#yuta soft | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hameesstuff · 3 months ago

Text

"Trigger Discipline"

Title: "Trigger Discipline"

Word count: ~6.2k

Themes: Exes to lovers, Mafia, Violence, Soft Smut, Angst, Fluff, Almost death scene.

Preview: He’s dragged blood-soaked bodies through alleyways and whispered orders that ended lives. But nothing ever rattled Johnny like the new folder on his desk—one that read your name. You who once kissed his bloody knuckles and told him he was more than what the world made him. Now he’s ordered to erase you. The only woman he's ever loved.

But love doesn’t follow orders. Not even in the mafia.

___________________________________________

A Clean Shot

Johnny had a ritual when it came to bodies.

Late at night, when the streets fell silent and the city stopped pretending it was clean, he’d roll up his sleeves, light a cigarette, and handle the mess himself. It wasn’t about trust—though he had little of it—it was about control. About making sure every job ended with a period, not a question mark.

Tonight was no different. A warehouse. Concrete floors. One bullet to the head, another to the chest for good measure. He crouched beside the corpse in a black suit that didn’t wrinkle, pulled off his gloves, and stared into the glassy eyes of the dead man like he might confess something in his final silence.

He didn’t.

“You sure you wanna keep doing cleanup?” Doyoung’s voice echoed as he stepped into the dim light, arms crossed. “You’re the boss now. The man who orders the trigger, not pulls it.”

Johnny stood slowly, flicking blood off his gloves before tucking them into his coat pocket. “Sometimes I don’t trust the hands holding the gun.”

Doyoung raised an eyebrow. “That paranoia gonna kill you before anyone else does.”

A small smirk curled on Johnny’s lips. “Let it try.”

Two hours later, back at his office—top floor of a building people assumed was abandoned—he sat with a glass of whiskey and a stack of target folders. He wasn’t reading them. Not yet. He just liked the weight. The gravity of lives outlined in ink and photos.

Until one slipped free and landed face up.

Your face.

The glass in his hand didn’t fall, but his grip tightened. His throat clenched so hard he couldn’t breathe, like the past had reached out and wrapped its soft, familiar fingers around his neck.

You looked the same. Maybe prettier. Hair up in a lazy clip, a small crinkle at the edge of your smile as you knelt beside a child, their hands buried in paint. The caption on the photo:

Name: [REDACTED]. Status: Civilian. Occupation: Kindergarten Teacher. Priority: Immediate Termination.

Johnny didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared.

You hadn’t spoken in three years. He left you for a life he thought you’d never survive beside. You loved flowers and fairy lights and poetry about the moon. He left blood on his doormat every Thursday.

He should burn the file. Call it a mistake. Tell Doyoung he’d handle it and then vanish you to some new life in a different country, maybe.

But something in his chest—something he hadn’t felt since your bare arms wrapped around his torso in a summer rain—began to twist.

He leaned back, whispering like a curse:

“…Fuck.”

Paper Hearts, Loaded Guns

The street outside the school was quiet, dappled in soft morning light filtered through thinning spring leaves. Johnny stood across from the playground, silent, unmoving, the hood of his black coat casting a shadow over his eyes.

And there you were.

Bent over in a room full of color and chaos, gently tying the shoelaces of a boy who was crying too hard to speak. You whispered something—he couldn't hear it, but he didn’t need to. The child nodded, wiped his tears, and hugged you around the waist.

Johnny didn’t blink.

You hadn’t changed. Not in the ways that mattered.

Still pretty in the kind of way the world didn’t deserve. Still moved like the weight of the world was something you carried for others. Your hair was up in that loose twist you always did when you were focused. There were chalk marks on your skirt. Crayon smudges on your wrist. And somehow, it made you glow.

His fingers curled inside his coat pocket where the pistol rested, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth rising in his chest.

He’d forgotten how much he missed you.

He remembered the first time he kissed you.

He’d had blood on his hands that night too. You were barefoot on the kitchen floor in his apartment, laughing softly as you stirred noodles in a pot, humming something off-key.

“I’m dirty,” he had said, stepping in cautiously, fists clenched at his sides.

“I know,” you replied, and turned to look at him. “But I still want you to hold me.”

So he had.

And he hadn’t let go until the sun came up and his heart remembered it could still beat for something other than survival.

Now, watching you crouch by a chalkboard where your students had scrawled crooked letters, he felt the ghost of your fingers brush his again. The memory of your mouth against his jaw. The whispered I love yous in the kind of silence that made a man forget he was born into violence.

You were peace.

And you were on his list.

His phone buzzed in his coat.

Doyoung:

You’re dragging your feet. You said you’d handle it. HQ is breathing down my neck. We confirmed it—she’s the witness’ tie. Clean shot. No questions.

Johnny looked up at the classroom window. You were laughing now, hair falling out of its clip. A little girl placed a sticker on your cheek, and you didn’t remove it. Just smiled like joy was the most natural thing in the world.

That night, he didn’t drink.

He just sat at his desk, file open, staring at your name. Again. And again.

You were a teacher. A civilian. A bright spot in a world of darkness he’d willingly sunk into.

His thumb brushed your photograph.

The burn behind his eyes came fast.

He closed the file and whispered into the silence, “I’m not killing her.”

Even if it killed him.

The Man Behind the Bullet

Rain came hard that night—thick sheets against the glass, soft thunder rumbling like a distant war Johnny had already lost. The city was quiet in a way that made him restless. His office lights were dimmed low, his black shirt still clinging to him from the walk in. He hadn’t bothered drying off. He needed the cold.

The file sat open on the desk. Again.

Your photo stared back at him—head tilted, half-smile tucked into the corner of your lips like you were keeping a secret only he could ever understand.

Maybe you were.

Maybe that’s why it still hurt.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years. Not since the night he left, standing in the doorway with his bag and his demons and that look on your face—the one that shattered him.

You never asked him to stay.

And he’d hated you for it.

But only for a day.

Then he hated himself.

Two years earlier

You’d been curled against his chest in bed, legs tangled together, rain tapping soft on the window.

“I can hear your heart when I lay here,” you’d murmured, fingertips grazing the tattoo over his ribs.

“It’s fast.”

“That’s just you,” he replied, kissing your temple. “You scare me.”

You smiled softly. “Why?”

“Because when I look at you, I start thinking about things I shouldn’t want.”

“Like what?”

“Like soggy pancakes with our lttle kids. Sunday mornings that aren’t covered in blood.”

You had gone quiet then. But not cold. You just whispered, “You deserve those things too, Johnny. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”

Now, in this office built on silence and fear, all he could hear was your voice—faint and warm and far too close.

He poured a drink. Didn’t sip it.

There was a knock at the door.

Doyoung stepped in, slicked with rain, holding a USB drive. “Final proof,” he said grimly. “Your girl was seen talking to the witness last week. Same bookstore. He was killed two days later.”

Johnny stiffened. “She’s a teacher. That shop’s on her route home.”

“She hugged him.”

Johnny looked up, slow and sharp.

Doyoung raised his hands. “I’m just saying. Boss, it doesn’t matter how she got tied to this. HQ wants it done. If it wasn’t you, they’d send Taeyong. And he won’t hesitate.”

The room grew still. Heavy.

Then Johnny said, voice low and hard, “If Taeyong touches her, I’ll put a bullet in his mouth.”

Silence.

Doyoung exhaled and leaned on the wall. “You never even told us why you left her.”

Johnny turned away. “Because I loved her.”

Outside, the rain had stopped.

And across the city, you were closing your classroom for the night, unaware of the storm circling your name. You packed up the glitter glue, hummed to the silence, then paused.

There it was again.

The ache in your chest.

Like someone you once knew was standing just outside the door.

Ghosts in the Doorway

It started with a knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone. It was nearly 9 p.m., and your apartment was tucked on the second floor of a quiet building that smelled like old books and warm bread. You were still in your soft house sweater—oversized, worn at the cuffs—curled on the couch with a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

The knock came again. Quiet. Firm.

You frowned, setting the cup down, the strange unease curling at the base of your neck. When you opened the door, the breath left your lungs.

Johnny Suh stood there.

Dripping rain onto your doormat.

Black coat. Black eyes. Hands stuffed in his pockets like he didn’t trust them to stay still. You hadn’t seen him in three years, but God, he still looked the same—older around the eyes maybe, more carved at the edges—but still heartbreakingly him.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

For one long second, it was like the world had forgotten how to spin.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said first, voice low. Hoarse. Like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. “I swear.”

You didn’t move.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“I know.”

He exhaled, the weight of the universe in his shoulders. “But I needed to see you before they do.”

“Who?” you asked, even though part of you already knew.

He hesitated.

Then: “People who kill for less reason than I have.”

The silence between you turned thick. Heavy.

You stepped back without a word, and he followed you in.

Your apartment was small, warm. Familiar in ways that made his chest ache. You still kept candles on the windowsill. A bookshelf half-falling apart. A cat he didn’t recognize blinked up at him from the kitchen counter like it already hated him.

He stood in the middle of the living room, dripping on your rug, hands twitching.

You watched him carefully. “You said before they do.”

Johnny nodded once.

And then—for the first time—you saw it. The pain in his eyes. The guilt in the line of his jaw. The tight way he held himself, like he didn’t know if he was here to beg or bleed.

“They sent you,” you said softly.

Not a question.

He didn’t lie.

“Yes.”

The floor fell out from under you. But you didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stood there—arms crossed over your stomach like you were holding yourself together—staring at the man who once made you believe the world could be kind.

You let out a breath like it broke something inside you.

“Was I really ever just a job, Johnny?”

“No,” he said instantly. Stepped forward. “You were the only real thing I ever had.”

He didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

But he looked at you like a man memorizing every line of a poem he would never get to read again.

And then, finally: “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t care what they say. I’ll burn the whole organization to the ground before I let them touch you.”

You blinked.

“Why?” you whispered.

He looked wrecked when he said it.

“Because I still love you.”

Before the Fire Started

Three Years Ago.

The night before he left.

The city was asleep, but your apartment lights were low and golden. You stood in the kitchen wearing one of his old black shirts, too big on your frame, the sleeves rolled up as you swayed barefoot on cold tiles.

Johnny leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you stir soup in a chipped pot.

“You look domestic,” he teased softly.

You smirked without turning. “Don’t ruin it.”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like he knew this moment was borrowed time.

“I like it,” he murmured, now behind you. His arms wrapped gently around your waist. “You. Here. With me. Like this.”

You stilled in his hold.

Then slowly leaned back against his chest, letting the silence settle.

“You’re tense,” you whispered.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “Everything in my world breaks. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

You turned then, both hands pressed to his chest.

“I won't, Johnny. Not when it’s you.”

He bent his head, forehead resting against yours.

“I don’t get to keep this life,” he said, barely audible. “The people I work for—they don’t let you have peace. Or light. Or love.”

You tilted your face up, eyes stinging.

“I don’t care.”

He smiled. Soft. Devastated.

“You should.”

That night, he made love to you like a man saying goodbye with every touch.

He memorized your breath, the way you whispered his name, the way your fingers gripped his shoulder when you came apart around him—like he was the only place in the world you felt safe.

He kissed your throat afterward, whispering, “I’ll never love again. Even if I live to be a hundred. There’s only you.”

You kissed his mouth to quiet the ache.

Now.

You stared at him in your living room, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. The hurt hadn’t dulled with time—it was just quieter now. Sharper in how it pierced.

He was still standing there, soaked and sleepless, looking at you like you were the only clean thing he had left in the world.

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” he whispered.

You didn’t respond.

You just stepped closer—heart beating too loud—and reached up.

Your fingers brushed the scar under his jaw. One he didn’t have before.

He didn’t flinch.

“You still smell like smoke,” you murmured.

Johnny’s throat bobbed. “I never stopped burning.”

Between the Trigger and the Touch

You didn’t speak for a while.

Not after tracing that scar. Not after his breath hitched at your touch like he’d forgotten how to be held gently.

The room was quiet but charged. You turned away slowly, walking to the window, arms folding tight over your chest. The city lights blinked below, rain still glittering on the glass.

He didn’t move.

“I waited,” you said finally, voice like a scraped match. “For weeks. I thought maybe you’d knock again. Maybe you just needed space. But you didn’t even leave a note, Johnny.”

He exhaled sharply, pain twisting through his features. “I couldn’t. If I stayed—if I wrote, called, anything—they’d know you mattered. You’d be dead by now.”

You turned to him. “And now?”

“I don’t care anymore,” he said. “If I die protecting you, then I die doing the one good thing I’ve ever done right.”

Your breath caught.

Johnny stepped forward then, slow and deliberate, stopping a few inches from you. His voice dropped.

“I dream about you.”

You swallowed.

He kept going. “About what I left. About what I ruined. You cooking barefoot. Laughing. The way you used to fall asleep on my chest mid movie.”

Your lips twitched.

He saw it.

A faint, broken smile pulled at his mouth too.

And then: “Do you still listen to that stupid playlist? The one you made me for night drives?”

You blinked hard. “You remember that?”

“I remember all of it.”

Silence.

And then he said, quieter, “Do you want me to go?”

You could lie. You could say yes. You could ask him to disappear again so your heart didn’t have to remember how to ache.

But instead—

You reached for his hand.

Fingers lacing slowly. Trembling.

“No,” you said.

And he looked at you like he was about to fall to his knees.

When the Light Broke

You whispered, “Kiss me.”

And for a moment, nothing in the world existed except his lips brushing yours.

Slow. Reverent. Like he’d waited his entire life for that single contact.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an apology, a confession, a resurrection.

Your fingers trembled as they curled in his jacket. His hand cradled your jaw like you might disappear again if he held too hard. Your bodies hadn’t touched in years, but they remembered. His mouth moved like he was desperate to memorize you again.

You broke apart only to breathe. You were just about to say his name when—

The window behind you shattered into a thousand pieces. A blink. A sound like thunder swallowed in glass.

And then—

A burning punch to your side.

You gasped.

The air was gone. Your legs buckled.

Johnny caught you mid-fall, and suddenly the world was sideways. His arms tightened around your body, but your vision was already going soft at the edges.

“No.” His voice was jagged. “No no no no no—”

Your blood soaked through his hands instantly. Hot. Fast. Too fast.

He dragged you behind the couch in one fluid motion, his back shielding yours as more glass sprayed across the room—fragments glinting in the air like falling stars. But no more shots came. One bullet. One message.

You coughed. Choked on your own breath.

“Johnny…” you managed, voice like smoke.

He ripped his jacket off and pressed it to your side, hand shaking so violently he almost missed. “Stay awake. Don’t you dare fucking close your eyes—don’t you dare—”

Tears flooded your vision. Not from pain. From the sound of him. You’d never heard him sound like that.

Like he was dying too.

“Help’s coming,” he said. It wasn’t a promise. It was a prayer.

Your lips parted, blood trickling into your mouth.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wild, voice breaking. “I just got you back. I just got you back. Don’t leave me like this—not you—”

Your body was going cold.

But his hands never stopped holding you like they could pull your soul back in.

The Aftermath

The cold sting of antiseptic filled the air as Johnny rushed through the hospital doors, adrenaline still running through his veins, mixing with the heavy weight of panic.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be hurt.

He wasn’t supposed to be holding your bleeding body in his arms, fighting for your life in the back of his car. It wasn’t supposed to be real.

But it was.

He shouted for help as soon as the doors opened, his hands shaking so badly he could barely feel the blood on them anymore. Your blood. The warmth of it on his skin still burned like fire.

“Emergency!” he barked, voice cracking with desperation.

They moved fast, voices echoing in the chaos, and in the blur of rushing hands, he finally let go. Reluctantly. He stepped back, watching helplessly as the doctors and nurses surrounded you—working fast, speaking in quick, sharp commands. He was useless in this moment, and it tore him apart.

“She’s losing too much blood!” one of the nurses shouted.

Johnny barely registered their words as he stood, frozen in the doorway. His chest was tight, his throat clogged. His body was still shaking from the shock, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was from the guilt. The ache of knowing he might’ve just lost the one person who ever meant anything.

One of the doctors looked at him, eyes hard, and gave him a single, firm command.

“You need to leave. Now.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t fight. He turned, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders as he stepped into the sterile hallway, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts that couldn’t be caught.

The hours dragged by.

Johnny didn’t leave the hospital. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He just waited.

And waited.

By the time the sun cracked the sky and the sterile lights in the hospital halls flickered to life, his eyes were sunken. He’d spent all night pacing, trying to stay awake, to stay present. But a deep, gnawing dread crawled under his skin—the fear that you might not make it.

The sound of a door opening caught his attention. A nurse appeared, her face tired but calm.

“She’s stable.” she said, her voice soft. “She’s going to be okay.”

Johnny exhaled. It was like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath all this time. His heart beat again, and for the first time, the weight seemed a little less suffocating.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Can I see her?” he asked, voice raw.

The nurse nodded.

When Johnny walked into your room, the sight of you—pale, bruised, breathing steadily beneath the sterile white sheets—nearly broke him all over again.

You were alive. You were breathing. And that was enough.

He stood by your bedside for a long time, just watching you. His eyes tracing every inch of your face, memorizing every detail in case he never got the chance again.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, it wasn’t shock or pain that crossed your face. It was relief.

“Johnny…” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He took your hand, fingers trembling as he gently kissed the back of it. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“Don’t leave.” You whispered, barely audible. The faintest of smiles curled your lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he whispered back.

And for that moment, it was enough. But not for long.

Hours later, you fell into a deep, healing sleep.

Johnny’s gaze lingered on your face one last time. He knew he should stay. He knew he shouldn’t go.

But there was something he had to do.

He quietly slipped out of the room, leaving a single kiss on your forehead, and as he walked down the empty hallway, the weight of the decision crushed him.

You’d live. You’d heal. But he couldn’t let this go.

Not yet.

The morning after, Johnny was already gone.

Blood Bath.

He didn’t wear gloves.

He wanted the blood on his hands.

Johnny didn’t knock when he entered the second-floor room of the warehouse. The metal door slammed open, a blinding flash of moonlight cutting across the shadows. Inside, the man who’d given the kill order—Leon Vargas—was seated at a round table, surrounded by half-empty glasses and two bodyguards.

Johnny didn’t hesitate.

Two bullets. Two guards dropped before they even reached their guns.

Vargas shot up from his chair, stumbling backward as Johnny strode in like death itself. Dressed in black, eyes cold, jaw tight—he looked like vengeance incarnate. His gun remained steady, a seamless extension of his fury.

“You shouldn't have touched her.”

“Johnny, wait—”

Johnny’s fist slammed into Vargas’ jaw, sending the man reeling against the wall. He followed him, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him down onto the table, glass shattering beneath the weight.

“Was it a message? Huh?” Johnny hissed, gun pressed to Vargas’ mouth. “That kindergarten teacher? My ex? That was the line you wanted to cross?”

“I didn't know—”

Another punch. This one split his lip.

“You did. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Vargas coughed blood, a shaky laugh escaping. “You went soft. Thought you needed reminding.”

Johnny froze for a moment. That laugh. That arrogance.

Then he smiled.

But it wasn’t kind.

He reached for a knife from his belt—cold steel glinting in the low light—and drove it into Vargas’ thigh.

Scream.

Vargas writhed beneath him, blood pouring down the chair leg.

“I haven’t gone soft,” Johnny whispered into his ear, voice calm and cold. “I’ve gotten worse. Because of her.”

He twisted the blade slowly, like he was savoring it.

“I love her. You made me bleed for her. Now you’ll drown in yours.”

He pulled the knife free, slick and dripping, then stepped back and emptied his entire magazine into Vargas’ chest.

The final shot went into his head. Point blank.

Johnny stared at the body, chest heaving, blood on his hands, his face, his soul. But his eyes were calm now. His monster fed.

He dropped the empty magazine, reloaded, and turned without looking back.

His hands were stained red.

And now, finally, so was his soul.

Epilogue: “The Quietest Thing”

The city was far behind them now.

Up in the hills, where the clouds rolled slow and the nights came soft, a quiet house sat tucked behind rows of apricot trees. It smelled like jasmine in spring and woodsmoke in winter. And tonight, it smelled like home.

Johnny stood barefoot in the hallway, shoulder against the frame of her bedroom door.

Inside, your daughter was curled up under a pink blanket, knees tucked to her chest, a stuffed rabbit clutched tight in her arms. Her hair fanned out across the pillow like ink in water—thick and dark, just like his.

You stood at her bedside, humming something faint as you tucked the blanket higher. The glow from the nightlight kissed your cheek, and Johnny felt it again—that quiet, shattering ache of love so deep it felt like forgiveness.

“She’s growing fast,” he whispered.

You turned to him, smiling gently. “She’s already smarter than both of us.”

“She’s got your heart,” he murmured.

“She’s got your fight.”

You walked over, sliding your hand into his. He kissed the back of it, eyes drifting back to the tiny body sleeping peacefully in the bed.

“She asked me today if you were a superhero,” you whispered. “Said you have hands like a soldier but eyes like a prince.”

Johnny swallowed. “What did you tell her?”

“I said no,” you said softly. “You’re not a superhero.”

His heart thudded. You leaned in.

“You’re her father,” you whispered. “That’s better.”

Outside, the wind danced through the trees.

In the living room, Doyoung was passed out on the couch, glasses askew, a coloring book open on his chest—one your daughter had abandoned halfway through. Crayons littered the floor. Classical piano music still hummed faintly from the kitchen speaker.

The home was chaotic in the way only happy homes are.

Johnny reached for you as you stepped into the living room, pulling you gently onto his lap as he sank into the armchair near the fireplace. You melted into him like you always did—like the world outside didn’t exist anymore.

“I thought the blood would follow me forever,” he murmured into your shoulder. “Even when I left, I thought… one day, she’d see it in me.”

“She won’t,” you whispered. “Because it’s not there anymore.”

He held you tighter.

“You gave her a different name than the one you lived under,” you said. “You gave her peace. You gave her a life.”

He looked up at you slowly, eyes glassy, voice raw. “You gave me a soul.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead to his. “And she gave us a forever.”

That night, as the fire crackled low and the world quieted, Johnny slipped into his daughter’s room one last time.

He kissed her forehead, brushed a curl from her cheek, and whispered the words he never thought he’d live long enough to say:

“I love you, little one.”

She stirred faintly in her sleep, a soft hum escaping her.

And in that moment, Johnny realized:

He’d never be a monster again.

Because the only thing he killed now—was the past.

The End.

___________________________________________

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unorthodoxfaithxx · 11 months ago

Text

Depressed Reader X Yandere

Nsfw ; manipulation ; yandere ; female reader

Yuta Okkotsu is not a normal man — he knows this better than anyone. Because what kind of man stalks the object of his affections 24/7, showers them with gifts just to be rejected every time, contemplates kidnapping them, and waits and waits and waits in hopes that one day, they’ll change their minds and love him back?

Call him a simp, but his love for you is heavy, suffocatingly so. And when it comes to words, he can’t even begin to describe what he feels for you. He loves you. He wants you. He needs you. He’s absolutely obsessed.

You don’t love him, but he knows he can change that now. Because tonight, you finally sought him out. One text sent him driving to your neighborhood at 2 AM at ungodly speeds. It was three words. “I need you”.

Finally. Months of waiting, yearning, pining, going insane, have finally come to fruition.

He stands at your apartment doorway nervously, wringing his hands while he waits for you to open the door. A nervous habit he never grew out of. When the door slowly creaks open, he quickly smooths his shirt and tries to hold back his excitement.

Your eyes are red and puffy from crying, he could tell, but you look gorgeous nonetheless. You’re in nothing but a crop top and some shorts - a look he decides is absolutely ravishing, and it takes everything within him to not jump you right then and there.

“Oh angel, what’s wrong?”

Yuta immediately holds you tightly in his arms, unabashedly breathing in your scent and relishing the closeness of your bodies together.

You cling onto him like he’ll disappear, and a swell of contentedness blooms in his chest. You’re too adorable.

He shuts the door behind him and ushers you into the couch in the living room, as if he’d been there before.

He has, but not when you were present.

You eventually calm down enough to talk.

“I just, I feel so fucking empty, Yuta. I hate myself. I feel ugly. I’m lonely. There’s like a big whole in my chest that won’t go away.”

Oh, you poor thing. He asks you if you’ve taken your meds lately, and you give a tiny nod, face pressed into his soft, white sweater.

You’ve struggled with depression for the longest time, this he knows. He doesn’t quite understand what had made it worse lately, but that was okay. He’ll make it all better soon.

“I’m sorry for crying and calling you over. I just feel so weak right now, I—“

“Hey,” He lowers his head to meet you at eye level, hands gently caressing both of yours, “You are not weak—You’re the strongest person I know. It’s okay to not be okay, got that?”

You only sniffle in return.

“Is there anything I can do for you, angel?”

It’s quiet for a minute, but you eventually open your mouth to say pathetically, “Make me feel better. Help me make all this go away.”

Finally. You’ll let him take care of you. There’s no going back now.

He could protect you. Maybe not fix you, but he’ll do whatever he can to help.

“Sweet thing, of course. I’ll give you whatever you want…c’mere, I’ll take care of everything, okay?” He wipes the tears from your eyes, placing a kiss atop your head.

“I know how to get rid of that hollow feeling in your chest.” He smiles sweetly, but his next words possess a threatening undertone to them. His eyes filled with love, he proposes,

“We just fill your body up with something else.”

——————————————————————

“Too big,” You mewl pathetically.

The two of you are in your bed, clothes strewn across the bedroom floor. You look so beautiful underneath him, Yuta thinks. He stares at you with adoration as you take in what he has to offer.

Your eyes are teary, face flushed, with your body wriggling under him. You try to move from him, to escape the intense stimulation you feel, but the young man holds onto your hips tightly, his member sheathed all the way inside you.

“Shhhhh, you’re okay baby. Just relax,” His sickeningly sweet voice coaxes you to give under his hold. “See? You’re doing so good right now.”

Yuta is a gentle lover. He took his time undressing you, and he takes his time fucking you. Slowly, he pumps in and out of you, letting you feel every inch of his cock enter and leave your pretty pussy.

It feels good, you think. So fucking good. For the first time in a long time, you feel full.

Through your tears, Yuta looks like an angel.

His delicate, pale skin seems to glow with sweat in the night, and for a second you wonder if he’s a being sent from heaven to turn your life around. A pang of guilt hits your chest when you think about all the times you’ve rejected his advances. Was this okay? Deep down you knew that once this was over, there was no going back.

“It’s okay,” He hums when he sees another tear fall from your eye, “You’re okay.” He leans down to smother you with kisses, hands having left your hips in favor of playing with your breasts instead.

“Oh, sweetheart. You feel so good.” He coos.

You’re so soft and pliant under his hands, just like he’s always thought you’d be. It takes everything in him not to come inside you yet. Your soft moans aren’t helping, the seductive sounds turning him on so much that he wishes he had your room bugged with a recording device so he could save them for later.

He can tell you’re close when your legs start shaking, and he sings you praises as he coaxes you into an orgasm that sends you to the moon.

“There you are,” He speaks softly into your ear, “Doing so good for me. It’s okay now, just cum.”

He’s not long after you, pulling out to pump thick ropes of white onto your stomach.

You’re all tuckered out afterwards, and he finds it endearing when he comes back from the bathroom with a clean towel to wipe you down, only to see you out for the night.

He loves you so much. And whether you’re ready for it or not, he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

(Sorry if this was too short guys, I haven’t been doing the greatest creatively and all but gave up on this fic until I saw the latest JJK chapters. Love you all! )

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jaewsss · 1 year ago

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℘ ⃛͡ †⏝ིི᭨💻 @ T͟o͟k͟y͟o͟ 𝕯ream Girl 𑜞᭄🦇🚠

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siriusly-parker · 1 year ago

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—hit me hard and soft.

billie eilish-inspired song fics!

“skinny.” — yuuji itadori x ex!chubby!reader

“i could eat that girl for lunch!” — jjk boys smau

“man, am i the greatest.” — satoru gojo, angst, hurt/comfort

“birds of a feather.” — megumi fushiguro, mutual pining, best friends to lovers

“wildflower.” — yuuta okkotsu, angst

“l’amour de ma vie.” + “blue.” — suguru geto, his pov, angst, post-defection consequences and reminiscing on the sweet sweet past

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jazzitos · 7 months ago

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as_coisas_mudam_pra_melhor.mp3 🎵 📔 🍐

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shookuna · 1 year ago

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a short drabble - juuuuust thinking about falling in love with yuuta.. :')) nsf(w) ment, yuuta pining, honeymoon phase to love love wc: ~500!

yuuta really was the perfect boyfriend.

not that this should have come as a shock to you - he was doting on you even back when you were just friends. ever the gentleman, yuuta would walk you to and from class every day, making sure you were safe and comfortable every step of the way.

"are you okay? are you cold? do you need to borrow my jacket? o-oh, your hands are f-freezing... here, let me warm them up for you."

you tried to relieve him of this obligation every once and a while, not wanting him to worry for you so much. but every time, he'd simply wave off your concerns by saying how it really was no trouble, your dorm was on his route anyways. (it wasn't. he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.)

when you think about it now, you feel so silly for ever doubting if he liked you back then. even before you agreed to go out with him, yuuta was already treating you like a lover.

his one and only.

at first, the love you shared with yuuta was light, airy, refreshing. somewhere between a schoolgirl crush and budding affection. the more you opened up to him, the more you felt... well, giddy! like a swarm of butterflies was erupting in your chest, leaving you weightless. his love was threatening to sweep you off your feet, and you were ready to close your eyes and enjoy the fall.

and fall you did. as weeks turned to months, you and yuuta stayed together, growing closer, more intertwined, by the day. the bond you shared still felt effortless, but somewhere along the way there was a meaningful change. maybe it happened when you met his friends for the first time, when despite all the clamor around you two, he kept his hand rested on your knee the whole night. like you were the single most important thing in the room to him.

maybe it happened during one of the lazy mornings you spent together, grabbing breakfast from the corner café or cuddling on the couch. you could see the way the hazy sunlight grazed his face, as if even it was afraid to mar something so perfect.

or maybe it happened during one of the nights nights you spent with him, intimately. after you were left spent and satisfied, lazily tracing constellations on his bare skin to map out every inch of his body. when he thought you had fallen asleep, he whispered such sweet words full of so much heart and longing that you ached.

you weren't exactly sure when things changed, truthfully. when the love you felt for him morphed from something whimsical and enchanting to something heady, intoxicating, all-consuming. no longer light, but almost painfully weighty now, reminding you of its presence with every breath you took. you knew now that a life without yuuta wasn't one you wanted. sometimes, it was just unbearable to be so in love with another person, no matter how easy it was to fall for them.

a heart's a heavy burden, after all.

but for yuuta, you'd carry it again and again.

#shookuna.posts #is this the yoga event? no.. but its IN THE DRAFTS I PROMMYYYY #at least one part this weekend. trust.#n e wayssss ENJOY ME BEING SOFT FOR MY HUSBANDDD #jjk x reader #jjk x you #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #the vibe of this was supposed to be like. vulnerability is hard but also i need it.#did that come through.......

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hommeriot · 10 months ago

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━╋ 日本のセンセーション ♩

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niki-phoria · 1 year ago

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my baby, sweet babyってこれからも先一生君に

pairing: okkotsu yuuta x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 485

notes: every time i post a jjk fic i struggle to find new headers to use lol, you can read this as a non sorcerer au if you want, not proofread, pls forgive any mistakes !! title from ONE OK ROCK - my sweet baby

autumn comes in the form of golden leaves decorating the trees and a cool breeze blowing through the air. OKKOTSU YUUTA runs a stray hand through his overgrown strands of hair, pushing his bangs out of his face. he takes a deep breath, slowly letting the weight of the world slip away from his shoulders. he winces at the dull ache that lingers in his shoulder blades - something that you’ll be sure to scold him about later.

yuuta glances over his shoulder when you open the door with a quiet click. the door creaks as you slide it to the side just enough for you to step out into the sunlight. the welcome mat placed in front of the door feels scratchy beneath your feet as you take a step closer to him. “hey,” you smile.

“hey,” he repeats. it’s impossible to not be influenced by your joy; yuuta’s lips quirk upwards into a small grin of his own before he realizes. his face flushes ever so slightly at the realization, making him quickly turn his gaze back towards the setting sun ahead.

“enjoying the fresh air?”

yuuta nods. “i was just watching the sunset.”

you smile softly in response. everything looks softer in the golden light. yuuta’s eyes shine the color of honey. hues of pink and purple swirl throughout the sky. you can just barely make out the twinkle of stars beginning to appear as they welcome night once again.

“it’s getting colder out,” you say. your fingertips skim the edge of your balcony railing as you wander over to stand beside him. the polished wood feels smooth against your fingertips; it feels cool against your skin as you lean against it. “we’ll have to start wearing our jackets again soon.”

yuuta hums. soon, snow will begin to filter through the sky, painting the world white. soon, your mornings will be spent huddled up in bed together, your bodies tightly intertwined under the guise of conserving warmth. soon, you’ll scold him as you tug a hat over his head when you send him to work in the morning with warnings about not catching a cold.

the thought makes him smile to himself. “i love you,” yuuta whispers. his voice is so quiet you almost miss it entirely when the wind carries his words away.

warmth spreads to his face when you reach over, taking his hand into your own. you intertwine your fingers together effortlessly - as if your bodies are two pieces of a puzzle. your hands feel warm against his skin when you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“i love you, too.” you smile softly, sealing your promise in the form of a chaste kiss pressed against his knuckles.

the world will continue spinning. curses will be born and exorcized. sorcerers will come and go. but for now, with your hand intertwined with his, yuuta knows that everything will be okay.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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joestarbuckss · 2 years ago

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I am so unwell after the new leaks. Literally everything Yuuta does is for love. He loved Rika in the most pure way and I will never be okay.

Yuuta’s domain expansion is revealed and shocker, he named it Pure Love *slamming my head against the wall*

(if you’ll recall this scene in jjk0 ⬇️ I’m sobbing)

Of course he would dedicate his domain to the love of his life. Not only that, but inside his domain we see ribbons 🪢

The symbolism behind these type of knots has me in tears 😭❤️‍🩹

Marriage and funerals??? He is bound to her in every form. She was his wife and he honors her in everything he does.

Yuuta literally turned his domain into a memorial for Rika I’m so sick. He is the definition of Pure Love! Okkotsu Yuuta the man that you are 😩💞

*TRUST* Yuuta will defeat Sukuna with the power of love 🫶🏼

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yestrday · 2 years ago

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COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who has his eye on you ever since you two entered college. a young, bright-eyed thing who moved from the boonies to the big city at a chance to find out more of the world beyond your farmlands and vast expanses of grass. who noted with wry amusement the pep in your step and the twinkle in your eye as you sit in the front row like a good student with an eagerness to learn.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who you approach with a stunning and naive smile. you're asking him for notes, the professor being too fast for your hands to properly take notes. he asks for your sns and sends you the pics of his note, and you eagerly thank him while unaware of the glint in his eye at this opportunity.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who scrolls through your social media and collects information about the kind of person you are. you know little about the world, but you're eager to learn more. your comments sections are full of relatives and friends congratulating you on you enrollment in the big city, and your cheery replies of thanks and acknowledgment. yuta chuckles as he sets aside his phone, eyes still trained on your back. how cute.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who continues keeping an eye on you. you keep asking him for notes because your cute lil brain just can't keep up, and he notes the waver in your smile when he shows off a little bit of his intellect. from how casual he is about his studies yet still getting high marks, the distance between you two is obvious. but there's still a spark of determination in your eyes—

— until prefinal grades come around and he sees you staring blankly at your phone. yuta angles his phone on purpose to let you get a glimpse of his, and he marvels at how bleaker your expression becomes. all your hard work... all your enthusiasm and eagerness... for nothing? have you always been this stupid? you were... you were always the brightest in your local school...

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who watches you throw yourself into your studies more than ever. you don't have that pep in your stel anymore, your eyes have become dull and beavy, and no one can strike a conversation with you because you're always asleep. yuta is your only companion, angling your head on his shoulder so that you can rest more comfortably, leveling onlookers with a stern stare as he shushes them with a finger.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who watches your eyes lose the last of their light when midterm grades come. your fingers are trembling as you clutch your phone, and you bite your lip to avoid the tears spilling out. yuta puts a comforting hand over yours, and you slowly clutch his shirt. "i did my best, didn't i?" you ask. yuta hums, hand on your neck. "... i did, didn't i?"

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who is your only point of contact for the rest of the finals. you don't even try. instead, you cling to yuta like he's your last chance at validation. you preen at his compliments, blush when he says he likes your outfit. the only time the light comes back to your eyes is when his attention is on you, and you feel a sugary rush in your veins whenever he smiles at you.

you, who does nothing for their schoolwork but instead focus on making yuta happy. you latch onto him like a clingy girlfriend, and he's more than happy for you to do so. while he studies for the upcoming exams, you're cuddled up on his lap, keeping him warm for the winter months. he pats your head and rubs your temple as you doze off to sleep.

sometimes when you voice the need to study, yuta shushes such needless concerns away. "you don't need to think so much," he whispers, scratching your scalp and he watches you preen. "aren't you happy right now? with me?"

you nuzzle into his touch, eyes fluttering shut under his touch. "... yeah."

"good," he hums, kissing you on the forehead. "then don't think of anything else but me."

#yandere yuta okkotsu #yandere jujutsu kaisen #sorry i typed this out in a rush im really so low energy abt my studies #i dont know what to do anymore.....#im so.... tired #yester.shorts #i need someone to pat me and make me forget abt everythibg #yandere x reader #soft yandere #yanderecore #yandere jjk #yuta okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen

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aeraras · 1 year ago

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　　　　　　♡ིྀ　　　𓈒 ݁　 ₊ 　　　🦋 　　　༺

　　　　᭄　　　　🫧˖༉　　　　　꒰ྀི　　　　𝓜𝑦 　𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 　𝑎𝑙𝑙 　𝑑𝑎𝑦　　　𝜗𝜚

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hameesstuff · 3 months ago

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"Turns Out, It Was You All Along:

Pairing: Johnny x Reader (both members of NCT 127)

Preview: Johnny's ecstatic to be with a girl everyone dreams of, Maddie. He spends weeks getting dating advice from his best friend—only to realize he’s accidentally fallen for her instead. Turns out the girl of his dreams had always been her...

Genre: Slow burn, best friends to lovers, fluff, light angst, humor, soft smut

AU: Idol AU (Reader is NCT 127’s main dancer + visual)

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1. Practice Makes Perfect (Except Love)

Johnny is late.

Again.

You’re in the practice room, stretching after an already long schedule, and the mirrored wall reflects your resigned expression. Your hoodie hangs off one shoulder, and your legs ache from dancing all day, but your brain is screaming about one thing: Johnny and Maddie.

The newest SM trainee-turned-rookie backup dancer, Maddie is bright, blonde, and every bit Johnny’s type—at least from what you’ve gathered over five years of being best friends with the man.

He bounds in, hair tousled, all tall limbs and infectious charm. “Yo! Sorry I’m late. Maddie wanted to grab coffee after rehearsal.”

You nod like it’s fine. Like your stomach isn’t churning.

“You like her,” you say, keeping your tone light, teasing.

Johnny gives that bashful grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I might.”

Knife. To. Heart.

You smile anyway. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a professional visual-slash-dating-coach on your team.”

He laughs. “Yeah? You offering to help me out?”

You shrug. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t show up in cargo shorts.”

He groans. “It was one time.”

You roll your eyes. “One time too many, Suh.”

2. Operation Maddie Begins

The next two weeks are hell, if hell wore Gucci cologne and said your name with a smile.

You coach him on his texts (“Don’t send memes this early, Johnny. You’re not in third grade.”), help him pick date spots (“No axe throwing. Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”), and practice conversation cues.

Somewhere in there, you forget that this isn’t a K-drama. There’s no dramatic plot twist where he realizes it’s been you all along. Just him, beaming while showing you a selfie Maddie took with him. Just you, nodding like your heart isn’t falling out of your chest.

3. Tour, Tension, and Tokyo

The next leg of the world tour takes you all over: Seoul, Singapore, Tokyo. You’re sleep-deprived, overstimulated, and emotionally constipated. Johnny spends hours texting Maddie backstage. You spend hours pretending not to notice.

In Tokyo, you find yourself sitting beside him in the hotel lounge, late at night, heads tilted back against the couch.

“She’s great,” he says dreamily. “But sometimes it’s like... she doesn’t really get me, y’know?”

You hum. “That’s because she’s not your best friend who’s cleaned up after your ramen disasters at 3 a.m.”

He laughs. “Yeah. No one’s you.”

You don’t let yourself think about that too hard.

4. Close Calls and Stupid Feelings

The night before the Manila show, Johnny gets sick. Like, actually sick—feverish, voice gone, nose red. You take care of him. You make soup. You miss dance practice for the first time in a year.

“Why are you doing all this?” he croaks.

You tuck him in. “Because someone’s gotta keep your dumbass alive.”

He grabs your wrist, gently. “You’re the best.”

You smile. You want to cry. “Sleep, dummy.”

5. The Moment Things Shift

You’re both backstage after a show, flushed and buzzing from adrenaline. He’s watching you laugh with Doyoung when Maddie pulls him aside and asks—asks—if he’s still into her, because lately, he’s been... distracted.

He says he doesn’t know.

Later, that night, you find him staring at his phone, confused.

“What’s up?”

“She said I look happier when I’m with you.”

You freeze.

“And maybe she’s right,” he adds softly.

You pretend your heart isn’t doing cartwheels.

6. Distance

Maddie pulls away. Johnny doesn’t chase her.

He hangs out with you more, but something’s off. He stares longer. Lingers near you in rehearsals. Texts you dumb TikToks and then stares at your reaction like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing.

You pretend not to notice.

Until you can’t.

7. “Only You”

The hotel room is dim and quiet, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting a warm halo over the room. Outside, the hum of nighttime Tokyo is muffled by thick windows. Inside, everything is still—except your heart.

Johnny hasn’t said anything in a full minute. He’s just standing there, in his oversized hoodie, hair damp from a quick shower after the concert, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s working up the nerve to jump.

Then he does.

“I ended things with Maddie,” he says, voice low, eyes locked on you.

You’re curled up on the edge of the bed, still in your hoodie and shorts from after the show, makeup wiped away, skin soft with cleanser and sleep trying to settle in. You blink at him, heart skipping.

“What?” you ask quietly.

He walks over, slow, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Sits down next to you, close but not touching. His profile is lit gold, jaw tense, hands clasped in his lap.

“I think I was trying to distract myself,” he says. “With her. With dating. With anyone who wasn’t you.”

You draw in a shaky breath. “Johnny—”

“I couldn’t admit it to myself. That I was in love with my best friend. It felt... impossible. Too important to risk. But the truth is—” He finally turns to face you, eyes glassy. “I’m already in love with you. I’ve been in love with you.”

Your throat goes tight.

He reaches out, slowly, and brushes your hair behind your ear. His touch is featherlight, reverent.

“You’ve always been there. For the good. The worst. The weird. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I started looking for you in everyone else. And no one came close.”

You blink away tears, chest aching. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” he whispers. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you.”

You lean in first, because he deserves that. Your lips meet his in a kiss that’s not urgent or needy—just soft. A gentle yes drawn from years of unspoken love.

He kisses you back like he’s afraid to break the moment. Like you’re precious. Like he’s holding something sacred.

When he lifts your hoodie over your head, it’s with reverence. His fingers trail across your skin like he’s memorizing it—like he’s writing sonnets into your collarbones with every brush of his hand.

“You’re beautiful,” he says softly, lips ghosting your jaw.

“Johnny—” You exhale his name, breath catching. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says, eyes dark with love, not lust. “I just want to be with you. Every way.”

The way he undresses you is slow, careful. Between each kiss, he checks your eyes, your breath, your hands. He lets you undress him too, smiling softly when your fingers tremble.

You end up tangled in white hotel sheets, skin against skin, limbs curved into each other like you’ve always belonged this way.

He whispers your name like it’s prayer. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs. “Tell me if you need me to slow down.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, voice thick. “I’m just... so full of you.”

He kisses you again, and when he finally, gently slides into you, it feels like a heartbeat locking into rhythm. Like this is what all the years of friendship were building toward.

His thrusts are slow and deep, his hands holding your waist like you might float away. He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your temple. He murmurs I love you again and again, almost in disbelief.

You hold him close, hands in his hair, legs tangled around his waist.

And when you both finally fall over the edge together, it’s quiet, trembling, overwhelming. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing heavily, heart pounding against your chest.

“You’re it for me,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You’re everything.”

You cradle his face, tears in your eyes. “And you’re mine.”

After

You stay like that for a long time—wrapped up in each other, your head on his chest, his hand stroking lazy circles into your back.

There’s no awkwardness. No fear. Just comfort. And love.

“Can I stay like this forever?” he mumbles sleepily.

“You’d better,” you say, half teasing, half completely serious.

He kisses the top of your head, breath warm against your hair. “Then forever it is.”

The End.

Feedback is welcome :)

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