn't know him the way you know him.

The boy next door. Your shadow, up until the day he left.

You graduate, twenty-two now. His diploma still sits next to yours in a box, remembering when he was eighteen.

You interview for and are hired by the Schweiden Adlers as a general PR agent. You train with them for six months, awaiting the day that comes at the end of it when they assign you to a specific player as their personal representative.

—

"Are you excited?" Yachi asks, chewing on the end of a pocky stick. She'd been hired at the same time as you and had quickly become a close friend, but she'd been assigned to Kageyama Tobio the moment he'd been signed on, because he'd requested her. It apparently had been their plan, their friendship strong from high school and the trust between them quite high.

You nod, a warm grin flashing across your face as you take one of the snacks from the box on her desk. "I've been waiting for this day for forever. I'm nervous, though."

"Why?" she whines dramatically. "This is a momentous day!"

"I know," you whine back, her energy infectious as ever. "But what if I don't get along with him?"

"Of course you will!" she argues. "I have the best time ever!"

You roll your eyes. "That's because it's Kageyama. He's, like, your closest friend."

She leans forward, her eyes sparkling. "Exactly. It's Kageyama. I know you know what a pain in the ass he is with public matters." She's not wrong, you think. "If I can do it, then you can, too."

Your computer lets out a soft ding, your email refreshing and reloading with a new message. You both lean forward, seeing the words 'player assignment' and 'conference room' in the preview.

Yachi smacks your arm. "It's go time!"

You stand, straightening your pencil skirt and blouse wih a nervous sigh. "Wish me luck," you say, squeezing her arm as you pass.

"You got this!" she calls. "You can do anything!"

"You can do anything, you can do anything, you can do anything," you mumble, repeating it the entire walk to the conference room.

When you push the door open, you plaster a PR-approved smile on your face.

It falls.

He's twenty-two now, too. It's the first thing you notice.

Bigger, taller, broader. Older.

His frown is the same, though.

"Y/n!" your manager says, standing from the table, where he'd been sitting beside Ushijima. The man beams down at you, grabbing you by the shoulders and leading you to where Wakatoshi's sitting. "Say hello to our newest recruit, the one and only Ushijima Wakatoshi! Isn't this amazing?"

Ushijima's got his eyes trained on the spot where your manager grabs you. You know he'll figure out soon that the man is too touchy, too close to the female PR agents all the time. But he doesn't need to know it now, especially because you can see his jaw shifting.

He's annoyed.

You can still read him.

"H-Hi."

His eyes fly up to yours, his expression relaxing. He stands from his seat, and you feel your head tip back as he towers over you. It's been so long that you'd forgotten.

He's twenty-two now, too.

"Y/n."

Your name, nothing else.

Your eyes water. His smile is almost unnoticeable, in his eyes more than anything else.

"Hi," you whisper back, just as dumb as before.

Your manager glances between you. "Oh, you know each other!" The man examines you closer, in a way he never has before. "I didn't realize that." He examines Ushijima now. "I see why you requested her."

You don't say what he's actually thinking.

I see why you chose us, even though you had six other teams fighting for you.

"Well," your manager says, clapping his hands together. "Shall we get to the details of the assignment?"

You sit beside Ushijima, flustered by every movement he makes. Flustered by the way he sips his water, listening plainly while your manager explains your role in his career. Flustered by the way his body heat radiates off of him and washes over you. Flustered by the way he shifts in his seat every so often, his knee bumping against yours.

"Y/n, you are expected to remain available for Ushijima 24/7. This means leaving your phone on at all times and answering calls and texts in a timely manner." The list of responsibilities is being read to you off a script, but you know exactly what this assignment entails.

Be with Ushijima at all times, except when he's at practice.

Answer all of Ushijima's calls, even in the middle of the night.

Making Ushijima look as good as possible, tracking fan opinions online and negotiating with news outlets on his behalf.

Maintain a professional relationship with Ushijima, at all costs.

For some reason, that last part doesn't feel possible.

"Any questions?"

You blink, meeting your manager's eyes and then Ushijima's. He's shaking his head, and you know that's all you'll get from him.

"No," you say quietly. "I understand."

"Okay, then," your manager says, standing and shaking Ushijima's hand. You stay seated, staring at the table like an idiot. "Welcome to the team. I'll leave you two to get acquainte-er… re-acquainted."

The moment he's gone, you're being yanked out of your seat by a hand wrapped around your bicep.

He feels the same, arms belting around your waist and hoisting you up.

You don't wrap your legs around his waist this time, but you refuse to admit it's only because your pencil skirt won't let you.

You bury your face against his throat, breathing him in.

He feels the same.

"Hi," he says, his voice bass-y and echoing through your bones.

The knot hasn't felt this tight since that night.

"Put me down," you croak. "This is unprofessional."

"I don't care." He talks a little differently now.

You don't. "I do. Put me down."

He sets you on your feet gently, hands on your waist gentler.

"I wasn't expecting you," you admit. "I thought you'd choose a different team."

He tilts his head. You miss reading him like this.

"I thought I was clear that night."

He was. You just hadn't let yourself hold onto it.

"Was this the right fit for you?"

His eyes flick between yours. "Yes." He nods. "Yes."

You don't know if you believe him, but you don't ask again.

"When did you get back?"

"Two days ago."

You laugh and shake your head. Of course he did. "Where are you living?" When he tells you the address, you stare up into his face, deadpan. "Are you stalking me?" He blinks, confused. You sigh. "That's next door to me."

He stares. And then he laughs, a scoff pressed against his fist as he turns away.

You've never heard him laugh before.

"That was an accident. I promise."

You just sigh, trying not to laugh yourself. "Are you all moved in? Do you need anything?"

"… Lunch?"

"We can't," you say, pursing your lips. "We can't be seen together like that. It's too casual."

He frowns. "Kageyama and his PR agent get lunch together all the time."

You don't know how to tell him it's different. This is different. "I dunno, Toshi…"

"You have to accommodate all of my requests, right?"

The roll of your eyes makes him smile, almost unnoticeable again. "Whatever," you grumble. "Let's just go."

—

It's easy to fall back into line with him, wherever he makes room for you.

You help him finish moving into his place, providing paparrazzi with the professional answers you'd concocted so that you're allowed to be this close to him. This close to him, even though players and their agents typically aren't.

"Ushijima has just returned to Japan from the United States. He is adjusting to home life, and as his agent, I am assisting in that process."

"No, we did not plan to live next door to one another. Yes, it is indeed a happy coincidence — I believe this will allow me to perform efficiently in this role, as I will be able to better assist him in his transition to the Adlers."

"Yes, we have known each other since childhood. No, it did not in any way impact his decision to join us, nor did it influence my employment with the Schweiden Adlers. Life is funny like that, wouldn't you agree?"

Ushijima always watches, eyes trained on the side of your face while you talk to the press that lingers outside his house.

His apartment is a carbon copy of yours, and you find yourself accidentally arranging furniture and decorations the same way. He simply lets you, adding his own touches in the spaces you leave — where you make room for him.

He trains incessantly, just as he had in high school, so you find yourself at the office a lot, your phone propped up so you can see the moment he texts or calls.

[1:07 PM]

Toshi: PT at 2

You: okay. need me?

Toshi: no.

[10:27 AM]

Toshi: scrimmage at 4

You: where?

Toshi: [location attached]

You: okay. need me?

Toshi: no.

[4:49 PM]

Toshi: paparazzi wont let me get to my car

You: omw

Toshi: no.

You: ????

Toshi: handled it. just lyk.

You: why am i getting back to back calls from different magazines, wakatoshi.

Toshi: handled it.

You: you broke a camera???

Toshi: yes.

You: dont do it again.

Toshi: okay.

[5:19 AM]

Toshi: why didn't you pick up my call.

You: IM SLEEPING YOU FREAK.

You: WHAT DO YOU WANT.

Toshi: going to the corner store. out of protein powder.

You: OKAY. DO YOU NEED ME.

Toshi: no.

You: im gonna kill u.

There's a large part of you that wants to hate it. Hate him. Because your days consist of this, of the constant messaging and the constant calling and the constant contact, despite never needing anything from you. But there's another part of you — three, and then ten, and then eighteen — that knows this back and forth very well. Missed it, even. And it grows as the weeks go on, the chaos evening out and your days melting into something akin to normal.

And then he ruins it, about six weeks into this new routine.

—

You groan, rolling over in your bed and reaching for the bedside table. Your phone is ringing — not just vibrating, because you have to keep your phone on at all times — and you know exactly who it is.

"What?" you grumble, eyes still closed.

"Were you sleeping?"

You pull your phone from your ear, checking the time. "It's three in the morning, Toshi." When he doesn't respond, you bite out an answer to his question. "Yes. I was sleeping."

"Oh. Okay. Goodnight."

"Wh-"

He hangs up.

You stare at the ceiling, wondering if the world would know it was you if he happens to be dead in the morning.

You call him back. He picks up after two rings.

"Hello?"

"What do you want?"

"Oh. Nothing."

You take a deep breath. "Then why did you call me?"

"You called me."

You could kill him. They wouldn't know. You'd find a way. "Wakatoshi."

It's silent on the other end for a moment. "I can't sleep."

He doesn't say anything else. You know what he's asking, but it feels strange, because he's never asked this particular question before.

You don't know what to do about the nervous flip of your stomach, the shiver that flies down your spine.

You swallow around the knot. "If I get caught coming over there, there's going to be a scandal."

"… Okay. That's okay." He hangs up.

That should be it. That should be the end of it.

So then why are you already out of bed and shoving on a pair of slippers? Why are you wrapping a robe around yourself and grabbing your keys?

It's easy to avoid the streetlights, easy to snake around the side and approach the back door instead of the front. Too easy, in fact. Easy to do, easy to repeat.

He's already at the door when you arrive, almost like he'd known you would come anyway, despite the risk.

You want to hate him. You used to.

For now, you just push past him and pad silently to his bedroom, your shoes and robe left at the door. You sit at the edge of his bed, bouncing your knee anxiously, and look around, making sure the curtains are closed and there's no way to see into the room. Ushijima presses the door closed quietly with his back, leaning against it and peering down at you.

You should ask why he's requesting this of you. You've never been this way — never done this kind of thing together. You wonder if anyone else could have read what he needed, the way that you did. If anyone else could be in this situation, locked in a lifelong game of confusion and understanding, silent all the way to the end.

You're not sure anyone else could do the things you're willing to do for Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He watches you carefully, eyes tracing your face and examining your expression. You stare back, knee bouncing and ears ringing and nerves flipping over and over in the pit of your stomach, because you know you should ask but you don't want to. You know you should question this, question him about why he thinks he's allowed to ask this of you.

You know you should hate him. You used to.

But you don't question it. And he doesn't explain.

He just crosses the room in two steps and then pulls you to your feet. Hoists you up. Belts his arms around your waist. Says nothing of the fact that you're trembling in his arms, that your legs are trembling when they wrap around him.

He lowers you to the mattress carefully, laying you down and laying himself over you. Adjusting so he doesn't crush you, but laying himself over you nonetheless.

The sigh he lets out when he finds a spot that works for him is audible, but only because of the spot he'd chosen — body half-covering yours, one hand gripping your waist, the other sliding up your spine and palm pressing between your shoulder blades. Face buried in your neck, breath grazing the shell of your ear, hair fanning out over your cheek and lips. Heart racing, felt through his chest and against yours.

He doesn't ask if this is okay, but the twitch of his fingers on your body tells you he's nervous.

You hate being able to read him this well. Part of you wishes you could go back to not understanding. To confusion.

But you do. You do understand him. And maybe that's because you've spent so long around him. Or maybe it's because you feel the same way.

Maybe that's why you finally wrap your arms around him, too. One hand pressed between his shoulder blades, admitting silently that it's okay to hold each other like this. The other curled into the hair at the base of his neck, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Admitting that it's okay for him to shiver and sigh against your throat, because you say nothing when he does exactly that.

He falls asleep within minutes. Part of you wonders if he ever had any sleeping issues at all, but the rest of you knows that he wouldn't lie, not to you. That there's something happening here that he can't name and that you choose not to.

His alarm goes off at 5am.

You groan quietly but let your hands fall away from him, because you know it's time for him to go on his morning run. When he rolls over to turn the alarm off, you start to rise, disheveled and exhausted but ready to go back to your apartment.

You're not ready for the hand, large and sleep-warm, to flatten against your chest and press you back into the mattress gently. You blink once, twice, and then turn to look at him. He's already wrapping himself around you again, the rest of him just as sleep-warm.

"Toshi?" you mumble, confused but your arms circling him again, anyway.

He just grunts, pulling you close. Your nerves jump, because his lips are skimming your throat when he whispers "comfortable" in response.

"Don't you have to go?" When he shakes his head, you swallow. "Why?"

"You won't be here when I get back."

You wonder if he can feel the way your heart races.

He nudges his nose against your pulse point.

He can definitely feel it.

You turn your head away, trying to put some distance between you, but he just slides his palm against your jaw and brings you back to him.

You feel like you're suffocating. The knot is too tight again.

"Just one more hour," he mumbles. "Just one."

You blink rapidly up at the ceiling, streaks of sunlight bleeding across your vision. You don't understand. You never understand. And yet, you're still here.

It hurts to realize that life with Ushijima will continue to be this. Confusion and understanding, an endless cycle.

It hurts to realize that you want it this badly.

—

"I don't know," you groan, walking beside Yachi at a snail's pace. She grabs you by the arm, dragging you along the hall of the Adlers' gym. You're on your way to a press meeting, where you and the other agents will stand along the side of the room and step in if necessary.

"I know you don't know," she giggles, lowering her voice and making sure none of your co-workers can hear. "But he asked you to sleep in his bed and then broke his own discipline to stay in bed." She grips you tighter. "And you let him." When your face warms, she beams at you. "He likes you. And you're not innocent, either."

"I thoroughly reject that idea," you argue. "I can't afford to have that thought floating around in my head. That's the fastest way to get fired. I need my job-"

"Oh, fuck the job," she whispers fervently. "You can figure out how to sneak around." When you glare at her, she grows more excited. "You've been friends for twenty years. Your relationship comes first."

You don't answer her, just letting yourself be dragged into the press room and against the wall.

When the Adlers enter the room, their coach leading, your eyes scan for him. He's next to Kageyama, who's equally stoic and disinterested as they take their seats. The younger man glances at the line of agents, and you watch him find Yachi. She drags her thumb across her throat in an obvious threat, and he has to cover his mouth with a hand to hide his grin. When you give her a wild look, she shrugs.

"He's been running into trouble with etiquette and tact recently. I told him to be nice today or he'd catch a knife when he's not looking."

You huff out a laugh, turning back to the players.

Ushijima's eyes are already on you.

The memory of his body heat isn't even a week old.

You don't have time to wonder if you have feelings for him. You don't have time to think about this at all. So you turn away, keeping your attention on the introduction that the coach is making.

The press conference lasts an hour, the team's overall strategy discussed and then different players asked about their private marketing and sponsorship responsibilities.

A reporter from a small paper stands when he's called on. "For Ushijima Wakatoshi, please." You straighten, your PR mode locked onto the interaction. Ushijima's eyes flick to you and then back, and he nods once. "We hear that you've been selected for the next cover of Japan's Hottest."

You're both familiar with it. His photoshoot for next month's issue is in two hours. Ushijima leans into the mic.

"That's correct." He glances at you, so you gesture that he should say more. "It's an honor."

You bite back a laugh. You highly doubt he cares about any of it.

The reporter nods. "Are you excited about what doors it could open for you?"

Doors? It's a thirst trap magazine to showcase Japan's sexiest athletes, and no one's exactly surprised that Ushijima's next on the list, especially given his recent return.

You meet his eyes again. It's clear he's thinking the same thing. Still, you nod encouragingly, and he echoes the nod in the reporter's direction.

"Yes."

You sigh and write 'work on media presence' on your ipad, in the margin next to his schedule for the day.

The reporter glances back at you, as do several others, because he hasn't been subtle in any way about needing your help.

"Er, one last question," the reporter says. Ushijima just nods. "How has adjusting to life with the Adlers been? Are you and your PR agent getting on alright?"

Your eyes widen, and you're suddenly panicking about what he could possibly say.

He leans into the mic, blinking emptily. "Y/n is my best friend. Always has been. Life with the Adlers is good."

You stare at him, frozen in place and only able to recover before the cameras start flashing because Yachi's elbowing you hard.

The reporters all try to ask follow-up questions, but you're shaking your head aggressively at Ushijima, so he just leans back in his seat and looks to his coach. The older man manages to corral them after a few moments, and the conference continues without incident.

Only when you get in the back of a car with Ushijima does he finally speak to you.

"Did I say something wrong?"

You just stare straight ahead, your own reflection clear in the divider between the driver and yourselves. "No, Toshi. That was fine."

"The reporters reacted strongly."

"The rumors will start," you say, sighing. "That's all."

"What rumors?"

When you turn to him, you find that he's actually confused, looking to you for answers because he's never been good at this. At people.

"The dating rumors, Toshi."

You watch in real time as he understands, dissociates, and then flushes — his face starts to burn, heat flooding his cheeks and ears, and all he does is stare right through you.

"Oh," he finally says, turning away.

The drive to his photoshoot is completely silent.

—

The stylists at Japan's Hottest have gotten wind of how things went at the press conference. You'd known it would get out quickly, but you're unprepared for the playful side glances from the hair stylist and the meaningful lift of the makeup artist's eyebrows.

You sit in the corner while Ushijima is dragged through the ringer — outfit changes, photoshoot, hair and makeup changes, photoshoot, more outfit changes, more photoshoot.

You're in the corner for three hours, working silently on your laptop and watching him get pulled this way and that.

Until, in what can only be an intentional maneuver, the shoot director enters the makeup room and claps his hands a few times.

"Okay, everyone," he says. "Great work so far — only one more concept!"

You frown at your ipad. There's still time left for one concept shoot, but you only have four shoots on the schedule, not five.

He doesn't look at you, but you feel that this is targeted. "Ushijima, let's get you in something a little more revealing. I'd like to do a lipstick montage."

You stare at the director, putting his words together slowly. A what?

Ushijima just looks at you, almost like he's checking if this is right. You clear your throat, standing and smoothing out your slacks while you approach. "Excuse me. How revealing are we talking here? I'm not sure Ushijima would be comfortable with anything below the belt."

The director looks you over, a smile spreading across your face. "Did Ushijima tell you that?"

You don't know how to tell him that speaking isn't necessary between the two of you. "I know my player well."

If Ushijima didn't want you to see how he shifts in his seat when you say 'my player', he fails.

The director only beams down at you. "Okay, then. Nothing below the belt. But since you know him so well…"

Uh, oh.

"Why don't you do the lipstick stains for him?"

"What?" you say right away, blinking and looking around. "Why me? Can't the makeup artis-"

That woman is conveniently needed in another room at precisely this moment, just smiling at you in a way that is way too guilty.

In fact, everyone is conveniently needed elsewhere, the room emptying suspiciously fast.

The director's the last one left. He smiles down at you, far too pleased for your liking. "That's that, then! Choose a nice, deep red, okay?" He starts to leave, turning on his heel at the door. "Don't forget the lips!"

The slam of the door echoes off the walls.

You stare at it, barely noticing when Ushijima gets up and crosses the room.

"I think these are the clothes."

You turn, ears ringing and face burning. He's holding a white button-down and a pair of jeans.

"Okay," you say hollowly. "Get changed, I guess."

You try not to focus on the sound of him stripping behind the privacy screen, staring down at the many tubes of lipstick on the vanity. You stare so long that you don't even notice when he finishes, only rebooting your brain when his arm reaches past you.

"I like this one," he says quietly, the bass of his voice shaking your nerves. He plucks a dark red lipstick from the set, placing it gently in your palm.

You take a shaky breath. "Okay." Then you turn.

He's too close.

You jump, bumping against the vanity in your unconscious scramble to put space between you. He takes a step back, examining you.

His shirt is buttoned to the top and his jeans are high on his hips. You lament the fact that you're going to have to fix this.

"You have to leave it open," you say, gesturing for him to unbutton his shirt while you turn to the mirror and start to smooth the red tint over your lips. You watch him undo it, forcing your eyes not to linger on the broad expanse of his chest and the lines of his abdomen, the ones that speak of discipline and a very serious excercise regimen.

You try especially hard not to stare at the two lines that converge under the band of his jeans — the lines that are shaped like a V and accented by the strip of dark hair that runs between them.

You press your lips together to spread the lipstick around, refusing to admit that your mouth is watering.

When you straighten, breathing shakily, he's already watching you in the mirror. You turn, trying to look as aloof as possible when you examine him.

Unfortunately, you know what the director wants. What people will want to see when next month's cover drops.

You sigh, stepping toward him. "These need to be lower," you mumble, hooking your fingers through his belt loops and ignoring when the muscles of his abdomen jump in surprise. You tug on his jeans, tug until the band of his underwear sits just under his hip bones and the jeans sit even lower.

When you glance at his face, there's a light blush sitting comfortably there.

"Now what?" he asks, his voice huskier than before.

You try your damn hardest to seem completely normal when you say—

"Now I kiss you."

Ushijima says nothing, just swallowing hard and looking away, his nod almost shy.

"Uhm," you start, looking around. "Okay. Sit here." You guide him to the vanity, forcing him to lean down onto it. "You're too tall."

He's still tall when he sits like this, and his legs are spread wide enough for you to step between them in a way that makes you feel funny.

"Okay," you breathe, more to yourself than to him. "Ready?"

He just nods again.

You place your hands on his chest and lean in, pressing your lips to his cheek.

He inhales hard, body shifting.

The next goes to his nose, and the next to his jaw.

When you press your lips to his throat, right over his pulse, he huffs out weakly. You feel a tug, realizing with a racing heart that he's hooked his fingers into the loops of your slacks, anchoring himself to you.

You keep going, mouth on each of his collarbones, over his heart, and down the planes of his chest. He's starting to breathe hard, his muscles twitching sporadically and his fingers holding tight to you.

When you drop to your knees to be able to get to his torso, his body jerks suddenly, and a sound falls past his lips.

Your brain goes blank, because Ushijima Wakatoshi's just moaned under his breath at the sight of you on your knees.

You stare at his stomach for a moment, watching it rise and fall sharply, and then your eyes flick up.

His face is burning red, and his eyes are glazed over, and he's looking down his nose at you like he's never looked at you before.

"Toshi?" you whisper. He curls his hands into tight fists, nails scratching on his jeans, and shuts his eyes.

"'m okay."

You can't catch your breath. "I don't think you are-"

"Keep going," he bites out, voice tense and strained. "Please."

Your hands find his thighs and you're sitting high on your knees before you even realize it's happening.

When your lips touch his abs, his fingers find your head, curling into your hair tight. Your heart pounds in your chest, your ears, your throat — everywhere.

The knot urges you to keep going. Tugs you down, down, down.

Your fingers curl into the band of his underwear, pulling it just low enough that a lipstick mark would peek out, right about—

You press your lips under his navel, just next to that patch of dark hair that's been on your mind this whole time.

"Ah, fuck-" He grips your hair tighter and keeps your mouth against his skin.

A shock of electricity washes over the crown of your head, turning your brain to static before flying down your spine. He's never sworn like that before. He's never sworn at all, actually.

When you pull away — when he lets you pull away — your face is burning and your ears are ringing and you can't feel your feet or your hands. And he looks exactly the same.

His chest heaves while he catches his breath, and he can only look down at you for a few seconds before his eyes are closing again and his head is leaning back against the mirror.

You stand, limbs numb and skin tingling.

"I-I have to-" You can't get it out. You can't say it.

He cracks his eyes open, gazing at you with a glazed-over expression, cheeks burning the most beautiful shade of pink.

He drops his eyes to your lips. "Okay."

The sound of his voice makes you shiver.

You step a little closer, tugging him by the open flaps of his shirt until he sits up, face right in front of yours.

"Stay still," you whisper. He just nods, eyelashes fluttering.

You cup his cheeks and lean in.

His lips are softer than you'd expected.

He listens to direction, staying perfectly still while you press the lipstick to his mouth. But he's breathing hard and his nails are scratching on his jeans again, and you're becoming lightheaded by the realization that this is happening.

This is happening.

You pull back, refusing to meet his eyes and just staring down at his mouth. A perfect imprint of your lips is plastered there, right on his.

It affects you more than you thought it would.

You take a single step back, panting. "Okay. I think you're-"

He wraps a hand around your wrist, yanking you back in.

The knot loosens.

Falls.

You melt into him, letting him do as he pleases. He tangles his fingers in your hair, holding you steady and pressing his lips hard against yours. His other hand finds your waist, dragging you close until you're draped over him.

You cling uselessly to him, tilting your head however he wants and pressing your body to his like he wants and opening your mouth when his tongue swipes along your lips, just like he wants. When his tongue slides across yours, you whimper his name and dig your nails into his thighs, overcome with desire.

With the need for more of him, because nothing has ever been enough for you. Not once in twenty years.

He grunts when your nails hurt, and suddenly you're being lifted and turned, your butt dropped on the vanity and your legs pried open by his. He towers over you, hands on the table on either side of you, and you can do nothing but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

He grabs your thighs, his hands big and warm and strong, and pulls them around his waist, stepping right up to you and lining his hips up flush with yours.

He's hard. You moan into his mouth, and he knows why.

The roll of his hips into yours makes you tremble, your breath choked out into his mouth when you whimper his name.

"Toshi," you try, nerves flipping over and over in your stomach. "We have to stop-" He jerks his hips forward, and you're embarrassed at the moan that falls out. "Please, Toshi. We can't do this here-"

"Need you," he breathes, and you're reminded of all the times, over all these weeks, that you've asked if he needed you and he's said no. He's said no, even though you know sometimes he really could have used your help.

He says it now. It scares you, because he must really mean it this time.

"Not-nngh-" He's pulling you closer, the bulge of jeans hitting that special spot you've been trying to avoid. "Not here, Toshi. Please."

There's a knock at the door.

Your blood freezes in your body.

You shove him back, watching as he barely moves, just staring down at you with heated eyes.

"Everything okay in there?" the director calls, and you can hear the smug edge in his voice.

Ushijima Wakatoshi has lipstick smeared all over his mouth.

You scramble off the vanity, searching for the tube of lipstick. "Y-Yes! He's almost done!" You snatch it off of the ground and turn to him, scrubbing your thumb across his mouth until the smudges are gone. And then you rush to put more lipstick on, your fingers trembling.

He stares down at you the entire time, eyes trained on your lips.

You pinch his arm, whispering "get it together" when he just lifts his brows, still distracted. And then you rise onto your tiptoes, pressing your lips hard against his.

It's still just as hard to pull away, even with someone waiting outside.

"Go," you urge, untangling yourself from the tight grip he has on you. "Go, Wakatoshi."

He listens this time, if only because you'd used his full name, and turns to leave.

You slump into the nearest chair once he's gone, staring down at nothing.

—

You avoid him.

You're not ashamed to admit that.

You avoid him, even though he calls and texts and knocks on your door at two in the morning. When the paparazzi ask if you've fought, he says no and that you're just not feeling well and he's worried. You feel relief, because he understands. Despite how confusing he is, he understands that this is important.

That this is between you and him and no one else.

Still, you avoid him.

For a week, you avoid him.

And then the Adlers win a game, and the coach calls for celebration and invites everyone to a new club that's just opened in town.

You have to go. It's your job.

—

"You can't stick by me the whole time!" Yachi yells in your ear.

"Yes, I can!" you yell back.

"I agree with Yachi!"

You turn, glaring up at Kageyama. He sips on his fruity cocktail, pleased with himself.

"Go away!"

"No!"

You bare your teeth at him, growling like a trapped animal. He just laughs in your face.

Yachi groans, tugging you close. "You have to talk to him! You guys humped in a dressing room like teenagers with ten years of pent up sexual energy. You can't avoid him!"

Your face burns, and you glance up at Kageyama. He looks just as embarrassed as you.

"Shut up, Kageyama."

His eyes are wide, offended. "I didn't even say anything!"

Yachi pushes his arm. "Go away, it's girl time!"

He narrows a glare at her, leaning down to match her height. "Fine," he says, his tone evil. "But I'm going to stand with Ushijima."

He's gone before you can pounce on him in a rage.

"Oh, my god," you whine, face buried in your hands. "I'm so done for. The world is gonna find out, and I'm gonna lose my job, and all his fans are going to send me death threats and egg my car-"

"Stop," Yachi says, shaking you. "You need to stop worrying about what the world has to say. None of them matter."

"I need a job! I need a career, and no one is going to hire me when they find out what I've done!"

"What have you done, Y/n?" she argues, lifting a single brow. "Fallen in love with the boy next door? Who just happens to be a celebrity athlete?"

You stare. "I'm not in love."

"Yes, you are."

You know you are. You know.

"Y/n, listen to me," she starts, grabbing you by the arms and holding you steady. "You can worry about the press and the fans and your job. But you're going to lose him." She turns you in the direction Kageyama's just gone.

He's standing with Ushijima, their heads bent together as they talk. Ushijima is saying something with a stoic face, but you can tell. You can see it in ways that no one else in this room can. You can tell by how fast his mouth is moving and how he's shifting his weight and how he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.

He's stressed. He's stressed and worried and anxious and everything you are, too.

"You're going to lose that boy next door," Yachi says in your ear. "And I don't care how much you complain about him. I know you won't be able to survive that."

Kageyama says something back.

Ushijima's face floods with heat, visible to you even from here. And then his eyes flick across the room, right to yours.

Only you can see how much he doesn't want to lose you, too.

Fuck.

"Okay," you mumble. "Okay."

She squeezes you. "Go get him." And then she giggles. "And try not to get caught."

You get the feeling she's not talking about holding hands.

Things haven't been that simple since you were ten.

Your feet carry you across the room, but you don't move toward him. You drift off to the side, toward a long hallway that can only lead somewhere more private than this crowded club.

When you meet his eyes, halfway there, you can see he understands. Nothing about his face changes, but you just know.

You should have figured this out years ago.

You shut yourself inside a single-user bathroom, pacing the small room and shaking your hands out. The club music pounds all around you, and you can barely hear yourself think.

He doesn't knock. He just pushes the door open with his shoulder and shoves it closed, leaning back against it and staring down at you, like that night in his bedroom.

The space between you is completely silent. Just muted club music and your breathing, harsh and sharp.

You cross the room in two steps, like he had that night. Push up onto your toes and wrap your hands around his neck, yank him close. Just like he'd done to you less than a week ago.

He tastes like Kageyama's fruity cocktail.

Your back hits the opposite wall, and you're lifted right off your feet, Ushijima's hips pinning you in place.

"I'm sorry," you pant. He just shakes his head. "I shouldn't have avoided you." His hands are everywhere, on your waist and your thighs and the skirt of your dress, shoving it up and out of his way. "Toshi, please-"

"I know," he bites, strained and hoarse. "I know. Just-" He groans when you arch your chest into him and spread your legs wider so he can fit better. "Please."

You shiver, nodding. "Okay," you breathe. "Okay."

When he slips his hand between your legs and tugs your panties to the side, your heart slams against your chest and throat.

Your throat, which hasn't felt the knot tighten in a week.

The press of his tip past your entrance empties you of everything but him and makes you realize you might never feel the knot again.

He'd untied it.

The stretch of your walls around him makes him moan, low and deep into your mouth, and you can only pant out ragged breaths. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your brain fills with static, and the sound of your name falling past his lips yanks you close to the edge, all too fast. When he throbs inside of you, you realize he's right there with you.

All too fast, because this moment is twenty years in the making.

"I'm sorry," he grunts. "I'm close, I'm sorry."

"Me, too," you pant. "Please, Toshi."

He seems embarrassed, because it hasn't even been a minute. It hasn't even been a minute.

He drives his hips up against yours, frantically trying to hold you closer and last longer and show you that this means something to him. But you can't lie, the fact that he's like this is only yanking you closer to the edge, because it means he's desperate, and you've never seen Ushijima Wakatoshi feel desperate about a single thing in his life.

The pieces fall into place.

"What's wrong with being serious about you?"

"I go where you go."

"I thought I was clear that night."

"I can't sleep."

"You won't be here when I get back."

"Y/n is my best friend. Always has been."

"Keep going. Please."

Oh.

Oh.

"I love you, Toshi," you whimper, burying your face in his neck. A sob falls out, and you cling tighter. "I love you."

He shudders, gripping you tighter. "What?"

"I love you," you cry, lifting up to grab him by the face and press your mouth. "Wakatoshi."

He gasps, and his hips still, and you feel warm.

Warm around him, warm with him.

The edge feels warm when you fall.

"Y/n."

Your name, nothing more.

You know what he means.

[naomiswriting]

just the two of us.

───〃☆

• Yandere!Council President who is the perfect picture of what a model student is, the kind of person parents constantly bring up when comparing their children, someone that most student in this school aspire to be.

• Yandere!Council President that is just way too perfect. Grades? Leadership? Personality? Athletic? Don't even ask. He could kill someone right now and everyone are going to defend him. Not that he would do that, of course!

• Yandere!Council President that brings light to everyone's day with his smile and presence. Someone's fighting? Don't worry, he is gonna solve it! Struggling with homeworks? Just ask him, he'd be happy to help! He is smart, and he is aware. Always aware. Especially.. when it comes to you. <3

• Compared to Yandere!Council President... you're the exact opposite of him. You skipped school whenever you got the chance, smoke at the rooftop, and got into fight every day, nearly got yourself expelled.

• Why aren't you expelled yet? Because the so called President pursued the principal that every student in this academy are his "friends", thus, he begged and begged the Principal to give you another chance. He is aware that the Principal won't rejected his offer — The Council President's request is absolute, the one who handled this school when the Principal is dilly dallying... Why would he rejected the request of someone that does the works and show how incompetent he is?

• "Are you not tired of being goody two shoes?" One day, you asked him as he is busy tending on your bruises after the fight you just had this afternoon. The last bell has already rang, and the students have already left. Leaving just the two of you in this school. "....well, are you not tired of fighting every day?" He asked you back instead with a chuckle, "I bet that's even more exhausting."

The two of you remained silent in the empty infirmary. You never talked to him in school despite being his childhood best friend, well... not in public at least.

Even without him needing to mention it out loud, you understand that reputation meant a lot to him, being friends with a delinquent like you would've hurted his reputation a lot, as his parents' expectations are already high enough. This is whats best for both of you, in your opinion.

The two of you acted like strangers in front of people, your friends despise him for being "a nepo baby nerd that thinks he has power", and his friends despise you for being "a delinquent that caused nothing but problems".

The only time both of you could talk, and be your real selves — is when both of you are alone together.

Just.. the two of us. He would mutter to himself, and brush it off with a blushing cheeks when you couldn't heard what he just said.

"No... you're right. It is exhausting." He confessed. Both of you laughed, before you winced in pain as he pressed the ice pack way too hard.

• Yandere!Council President that is always there whenever the teachers sent you to Principal's office. Always. Somehow the Principal is always busy whenever you were sent to this room, and he is always the one who replaced the Principal's absence.

"Detention again?" He closed his book as you entered the office. "Huh? You again?" You raised your eyebrows, surprised. The previous detention, and the previous-previous, does the Principal hates you so much to the point he always assigned the President here? Well.. not that you're complaining.

He smiled softly, the same reason came out from his mouth.

"The Principal is busy at the moment, guess it'd be just us again now."

• Yandere!Council President that has the full access to surveillance room... just to monitor you. Oh, you skipped school again? It's alright, he'll handle the teachers. Oops, you left that cigarette packs.. don't worry, he'll take it and ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕p̞̈͑̚͞ ỉ͔͖̜͌t̲̂̓ͩ̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑o̯̱̊͊͢ ḣ̖̻͛̓ỉ͔͖̜͌s̠҉͍͊ͅ s̠҉͍͊ͅḣ̖̻͛̓r̴̨̦͕̝ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕ throw it away of course! Wouldn't want you to get into troubles~ You got into another fight? Geez, he'll prepare the bandage and alcohol right away! A̷͙ͭͫ̕ṇ̤͛̒̍ḑ̴̞͛̒ ḿ̬̏ͤͅā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦẹ̿͋̒̕ s̠҉͍͊ͅư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓o̯̱̊͊͢s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ w̦̺̐̐͟ḣ̖̻͛̓o̯̱̊͊͢ ḣ̖̻͛̓ā̤̓̍͘v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕ ḣ̖̻͛̓ư̡͕̭̇r̴̨̦͕̝t̲̂̓ͩ̑ẹ̿͋̒̕ḑ̴̞͛̒ y҉̃̀̋̑o̯̱̊͊͢ư̡͕̭̇ ṇ̤͛̒̍ẹ̿͋̒̕v͒̄ͭ̏̇ẹ̿͋̒̕r̴̨̦͕̝ s̠҉͍͊ͅẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ l̙͖̑̾ͣỉ͔͖̜͌ĝ̽̓̀͑ḣ̖̻͛̓t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ā̤̓̍͘ĝ̽̓̀͑ā̤̓̍͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍

You're his dearest friend afterall, he'll make sure to keep you safe. Don't you worry!

• Yandere!Council President who can be himself and let go of his perfect persona that he is maintaning only when he is in front of you. You found out that he is a picky eater, he smokes whenever he is stressed, he hates waking up early, and he also has a secret account just for trashtalking people that stressed him out. And after all of that, you never judged him for being himself. Just like him who never judged you.

"[Name].. is the only sincere person in this world.." he would say in his room, laying on his bed, kissing the bubblegum packaging he had taken from your desk. "No one can understands me, no one can fill my devoid heart.. but [Name] can.. the only person who never asks for anything in return... i am never lonely, because [Name] exists.."

His daydreaming was interrupted by the constant muffling sound beneath his room. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, before standing up and walking outside his bedroom.

"My my.. i totally forgot i have basement sometimes.." he smiled apologetically, "Right, uhh.. who are you again..?" The President tried to recall why he brought up this guy and left him on the basement, tied up and starving.

"Ah right.. you were the one who harassed my lovely [Name]!" He clapped his hands and smile, before removing the tape from his mouth.

"P-President!" The man sobbed and begged to be released, "Please! I am your friend right? Y-You won't do this to your own friend!" He smiled widely out of panicking. "I did not harass [Name]! You would trust me over that delinquent, right?!"

The President chuckled, before laughing loudly. His sweet laugh echoed through the wide basement.

"Hahaha! well i am the fair and responsible Council President afterall. Listening to everyone's opinion is my duty, and rules are absolute, delinquents are indeed a distraction to our Academy's policy. So it is indeed not weird if people tend to side with the Council rather than the Delinquents, no?" He said with a smile that doesn't reached his eyes.

"Right?! So–"

"That is exactly why you were wrong."

The guy's jaw dropped.

".....w-what..? What do you mean..?"

"Look, my friend... i couldn't care less about this rules, that rules... or whatever you guys expected from me. I have became everything you guys wanted me to be, i never complain, i do every works and it ended up being perfect. I'm sure you guys are delighted with me too, no?" He smiled and walked closer to the guy on his feet.

His face paled when he saw a revolver on the President's hand.

"But that line ends when you involved [Name]."

It is said that after days of being absent without any news, one of the Student Council members suddenly moved out from the Academy because of his parents' business! Everyone buy the President's explanation, except you. But nonetheless.. you felt relieved.

• Yandere!Council President that loves to buy you gifts, from the interests you've told him, to the ones you didn't even let others know, and if you asked him about it, he'd masked it off with something like "got this from my friend and i don't want it.." or "i thought this was cute and kinda reminds me of you."

He never changed at all, he remembered your birthday and habits... what you like and dislike, attentive and caring...

Who is the lucky person that gets to be with him in the future, you wonder?

... at this point, you fear that you might've fallen for the President. Your heart ache, he is out of my league. His parents would never approved me.

• Yandere!Council President that is always, always aware of what you're thinking.

He remembered exactly that you tilted your head six degrees downwards whenever you feel unease, or that slight faster heartbeat of yours when he jokingly flirted with you. Your hair grows 0,75 centimeters from the previous three days, you also apparently stopped wearing that perfume, he had predicted that too, knowing the scent is too strong for someone like you.

Your worriness, how you are slowly falling for him. He knows.

He has planned everything perfectly, so don't you worry... ♡

• Yandere!Council President that "got assigned" by your teacher to tutored you on the subjects you are failling. His friends felt bad for him, poor him, having to teach and deal with a delinquent like you,

but deep down in his heart –

"F̘͍͖ͫ͘ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍ā̤̓̍͘l̙͖̑̾ͣl̙͖̑̾ͣy҉̃̀̋̑..! I̍̅̀̎̊t̲̂̓ͩ̑'s̠҉͍͊ͅ j̪̟̮̔ͩư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅt̲̂̓ͩ̑ t̲̂̓ͩ̑ḣ̖̻͛̓ẹ̿͋̒̕ t̲̂̓ͩ̑w̦̺̐̐͟o̯̱̊͊͢ o̯̱̊͊͢f̵͖̜̉ͅ ư̡͕̭̇s̠҉͍͊ͅ!♡♡♡♡"

and guess what? this is just the beggining, my love . . .

[signedinmarigold]

UNDER YOUR SPELL . .

in which stebbins can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, even after you two had broken up.

꩜ ; no warnings, suggestive stuff implied but isn’t written

Stebbins has long forgotten his cup that’s sitting in his hand.

Not because he doesn’t like the drink, he wouldn’t have picked it if he didn’t. The noise also might be irritating him, but he’s at a party and he can’t complain about somewhere he chose to be.

Not really. He didn’t decide to be here. It was mostly Pete’s idea, claiming it’d be fun, and he should loosen up and do things that aren’t working out and homework. “You’ll meet someone fun!” Words from Harkness, who didn’t even go himself, rang out in his head.

He should’ve made up a shitty excuse like Harkness did.

(But what excuse did he have to make? Working out? What a load of bullshit.)

Something else that’s utter bullshit, was the other thing that was pissing him off.

You. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

It was last year when you both broke up. He claimed that the two of you wouldn’t work out, that he was simply too focused on other things to make time for you.

He lied. He lied so much that day that he was certain those hours alone got him a ticket straight to hell. He didn’t think you two wouldn’t work out, he just wanted his father to stop bothering him about it.

And he’s never felt more stupid in his life. Smart. That’s what he’s supposed to be.

He wasn’t irritated about you, to be specific, but to whoever the boy was you were talking to.

He was the type of guy to get too close for comfort, arm on shoulder, and a little too relaxed. If he may add, he’s laughing way too hard, to the point that other people began to stare right with Stebbins. That irritated him even more. Nothing is ever that fucking funny. He thinks.

But he’s not with you. He hasn’t been for a long time.

He just doesn’t understand why he’s so worked up about this. Should he just go home? He doesn’t have to say goodbye to anyone, after all. He doesn’t owe anyone.

But then it clicks, when he squints a little, or looks at you even harder, he notices something.

Uneasiness. You’re clearly uncomfortable with whoever this is, but even as the hand that was on your shoulder roams down to your hip, you keep a small smile on your face. And Stebbins has had just enough. He storms over, the cup in his hand dropping and someone shouting out a “Hey!” that he easily ignores.

And with a swift movement, he grabs the guy by the shoulder roughly, and delivers a punch to his face. Gasps and giggles erupt from all around him, and he sees you turn to him in shock right after. The boy, the stupid boy he corrects in his head, had crashed into the table and knocked a few people over with him. Stebbins could give a shit less. He grabs your arm and aims for the front door.

You knew Stebbins was.. well, violent? Sometimes? He did hockey, for fucks sake.

But in no universe, would you expect him out of all people to make a scene at a party. A place he was already probably not wanting to be at.

Currently, you both were sitting in his car, at a red light, to be specific, it was the one that always took forever. So now it’s just awkward.

“You didn’t have to bring me home.” You say quietly, your voice cracks from not using it, and you honestly feel embarrassed about it. Stebbins huffs, and you think he’s gonna blow out on you too.

“Was the least I could do.” He said, gripping the steering wheel, but he didn’t seem annoyed. Not at all, giddy, maybe. Nervous, even. “Sorry.” He says. It seems forced.

“It’s okay. I should be thanking you, actually. He was creeping me out a little. Touching me.” You blink slowly, and you assume the drinks are actually doing its work, or maybe the fear from the moment made it go away for a bit, and now it’s coming back to bite you.

“You could’ve said something sooner.”

You shrug. “To who? I was there alone.” You say quickly, but instantly regret it when you see him turn to you out of the corner of your eye.

“Alone? Why were you there alone?”

“Why were you?”

“I wasn’t.” He turns away. “I went with Pete, and Ray, and..”

You raise a brow. “And?”

“And no one is important.”

“Ah,” you say, clicking your tongue. “Right. You have time to go out to parties and punch people, find friends important, but not me, right? Never me.” You can’t stop talking, but you can definitely tell the atmosphere has changed. “Never.” You repeat to yourself.

“Can we not do this? Just let me take you to your dorm.” He says, and the light turns green.

“Why?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

You turn to him, slightly irritated. “Then what was it like, Stebbins?”

He blinks slowly, and seems to ponder something before finally spitting his words out. “Fine, you want to know? My dad made me do it. Said he’d kick me out the school if I stayed with you and didn’t focus on hockey. You think I wanted that?”

“You could’ve told me.”

“What, that I was a coward?”

“Why would I care about that of all things? Jeez, you’re a fucking asshole!” You say, and you cross your arms and look out the window instead. Silence falls over the car. You suddenly feel guilty, and close your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and in a split second, your eyes are back open. This one, this apology, seems genuine. Feels genuine.

“What?” You sputter out.

“I said I’m sorry. For being like that. I know I messed up. I know I..” He trails off, not really knowing what else to say.

He just said everything he needed to, though. Without even saying it.

“It’s okay… Well, not really, but-“

“Yeah.” He cuts you off while giving you a look, then turning back to the road. “Yeah, I get it.”

He seems to think for a second, and before he can say anything, you do.

“Is Harkness there? At your dorm, I mean.”

“No?” He says, extremely confused, before he catches on. “Oh.”

“If you don’t wanna, I mean- What am I saying? I’m sorry. This is so awkwar-“

“No, I want to.” Stebbins cuts you off, he clears his throat. “Spend time with you, and..”

“Mhm. Me too, Stebbins.” You say, and you’re almost about to drift off until you feel the familiar turn of the parking lot.

“Billy.” He corrects. You nod.

“Yeah, okay. Billy.” You repeat to basically yourself.

You don’t know where this is going, honestly.

But it wouldn’t hurt to find out, right?

@signedinmarigold

[signedinmarigold]

UNDER YOUR SPELL . .

in which stebbins can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, even after you two had broken up.

꩜ ; no warnings, suggestive stuff implied but isn’t written

Stebbins has long forgotten his cup that’s sitting in his hand.

Not because he doesn’t like the drink, he wouldn’t have picked it if he didn’t. The noise also might be irritating him, but he’s at a party and he can’t complain about somewhere he chose to be.

Not really. He didn’t decide to be here. It was mostly Pete’s idea, claiming it’d be fun, and he should loosen up and do things that aren’t working out and homework. “You’ll meet someone fun!” Words from Harkness, who didn’t even go himself, rang out in his head.

He should’ve made up a shitty excuse like Harkness did.

(But what excuse did he have to make? Working out? What a load of bullshit.)

Something else that’s utter bullshit, was the other thing that was pissing him off.

You. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

It was last year when you both broke up. He claimed that the two of you wouldn’t work out, that he was simply too focused on other things to make time for you.

He lied. He lied so much that day that he was certain those hours alone got him a ticket straight to hell. He didn’t think you two wouldn’t work out, he just wanted his father to stop bothering him about it.

And he’s never felt more stupid in his life. Smart. That’s what he’s supposed to be.

He wasn’t irritated about you, to be specific, but to whoever the boy was you were talking to.

He was the type of guy to get too close for comfort, arm on shoulder, and a little too relaxed. If he may add, he’s laughing way too hard, to the point that other people began to stare right with Stebbins. That irritated him even more. Nothing is ever that fucking funny. He thinks.

But he’s not with you. He hasn’t been for a long time.

He just doesn’t understand why he’s so worked up about this. Should he just go home? He doesn’t have to say goodbye to anyone, after all. He doesn’t owe anyone.

But then it clicks, when he squints a little, or looks at you even harder, he notices something.

Uneasiness. You’re clearly uncomfortable with whoever this is, but even as the hand that was on your shoulder roams down to your hip, you keep a small smile on your face. And Stebbins has had just enough. He storms over, the cup in his hand dropping and someone shouting out a “Hey!” that he easily ignores.

And with a swift movement, he grabs the guy by the shoulder roughly, and delivers a punch to his face. Gasps and giggles erupt from all around him, and he sees you turn to him in shock right after. The boy, the stupid boy he corrects in his head, had crashed into the table and knocked a few people over with him. Stebbins could give a shit less. He grabs your arm and aims for the front door.

You knew Stebbins was.. well, violent? Sometimes? He did hockey, for fucks sake.

But in no universe, would you expect him out of all people to make a scene at a party. A place he was already probably not wanting to be at.

Currently, you both were sitting in his car, at a red light, to be specific, it was the one that always took forever. So now it’s just awkward.

“You didn’t have to bring me home.” You say quietly, your voice cracks from not using it, and you honestly feel embarrassed about it. Stebbins huffs, and you think he’s gonna blow out on you too.

“Was the least I could do.” He said, gripping the steering wheel, but he didn’t seem annoyed. Not at all, giddy, maybe. Nervous, even. “Sorry.” He says. It seems forced.

“It’s okay. I should be thanking you, actually. He was creeping me out a little. Touching me.” You blink slowly, and you assume the drinks are actually doing its work, or maybe the fear from the moment made it go away for a bit, and now it’s coming back to bite you.

“You could’ve said something sooner.”

You shrug. “To who? I was there alone.” You say quickly, but instantly regret it when you see him turn to you out of the corner of your eye.

“Alone? Why were you there alone?”

“Why were you?”

“I wasn’t.” He turns away. “I went with Pete, and Ray, and..”

You raise a brow. “And?”

“And no one is important.”

“Ah,” you say, clicking your tongue. “Right. You have time to go out to parties and punch people, find friends important, but not me, right? Never me.” You can’t stop talking, but you can definitely tell the atmosphere has changed. “Never.” You repeat to yourself.

“Can we not do this? Just let me take you to your dorm.” He says, and the light turns green.

“Why?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

You turn to him, slightly irritated. “Then what was it like, Stebbins?”

He blinks slowly, and seems to ponder something before finally spitting his words out. “Fine, you want to know? My dad made me do it. Said he’d kick me out the school if I stayed with you and didn’t focus on hockey. You think I wanted that?”

“You could’ve told me.”

“What, that I was a coward?”

“Why would I care about that of all things? Jeez, you’re a fucking asshole!” You say, and you cross your arms and look out the window instead. Silence falls over the car. You suddenly feel guilty, and close your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and in a split second, your eyes are back open. This one, this apology, seems genuine. Feels genuine.

“What?” You sputter out.

“I said I’m sorry. For being like that. I know I messed up. I know I..” He trails off, not really knowing what else to say.

He just said everything he needed to, though. Without even saying it.

“It’s okay… Well, not really, but-“

“Yeah.” He cuts you off while giving you a look, then turning back to the road. “Yeah, I get it.”

He seems to think for a second, and before he can say anything, you do.

“Is Harkness there? At your dorm, I mean.”

“No?” He says, extremely confused, before he catches on. “Oh.”

“If you don’t wanna, I mean- What am I saying? I’m sorry. This is so awkwar-“

“No, I want to.” Stebbins cuts you off, he clears his throat. “Spend time with you, and..”

“Mhm. Me too, Stebbins.” You say, and you’re almost about to drift off until you feel the familiar turn of the parking lot.

“Billy.” He corrects. You nod.

“Yeah, okay. Billy.” You repeat to basically yourself.

You don’t know where this is going, honestly.

But it wouldn’t hurt to find out, right?

@signedinmarigold