nsfw meme - not accepting↳ Send in ✺ for my muse’s reaction to yours pulling mine up over their shoulder
Embarrassing wasn’t quite the word for it.
No, what Yosuke felt was well beyond that wavering emotion. He had really only himself to blame, and he was well aware of that. As much as he liked to believe he wasn’t old, he wasn’t young either, and the things he did so very easily at fifteen were treacherous at twenty seven. Deciding to climb the fence had been redundant at best. Even at his age, he was weak to attractive women, more so to ones who were willing to be impressed. So he made for the chain link fence, determined to scale it and retrieve a souvenir from the other side.
Before things could go well, they only got worse. He’d made it over once, and posed in satisfaction. The two women were mildly amused, politely clapping before beckoning him back for drinks. Impatience negatively influenced him now as he started on his return, steel biting into his palms as he fitted his sneakers past the rungs. Unfortunately this time around the barbed wire was more foe than friend, and it tore into his jeans, soon pegging him to the steel with what little it could. He struggled with the wire, attempting to tug it off. As he twisted in his restraints, the women’s immaculate brows fell and they slowly retreated, taking their offer for drinks back. Downtrodden, he wrenched his leg out harder than was clearly necessary, and toppled forward with a hollow smack. His knees and elbows caught the fall, as did his dick it seemed, because an overwhelming burn rose from between his thighs. There was a ringing in his ears, and just as quickly as he’d rose, he’d fallen, sprawled out on the cement, cradling his pained bulge.
That’s where the hulking stranger came in. A foreign man with dark curls and a curt voice that took the expression pick up groaning strangers, ask questions later quite literally. Yosuke didn’t think he was really all that light of a man, not to the point he could be lifted from the warm ground and hefted onto the stranger’s large shoulder with little to no effort. The view was horrendous, eyes torn between the foreigner’s broad back and what were possibly very expensive shoes. At the very least his hands were large and kept him precariously balanced, safer than where he’d just been.
“I’m okay– really…” He managed to croak, head lolling forward as he gave up on impressing anyone today. Yosuke willed for death, anything but this.
* ((I've been waiting for you to reblog this all day and I'm going to take advantage of this))
nsfw meme - accepting↳ * / √ / ☼ / ⁇
↳ Send in * for my muse’s reaction to yours slapping mine on the ass
They’re on the train when it happens, because it always seems to end up that way.
One second he’s rifling through his pockets for his phone, the next there’s a resounding clap. It’s less clap and more muffled over the baggy contours of his jeans, but it’s enough for him to know that his ass has just been assaulted, and the only perpetrator in probable vicinity is her. The sensation is strange, alien really as he’s so often used to being on the other end of the gesture. Turning around, he takes to facing her with a look that exudes halfhearted displeasure, because the fact is that he’s more amused than anything else.
“Y’rang.”
↳ Send in √ for my muse’s reaction to yours blindfolding mine
“This is startin’ t’look a lot like a kidnapping, you know.” Never mind the fact he can’t see at all. Not past the mottled dark shielding his vision. Maybe he should’ve seen it coming, or better yet, maybe he should’ve taken things a little more seriously when confessions ( “nah, never tried it.” ) turned into quiet curiousity. Yosuke knows her well enough, an unimpressive amount to begin with to be sure, to know that when she emerges from her bedroom with a dark cloth in her hands, his first word should be no.
Instead he resorts to immature confidence, and rattling scoffs as he lets her tie the knot behind his head. All he can hear is the hum of the air con, and her breathing, nothing’s loud, but his focus is all over the place now that he realizes why he never got into the business of blindfolding his partners or vice versa. There’s a long pause where the chill from the machine is replaced by the heat that emanates off her skin. He can’t tell what part of her body it is but he chooses to think it’s her arm, better yet, her shoulder. Harmless.
“Nah, fuck it, don’ get the hype–” Babbling, before his thoughts can wander into disconcerting territory, he tugs the material to his neck, almost satisfied by the start of disappointment that mars her features.
↳ Send in ☼ for my muse’s reaction to yours sliding their hand up mine’s thigh
He likes dares as much as any other person does. Really, he does, though the older he’s gotten, the more and more he thinks he’s outgrown the game. That isn’t to say he’s willing to give up any old challenge. His stubborn nature wouldn’t let him do that.
So when she suggests he sit still and let her do as she please for thirty seconds, the games are on. He can’t remember why they’re here, and what he’s doing with a can of beer balanced between his knees, face levelled into something like nonchalance. The first five seconds are easy, she merely leans in, tests the waters by closing the distance between their faces. All he does his stare in waiting.
“That it? I thought you were gonna’ make this interesting.” Of course he’s spoken too soon. No less than a millisecond later, her hand approaches. Pale fingers walk the path from the inside of his knees, and slide beneath the hem of his board shorts. A nagging voice starts up in the back of his head, warning him, more importantly, signalling his other head to behave. Keeping up expressions is relatively easy, although as her fingers draw slow lines of heat, climbing where they linger at the skin of his inner thigh– he manufactures a crooked grin. He can’t let her win. He focusses in on thoughts of his mother, foreign navy men at his childhood shores; things that have a usually good track record at keeping the heat under his skin tamed. The pads of her fingertips ghost in closer than he prefers, he’s a simple man with just as simple instincts, but just as he can feel her gaze on his chin, the stopwatch on his phone sounds out. A swell of relief takes the place of slow heat, and he’s assertive in retracting her wrist from the confines of his shorts.
“Truth or dare.”
↳ Send in ⁇ for my muse’s reaction to walking in on yours while bathing
There were worse places for him to be. Long days, even ones that consisted of doing nothing, were just as exhausting if not more. Jessica had invited him over for a later time, but as he was already here, he sees no reason to delay. Luckily for him, her door is already open. As to why he tries the knob first before knocking, he can’t be sure, but it seems like it’s his duty to make sure she’s around and he isn’t walking in on a robbery in process.
Carefully scoping the foyer, he notes just how quiet the apartment is. Mouth pursed, he quietly treks the hall, catching sight of the half open door that loomed at the end of the hall. On the off chance there was in fact a burglar, Yosuke remains quiet. Making a grab for the nearest item, a lamp shade, he brandishes it like a weapon and makes his leisurely approach. Lamp shade raised above his head, he steals a peek past the door frame and remains in place.
Undoubtedly there’s a part of him that tells him to stop staring at the pale skin beaded with water, but the overbearing instinct boiling in the pit of his stomach tells him to look. If only just for a few seconds. So he memorizes the sight, cataloguing the soft curves, and the sharp dip into thigh made slick by water before leaning back and setting himself straight. He isn’t proud of himself, but he steadies his breath, and knocks on the wood as if he’s just appeared.
“Oi, y’left your door open again. You’re asking to be robbed.”
six word story starter - accepting↳ “People used to call me Jesus.”
Yosuke couldn’t quite remember how they got here, but details were never all that important to him. All he knew was the evenings were much cooler stood at the edge of tokyo bay. The water crested on the docks, bringing with it much needed slices of cool air that did little to actually chill his sizzling skin. She was strange company in an even stranger city. Although he visited the capital on the rare occasion he was invited back, it still never sat right in his belly. Too many memories he supposed.
This time around Lilico was in town, and somehow time and space had conspired with them. A few haphazard mails and confirmations later, they were meeting in a bar of his choice. It was dingy, nothing like the places she often appreciated, but maybe that had been the point. He liked the brief show of displeasure that twisted her usually pretty features. There’d been no reason to stay for long after he’d finished up his second beer. In all honesty, Yosuke had an appointment scattered between their plans, so he beckoned her to come with him anyway. Meeting up with the dealer was relatively easy, he knew him through the cousin of a friend of a friend. He’d been promised a cheap batch of girl scout cookies. It’d been so long since he’d had any sort of kush. It only seemed appropriate he made the return with her somewhere at his side.
Purchase complete, they found themselves lingering on the edge of the bay. So it was there he removed the baggy and took to wordlessly rolling himself a joint on the smooth rail. He wasn’t nearly as discreet as he could be, and the edges weren’t as tight as he’d like, but it would do the trick. Lighting up the tapered end, he inhaled, letting the heavy smoke fill his chest before releasing it in slow slices into the air. Yosuke felt a little immature, and offered her a toke from time to time. The lightheadedness came in gradual spurts, easing him out and releasing the tension under his skin. He knew it had already begun to take its toll when he started babbling.
“Yanno’.. folks used t’call me jesus. Coupla’ years back, grew my hair out, fuckin’ beard and everything.” Words loaded with nostalgia and a halfhearted grin, his eyes moved to the rippling surface of the bay. The city lights were kaleidoscopic where they reflected on the water, blurred at the edges. A ridiculous thought popped into his head just as he’d exhaled a large wobbly ring of smoke, pungent where it stagnated between them. “How much y’wanna’ fuckin’ bet I can walk on water?”
six word story starter - accepting↳ “I was in love. …Until, herpes.”
Horror stories were best shared under the influence.
All they had was bottled water, green tea that tasted more like piss, and shrimp crackers they apparently couldn’t eat until after everything was said and done. To be fair, Yosuke had just come along for the snacks. Although that wasn’t to say he had better things to do because he didn’t. If anyone asked, he was there to show his support. But the reality was that he’d been wrung and twisted into dragging his ass inside. Free beer was as good a motivator as he was ever going to get.
Apparently these meetings were popping up across the country. They called themselves STC. Sexually transmitted confessions. Yosuke still couldn’t wrap his head around the society’s name, it seemed to be more damage than advocacy– but who was he to argue? All he wanted was for the talking to end so he could grab a handful of the crackers and leave before anyone got to asking names. Short rows of fold up chairs filled the already tiny room. Shame permeated the walls, and it took great effort to keep his grin from parting around obnoxious bouts of snickering and laughs. Faces were stoic, tones serious as what looked to be a gathering of entirely men spoke about their random run ins with syphilis and gonorrhea. It seemed to him they were trying awfully hard to be alcoholics anonymous without the sympathy and sob stories. His friend never spoke, no, he just sat and nodded like he was a sage, while digging his elbow into Yosuke’s side intermittently.
“I was in love… until herpes.” Maybe it was the phrasing that caught Yosuke’s attention, or rather the scruffy features disguising what he could’ve swore was something like resemblance. They’d made a point of attending a tokyo session, so as to keep their identities in the clear, but the man hunched in his chair, clothes long where they covered the breadth of his shoulders– Yosuke felt the sensation that he’d seen the man before. The feeling didn’t last all that long as he was spontaneously called out by the facilitator, an older gentleman who clearly had a wealth of his own horror stories. Briefly stunned, he feigned nonchalance, and confessed.
“Chylamydia. 2008. Great ass.” That wasn’t a lie. In the throes of juvenile sexual experience, he cared little for real protection, and took advantage of his fast to grow facial hair. Even at eighteen he was often mistaken for older, and at the time, women in their twenties who could pull off leopard print were his weakness.
six word story starter - accepting↳ “Killers wanted, payment negotiable. Inquire within.”
Yosuke couldn’t exactly tell if his leg was being pulled, or if he was about to get the cold muzzle of a gun shoved past his lips– the former was a notably better option between the two.
So apparently hired killers were a real thing.
It had all started with an innocuous ad in the classifieds. Not only was he brushing up on his hangul, but starting the tremulous journey back into employment. He had very few employable skills to show for himself, especially after three years working in the warehouse. But all that meant was that he wasn’t picky. At this rate he was perfectly willing to work just about anywhere. Though he drew a line at animals. He’d rather not involve himself with the furry shits. He circled opportunities that ran somewhere up his alley, like, secretary needed: must be sociable (at the right price he could be as sociable as they wanted), and looking for the experienced. lifting required (he had years experience carrying an array of women from the door to his bed). As tempting as those were, Yosuke was most intrigued by an ad seeking discreet service. Maybe he should’ve taken a second glance at the wording, turned suspicious that the ad was actually quite vague– but there was a number. Only mails would be reciprocated and assistance was immediately required.
Yosuke preferred the quick buck at this point. Left him free of commitments, especially now where he’d made no decision on the residency front. Texting was the easy part, getting a reply? A complete surprise. He was given an address and time, and saw no reason not to follow through. Of course now where he stood at the entranceway of a glaringly empty warehouse, staring down the barrel of what he hoped was a really misleading water gun– his life threatened to flash before his eyes. Instead of dwelling on memories he’d much rather not, he tried to explain.
“Oi, oi, I think we got ourselves a misunderstanding ‘ere… I came looking for a job.” He grappled with what was left of his charm, hands out as if to prove his idiocy. “Get this. If I’d known what was actually up, I wouldn’t have replied. Figured shit like this was a fuckin’ myth.”
six word story starter - accepting↳ “I do not have a story.”
He thought the place smelt like mould.
His sister had always spoke of the scent she so enjoyed the first time she peeled pages back from their spine. Yosuke never quite shared the same feeling. For him, it was dank, stinging his nose when he leant in too close to a shelf that brandished old classics. Undoubtedly he was biased, as he’d never taken to the pull of literacy like Ryoko had. Even in school he only gave way to class requirements when faced with repercussions. The worst sort were the threats his parents would be notified of his transgressions; forcing his usual stubborn facade away, though it was always done so with several complaints. Now at twenty seven, Yosuke still wasn’t a particular fan.
Which did nothing to explain why he was in the nook of a book store to begin with. The story wasn’t all that long anyway. He’d messed up one too many attempts at guessing the hangul being written along his arm. His excuse was fingertips were terrible writing utensils, while his roommate begged to differ. She poked and prodded until he left and made a haphazard beeline for the book store. Never having been inside, he didn’t know what to expect but for what he assumed most book stores carried.
When he was accosted– though that wasn’t entirely true, he liked to exaggerate– by what looked to be an employee, he managed an awkward cringe. She was young and more enthusiastic than he liked, insistent that he must have a story if he were lingering among shelves. Even if he did, he was in no way willing to share. So instead he reeled back the frown furrowing his brows, and husked.
“Lookin’ for some vocab shit. Y’got any?” That was as reasonable as he would get, arms crossing over his chest. He was all too aware of the fact he was out of his element in here.
six word story starter - accepting↳ “Fuck this, I’ll be a stripper.”
Yosuke hadn’t bargained for this.
Trips to tokyo were sparse between spontaneous flights to seoul when he had the money to spare, and lying languid in the confines of his childhood home. But acquaintances of friends he had before the accident were stubborn in their invitations, so eventually he broke. Once they’d revealed their plans consisted of cheap beer and garish clubs. Yosuke could get behind things like that with a speed no one could compete with.
The night had been going pretty well. His skin sizzled under the weight of almost too many beers, and they found themselves sprawled out in the booth of a club no one seemed to know the name of. That didn’t matter so much as that cover had been cheap. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hung around so many buzzed men, and Yosuke couldn’t deny that the sensation was amusing. Dancehall reverberated like static on the speakers, and he laughed like it was three years ago. But of course if he’d learnt anything, it was that good things more often than not, came to tragic ends.
Several of his companions had waded into the crowd, looking for a body to hang off of. He and another man who appeared to be mute were the only ones left in their seats. He didn’t need the conversation anyway, but as his teeth clicked against the glass of his who-knew-what-number-this-was beer, he eyed the approaching form. Proper lighting was obviously not a priority for the establishment, but what little there was illuminated the lean lines of what looked to be a man closing the distance between the dance floor and their booth. Maybe he knew his mute companion– although that seemed less likely the closer the pierced stranger got.
Yosuke had all the intention of saying something. He really did. But that was lost to the deafening volume of the skittering bass, and the stranger climbing their table top like it was his birth right. Yosuke was quick to grab his beers, holding the damp bottles close to the safety of his chest as the smirking man took to dancing in slow sweeps. The wood creaked beneath his weight, but he was seemingly undeterred if the way long fingers unbuckled a belt, leaving it to clatter on the table, was to mean anything. This wasn’t to say Yosuke hadn’t been privy to sights like this before, because that would be untrue. But he’d gone out in the hopes of cradling a few drinks and slumping into a futon after all was said and done.
six word story starter - accepting↳ “Let us be little children again.”
They had better things they could be doing.
Like giving spare won to the homeless. Looking into a cure for a cancer– as a matter of fact, sprawled beneath the sheets of their beds would probably be a smarter decision than what they were currently up to. It was important to note neither of them knew each other. Strangers filled the city en masse, but as the two men straddled their respective swings, several questions were likely to come to mind.
Such as: What was a twenty seven year old man doing on a swing meant for children vastly younger than him? What of the younger man doing the same? Didn’t he have a barely legal party to crash? Answers were useless in the face of the fact it was nearing dark, the lampposts had only just blinked on; swathing the empty park in yellow light. The construction signs should have been signal enough, reflective pylons circling the dirty sand. It certainly wasn’t a place for kids anymore, not when the slide was cracked in half, and most of the monkey bars had been removed. Whatever the case, these two had found themselves here, trespassing property that was clearly marked off to fit their rears into undersized swing sets.
Yosuke only broke the silence after he’d begun to make good air, fingers tight where they bit into the rusted chains. “Just so we’re clear ‘ere. I ain’t a pedophile.” He felt it was necessary he clear the air. This wasn’t the sort of thing he made a habit of, and it bothered him to think the teenager at his side would draw wild conclusions. For some reason or another he was comfortable where he swung, legs bent uncomfortably, seat chugging through the air.
