#I would have hugged that man in a heartbeat

[bts-roses]

A Dream With an Idol

summary - You've been having dreams, oddly inexplicably realistic dreams with the man you, and the rest of the world, admires. But your heart grows tired of it when you start to fall in love with him, someone you don't actually know.

pairing - Idol!Yoongi x reader

genre - idol!au, dream!au, fluff, angst

word count - 6.8k

warnings - lil' bit of swearing

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

You don't notice the surreal atmosphere engulfing you as you sit on your couch. Your apartment looks the same as it always does, yet it feels inexplicably foggier, as if you could touch your surroundings and everything would fizzle and dissipate fleetingly into thin air.

Before you're able to clock onto the hazy feeling that seems to flow through your entire bloodstream, a breaking news segment on your TV steals your attention: apparently the scientifically proven cure for a broken heart is a kitten's ballad.

Normally, you would question this, grab your phone and debunk it through the internet for the sake of your sanity and your need to always be right. Instead, your consciousness accepts it and you grab the glass of water next to you, failing to register the way it feels like and weighs nothing in your seemingly numb hand.

As you're about to take a drink, a knock on your front door unexpectedly stalls you.

You practically float towards the door, not feeling the normally cold floor on your feet. As the door swings open, you're surprised (but not sceptical) to find a very familiar face on the other side.

"Hi."

The man stares at you as if it was you who showed up to his door unannounced. His face is painted with just as much confusion as you feel.

"Hello," you breathe out, "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes?", the man unsurely says, following you to sit down on the couch.

You both say nothing, sitting in the silence you both subjected yourselves to. You stare at him in awe of how he looks close-up, the familiar features you would regularly admire in pictures is burnt in your heart with a brand new filter of details those photos would normally miss. He stares at you in a similar way, but he slowly explores the small details of your face in a way that signals to you that this is the first time he has ever seen you.

"I'm a big fan of yours." You break the silence, breaking out into a bashful smile.

He blinks.

He offers a brief smile back.

"Thank you." he replies, continuing to intensely stare at you.

You give an acknowledging nod, thanking him for his thanks. You purse your lips out in the undeniably awkward atmosphere.

"I'm y/n", you introduce yourself in attempt to hack at the silence, "I already know who you are."

This time he gives the acknowledging nod, a bit taken aback by your sudden bluntness. Yet a genuine smile sneaks out on his face and his brain doesn't catch up to the words that spill out of his mouth.

"Can I give you a hug?" He unexpectedly says, his face showing as much surprise as you feel.

In that moment, you realise he was speaking in Korean and you, despite never actually learning the language, fully understood it like you know the sun can be seen in the sky. The realisation, however, is momentary, finally processing his question. You don't even verbalise your response, instead moving forward to show him your answer.

Then all of a sudden, everything transcends into something that is inexplicable to describe in any other way except real.

He feels real.

You feel the comforting pressure from his arms around your body. You feel every soft shape, edge, and surface on his both muscly and soft body. You feel the soothing scent from him uplifting the senses in your nose. You feel the overwhelming warmth radiating from his body. The feeling is visceral, your heart drums throughout your body when you feel his heartbeat on your skin.

He is real.

As if shocked by electricity, you both move away from each other, staring at each other in pure shock. It's in that moment you take in the surreal atmosphere, the foggy surroundings, the ridiculous news on the TV.

You realise you're dreaming and yet the man in front of you is inexplicably real.

What haunts you is that his face mirrors yours. As if he feels the exact same thing you do, as if he finally registers everything around him is surreal, as if he too realises he's dreaming. He realises.

You're real too.

He moves forward towards you again and opens his mouth, about to ask you if you just felt what he did. You feel every fibre in your body about to do the same, to confirm that you viscerally feel everything, you can feel him.

But before either of you can utter a single word, everything and anything selfishly and unforgivingly rips through the existence, so brutally that it forces your eyes wide open.

You wake up.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

The dream stayed on your mind, the feeling of his touch lingered on your skin. So much so that if you try to think back to it, you could almost relive it. It's odd. So inexplicably odd.

You mentioned it to your friends. Yet, despite their initial interest in your story, they only acknowledged the dream with a "huh, that's weird" and moved on from it. And, considering the bizarreness of the dream and the fear of being perceived as a delusional fan who was convinced that the Yoongi from BTS interacted with you through a dream, you accepted the passing commentary and told yourself that it was some sort of weird fluke.

And you kept telling yourself that until you started to get more and more dreams featuring the famous idol.

It got to a point where it was every few days. The dream always consisted of the same thing: you guys would find each other in the dream; have a chat about something random; end up hugging; feel the inexplicably, very real feeling of each others' bodies; look at each other with the recognition of the previous times this has happened; open your mouths to address the bizarre sensation; and then, of course, wake up absolutely breathless.

At first, you tried to will yourself to remember and confront the repetitive structure of the dream, like trying to remember the exact timing of a jump scare in a horror movie or the exact moment you see the romantic interest fall in love with their fated partner. But every time, you enter the dream without realising you're dreaming, never fully conscious of the repetition until you hug, always letting him slip from your grasp. Both metaphorically and (kind of) literally.

So, 6 months in, you gave up trying to confront the weird phenomena. Instead, just enjoying the dreams, enjoying his hazy company, enjoying your seemingly genuine conversations about anything and everything within the bizarre and eccentric world of your dreams.

There was something so indescribably real and authentic about dream Yoongi. You found yourself confiding in him about life, your real world life that is. You would talk about what had happened that day, the memories from your teen years, your aspirations, your likes, your dislikes, anything. In return, dream Yoongi would tell you about his day, his memories from his teen years, his struggles, what he ate that day, what music he was working on, funny stories about his friends. For instance, apparently Namjoon keeps embarrassing himself in front of an intern he may (i.e., definitely) has a crush on and you find yourself both laughing and cringing at the different moments Yoongi would retell at the cost of his dear friend's demise. It was strangely very believable and, after the fated realistic hug, you would wake up, feeling a unique sense of embarrassment for how detailed and enjoyable your made-up yet convincing conversations were with dream-Yoongi.

You felt a tiny bit more embarrassed to admit that, a year and a half in, these dream conversations were a big part of resolving your real life problems (thanks to dream-Yoongi's pragmatic but considerate advice), a big part of your life, and a big part of who you are. You hated to admit it to yourself, but these dreams weren't merely fantasies; they were a tangled web of devastatingly real emotions. The discussions were achingly genuine to you, you would pour your heart out in these moments in return for his.

Before you knew it, dream-Yoongi crept his disastrously perfect self inside your heart.

You fell in love with someone you don't know.

Was it stressful falling deeper and deeper in love with dream-Yoongi with every dream you had of him? Yes. Did you freak out that one time Yoongi mentioned he was getting ready for a comeback and then a week later that same comeback was announced? Very much so. Did it get a bit too much that you had to actively stop being a fan of the group because keeping up with them became a tragic, painful reminder that dream-Yoongi was just that: a dream? Absolutely.

The more your feelings blossomed in your chest, the more ridiculous you felt about the situation. It got to the point that you went on a date and you felt so weird, almost guilty for betraying Yoongi. You had to remind yourself that 1. you aren't even in a relationship with Yoongi and 2. you've never even met this man you felt you were betraying.

It got to the point where the ridiculousness you felt started to transform to a constant ache gnawing at your heart, your dreams overshadowing reality. You realised your unrequited love for a man you made up in your head.

You decided these dreams needed to stop.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

In all honesty, you had no idea how to try and attempt to resolve the issue at hand and neither did Reddit (unsurprisingly your experience was very, very unique). So, in a moment of pure desperation, you went to see a (very expensive) dream therapist.

The very understanding and non-judgemental woman tried to reason that these dreams may be a result of issues with your love life and being single (there wasn't, you were quite content not being in a relationship) or maybe because you were a big fan of BTS (unfortunately you were not anymore). You felt a bit sorry for the therapist, especially after she admitted she doesn't really know how to help, having never seen or heard of your experience before.

In the end, the therapist suggested trying to bring your subconscious to heal and bridge that gap between your desires and reality. You weren't really sure what that could entail, and neither did she. After a moment of heavy silence, the therapist apologised for her inability to help and broadly concluded:

"The rule of thumb here is that confronting what's really been bothering you often resolves your problems in some way."

You walk out of the appointment with some form of hope.

You decide maybe the best course of action is to actually try to address the real sensations you feel when you touch dream-Yoongi and potentially this may resolve something in your unconscious? (You really weren't too sure but you thought doing something was better than nothing).

So, you went out, bought a dream journal, and tried to start lucid dreaming. You start keeping track of your dreams, investing in better sleep, and, really, following every advice page that was out there. However, when it finally works, you couldn't dream in dream-Yoongi for some reason. Instead, you "wake up" with sleep paralysis and find it genuinely terrifying.

So you give up.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

You have 3 more dreams with dream-Yoongi. In each one, you catch him staring at you with a mist of worry in his eyes, almost begging you to let him know what's wrong. You feel bad but you try to dismiss him, settling for the regular surface-level chats that seem to be engulfed with more moments of silence than normal.

It seems that something keeps throwing more and more problems your way to deal with, both with your dreams and life in general. After learning a bit about dreams from the therapist, you're not surprised to note that your dreams seem to be more mellow than usual.

3 months have passed since the sleep paralysis incident and you're in another dream.

It's not as grim as it has been recently. Instead, you're sitting on the blinding white sand with your arms around your knees, basking in the sunlight as people play volleyball in the bright blue ocean on horse-sized cats.

You think one reminds you of Yoongi.

"Is this seat taken?"

Speak of the devil.

"What, the vast land of sand?" you tease, staring out to the sea, as he rolls his eyes .

"You know what I meant," he sighs, "Can I sit next to you?"

"Yes, of course you can," you answer, stealing glances at him as he sits a foot away from you.

You both stay silent, watching the odd scene in front of you as if it's a daily occurrence to watch a form of beach cat polo. But, you will reason when you wake up, in a dream you wouldn't question it at all.

"What's been up with you recently?" Yoongi asks, mirroring your position, his head resting on his arms, staring at you.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, recently you have been a bit off," Yoongi shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant, but you can tell he feels a bit uneasy, "Every time we talk you just seem a bit out of it."

As you digest what he said, you remain silent. Huh. You guess you have been out of it.

"I..." you think about how to go about this, "I think I'm just tired about all of this?"

"All of what?" Yoongi asks, and you watch as his face scrunches in confusion.

He's so beautiful, it hurts.

Tragically, your unconscious won't let dream-you remember the true reason for your sadness. Instead, you feel the need to confess, confess you have fallen for him. Confess everything you have felt for nearly 2 years, in front of the glistening sea and purple sunset that is adorned with purring cats.

But, for once, the real-you influences dream-you a bit too much, you're too scared.

"I'm just tired of... work?", you say with as much assuredness you can muster, "Work has been really stressful, they are offering me this big transfer, well more like insisting I transfer and I don't know... I might reject it."

That was actually true (for real-world you).

"Oh shit," Yoongi raises his eyebrows, letting out a sigh of relief, "Well, transfer to what? To where?"

"To another country," you continue, thankful for the change in conversation "Away from my friends, my family, and just about everything I know."

Another wave of silence fills the atmosphere as you both take in the sunset in front of you. It's doubtlessly unrealistic yet undeniably beautiful.

The peace stops when your peripheral catches Yoongi abruptly spinning his head towards you.

"Wait, is it for that job you were talking about? The project manager role?" Yoongi asks.

You nod. You watch as his face changes to let out his breath-taking smile. Your heart melts at the sight and the fact that he remembered.

It seems dream-Yoongi remembers everything.

"So it's not just a transfer, it's a promotion! Is that not great? You've been wanting to work with the charity for ages," he asks you, with admiration and a sense of pride in his eyes.

"But, I didn't realise I would have to actually move somewhere for it. I'm kind of scared to move to somewhere new, especially because I like where I am. What if I don't like it? I don't even speak the language!" you try to reason, letting out a groan listening to your own whines, "Is it shitty of me to give this opportunity up just because I'm scared?"

It falls silent as you both think about it.

"No. It seems there's pros and cons to both," Yoongi reasons back, "but both options do not make you a shitty person. There's a balance in helping others and putting yourself first"

You hum in contemplation. Silence washes up the shore again.

"But you do realise you can actually learn the language right?" he teases, "Like, that's what most people do when they need to move to a different country."

You give a pointed look at him, trying to remain serious, while the corners of your mouth betray your intentions. He looks at you with a seemingly genuine expression of endearment, letting out a small chuckle.

"You want my honest opinion?" Yoongi asks, continuing when you give him a nod, "Are you scared of moving to a new country or are you scared to move away from your place? Because to me it sounds like you're just scared to leave home and that's fine. But there's a difference between staying in a place because you actually like it and staying in a place just because it's comfortable."

You stare at him, a bit bewildered and struck with self-realisation that he might be right. He looks at you with a fond smile and gives a little shrug

"I would just hate to see you give up something you've been passionate about to just settle," he truthfully admits.

"What makes you think I'm just settling?" you ask, half joking, half offended.

"The way you talk about your life, I know you like your friends and your family and 'just about everything you know'. But you don't seem truly happy with where you are," Yoongi counters, "Like, where you are personally, with your job, I mean sometimes you seem bored with your city. And you always talk about wanting to start anew. I just want you to think about it before saying no"

"Yeah, I guess... " you quietly say, digesting all his words, "Thank you Yoongi."

You give him a sincere smile, and you watch as his eyes gazes around your face, as if he's trying to memorise every detail. Your heart warms at the action.

"It's no worries. I'll always be here, no matter what you choose, just let me know what you end up doing," Yoongi smiles, pausing before asking you, "So where would the transfer be?"

You pause for a moment.

"Um, it would be in the Seoul branch."

"What?" Yoongi gapes, "That's insane, you always talk about wanting to visit here. We could even meet up if you come," Yoongi suggests, unable to hide his excitement.

"I know," you let out a chuckle at his reaction, excitement spreading to you at the thought.

That won't actually happen though.

You feel your heart ache at the little voice in your head. You drop your head down, despairingly chuckling at the improbable idea.

He doesn't even know you exist.

And in that moment, you stare at him in shock.

You realise you're dreaming.

But before the now-conscious you could finally talk to dream-Yoongi, he lurches forward to bring you into an excited hug. And as always, you feel the same realistic warmth and pressure of his body onto yours, and it spreads and flutters right to your heart.

Then dread fills your entire body. No.

And just like clockwork, he instantly holds your shoulders to slightly push you away, frantically looking at your face with the same confusion you see on his face after every godforsaken hug.

Hopelessly, you try to quickly get any word out to the man in front of you, watching as he too scrambles to let even a sound out.

"You're-," you barely hear him start.

Then, you wake up.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

You decide to accept the transfer.

You have also decided that your dreams need to stop. For multiple reasons. You don’t want your heart to ache every time you see even a picture of real-Yoongi, which would probably be every day when you move to Seoul. You don’t want to keep tearing up at the realisation that the real-Yoongi is nothing like your dream-Yoongi or at the fact that dream-Yoongi isn’t real. And on the very rare chance you ever see real-Yoongi in real life and he walks past you as if you are just a stranger (which you guess you are), you don’t think your heart could actually, realistically take that kind of heartbreak.

So, you decide you really need to sort this dream situation out once and for all before you move. As a symbol of truly starting anew.

You try to lucid dream again and again.

And, for once, it works.

You open your eyes to a vivid yet clouded scene. You take in the sights, the dark velvet seats all lined up to face the stage were illuminated by the dimmed lights on the dark gold-coloured walls. Almost half of the theatre seats are filled; there’s people you notice are your coworkers and some people you don’t recognise at all. You don’t dwell on them for too long as you notice him sitting a few rows from the front of the stage.

You feel a bit wobbly making your way down the aisle, noticing how weird everything feels in a dream. Everything is so similar to real life, yet there’s this noticeable addition that feels unexplainable and yet somewhat fuzzy-feeling. As you near him, you feel your breath hitch in your throat as he turns to look at you, as if feeling your presence nearby.

"Ah, nice of you to show up," he jokes, "I was wondering if you got lost and I would never see you again."

You instantly feel yourself smile at the sight of his face, comfort filling your heart and mind. You note how handsome he looks in the black suit he’s wearing as you sit down beside him.

"Hate to disappoint," you play along, "I'm hard to get rid of."

He laughs with familiarity, feigning disappointment with a dejected sigh.

It feels odd to sit next to him. Well, it’s odd for the real, conscious-you to sit next to dream-Yoongi. Again, you note the haziness of your surroundings, the subliminal feeling like your falling and yet, dream-Yoongi remains so realistic, almost an anchor to this whole experience. It almost makes you second guess whether you truly are dreaming in the first place. But, you don’t know if that’s because that’s just the experience of lucid dreaming or the fact you are sitting next to the man you fell in love with, well, made up man.

"I actually need to talk to you about something," you start, turning towards him awkwardly in the fixed seat.

Sensing the serious tone in your voice, he turns towards you too, also awkwardly in the fixed seat.

You huff at the uncomfortableness, not wanting this to be the place you finally say what’s been haunting you for nearly 2 years. Then you remember, you're dreaming.

With the realisation, your surroundings change to your wish.

You both are sitting down on your old couch in your house: the place where you had your first dream with Yoongi. 

He looks at you with the same concerned expression, either not noticing the surroundings changing around him or, as you logically reason, not caring because he is not real with an actual conscious.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi stares at you, worry painted on his face.

You feel tears fill in your eyes at the sight of him.

A sense of finality fills the air.

And with that, you inexplicably feel in your heart that this is the last time you will ever see Yoongi. The last time you will ever see the person you have shared the most precious and sacred conversations with. The last time you will ever see that man you love.

So, you try to savour the moment, savour him.

Your eyes trace every detail, every line, everything about him. The soft slope of his nose, his naturally pouty lips that seem to say everything right, his piercing yet soft eyes that look at you with so much care and adoration.

Care and adoration you made up in your head.

"I'm in love with you."

You breathe out a shaky breath. You curse yourself feeling so nervous at confessing to someone who only exists in your head.

"Please don't say anything," you plead when he opens his mouth, about to respond.

An unreadable expression embedded on his face nearly makes you stop to try and decipher him, but the need to keep confessing takes over.

"I'm in love with you, Yoongi," you repeat, "I love you, and I just wanted you to know. and I realise how ridiculous this is, confessing to someone who doesn't even know me, let alone love me back but I love you."

You stare at him as his eyebrows furrow in confusion with his chest heaving up and down, breathless from your words.

"You've been my comfort person and the more I think about it, the more I realise that I think I've made you up in my head to get me through it all. Through my endless job rejections, through my fights with my friends, my siblings. Even through the time my childhood cat died. You've given me so much advice and comfort and laughter with your ridiculous stories and thoughts. I love all the conversations we've had together and all the times we just sat in silence. I love how you aren't afraid to set me straight if I ever say something wrong. I love your passion when you talk about your music, your friends, the people you love. I love your outlook on life and people. And  I'm just so in love with you. And I don’t think any words can really get that across, Yoongi"

You raise your arm up to your face to wipe the tears off, chuckling at how good it feels to get this off your chest yet how painful this all is.

"And I want you to know I'm going to miss you. I don't care that you won't realise or that you might not even care that this all will end," you feel your heart break at the sudden thought, "Or maybe you will just cease to exist..."

You hiccup from all the tears, which blur your vision from the man in front of you.

"I just want to say I love you," you confess again, not caring how repetitive you sound.

You move to wipe your tears again, wanting one final look at the man you've grown to love the past years. You almost laugh at how speechless he looks.

"I'm gonna go now."

You move to stand up, heart heavy in your chest, about to take him out of your dream when you feel yourself stutter at the very real feeling of his hand around your wrist.

"Don't go, stop", the man chokes out, "I'm in love with you too."

You turn around to look at him, your heart disintegrating at the sight of his face, etched in confusion and pain.

Reminding yourself this is all in your head, you shake your head, trying to ignore the warm feeling spreading through your chest. When he sees your disbelief, he begins to stutter, unsure of what to say.

"I'm so in love with you," he repeats, "This is real, this whole time it has been real, I swear it has to be real, I'm real, so please don’t go, don't leave me. I need to see you again, you can't leave me."

You almost fall for it. 

In your head you know this is just you making this up, you want to protect yourself because you want Yoongi to love you back, you want for him to be real.

But he isn’t.

You sit back down to face him, who stares at you in agony, and you give him a bittersweet smile. You move to tightly hug him, and, to your surprise, you feel his body begin to feel hazier and more indistinct the longer you hold him. For once, you can describe what this hug feels like: now it just feels dream-like. You feel him instinctively move to hug you back, even tighter, as if he would disappear if he loosens his grip even just a tiny bit. 

You almost laugh at the feeling, because he will disappear, he always does.

You quickly let go and hold his head in your hands to see his face one last time. You feel his realistic smooth skin in your hands start to grow indefinite and the wetness from the stray tear that falls from his red eyes dissipate on your fingertips, regardless you move your thumbs to wipe them from his perfect face. 

You feel him slip away from you.

"Goodbye, Yoongi."

For the last time, you feel a pull to move his face towards yours, wanting to touch his lips you've been dreaming about for years. He looks down at your lips and moves towards you as well.

You both are so close to each other, you feel what is left of him: his cooling warmth, his vague skin, his muted breath against your lip. You close your eyes as you feel a wisp of his soft lips against yours.

Then, you wake up.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

You don't dream of Yoongi again.

You try not to think about it for the next 5 months, somewhat succeeding (turns out moving to a new country is surprisingly a good way to try to get over the mourning of your non-existing lover you made up in your head). You also avoid the fuck out of any mention of Yoongi, which is tragically harder as he has apparently released a single. But now you are used to instinctively scrolling past any mention of him on social media or taking the longer way to the store to avoid his face on the billboards adorned in the busy streets. You’re doing better.

You settle fine in your new job, you get by fine with your improving Korean, you remember to call your family to remind them you’re doing fine because you are. You’re doing just fine.

You tell yourself that again in the mirror of the venue’s bathroom, getting ready for the celebrity charity event that you and your team had planned. You feel nervous with it being your first big project you took part in since moving here and you feel even more nervous from potentially meeting any of the celebrities on the attendance list. 

You feel your heart race knowing that he was set to attend.

Truly, you've never thought that you would ever actually meet Yoongi in real life. At first, you were considering not going, the feeling of anxiousness tempting you to an apologetic sick call to your manager. But you talk yourself out of it, you don't necessarily need to meet or speak to Yoongi, or any of the celebrities for that matter. And besides, you hate to admit it, but dream-Yoongi always told you to try to not let fear stop you from living your life. So you decide to go.

In fact, you're kind of excited.

Tasked to make sure the ‘red’ carpet event runs smoothly, you stand behind the cameras with your clipboard and phone, ticking off who’s arriving, who’s been interviewed, who’s left to arrive. Your headset provides an appreciated distraction from your nerves, listening to the chaotic whispers on the radio. You hear one of your coworkers squeal in the mic and you stifle a laugh as she apologises about being unprofessional. But, you instantly go breathless, when she explains it is because a certain someone just arrived.

You feel your whole body warm with your heartbeat racing impossibly faster at the sight of him standing on the carpet, while everyone flashes their cameras desperately at the global celebrity. You become breathless again, he looks so familiar and so comforting. You can't help but pat yourself on the back for how accurately your brain portrayed him.

You feel your heart melt at how he looks quite nervous, eagerly looking around at everyone, you can tell from the way he clasps his hands tightly as he poses that he feels a bit on edge, yet a bit excited? Your mind goes to the one conversation you had where he mentioned even to this day events like this still make him nervous. Your mind then goes to remind yourself that the conversation wasn’t with real-Yoongi but with dream-Yoongi. And also that the conversation wasn't actually real.

Still, you can't help but block everyone and everything else out as you watch him make his way down the carpet. Posing for more pictures and answering questions that some interviewers are asking him.

You feel yourself make yourself smaller as he makes his way to the end of the carpet where you are, feeling the unnecessary need to hide from his potential gaze. Still, you listen to his interview with the interviewer.

"Hello, we have Yoongi here!" The interviewer says to the camera, "How are you today?"

You watch as he answers the questions with the very similar gait, mannerisms and patterns of speech as dream-Yoongi, you feel that comforting feeling again.

"So, how did you hear about this charity?"

"I actually first heard about this charity from a really dear friend of mine." you see Yoongi look down with a fond smile, "They honestly have the exact same beliefs and views as me so when they first told me about it so passionately, I knew it was something I care about too. And I do care about it, with the topic of mental health, I believe it is so important that we care about the younger generation."

"That's really sweet", the interviewer relatably swoons, "and we can't not talk about your new single! It is amazing! Can you talk a bit about it?"

"Thank you. Um, yeah it's been a song that I think has been kind of long overdue, overdue for years. Some people have told me it's very cheesy in its essence," he chuckles, scratching his neck bashfully, "It's written as a dedication to someone you really care about, someone who's changed your life, someone so good, you don't believe they're real, you know?"

"Yeah, no, I get that," she replies, blushing at his words, "The fans love the different new sound you use in the song. Very different from what we are used to and it’s beautiful to listen to. Feels almost… How do I describe it? Dream-like? I guess that’s why you use it, the idea of a person of your dreams? Is that what you were alluding to?”

Your breath hitches at the irony, you feel a small pang at your heart. You convince yourself out of the delusion, as he takes a bit longer to answer.

"Yeah I guess, the person of my dreams..." He pauses, and looks back up to give another smile, "That's exactly what it is."

As he finishes the interview, he glances over the room, trying to meet eyes with everyone. When his gaze sweeps in your direction, your heart races, bending down to pretend to tie your laces (you’re wearing heels). You feel a bit pathetic in admitting you don’t want him to meet your eyes and move on, solidifying that everything you experienced was, in fact, just a figure of your imaginations and dreams. When you straighten up, he’s completed his scan, his expression tinged with a hint of disappointment - maybe he lost his manager?

The night goes on and you’re thankful that you’re kept busy ensuring everything is running smoothly behind the scenes. Yet, he does linger in mind and your heart, making it hard to fully focus. When you complete your final task in seeing the catering company off, your manager tells you to enjoy the party, but you can’t. You could go in the main hall and meet new people but a tightness settles in your chest. You feel like you’re choking up.

You step outside to the balcony, the designated smoking area. You quit smoking after dream-Yoongi told you he was trying to stop, and you both agreed to quit together. So, you just look out into the distance, feeling a bittersweet pang. You breathe in and out in the patterns dream-Yoongi taught you, the memories wrapping around you like a warm, comforting hug. You curse him for being such an indelible part of your life.

As your breathing stabilises, you take in the Seoul city night lights. Dream-Yoongi was right: it’s a devastatingly beautiful city at night, a beauty you can’t help but compare to him.

You hear the door open and freeze at the familiar voice speaking on the phone. You feel your whole body freeze and tense, gripping on the balcony railing for support. He ends the call, speaking in his dialect, so you only recognise bits of the conversation - turns out dream-you understanding fluent Korean didn’t mean the real-you did too.

You feel the urge to hide, but you tell yourself it’s ridiculous: he doesn’t know who you are and you need to accept that. Instead, you decide this is a rare opportunity to say hi to him as a fan because you always have been one. You’ve always admired him. You remind yourself that this would probably be the first and the last time you would ever be in this situation, even if his unfamiliarity would completely wreck you.

Taking in one final deep breath, you turn to look at him and smile, a mix of nervousness and that tragic feeling of love coursing through you. He looks at you and freezes, eyes widening slightly. You tell yourself you’re deluding yourself in imagining the recognition on his face, especially as he nonchalantly puts a cigarette between his lips and reaches for a lighter. He probably just got a shock from seeing someone there.

However, he keeps staring at you, his eyes effortlessly tracing your features and your body with a curious intensity that is so familiar yet makes you feel self-conscious. You can tell he’s trying to suppress a smile at your star-stricken expression.

Okay, so real-Yoongi is a bit of an asshole.

As he is about to light the cigarette, you let out a scoff, almost calling him a liar for betraying the promise dream-Yoongi made about smoking. But you stop yourself, reminding yourself that wasn’t real.

His head tilts at your scoff, a hint of disbelief on his face that is accompanied by his beautiful, almost cocky smile.

"뭐?" he says, his voice curious and playful.

You raise your eyebrows at him in retort. Your heart can’t help but flutter at how attractive this man is, even though he's not as sweet as dream-Yoongi used to be. The longer you guys just stare at each other, you surprisingly feel more comfortable in the presence of this man you technically just met. You can’t help but feel that warmth and familiarity that soothes you. You don’t feel as nervous as you should be meeting Suga of BTS; to you, he feels like dream-Yoongi. 

So, you give him a smile back, butterflies invading your stomach

You know there’s a rumour that real Yoongi is supposedly fluent in English, but you hope he doesn’t understand you in this moment

"You said you were gonna quit with me," you say, referencing the cigarette, "You're a liar."

You’re not sure if you’re surprised when he laughs.

"So you are real then," Yoongi says in English, his eyes sparkling with disbelief.

You gasp as he puts the unlit cigarette behind his right ear. He laughs again, a warm, familiar and disarming sound that sends your heart into overdrive. He walks up to you, his breath coming a little faster, paralleling your own.

"Wait, what?" you question, your mind reeling with the implications of his words.

Your confusion deepens when he places his hands on either side of your face, his touch gentle yet firm. His intense eyes gaze over your features with what you now accept is recognition and familiarity. His gummy smile widens as he takes in the sight of you. You can't tell if the loud beating heart is yours or his (or both).

He pulls you in for a hug. It feels real, yet so familiar, like slipping into a cherished memory. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, bending down to rest his head in your neck. This time, you don't feel hazy, and for once, you don’t feel rushed. Instead, the world seems to slow down, comforting you both at this moment.

Then you hear him, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck, filled with wonder and relief.

"You're real."

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎

A/n: Thank you so much for reading! And please give me any feedback! This was based on an actual dream I had of Yoongi and, of course, Faye Webster’s song ('a dream with a baseball player') that reminded me of the dream. But I hope you enjoyed reading and feel free to check out my other work <3

[appleblueberry-pie]

Im back with another yandere satoru request hehehe

So, I was wondereding what would happen if Satoru's beloved found out about his very unhealthy obession with her?

Hold on, lemme cook rq- So, instead of getting the fuck away from him (like most logical people would do) she decides to try her best to get him some help. Like, she'd confront him about his very distirbing behavior, (basically tearing down his entire facade and presenting it to him) and when he's begging her not to be afraid of him, not to abandon him, she tells him that she wants him to get help.

Heres where I kinda got a little stuck....the thing is...he would listen to her every beck and call, but would he really get the help he needs, or would he decieve her and trick her into beliving that he's getting better when in realitly he hasn't changed at all. (He's just alot more careful about what he does behind her back.)

Mkayyy, thats all folks. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

You kept hearing noises from your backyard.

It woke you up. You couldn't really recognize what it was, but you really hoped it wasn't raccoons eating your berries again. You admit, your garden has many fruits and vegetables, but you certainly didn't want them being eaten. They took too long to grow! So, you got out of bed, threw on your robe over your night gown and quickly made your way downstairs to your backdoor.

When you opened the door and stepped onto the grass, everything seemed fine. Your strawberries were intact. Carrots still growing. No lemons dropped from the tree. But to the far right, you did see a familiar figure continuously puncturing another man's insides with a pretty dangerous looking knife thing.

Someone was in your yard.

Someone was being killed in your yard.

You're within distance of a killer.

By the time the realization set in, the familiar looking man had already saw you staring at him. It was Satoru Gojo.

You both stared at each other. It grew painfully silent and you took a step back, your eyebrows furrowing. You began hearing your heartbeat in your ears and began breathing faster. Your lips separated, probably to scream, and Satoru dropped the knife, immediately running over to you to shut you up in time.

When he trapped you in his arms, you tried to scream in surprise, but he already had one of his hands covering the entire bottom half of your face. "SHHHHHHHhhhhhh. shhhhhhhh. shhhhhh." His heartbeat thumped against your upper back and you tried to look up at him. He was already staring down at you with those big blue eyes and you tried to take his hand off of your mouth. "It's okay, baby. You're alright. It's alright."

Well, he didn't kill you, so clearly you didn't have to be scared. You still tried to talk and he tilted his head. "......you gonna scream if I let you go?" You shook your head. He stared down at you, as if he was trying to catch you in a lie. But then he laughed and finally loosened his hold on you. You took his hand off of your mouth and turned around. "...............Why are you killing someone in my yard?"

He says nothing.

You try to look back at the corpse and he blocks your way. "Fertilizer."

You avert your gaze and hug yourself. "For your tree."

"I already fertilized it two weeks ago. You were there. It doesn't need fertilizer until like a few months later." Satoru goes silent and sighs.

"Alright, babe. You caught me." He stalks closer to you and stops when he's directly in front of you.

"I killed him because he was a terrible waste of space." His smile was unnerving and you only felt more uncomfortable and confused. "What....?" "....He was useless. And he got in the way." The way he spoke made things a little awkward between the two of you. Did this have something to do with you and him? You hoped not. But with the way he said it, and the way he was staring at you began giving you confirmation that this was the case.

"He doesn't deserve you like I do." You inhale sharply and take a step back towards your door. "Satoru-" "No, I'm serious."

"You can't just....kill someone. He's dead!" His shoulders shake as he laughs at your statement. "You think I don't know that? That's the whole point. To die." You shake your head, "I-I need to get you help. This isn't okay. You shouldn't think it's okay to kill someone just to....I don't even know."

"To have you," He states. But you didn't hear. You were already back in the house to research different forms of treatment he could possibly receive. You didn't know what you were going to do with the body.

Satoru did plan to use it as fertilizer.

He lied to you for 12 weeks. And he hated every second of it. He never liked hiding shit from you. Which is why he straight up told you that he killed that dumbass from a while ago. You deserve better than some liar. But he'd be damned if he let some random take you away from him. So, he told you that he was going to the therapist that he been paid off and also killed.

He told you the body was taken care of and you didn't have to worry about it. After all, your tree leaves looked perkier than usual(he didn't tell you that either).

When you heard he was consistently meeting with his therapist, you let him take you out more often. You let him hang out at your place to have sleepovers if you had the time, and you realized that you might have a small crush on him. You shouldn't have a crush on a killer, but here you were. You should've called the police on him a long time ago(not like he'd get rid of them either), but he promised you he'd be good. And he has been. So you trust him.

Satoru learned to stop doing things like being a killer when you're around. It was smart to do it at night. But definitely not where you live. Probably the stupidest thing he's ever done. He should buy that house a few towns off. Everyone would be better off dying in there anyways, especially if there'd be no trace of them in the first place.

He's lucky you're gullible.

[irondad-defensesquad]

EDIT: Posted on AO3!

“Hey, buddy,” Tony puts away his Stark Pad. “You okay?”

Peter tries not to melt inside at how parental he sounds.

“Y-Yeah,” the boy replies.

Tony is already pulling the covers so Peter can join. The latter shyly lies down on the free spot, and so Tony tucks him in. Thick blankets as well, much like the ones in Peter's room.

“You missed me?” The man half teases, half asks genuinely.

Peter hesitates and nods. Tony smiles fondly, though part of him wonders if Peter has something else in his mind that he’s not telling his mentor.

“I dunno, some nights I just… can’t sleep alone,” the teen admits. “I feel immature for that.”

“That’s not immature.”

“I mean, I’m not a kid anymore. And it’s not like I can ask to sleep with Aunt May because she’s at work, and the reason I’m alone in the first place–”

He stops right there.

He’s not ready to really talk about this with Tony.

“... it’s… my fault.”

Peter stares at the ceiling, feeling Tony’s sad gaze on him.

“Kid,” the latter calls.

Peter tentatively looks back, fearing he might cry.

“I’m glad you came here. You don’t deserve to be alone, even if you might believe that,” Tony reassures him.

The boy sniffs.

“... Do you ever feel cold… even though you’re warm on the surface?” Peter wonders. “And you realize how empty you really feel?”

That seems to affect Tony on a much deeper level.

“... Yeah.”

Peter can see so much in his eyes.

Tony exhales, wrapping both arms around Peter, somewhat sitting on the bed so he can hug him better. There are no other words spoken. Only their breaths, their heartbeats, and their inner coldness being revealed to each other. Them trying to warm each other up.

That’s not the kind of emptiness that’s ever going away, Peter knows that well.

At least he doesn’t have to focus on it now.

Because Tony is here, holding him.

Tony is like his puzzle piece. When they’re together, they fit perfectly. When they’re together, Peter feels like he has nothing to fear on his own.

And when they fit together, Peter might have to adjust. He’s not entirely used to the feeling. Perhaps Tony isn’t, either. But it’s not that bad.

Peter is just surprised how… gentle Tony Stark is.

You’d never read that anywhere about him. Least of all about a man inside a suit of armor.

Unlike all those tabloids and headlines on the internet… Peter can actually hear Tony’s heart. Feel the way it beats. The way it’s hardened but is now loosening up. Opening up. Only the true ones know who Tony Stark is.

And Peter also knows with the way Tony hugs him, in a solid grip that is not letting go no matter what. Not giving up on Peter. Not letting anything awful happen to either, and least of all to the boy.

Just telling him, it’s okay, you can rest, and you can rely on me.

Peter takes a while but he starts relaxing significantly, wishing he could never leave. Well, that’s too idealistic. But he can pretend otherwise.

Tony might rub his back and his shoulders every now and then, sometimes he runs his fingers through Peter’s hair, or nuzzles his face against it. All the while remaining quiet. Just being here for Peter.

Deep, deep in the latter’s mind… he remembers those cold nights his uncle lent him an oversized coat. And Peter would wear them and smell like Ben.

He remembers his smell. Shampoo, some old cologne. Cigarettes but he didn’t smoke, it was mostly the smell of the city.

Peter is never going to feel that smell again.

Tony’s is coffee, oil, and sometimes sweat. He spends a lot of time working, too.

Completely different smells. Peter might not ever be able to describe them properly, regardless of his enhanced senses.

They’re not the same, but Peter being enveloped in this, getting to absorb it and call it home…

He never thought that would happen again.

It’s a coat trying to protect him from his inner cold. Peter is wearing Tony’s old MIT sweater, but he’s wearing another thicker coat now.

Peter inhales and exhales deeply, snuggling his head against Tony’s chest. He might feel Tony snorting to himself. Probably wanting to say Peter is cute, which always makes the latter embarrassed.

Tony is lying down again, but never completely releasing Peter. Then he turns off the light.

The boy tenses automatically.

“I’m here,” Tony notices. “I’m right here, kiddo. Not going anywhere.”

He can hear his smile even if he can’t see it.

Peter smiles back, slipping into the dark, knowing Tony is guiding him in the endless nothing inside Peter, understanding it, not trying to get rid of it or fix it. Because Tony loves him the way he is.

Peter can say the same for him.

In his dreams, they’re flying together, having fun. Everything is okay.

And everything will be okay, one day.

[mizra-asgardia]

Emotional Damage: Urianger Edition

[steakout-05]

he's such a sad little guy i love him a lot :) so funny how he immediately went from Australia's #1 most saddest soppingly wet little man you've ever seen, to blowing up a lab and stealing their assets every Tuesday morning for Shits And Giggles™

[bogmachine]

ik yucky old men deserve to be soft and loved too but i genuinely think whatever harry and kim have going on in game is infinitely more interesting and probably realistic than them getting together

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

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

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

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

Word count. 4.5k

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

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

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

Because you weren’t here.

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

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

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

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

“Where is she?”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when you felt it. 

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

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

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

“My love?”

Satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. He’s lost it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

Rip!

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

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

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

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

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

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

And it was so unfair. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

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

That cheat. 

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

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

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

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

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

Desperate. Violent, even.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it’s black. 

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plagiarism not authorized.

[2hightocare]

DOWN BAD! 02

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genre: friends to lovers. college au. slowburn!

Warnings: angst, drug use, profanity, explicit content, talks about abusive home, fighting, arguing, screaming, crying, flashbacks, oc and jk are nineteen (freshmen’s in uni) mentions of death, daddy/mommy issues.

a/n: GOSHHHHHHH! pray for my girl yn😓😓 she’s down bad and she fr ain’t getting up. Left you guys on a cliffhanger hehe. enjoy🤍🤍

01! playlist

"What do you want?" He says, the smallest glint of amusement on his face has Jungkook's stomach recoiling.

"The regular," Jungkook found himself saying, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I don't have opioids. My supplier said there was a shortage—want to try some new shit?" Yoongi says as he balances his cigarette on his lips, looking into a cabin.

"You've tried snow before, right?" He looks up at Jungkook who stands there. "No, I told you l don't fuck with that shit," Jungkook shakes his head, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

"It's on me, just try it," Yoongi hands Jungkook a small bag filled with white powder. "Just snort it and let it do its thing, boy," Yoongi chuckles as he watches Jungkook look down at the drug in his palm. "It won't kill you if that's what you're thinking," he continues, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling.

Jungkook's mind immediately goes to you as the words leave Yoongi's mouth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” you scream, your hands pulling on your hair as Jungkook watches silently—his heart breaking as he sees the tear fall from your eye. Whatever he wants to say stays stuck in his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook finds himself muttering, a loud scoff heard from you as you hold his face in your hands, making him look up at you. “Tell me what’s wrong, fuck! I’ll fix it, just tell me,” you cry out. Jungkook watches as your legs give out and you drop to the floor in front of him.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, his heartbeat stops, and his mind goes blank. He wants to drop to his knees and beg you to not care and run away as far as you can from him, but the selfish part of him wants you to stay.

“Baby,” Jungkook slurs, the drugs in his system not letting him speak normally. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologizes again for the hundredth time in the past few days. Jungkook drops beside you, removing your hands from your face as another sob racks through your body. Your eyes red and puffy as tears continue to cascade down.

Jungkook knows nothing about love, but there’s you. The highlight of his days, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning.

He hates how he drags you along with him—in every bad decision he makes. Jungkook’s life hasn’t been easy; an abusive household isn’t something anybody wants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who got it. He knows he’s a legal adult and can move out, but his feet stay glued inside that house because of her, his mom.

God. Jungkook has seen everything fucked up in the piece of shit he calls his house. The blows his mom would take from the man whose blood Jungkook carries. He wasn’t a father to him, that’s for sure. Screams and fighting are the only things his house is filled with. He never heard a bedtime story or got a good night hug. The hug was replaced by a hit on the cheek, jaw, face—or anywhere his dad could get his hands on.

Jungkook blames his dad for the way he is, and every time he looks at you, he imagines the what ifs. Jungkook has done everything he could do to push you away, but instead of leaving, you stayed. It’s scared the shit out of him.

He’s in love with you. Jungkook has never felt anything more in his life than his love for you—it’s almost pathetic how much you make him feel. If your love were a drug, Jungkook would do it every day, every hour, and every minute instead of all the shit he put in his system to forget.

Your love is pure and innocent—everything that Jungkook isn’t. Every time he looks at you, he’s afraid he will break you. He wishes you could realize how unfixable he is and leave—but instead, you’re on your knees begging for him to be better.

How badly did he want to be better; so he could be with you.

“Stop saying sorry and stop doing it, fuck,” you sob, your fist holding onto his hoodie—your knuckles turning white from fear that if you let him go, he’ll vanish.

“You’re better than this. I know you are,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wetting his hoodie with your tears. “Please stop, you could die.” you beg desperately, like a child would.

“Shh,” he comforts, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into him, “I’m sorry.”

As Jungkook walked, the guilt inside him consumed him more and more. The hurt expression on your face after he disrespected you remained etched in his mind, feeling like someone was poking his heart with a needle with each step he took.

Similarly, the weight of the small bag in the pocket of his sweater sent a sense of panic through his body. He hadn’t planned on taking it, but the moment it was placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Instead, he bit his tongue and shoved it into his pocket.

His heart sank as an image flashed in his mind of what your reaction would be if you ever found out. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought deep within him before reaching the main door of his house.

Jungkook’s hand trembles as he holds onto the doorknob. He had nowhere else to go, it was either yours or this. He felt his throat close up as his mind went back to you, his heart screaming for you. To turn around and run back to you—like always, his safe space. The only place where he could let his guard down.

The aching sensation in his chest reminded him of the first time he told you about his dad. You were both seventeen—laying on the carpet of your room, staring up at the ceiling. The broken expression on your face after he confided in you made him feel worse than any hit he had ever taken.

“Did you seriously get into another fight?” you groaned as you examined his face, the purple and blue marks beginning to form twisting your stomach in knots. “Who was it this time?” you frowned, your hand reaching out to touch his bruised cheek.

“Didn’t fight anyone. I actually hit myself with the car door,” the lie flowed smoothly out of his mouth.

“A door?” You raised an eyebrow, not fully believing him. Jungkook had a tendency to throw the first punch after someone lightly touched him—he had more suspensions and run ins with the police than anyone could count. Every time you saw him, there was another bruise decorating his skin, always brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Who was it?” You tried again, your face turning to him.

Jungkook's eyes remained locked with the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled softly into the darkness.

“Why not? Is it a secret?” You quipped, scooting closer to his side—your finger tracing his features as he let out a deep breath. “It’s a really big secret,” he hushed, to which you only nodded eagerly.

“I can keep a secret,” you smiled, your heart beating fast in your chest as you noticed the proximity between you two. You raised a pinky into the air. “Pinky promise,” you bit your lip anxiously, watching him interlock his pinky with yours. “Okay, now tell me.”

“My dad,” he said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What?” You stuttered out, hoping you had heard him wrong.

“My dad, he's abusive,” he restated. The color drained from your face, and Jungkook saw it.

Sadness written all over your face. Words didn’t come out when you opened your mouth; instead, an ugly cry replaced the words.

“That’s why I can’t stand someone’s hands on me,” Jungkook says, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to escape the pain in his heart. It felt as if he was being kicked and thrown.

“Fuck.. I always touch you,” you bit your lip, trying to contain your sobs. “Your touch is the only touch that doesn’t repulse me, baby. So if you plan on not touching me, don’t,” Jungkook quickly interjected, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

Jungkook loved your touch; your fingers on his skin felt like heaven. It almost confused him how much he looked forward to it—sometimes he found himself initiating it. You were the only exception with such privilege; anyone else who laid a finger on him sent a sense of nausea and shivers down his body.

“I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Let me help you.. we can tell the police, he deserves to be in jail. Please,” you sobbed, placing your palm on his cheek.

“You think I don’t know he needs to go to jail? For all I know, he should be put on a electric chair,” Jungkook spat out, shoving your hand away from his face.

“And fuck. Yes, my mom knows. She fucking gets hit too,” he rambled, his chest heaving as he tried to look anywhere in your room that wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw him break down.

As Jungkook crumbled down with a loud sob, his hands cover his face as his shoulders shake as he weeps, you wasted no time dropping to your knees and pulling him into you, whispering reassuring words in his ear.

"She doesn't leave," he cried. "I keep telling her he's going to kill her if she doesn't leave, but she stays." The cracks in his voice mirrored the cracks in your heart as you listened, feeling the weight of his pain, as the double meaning clicks in your head.

"And I can't leave. Who's going to protect her if I'm not there?" he sobbed quietly, his hands tightening around your waist. "I'm scared that if I leave for too long, I'll come back to a house with a dead body in it," he confessed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby," you cooed, tears streaming down your cheeks,

"we should tell the police. They'll help you. I promise."

But his response shattered your hopes.

"No," he croaked out, untangling himself from your embrace.

"Listen to me. If you even think about telling a policeman what I just told you, I swear to god yn, I will never fucking forgive you," Jungkook shook, his face contorted with pain and panic.

"I trust you enough to tell you, but I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, we're done. Whatever the fuck we have, it's done. I will never fucking forgive you."

Jungkook pushes the door open, and he’s met with silence. Without thinking twice, he rushes to his mom's room, slamming the door open to be met with her limp body on the bed.

His heart stops beating, and suddenly everything stops—his hand trembles as he makes his way to her. He nudges her once.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls, only to be met with silence.

“Mom,” he tries again. She stirs in her sleep.

“Jungkook?” She croaks, her voice hoarse as she peeks from her lying position. Jungkook's heart picks up again, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?” Jungkook asks, dropping beside her on the bed. His fingers move her dark hair off her face carefully, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

“He hit you again?” Jungkook lets out a growl, his fist tightening beside him.

“I made him mad. It’s not his fault,” she defends, almost automatically making Jungkook scoff. “Mom, that's not an excuse!” He grits his teeth.

“He isn’t a bad man, Jungkook. He's still your father,” she sighs, the look of tiredness clear on her face as she winces when she moves to her side. Jungkook watches dumbfounded.

“You know, you remind me of him,” she shakes out a laugh, the whole sentence feeling like a punch in the stomach for Jungkook. The more he tries to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. “He was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you—it’s like I’m seeing him. He is a good man underneath it all, Jungkook. You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” she continues, and every word feels like a hit in the gut.

“W-what do you mean.. I’m just like him?” Jungkook stutters, his throat drying up and the familiar feeling of tears picking up in his eyes have him clawing his nails into his palms.

“Do you think when I met your dad, he treated me wrong?” She finally locks eyes with Jungkook. The light in her eyes she once had is now gone, replaced with dull, tired eyes. “He was gentle with me, he was sweet, caring, he was everything to me. He’s still everything to me,” a tear rolls down her cheek, making Jungkook suck in a breath.

“What about me?” Jungkook's voice cracks, the knot in his throat tightening as he watches his mom shake her head.

“Am I not everything to you, Mom?” Another tear falls, followed by more.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Jungkook,” she sighs. Jungkook feels his heart crack into a million pieces as he watches the woman who brought him into this life discard him.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” Jungkook speaks, wiping the tears from his eyes before clearing his voice. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispers into the silence.

“He wouldn’t?” A shocked laugh leaves Jungkook's lips as he can’t believe what he just heard. “He fucking wouldn’t? He fucking hits you? Aren’t you fucking scared that one day he throws the wrong punch?” Jungkook shouts, anger taking over.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snaps. “I’m your mother, and you don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

“Well, you’re a shitty mother. A good mother would put their child first. The only reason I’m still here is because of you!” Jungkook snaps back, his frustration growing stronger as he watches his mom stay motionless.

“I keep coming back because I’m scared he’ll kill you. But apparently, you don’t give a fuck,” he breathes out, his hand tugging on his hair—feeling almost manic at the lack of his mother's reaction.

“Every hit he took on me, you blamed it on me. When all I did was try to protect you. But you always choose him. So fucking next time he comes in through those doors and has his way with you, don’t come running or yelling my name to come and save you,” Jungkook spits out before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jungkook's mind kept racing, never shutting up for a moment, allowing him to think. His brain was filled with repetitions of everything his mom just said. The words "he was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you-it's like I'm seeing him" kept getting repeated in his head over and over again without a break.

Screams of his mom asking for him to save her echoed in his brain, the weight of his guilt and the haunting memories that plagued his mind had Jungkook pulling out the small baggie from his sweater, moving to the small desk in his room.

Jungkook dropped the white powder on the surface, making a line. Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned over, pinching one of his nostrils before snorting.

A sharp burning, stinging sensation spread through Jungkook's nose as he sniffed, rubbing off the remaining powder.

Jungkook dropped onto his bed in a star position as he stared at the ceiling, the feeling of numbness taking over his body. His muscles relaxed as the drug entered his bloodstream, sending a sense of euphoria—a warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him groan in pleasure.

And for once, the voices finally stopped.

It was embarrassing how you found yourself looking for the man you were in love with every corner of the campus. You started with the lockers and hallways, peeking through every classroom, hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the boy who left you standing in your angel costume Saturday night.

You had debated on running after him; the guilt that weighed you down from the slap was intense. Your touch was supposed to be his only gateway, instead, you used it against him to hurt him the same way his dad does. As messed up as his words were, it didn’t compare.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, poking Dahlia on the shoulder. She turns to look at you, mouth filled with food as she nods without saying anything.

“You have?” Your eyebrow raises as she continues to nod eagerly.

“Y-yeah, he’s ou-outside, in the corner,” Dahlia finally says, swallowing her food. You throw a small ‘thank you’ and rush outside.

As you run to the corner where everybody meets up to smoke, you curse out loud as you trip on the crack of the pavement before changing your pace to walking instead.

Your eyes meet his in an instant as you pass the corner, the lit-up joint hanging from his lips. You look around to see Taehyung and Jimin with worried looks on their faces. As you walk closer to them, Jungkook passes the joint to his friend before crossing his arms in front of him, flexing his muscles. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would find it hot.

“What’s up, pretty,” Taehyung says, trying to break the awkward silence as he takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Jimin, who looks uncomfortable as hell.

“Hey,” you acknowledge them both, giving polite head nods before turning your attention to the boy in the middle, his eyes bloodshot red with a small grin decorating his handsome face.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, crossing your arms in front of you. A loud laugh slips out of his mouth, shocking the boys beside him. “Hi baby,” he says, his eyes dropping low as he moves closer to you. You push him away with a hand on his chest, making him pout.

“Rude,” he playfully scoffs, leaning back onto the wall and reaching for the blunt on Taehyung’s fingers as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“That’s enough,” you say, taking away the joint from Taehyung’s hand as Jungkook was about to reach for it.

“This is our cue to leave. Let’s go,” Taehyung hurries off, pulling on his blonde friends arm, before they both mutter something under their breaths as they disappear around the corner.

“Don’t throw that, it’s some good shit, and I just bought it,” Jungkook chuckles, reaching for it only for you to push him away.

“Alright then,” you pull the rolled-up paper up to your lips and take a drag. Jungkook's face drops, and suddenly nothing is funny. His hand immediately shoots up and yanks the joint out of your mouth before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook roars, watching you cough loudly as white smoke rushes out of your mouth.

“Fuck, what were you thinking?” He panics, rubbing a hand over your back to coax your coughing fit. Your throat and chest burn as you continue to cough.

“Don’t ever do that shit again, do you hear me? It’s not good for you,” Jungkook sighs, his rough hand drawing circles down your back as you finally calm down.

“So, you agree it’s not good for you?” You say, your voice hoarse from all the coughing. “Let’s not do this right now, yn,” he pulls on your arm as he walks you to the parking lot. “You never want to do anything,” you yank your arm from his grip. Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying his best not to snap at you.

“Just get in the car, baby,” he continues, opening the passenger door for you. Instead, you push him off and slam the door shut.

“You’re high as fuck; you can’t drive, asshole,” you snap, throwing your arms in the air in anger. “And you’re not?” he clenches his teeth. “I took one hit,” you shove a finger in his face.

“Yeah, a big-ass one. Before you know it, you’ll be high, so get in the fucking car or I’ll put you in it myself,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t dare,” you spit out, and before you know it, your ass is in the air as he hauls you over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t?” Jungkook mutters under his breath as he opens the car door and sits you down on the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and strapping you in. “Where are you taking me?” You roll your eyes as he sits down beside you.

“To your fucking house,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot of the school and driving you home.

The whole car ride is filled with silence; neither of you decides to utter a word. The moment the car stops in front of your house, you hurriedly unbuckle your seatbelt and open your door before sprinting to your door, unlocking it, and disappearing inside. Jungkook almost screams into his hands, wanting to throw a whole tantrum in this car, but he decides otherwise.

With a loud sigh, he turns off the car, turns to the back seat, gets his sweater, and jumps out of the car. He takes the same route he always did when he showed up at your house, climbing himself over the picket fence before climbing the tree next to your window.

The window is opened as you sit on the ground of your room, your knees up to your chest. Jungkook throws his sweater in first before jumping in.

Then his heart dropped, your small hands hold the tiny bag that was in the pocket of his sweater that had fallen out.

“What’s this, Jungkook?” You voice out, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the wavering of your voice as you finally look up at him. His heart might just have been stabbed by your shocked expression, the betrayal and the pain etched in your expressions send a shooting pain in his heart.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me! What the fuck is this?” You interrupt him, your hand shaking as you think of every possible drug that could be in the bag. Jungkook didn’t reply; the words suddenly died in his mouth.

“Is this a way of pushing me away?” You ask, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, mixing with your anger and heartbreak.

“Did something happen at home again? Why? Fuck, why?” You cry, a soul-crushing sob that comes out of you, which has Jungkook coming back to his senses. He feels like shit, and that word doesn’t even cover half of what he’s feeling.

“Please tell me why? I’ll do anything. Let me help you, just fucking stop doing this shit, baby.” You cry, pulling his body to yours, wrapping your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform.

“Use me, scream at me, tell me horrible shit if that helps. Just don’t ever touch any drugs, Jungkook. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” You whisper the last words as you sob into his arms, begging for him to stop. “I’m never leaving your side, so get that into your head. If this is your way of pushing me away, it won’t work.” You sob.

And that’s where everything clicks for Jungkook. His mind thinks back to his mom, “You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” and his heart drops to the ground. All the walls he took so long to build collapse. He was just like his dad—Jungkook wanted to say he wasn’t, but here he was, hurting you, making you sob into his arms, begging for him to change. The same thing his mom does anytime his father would get drunk.

“I’m not good for you,” Jungkook finally speaks, his hands cupping your face. “I’m not good for you.” He repeats, and you shake your head disapprovingly repeatedly. “Stop.” You cry, your tears wetting Jungkook's palms as he repeats the same thing over again.

“You deserve someone so much fucking better, baby,” Jungkook whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “You deserve so much better than me. I can’t give you anything, baby, besides heartache and pain.” He continues as you repeat ‘no’ over and over again under your breath.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry, as he untangles himself from you, pushing your hand away gently when you try to reach for him.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t leave. Stay the night; we’ll talk about this in the morning.” That was the last thing Jungkook heard as he jumped out of the window and ran to his car, leaving his heart in the hands of the girl crying on the floor, praying for him to be safe.

[0hmyg0th]

#𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎★ ╰┈➤ the things you would do to make that man fuck you with his suit on﹒⪩⪨﹒

 ⸻ you didn't know why. usually, men in suits would be a turn-off for you; you felt like they would be too uptight, too much of a hardass. but damn. nanami kento ( grade 1 sorcerer) sat across from you in this hot and sticky conference room, in the blazing heat of Tokyo. and it seems like every season - like clockwork, he would wear that suit. that blue dress shirt that hugged his body so tight that you can see the mere outline of his pecs, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows having his beefy arms and the veins that traveled down to his hands, his fingers. 

you daydream about his fingers, wrapping them around your throat, down your mouth, in your wet pussy that would clench around him every time he would rub just right. you took your pen, the clicker part into your mouth. just slightly gnawing on it. but your eyes moved down further and you weren't even embarrassed to be looking. ken had his legs open, wide. i think he was so preoccupied with the sheet paper in his hand that he didn't even take notice of how tight his pants were. the tan-colored material stretched around him, his bulge made its way to the surface. you were almost positive that he wasn't hard right, that was just how it always looked. even on soft.

you bet it was curved. and you bet he doesn't shave either. all hairy and untamed and not even on his pubic area but everywhere. his chest area and then you just so happen to imagine him with a beard … nah that wouldn't suit him.

I'd bet he fuck hard, you thought. you would tie that unmatched tie he always wore but never matched with the other colors he wore around your neck. he would take you senseless, not even apologizing for it. hell, you would be the one to convince him to do it. you envision him spanking you, telling you how much you've been a bad girl.

you smirked. twirling yourself in the rolling chair you sat in. You could feel the faint heartbeat of your clit throbbing. you need friction, so while everybody pays attention to the all-mighty gojo. you rubbed your thighs together, it wasn't the friction to bring you close to the edge but it was something you closed your eyes to, oh boy the things you would do to make that man fuck you with his suit on. right here, right now.

"y/n.." the six eye sensei spoke. even with that stupid blindfold on you can tell all six of eyes was looking at you. and he and you both knew why... fuck

he definitely caught you. and he will never let you live this down. ever

☄. *. ⋆ nanami kento [ this is exactly how i imagine ken to be in that conference room ]

✎ main mlist ﹒⪩⪨﹒comments and rebogging is appreciated but not required :) ﹒⪩⪨﹒ leave requests for jjk charcters if you want more!

[gojoux]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒

Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta.

◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Would you really reject this man's kiss? A man who is used to getting what he wants? He would start to react dramatically feigning hurt, “You dare wipe my kiss clean off your cheeks?! Baby, I thought you loved me.” But then he'd pull you close, and his attitude changes drastically, “Now, don't play hard to get. I know you want more.” He would kiss you again with more passion and force, caressing your body and locking you in place, and you couldn't help but kiss him back.

◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“Hey, hold on now, love...” As you wipe off his kiss, Geto smiles and shakes his head before leaning in again and kissing you even closer and longer, placing his hands softly on your face. He'll smirk at you when you pull away, “Don't do that. It's the first time I gave my kisses to someone this special.” Geto would kiss you again and hug you tightly, he's very happy to have you.

◈ — 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

He'd chuckle as you wipe off his kiss before grabbing your wrist and pressing it against the wall. His eyes would look like it's glowing for a moment as he presses you harder against the walls. “Don't wipe my kiss off.” He grumbles. Sukuna would kiss you harder as if he were trying to leave a mark behind on your lips. He's very possessive and will stop at nothing to possess you if you're his love.

◈ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

He'd raise an eyebrow as you try to wipe off his kiss. “What? Wiping off my kiss? Are you not happy with me giving you a kiss now?” He smiles a little before grabbing your chin gently, pressing his lips against your forehead, and it lingers for a while to kiss you there. Nanami is always serious, but he's soft inside, and he appreciates your gesture a lot when you accept his kisses.

◈ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

He's too stunned to speak and still shocked by what you just did. “So, you're wiping it off...” Choso murmurs, he's never been loved before and to have someone do that to his kisses is a first. Still, he's happy to be your love though, so his cheeks are flushed and his body feels hot. Choso would put two of his hands gently on your neck before he leaned in, “Don't move. Let me kiss you again.”

◈ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“What was that?” He would hold your wrist tightly, his grip is firm but not enough to hurt you as he pulls you closer. “So, you hate my kisses now, hm?” He looks unbothered by your gesture and is not offended at all. Toji would just kiss you on the lips again, “There. I'll just keep kissing you then.” He smiles and ruffles your hair. He thinks the idea of your small actions is amusing and cute.

◈ — 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

A faint blush covers his cheeks as he questions you. “What are you doing?” He asks, his voice remaining calm and collected. He'd look at you with a serious gaze. Megumi would lean in and kiss you even longer this time, as if he was trying to prove something. He'll mumble in your ear, “I don't want you to wipe off my kiss anymore.” Megumi will hug you and rest his head on your shoulder, as this is the only way he knows how to express his love.

◈ — 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

“Huh? I just gave you a kiss and you wipe it off? Why? Didn't I kiss you properly?” He'd remain speechless for a few seconds, thinking about why you would wipe his kiss off, he might even feel a little insecure. Itadori would then hold your both cheeks and kiss you a few more times before pulling away. He'll look at you with a wide smile on his face and say, “Oh, don't worry. All you had to say was I didn't kiss you properly.”

◈ — 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

Yuta's heart would leap in shock and he would turn flustered. This is a new feeling he's never experienced before, someone wiping off his kiss. “W-Why did you do that? Did I do something wrong?” He'd ask. Yuta would step forward and grab your cheeks gently, kissing you before he held your hand and placed it on his chest to feel his heartbeat. “Was that better?”

[mushies-stories]

Drinking- how TF141 handles a clingy drunk reader for the first time

PART ONE- Price and Soap

PART TWO- Ghost and Gaz

F!Reader

Warnings: drunk reader, little tiny bit suggestive... think that's it?

John Price

The first time he saw you drunk was when you had called him to pick you up from a night out with the girls. You had planned on just taking an Uber home but the more you drank the more you wanted John. so you called him and asked sweetly if he would come get you, telling you just needed to see him.

“Please John… i jus’really need to… to see you.” you whine over the phone.

John doesn’t mind in the slightest. Your slurred words and the pout in your tone made him rush to leave his flat. 

When he found you he couldn't help but mirror the grin that had blossomed on your own face when you saw him. He wastes no time in striding over to you, quick to place a hand around your hip and help support your body as you hug him. Your arms loose around his neck. 

“Missed you s’much.” you mumbled into his neck. 

He chuckles and pats your hair. “That so love? Well I missed ya too.” he tells you. “S’about time I bring ya home, yeah?” he strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head before leading you to his car. 

Back home you don't even have time to get your fingers on the door handle before John is there and swooping you off your feet, caringing you inside with no complaint for you, only drunkenly happy giggles and little kicks of your feet. 

The whole car ride you looked at him and talked about how much you just wanted to be in his arms. You can't wait to be laying in bed wrapped up and warm with your perfect man.

He brought you back to his flat and to his bed. Setting you down at the end gently and with another little kiss to the top of your head. “Just a moment, sweet girl.” he says and leaves the room. He comes back with a glass of water and instructs you to drink some. His hands rub your back and shoulders gently, soothing you and making you hum softly.

Picked out one of his shirts for you to sleep in and helped you change. chuckling when you almost fall back onto the bed when he slips your pants off. “Almost done love, don't fall asleep just yet.” he tells you with a loving smile. 

When he finally got you dressed and everything situated for bed you were grasping for him the moment his knees the mattress. He barely had time to turn the bedside lamp off before you were leaning into his side and gripping his shirt. 

“Alright sweet girl, c’mere.” John pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you with a kiss to the crown of your head. 

You sigh happily against him and let your body relax, sinking into his. “Love you s’much John.” you mumble before letting his warmth soothe you into unconsciousness. 

John fell asleep with a small smile. Your heartbeat eases him into sleep. “Love ya to dove, my lovely girl.” with one more kiss placed on your hair he lets sleep take him. 

John 'Soap' MacTavish

You had gone out with Johnny one night to a bar he liked. He wanted to teach you how to play pool and show off at darts. 

It was when Johnny says something about taking it slow after you stumble over your own foot. Blaming the alcohol and your little tolerance, Soap joked that you already had too much. 

Of course in retaliation, you wanted to prove him wrong by ‘out drinking him’. Needless to say, it did not go as planned and you certainly did not win your bet.

In no time you were a giggling mess, trying to play pool but missing every shot and when Johnny came up behind you to keep you balanced you couldn't help leaning into him.

“Johnnyyy, I love you so much.” you slur up at him with a cheeky, drunken smile. 

He chuckles at your drunken state. “That so? Well I love ye too Binnie.” he says and kisses the top of your head. “How’s’bout we get on home?” he offers, already steering you towards the exit. 

Johnny doesn’t live too far from the pub, meaning you had walked there but… Johnny has to carry your drunk ass back. 

He was being a stubborn tease at first, just helping you wobble along the sidewalk and shaky legs. After some whining and adorably drunk pouty faces, he gives in and lets you climb onto his back. 

While he teased you at first about being such a lightweight, he had to admit that you were rather adorable and really, clingy so that made up for your lack of drinking skills. 

The whole way home you kissed his neck, peppering little kisses and nips along the exposed skin. “Dove, keep doing that and I'll be hard all night.” he chuckles. The grip he has on your thighs tightens a little in warning. 

You giggle and lick a long strip up the side of his neck. “Maybe that's what I want Johnny, want you hard all ni-Ah!” you're cut off with a yelp when Johnny hoists you up with a little jump.

“Watch it shrimp, yer way too drunk to handle any of tha tonight.” he scolded softly. 

You pout like a wounded puppy but concede, it was never going to be a winning battle, you were very drunk after all. But that doesn't mean you can't nuzzle into his back and feel his huge muscles right? 

The rest of the walk was peaceful, you kept your hands to yourself, or rather his large arms. Back home he helped you get ready for bed, brushing your teeth, taking your makeup off and making sure you drank some water. 

He found you his softest t-shirt for you to sleep in. but wouldn't give you any shorts or pants, insisting you wouldn't need them since he was warm enough for the both of you.

You fell asleep with him holding you close, your back to his chest. He kissed your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck, to which you sigh happily about. “Night Johnny, love you.” your words are slow and in a blink your breathing steady and fast asleep. 

“Love ye too dove.” he smiles to himself, noting how you fell asleep so fast even though not even 30 minutes ago you were pawing at him.

[keisobe]

── ⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 (𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚)

from spider-man : across the spiderverse (spoiler free!!)

characters. miles morales. miguel o’hara. hobie brown & peter b. parker. + pavitr prabhakar

notes. i quickly wrote this because spiderverse has consumed a lot of my attention (cue the tiktok edits i’ve saved of hobie and miguel). anyways hope i did the characterization accurate enough and hope it was fun to read ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) + not completely proofread

𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward when it comes to hugging. his limbs don’t know where to wrap around, so they keep flaring everywhere until you end up locking him into one solid hug.

miles is also very respectful of your boundaries, he would do that weird hover hand thing over your waist that would look very off in photos (his hand literally 3 inches away from your shoulder, but a good photo overall).

but when he’s close to you, he would pull you into a protective and warm embrace— especially if he has been worried sick about you. that’s until he pulls away and let’s out a chuckle accompanied with a light scratch on the back of his neck to ease his worries.

“umm… wait— lemme just…”

miles’ arms were bending awkwardly and moving in lightning speed, a nervous smile plastered onto his conflicted features— twitching brows and all.

you huffed at his failed attempt to simply embrace you, so you forcefully hooked your arms around his neck and brought him closer, feeling the softness of his cheek against your forehead and the pacing heartbeat you didn’t know he had.

“it’s fine, it’s just me silly.” you teased into his ear, prompting miles to chuckle at his own awkwardness and to wrap his strong arms around your waist.

“right, it’s you.” he whispered more to himself, leaning down to reach your height and to cutely rest his head in the nape of your neck. “just you.”

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ❤︎

hasn’t been held in so long. he says that he doesn’t do hugs, will probably go into flight-and-fight mode if you even asked for a small embrace. if you’re lucky though, he’ll leave you with a deadly glare and an annoyed huff.

but in the heat of the moment, in the moments of needed comfort, he will be there to give you an embrace. although, his hugs are tight, to the point you have a hard time breathing. it’ll take him a moment to notice that you’re literally breathless and will cough a lousy sorry as compensation for squeezing you to death (but he actually feels bad).

what nobody knows (maybe expect you) is that he prefers hugs that can display his strength. lifting you off from the ground with ease makes him smirk to himself. surprise hugs from the back also avoids the awkwardness of confronting actual romantic contact (it’s also more fun for him).

“what now?” miguel folds his arms impatiently as he watches you dumbly spread your arms out, a determined glint in your eyes.

no response, you simply spread your arms wider. miguel huffs an annoyed laugh and awkwardly comes up to you to embrace you, with a tightness that made you choke for air. then he suddenly lifts you from the floor, making you latch tightly around his neck.

miguel sighs deeply, the irritation that emitted from him suddenly became comfortably warm.

“did you need this hug?” you managed to breathe out, threading your fingers through the loose brown hair in the back of his neck.

“yeah, i really needed it.” miguel mumbles out in embarrassment, tightening his muscular arms around your waist— prompting a weak yet satisfied wheeze from your lips.

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 ❤︎

he’s chill with hugs, but he’s very friendly about it. likes to latch an arm on his mates and such— but an immediate sweet embrace you won’t really get (he’s good at reading people, so if you’re vibes are off, he ain’t moving an inch).

he generally prefers to give side hugs, nothing too personal and definitely fits his overall demeanor. match that up with a firm compliment and a friendly pat on the shoulder. but if he’s close to you, he’ll be there patiently with open arms.

then he’s analyzing you closely as you embrace him, listening closely for a change in your heartbeat or any small noise that escapes your mouth. he subtly smells you too and will not forget your scent (will use the same detergent as you right after the embrace). there’s a moment of silence and it’s perfectly comfortable.

“c’mere.” hobie faintly whispers with an expanded arm, his expression unusually soft.

immediately you ran to receive an embrace from his slim body, a wet sniffle muffled into his webbed suit as tears began to pour from your eyes. hobie hovers a calloused hand over your back, thinking for a moment, until he decides that it was fine to do so. he pats the small of your back comfortably, murmuring a song he wrote to soothe your sadness.

“thank you hobie.” you hiccuped, leaning onto his chest. hobie simply nodded, playing with the ends of your hair with a painted finger.

“yea...” he mumbled, noticing that the tears that stained your cheeks before faded and your breathing steadied. “no probs.”

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 ❤︎

he’s painfully awkward too. pull him into an embrace, he will let out an uncomfortable chuckle as he carefully pries you off his body. peter makes it obvious he wants his space, rightfully so.

actually, head pats is something he prefers to give. it’s comforting for him to be able to teasingly mess your hair to get a whine from you, or feel the texture of your hair under his palms. also, he’s an old man (will feel extremely insulted if you say his comforting technique is equivalent to that of an elderly folk).

but if he’s close with you or there is a moment when an embrace is desperately needed, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull you into a deep embrace. due to his new plushness to his body and rarity of his soft affection, peter’s embraces feel warm and inviting. sorry though, it’ll only last a few seconds until he’s pulling away immediately (will give up if you pull him back into the embrace tho).

“there, there kiddo…” peter softly pats your head, poorly attempting to cool your temper.

“not working peter.”

peter sighs in defeat as he slowly retracted his hand, thinking of a solution to cheer you up. without a second thought, he quickly pulled you into an embrace with efficient strength— the softness of his stomach contrasted the hardness of his chest. immediately you light up, nuzzling into his warm arms as he playfully swayed your body side-to-side.

“better?” he chuckled at your dazed expression, maybe hugging wasn’t so bad.

“yeah…” you could hear the slow patters of his heartbeat as he tightened the protective hold around your waist.

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

[soamericn]

𝜗𝜚 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ ‘ one night he wakes strange look on his face pauses, then says you're my best friend and you knew what it was he is in love ‘

𝜗𝜚… summary , ( f!yn x oscar piastri ) oscar piastri is head over heels for his best friend, though he keeps his feelings a secret. he wins his first race in f1 and after seeing her cheering him on in the crowd he can’t hide his affections any longer.

𝜗𝜚… type , irl

𝜗𝜚… faceclaim , up to your imagination <3

𝜗𝜚… triggers , there is none

𝜗𝜚… authors note , my first f1 one shot! I'm really proud ngl and it's as cute as I was hoping! hope ya'll enjoy!

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ masterlist

all he could hear was his heartbeat in his helmet; it flooded his ears like static on a radio. After getting out of the car without a thought in his head, he stepped onto the car in front of the halo putting both of his arms into the air. 

Adrenaline flooded his senses, his colorful helmet shined under the night race lights. The cheers were overwhelmingly loud as each voice blended together into the sea of people. 

Subconsciously so, his ears searched for one voice in particular, one that was soft and comforting. The one he’d share a laugh with until three in morning. Or would tease him inexplicably. But the voice was stirred in with the rest. 

Oscar stepped down from the car, and the first thing he did was run into the ocean of papaya. Many hands covered him, patting his back or helmet hearing many compliments on his win. After a minute or so of drowning himself in the praise and affection from his team he stepped away removing his helmet and placing it on a pedestal. 

He ran a hand through his damp hair, it staying in place as he did so. A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned, seeing a man in a matching suit who pulled him into a hug. “Mate you did great.” He complimented, his voice directly in his ear.

The Australian didn’t realize how truly speechless he was until someone directly spoke to him. The words formed in his throat but never made it out of his mouth. 

Lando pulled away with a light two taps on his back. “Thanks, maybe not pelting me with champagne could be a good job present.” Oscar jokes. 

The Brit lets out a small laugh and shakes his head, “Oh c'mon you need the full podium experience-” Oscar’s attention on Lando was cut off, the voice. 

The one he’d scanned for, moments before the voice had made itself known. She shouted his name from behind the short fence with the rest of the crowd desperately trying to get the man she’d known for most of her life’s attention. Oscar’s eyes searched the crowd, until they found her, he could’ve picked her out in any crowd his entire being always seemed drawn to her.

“Oscar!” His best friend. The only one he’s ever really known. Always supporting him, even today adorning herself in all papaya wearing a jersey he’d known for a fact had a huge eighty-one on the back (and might’ve been stolen from his closet), all for him. 

Oscar rushed over, as soon as he’d spotted her after the race, he just knew he needed her in the moment. The calm, composedness of his being suddenly dissolved into the smokey air. Still with a small fence between them he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her into a tight hug. Her arms naturally floated around his neck, they fit together perfectly like two puzzle pieces made just for one another. Camera flashes flooded their sudden embrace, and he lightly lifted her into the air as he tightened their hold on one another. They could’ve done the whole podium ceremony, everyone could have gone home and Oscar would’ve stayed here with his arms around her always.

“You did so well today.” Her voice was soft, the words only meant for him. She only wanted him to know how proud she was of him. How much her heart raced as he crossed the checkered flag, and how much support she’d carried with her for him through everything.

His impulsiveness took over as soon as he heard her speak, he wasn’t thinking about anything in that moment, not the cameras, the thousands of people that surrounded the pair, and certainly not the feelings he carried for her for many years; the feelings he kept deep down for too long, way too long. He only thought of her, the way her soft voice tickled against his skin and the flush it brought to his already red cheeks.

Placing a delicate but firm hand on her cheek which she covered with her own hand, her cheeks turning a light and kind shade of pink and a gentle smile formed from her lips. The lips Oscar just happened to notice how pink and heart shaped they’d been and how soft they looked compared to his own chapped ones.

Oscar slightly looked down and she’d looked up at him, her eyes seemed as if they were looking into him, as if she could’ve read his thoughts. Standing like this for a second, there was a moment where the Australian had contemplated, was he going to possibly ruin a friendship over his own feelings? Before he could even think about not doing it, her eyelashes fluttered warm and innocent and he filled the gap between them. 

They were perfectly made for one another. They moved in sync, and she’d tasted of an orange mocktail and strawberry chapstick and everything that's made her, her. His thumb lightly stroked her cheek, and his arm snaked around her waist holding her tightly. 

Both her arms ended up around his neck, smiling sweetly into the kiss and giggled lightly into the Aussies mouth. Not hearing the reactions from the crowd surrounding them. 

When Oscar pulled away they’d both missed the warmth and comfort of one another. But realization hit him like a tidal wave, remembering all of his actions so clearly except for how her arms fit so perfectly around him, and the way she’d smiled at his affections. 

His hand removed itself from her waist and mind started to race and he pictured missed calls, a missing eighty-one jersey in the crowd, losing the praise of a voice that motivated him to be better. He’d completely zoned out at this point and she’d used her hand placing it back on his freckled cheek and directing him to look at her. Of course she’d know what he was thinking. 

She always did. 

She’d looked up at him, a small glint in her eyes, that made Oscar wanna kiss her all over again but he held back, fear filling his chest so tightly he’d felt like he’d choke on it. He’d race cars at 300km/h without as much fear as he felt now. 

Placing a hand on his other cheek, she stood on her tippy toes reaching his lips giving them a light peck. Her way of saying everything was gonna be okay. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red and his arms comfortably made its way back around her waist and his hand slid up her back.

She looked up at him, anticipating him to make a move. Though she was impatient, she pulled his racing suit collar down and her lips landed on his once again. He gasped in between his lips, a small surprise of her sudden affection. 

“I think I’ve always loved you.” He whispered into her mouth in between kisses, her heart shaped lips formed in a smile against his. 

She pulled away, lightly biting his bottom lip, “you think I didn’t?” She grinned a light giggle leaving her lips. 

It was like a candle had been relit in Oscar’s head, a candle that flamed only for her. A flame that reminded him how much he needed her, how much he’d been needing her. His arms tightened around her almost possessively so, he reveled in the taste and feeling of her, and how she finally knew that most of him was hers.  

𝜗𝜚… tags , @whitcferrari @miguelasdr @lcvelctters @cedarbcws

[homicidal-slvt]

Thoughts on COD men favorite way to cuddle? Personally I believe Soap likes to lay directly on top of his partner, he’s a whore for head scratches. Please any soft headcanons you have for 141+LV would do rn. I just need some soft boys. 🥹

How Do They Cuddle?

-

COD SFW Head-Canons

Characters: John Price, Johnny Mactavish, Simon Riley, Kyle Garrick, Alex Keller, Gary Sanderson, Nikolai, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, Kate Laswell, Valeria Garza, Phillip Graves, König, Farah Karim

-

Warnings: None- Just Fluff.

-

John Price

Loves to pull you into his arms in bed and be the big spoon, honestly okay with most cuddle positions.

Will lay on top of you and snuggle but it's typically unintentionally in his sleep- like a weighted blanket that snores and sleep talks.

Will pass out immediately if you rub his shoulders.

Johnny Mactavish

Absolutely adores laying on top of you with his head on your chest, your heartbeat soothes him and lord help him if you scratch his head- he may just drool.

Any and all types of spooning is welcome, will be the little or big spoon.

Hands on you every chance he is given, tugging you close in bed and nearly roasting you because this man is a straight up living furnace.

Simon Riley

Pulls you into his side so you can lay your head on his chest, typically sleeps laying on his back.

Absolutely melts if you press little kisses to the scars on his face, wraps his arms around you so tight that there is no escape.

Not opposed to you spooning him or just wrapping your arms around him from behind.

Kyle Garrick

Does the thing of tucking your head to his chest so you can listen to his heartbeat, will also hum a soft tune to you and murmur the sweetest things as you fall asleep.

Tuck your face into the crook of his neck and you'll hear an audible sigh of happiness, arms slipping around you to pull you impossibly close.

Kiss attack!!! Will randomly pepper kisses all over your face and anywhere else you'll let him- he just can't resist you.

Alex Keller

Absolute puppy energy as he follows you around closer than usual whenever he wants to cuddle, will eagerly pull you to him on the couch or wherever else you two sit down.

Tucks his face into the crook of your neck and purposely tickles you with his facial hair, grins like an idiot when you giggle and push at him.

Is typically the big spoon in bed because he just loves being the one with his arms around you, planting kisses to your shoulders.

Gary Sanderson

Lays on top of you to trap you with his affection, nuzzling and making little hum sounds to express how much he adores you.

Traces shapes and letters along your skin when you two are cuddling in bed, loves tugging you close to his chest and running his hands along your back.

Often pats his lap when he wants you to stop what you're doing and just come sit on him for snuggles for awhile.

Nikolai

Handsy? Handsy. Gentle touches at all times and constant hugs from behind, is so damn cozy though and knows it- pulling you into him every opportunity.

Loves having you lay on top of him like a blanket, mumbling loving words in Russian as he rubs your back.

If you're sitting beside him his arm is wrapped around you, however he much prefers you on his lap so he can hold you even closer.

Alejandro Vargas

Wants you to lay on him. Please lay on him or let him spoon you, he just has to feel you close so he can praise you softly.

Will drag you onto his lap to hold you when he feels you're working too hard, that's enough chores for right now- snuggle time.

Rubs his hands lightly up and down your sides when you two are in bed.

Rodolfo Parra

Literally the absolute sweetest- wants to sit and cuddle you while feeding each other snacks. Wants you on his lap so he can tell you about his day while sticking food in your mouth.

Loves being the little spoon or laying his head on your chest, run your fingertips along his back and he'll hum out in response.

Consistently gives you the coziest hugs and sweet forehead kisses, hands on your waist or lower back.

Kate Laswell

Intense spooning- prefers being the big spoon but will gladly be the little spoon. Loves taking care of you.

Wants you to lean your head on her shoulder when you two are sitting at home watching shows together.

Encourages you to tell her all about your day, pressing a sweet kiss to your head as you drift off in her arms.

Valeria Garza

Holds your hands when you two cuddle in bed because it's romantic, presses kisses to your knuckles as you tell her about your day.

Praises you for whatever you accomplish and also insists that you take plenty of breaks so she can hold you.

Wants to be the big spoon or tuck your head against her chest so she can mumble sweetly in your ear.

Phillip Graves

An absolute menace who unleashes tickle attacks occasionally when you two are cuddling, usually though he just mumbles sweet things against your skin.

Showers you with kisses and groans softly as he eases into bed with you and with a 'c'mere darlin'' starts spooning you- loves being big spoon.

Wants you to lay your head on his chest sometimes as well, feel his breathing and steady heart beat while he rambles about his day.

König

Lay on him please- he craves it so bad to just feel you close like that. Wants to hold you tightly to himself and ramble about how much he loves you.

A giant teddy bear- please let him lay his head on your lap. He'll fall asleep instantly.

Gentle and doting wanting to give you massages constantly- if you return a massage though you will just hear so many soft groans and praises in German.

Farah Karim

Spoon spoon spoon- will be little or big spoon she doesn't care. Just let her tell you how gorgeous/handsome and perfect you are.

Rests her hands on your waist often when you're doing things, especially loves doing it if it makes you flustered.

Lay your head in her lap and she will gladly smile and stroke your hair- you're just so cute.

-

{This prompt made me so excited I just had to do everyone. LMAO}

-

{@gothgirl6-6-6 @soupbinsoup @sofasoap }

-

{More Content}

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.) Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot. Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what. a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...

John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you. 

Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”

However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…

More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…

And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants… 

He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6. 

There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.

His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you. 

He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.

He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.

But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.

So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…

You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain… 

It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.

As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.

Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.

You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.

They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.

“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.

“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.

“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.

You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.

You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.

“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen. 

A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.

Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”

Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you. 

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it. 

It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.

“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call. 

“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.

“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.

“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.

Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.

“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.

Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.

“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.

“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.

“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.

It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.

“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.

“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.

“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.

After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.

The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.

“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.

“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.

“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant. 

“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.

“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.

“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.

Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.

The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”

“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.

“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.

“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.

He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…

So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?

Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.

Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.

“John?” You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.

The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…

So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?

He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.

“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.

You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…

His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.

A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.

“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.

“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.

The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?

Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.

“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”

[MASTERLIST]

extra: 500 words-ish

The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours. You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs. You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen…  “Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen. “Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night. The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence. Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers. Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t! The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores. You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.

[tinkerbelle05]

Clingy Zoro x reader. You should make the story on Zorro and y/n are laying in bed after a wild night 😏. And y/n has to get up and go make breakfast but Zoro doesn't want to let her leave the bed.

Clingy Bastard

Characters: Zoro x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: (Requested) Thanks luv 💚

Warnings: alluded to past and present sexual experiences also this is my first time writing for Zoro so please excuse any ooc.

-

You woke up slowly, the morning sun shining light in the otherwise dark room. Blinking away the sleepiness, you saw the bright red numbers of the clock reading 11:30.

You briefly recalled that it was Saturday so no work for you to do but you still didn't want to rot in bed all day. Slowly you rose from the bed just to be pushed down back to the bed by Zoro’s arm.

He intertwined his legs with yours, trapping you in them and pulled your body closer to his, your back on his chest and his arm around your body. Holding you like you were his human teddy bear or something.

“No moving,” he mumbled tiredly into your neck. His voice was deep and croaky from sleep.

The audacity of this man.

He’s always doing this! Wanting to cuddle and snuggle until both of your bodies are sore due to the immobility and you didn’t know where your legs began and his arm ended so trying to untangle yourselves just made your already aching body hurt more. You two ended up pretzeled together for what seemed like hours (and it probably was) was not how you wanted to spend your Saturday morning.

Don’t get you wrong, you loved cuddling with Zoro. You loved when he held you against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through your back and the soft rising of his chest. It made you feel safe and warm and loved. Protected in a way that was unfamiliar to you for so long.

But you were….sticky. Yea, sticky and sweaty were the best words to describe the state that you were from what happened last night. They were the best words to describe Zoro too. But before showering, you desperately needed some food. And maybe coffee. And to y’know, get out of the bed too.

“Zoro, let go,” you said in your best “I’m not playing around” voice though it failed miserably judging by the way he snorted at you.

He hugged you closer to his body and you felt him slowly relaxing, his body melting into yours becoming one. He wrapped around you, coo-conning you into his body.

“No, let’s just stay here a bit longer. Why mess up a good thing?” He asked, his voice muffled a bit.

You sighed and thought about the best way to deal with the situation. Usually, after some begging and bribing Zoro would let do what you needed to do. But that’s when you need to do work so he would be less willing to comply when there was no work for you to do. And you didn’t wanna beg to just lay in the house all day anyway. And really, you weren’t that sticky.

No, no, no you definitely were.

So you had only one option. Something where you two would both get what you wanted.

“Wanna shower with me?” You offered to him. You saw his eyes slowly opening, cutting you a look with a sly grin.

He chuckled and kissed your neck, “Oh really? And what have I done to deserve such an honor?”

“Being a clingy, stubborn bastard,” you answered dryly and frowned at him but you couldn’t help the smile that was starting to form on your face when he started to laugh at your comment.

He dragged you onto his lap, his fingers digging into your waist, “Oh, I'm being clingy? Stubborn? You act as if you don't like it. Stop pretending.”

You rolled your eyes at him but was still smiling because despite how absolutely annoying it was, he was right. You did like it.

You’ll never admit it verbally though.

“That a yes or no, Roronoa?” You asked again.

Zoro gave you a toothy smile and carried you to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Something tells you that you wouldn't do much cleaning though.

-

Tags: @puff-hugs, @msmisasoup, @localcowboyd, @purplepirateadventures, @the-skys-musical-echo, @thatgothic-nerd, @lovebunnys-world, @0picels0, @multifandomgirl2018, @charliepoopyfart, @cielitoot7, @tayharrper, @nikolaevna-art, @simpingmyassoff, @saturnwitheclipwze, @rotin0, @villainsmygods, @cherrysandmatcha, @borkbarnes, @villainouspotential, @ramielll, @poketrainer2270, @gingersnap126126, @2strawberries, @fujinnn, @n1ght5h4d3-24, @olliewhinchester, @dimplewonie, @penny44224, @justsomerandomw31rdo, @fuck-you-im-gae, @ghostysfanfics, @dearest-lady, @hopester08, @noway-leon, @avatarkanemi, @justthecasualreader, @fandomsunited, @707xn, @yoongi-holland, @don-tuna, @alienstardust, @darka-moon, @louiselamb12, @dazaisfavgf, @zenitsuisthemostrelatableinkinyc @heydemonsitsyaboilucien, @0amy5, @smolracoon25, @synchronised-beat, @flowerlds-blog, @secretlittlestudyblog, @dragonqueenfk, @foxflamewarrior, @theboisarehere342, @nightingale2124

Taglist & Reqs Info & Masterlist