#all three of them need to just hug so bad

[werezmastarbucks]

16. bamboo

flowers over boys masterlist

in which you finally find Namjoon, or rather, Namjoon finds himself

word count: 3718

warnings: misheard lyrics to silver spoon

author's note: i don't really know where this work takes me, it seems to be writing itself at this point

"hip thrust!" you command. your body feels so fresh because it had been raining at night. the grass is wet, sweet, you could lick it like a cow.

"thrust! they call me - baepsae! hey YG! is that gay? very bad. very bad, ladies. your plasticity is phenomenal but you just-don't-get it".

you put hands to your hips, panting. Jiyoung, Yu and one other maid look excruciatingly embarrassed in front of you. they were also the only three who were willing to try your alien barbaric dancing.

"the movements should be sharp, more aggressive".

you repeat the segment, and they frown.

"that's so masculine. women should not dance like this. it looks... wrong".

"if you don't get it, you don't get it", you plant. the others try to pretend not to see you while they are doing the washing. the river even runs faster after the first rain in ages.

"shaman did good, finally", someone drops, "been waiting for the rain all season". there's mockery in her voice.

"you know weather doesn't depend on rituals, right?" you ask. the girl's face is upturned to you with an eyebrow up.

"oh, and what then? what does it depend on?"

"ocean".

she groans with laughter, falling on her ass.

"the mass of air is moved..."

she is roaring, shrieking, waving her hands in the air. you are defeated all round. oh how you miss listening to music in your airpods. you'll probably cry when you hear it again. you give up. you need to get to work anyway. it's been such a long, breezy morning. skies are delightfully cast with plump, levelled clouds looking like pillows. for once you do not sweat on your way to the palace.

the damn peacocks have been to the Night Garden, you can tell. for one, there are peacock traces on the ground fresh and dark from the rain. also, two of them must have fought because there are small blue and brown feathers floating in the round pond. you check the flowers to see if they are harmed, then actually make it to the aviary to see if all the stupid motherfuckers are alive. you even find the one who lost the most feathers and then return to clean the pond. it's amazing how, since you have become the palace florist, the garden crew seems to always be out of your way. what, were they forbidden to cross paths with you, too? you sniff arrogantly. yeah you almost won. with that information and with the things you have deduced yourself, not that it was very hard, you feel like you can continue to oppose him with little to no harm to yourself. if this was chess, Yoongi would be cooked.

you weigh your options. pond is not gigantic but big enough that you can't just kneel. you need to take off your socks and shoes and lift your skirts and pants to step into the water and retrieve the feathers. water soothes your legs really nice, you sing as usual, because the rain, the rain simply put you in a very good mood. you gather feathers, going over what you need to do today; natural instinct makes you want to hold on to your loot in case it's useful in the future. then you remind yourself it's time to take the vines off the roof, and it spoils your cheerful disposition a little bit.

getting out of the pond, you sit on a big stone and stretch your back, put your legs down and unbend your knees to let them dry. there's nobody in the corridors around, it's still. you only hear a window click on the second storey, then, when your feet are dry, put the socks back on and end the spectacle.

the way lies back to the tool storage. you see the clouds gather more tightly, crowded above your head, and perhaps this weather, fresh, making it easy to breathe, puts you into a sentimental mood. you decide to risk it all and go search for Jimin because you need a hug from a friend. he was right, it is a bit lonely, even if fun almost every day. in reality, you do not have a meaningful connection yet, you are too guarded to speak to any of them with complete openness, because you are too scared to reveal secrets.

you walk back, thinking, what are they going to do? if you waste another hour on searching for the advisor? what's he gonna do? grab you by the neck again?

as you make your way into the central inner yard, the blue roof with wilting flowers looking at you with blame, you hear the name you like the most in the world currently.

"MIN YOONGI!"

it sounds like thunder, like a loud bang, from afar. the sky is greyish, and with the sound of that voice, something morose comes. it sounds... a little familiar. you take up your skirts and run.

people do not usually call the king by the name in that tone. it sounds like a challenge. you run through the yards and the Night Garden again, then circle the central quarters because by corridor it's faster than climbing the stairs.

the main square is empty save for the thin line of staff who are already there. you are barely on time to see a man standing alone, in a monk robe, with a bamboo stick on his hip and a bow in his hands. the colour of the sky is the same as the colour of the stone under his feet. the sky became the land. everything is bluish-grey; Yoongi is the only moving thing. you squint your eyes and bump into a servant who is covering her mouth with her hands. it's so empty, no patrol, as if the ground has been cleared. Yoongi is climbing down the stairs in an energetic, light stride, the bare sword in his hand. you don't know where to look but it seems epic. whoever has such strong throat, aims the bow at the king. Yoongi slows down lazily, as he reaches the yard, then takes a couple more steps. you change feet, then really squint your eyes; years of staring at your laptop made you useless at observations across great distances. as the man lifts his arms, you recognize him. your jaw unhinges. your tongue finds its way to work, he strains the string, puts the arrow on it and shoots.

"Namjoon!!!" you yell with all your lungs.

his head twitches. at the same moment, Yoongi slides his hwando in the air, cutting the arrow in half. he starts walking, but you already run. there's no Taehyung now to keep you in place, so you just run out towards Namjoon in disbelief. his hair is short and it actually makes him more recognizable: simplistic sandals, greyish robe: you were probably right about a hermit or a monk. his stare is hard as he turns to you and raises his bow again.

"woah!" you stop, lifting your hands up. he is sulky but a little surprised to see you, probably. non-Korean, in a white and salmon hanbok, reaching for him. the guards step out like they did before, during the execution ambush. seemingly out of nowhere, and Namjoon lowers the bow, understanding that he is surrounded. several pairs of feet approach him quickly and seize him, Taehyung picks up his bamboo stick from the belt, looking at you with a mix of expectation and question. one person smacks Namjoon in between shoulders to put him to his knees in front of you. no - not you. Yoongi steps by your side and looks down. you wince at the blow.

"this Namjoon?" Yoongi asks.

"yes", you say, breathless. god he is handsome. and familiar. Namjoon. the man stares at you both with guarded incredulity.

"why is he trying to kill you though?"

Yoongi turns his head to you, and you are forced to look. the eye scar is very close, but his pupils seem even closer. they are smirking.

"because i hung his father. and he so happened to learn about it yesterday".

they pick Namjoon up, rough, and you wanna snap at them, but by now you know better. you keep looking at him.

"oh. you have a knack for... hanging people's fathers, huh?"

"you can drop that", he says. "i thought we were past it".

his closeness is unnerving. you can give him that: he isn't shy about his personal space and can maintain eye contact while you start going bad in the head and fidgeting. he doesn't seem to pay any attention to the guards holding Namjoon down. they are simply waiting, and he wins by forcing you to reply.

"oh, okay", then it dawns on you, and you turn to Namjoon,

"i took your place!"

"i never wanted it anyway", Namjoon grumbles. he has an accent that sounds a little European. you realize that he must be of mixed blood if his father was an English missionary named Ambrose. his mother was - or is - probably Korean. this makes more and more sense every second.

"imperialistic hell. who would want to serve a tyrant, his hands covered in blood up to the elbows, in a place adhering to medieval traditions?"

you rub your elbow.

"man, now i feel stupid".

Hoseok ends this hiccup by placing his hand on the collar of Namjoon's robe. one guard jumps away to give him space.

"watch your tongue".

"bring him to the room", Yoongi asks, and Namjoon is lifted. he is big, shoulders wide, moves his feet limp, a broken man who has very little to struggle for. instead of the creeping happiness upon seeing him, you get sad and worried. guards disperse quickly. Taehyung follows Hoseok with Namjoon's bamboo stick in his hand. you want to keep up with them anyway, scared that they will do something stupid. but what to do? what do you say? hey, he seems murderous, but you gotta hold the execution off, because he is like, a great guy! and also your best friend in another lifetime.

Yoongi's hand pushes you lightly in the small of your back.

"you, too".

you walk together, climb the royal stairs, and you throw the last look at the stormy skies. they hold a promise of rain. you try to make your brains work but they refuse to.

the first raindrops start banging on the wooden sills and the polished stones in the garden. peacocks run away with displeased croaking, you can see their massive bodies hurry under the windows in the direction of their aviary. Hoseok shoves his hand inside Namjoon's robe, while Namjoon looks around the throne room. his eyes are calm and curious; they stop at the flowers, slide across the plump spheres of plum blossoms, then climb up to the ceiling. Namjoon appreciates beautiful things. Taehyung keeps closer to the window, bamboo stick at his side, his eyes down, waiting. you don't know what's expected of you; you also keep aside, your back to the flower wall, while Yoongi is sitting on his wide throne with his hand relaxed on the armrest. another hand brushes over his cheek, then finger touches the lower lip.

the doors slide open at the same moment as Hoseok is done with inspection. nobody is holding Namjoon anymore because he isn't running.

three people enter: Jimin in the mask, and then Jungkook with Seokjin. the last one walks quite nonchalantly, until he sees the king is at his place, and falls on the floor in a quick bow. Jungkook lets him be and joins Taehyung at the window. it smells so awesome, after the weeks of heat, clean scent of the garden is intoxicating. you count them with your eyes and realize they are all here. Seokjin keeps his head to the floor for a second, then looks up, keeping his eyes on the point somewhere at Yoongi's feet.

"get up", he allows.

Jin looks at Namjoon with suspicion and earns a similar look in return. for a moment, they are all unmoving. Jimin takes off his mask and shakes his hair into a shape that he feels better about, apparently. his heavy mask is put with the soft thud on the window sill. your lips go dry. it's quiet, save for the sound of rain. Hoseok looks bored, next to the ancient vase where magnolia blooms in rich, almost inappropriately sensual pink.

"well", Yoongi says, and you don't register at once that he is speaking to you.

"seven".

you move your eyes to him. he is looking at you. Jin turns his head, confused. now what? seemingly, nothing. the boys are all with you. some, totally lost, others, suspicious. Jimin is having fun. this world, although he said it was mysterious, is most likely simply a source of entertainment for him. Yoongi is watching you like a hawk in an effortless tilt of the shoulder, looking like he was born on the throne. Taehyung's eyes are searching something on the floor while Jungkook is studying you, but his gaze couldn't be more different from his uncle's. Hoseok is waiting for instructions.

"what are you going to do to me?" Namjoon asks. he isn't having the solemn moment. he looks like a zero-bullshit guy, his buzzcut almost modern, the slits of his eyes intimidating, focused.

"that depends on my insolent florist", king replies, and your brows shoot up. Namjoon turns to you with a frown.

"i wish to be executed", he says after a short look.

"no!" you protest.

"i will not bow to you. my life has been destroyed by your tyranny. i have nothing going for".

"your life has been destroyed by the treacherous nature of your own father", Yoongi responds calmly, "he has sold you".

"no, he hasn't".

"he has. he was a part of the plot that unravelled some time ago. he had meant to send you to my court to make you the snake i warm up to my chest. he abandoned your mother after she birthed you. you were a plan to him, not a son".

Namjoon presses his jaws together.

"it is most perculiar to me how your disobedience to your father's wishes played into what had happened", Yoongi muses, "you refuse to go to the palace, she takes your place instead". Namjoon's head snaps to you again. he looks like he doesn't really understand why you're here; also like you're a nuisance; but also like you are of his kind. "you could have facilitated the passage for the assassin had you been in here working for me, but instead we had to witness y/n assault Hoseok in a spectacular attempt to save his life".

"will you let it go", you grunt, shy.

"i have no idea who she is", Namjoon utters.

"but she knows you. knows your name, knows your built, your past and your habits. how come?"

this question is not for Namjoon. he is looking at him, but his voice is speaking to you.

"and i bet once Hoseok raises his hwando over your head, she will jump again like a little monkey, covering your neck. so what do i do with you?"

he called you little monkey. you drop your chin to make it less visible that you're biting your lower lip. Seokjin, still unsure where to move behind Namjoon's back, looks so confused as to why he is here at all. together with Joon, they look like exasperated twins, their heads turned to you.

"why?" Namjoon asks. now all eyes are on you.

what do you say? because you saved my life? because in the future that had already passed, in 2015, in another world that you shall never see come real, i had spent a whole summer just riding my bike and listening to your albums, and it was that one tiny pull on my wrist that made me okay? it's not even shaman stuff, it's outright alien to them. not even Jimin will understand. his head bobs once as if he is encouraging you to utter whatever nonsense is cooking in your brain. instead, you think of the most realistic lie you could weave to make sense out of something that probably doesn't have any meaning. but Taehyung saves you with his deep, innocent-sounding suede words:

"we are bangtan boys?" it sounds a little questioning, gentle kiss on your temple. Jungkook glares with his huge eyes like he just woke up.

"what if this time there's design behind this?" you murmur to yourself. usually, the loop just throws you in. it's a non-thinking machine, like a surprise destination flight, and there's nothing to the location or time period. when you saw the witches burning in huge medieval bonfires, you couldn't do anything to save them. it meant nothing. you were a helpless observer. you usually are. but this-

what if this means something?

"how did you find your way to the palace?" you ask Namjoon. he looks a little embarrassed as he frowns. Jungkook responds in his place:

"uncle sent me to find him. i told him i know who killed his father and gave him directions".

"you simply found the first Namjoon you could, and he just happened to be the right one?" you wonder with a sharp chuckle in your mouth. Jungkook shrugs. most eerie.

"luck?"

"rare name", Hoseok chimes in, surprisingly.

"design", Jimin echoes, and it's chilling. it's like he is reading your mind. you know he is thinking about that tattoo on your ribs. he definitely told Yoongi about it. because they are all being too intentional right now.

"i think i am right in my assumption", Jimin continues, his head tilting towards king.

"please, don't be ridiculous".

"everything else is not ridiculous, but i am", Jimin retorts.

"there's a fine line between bold guess and fantasy".

Hoseok chuckles. you are trying to catch on what the fuck they are talking about it. by the looks of it, everybody else is confused, too.

"blue dungeon", Yoongi motions his head, and Hobi moves at once, approaches Namjoon and takes him by the shoulder. Namjoon doesn't fight.

"blue?" he sounds curious. you put your thumbs up.

"it's a good one", then you drop to whisper, "i'll bring you a blanket".

Namjoon looks at you in such a way that your brain recalls the word 'parasocial'. yes, it's been nothing but parasocial in here. that's why it's all so awkward. Seokjin moves out of the way, and Yoongi tells him he may go, as well. perplexed, he leaves after the other two, bowing again, scratching his head full of soft hair.

rain bangs loudly on the wooden roof with the most pacifying sound. it really wants to put you to sleep. you remember about the morning glory being thrashed and destroyed by the droplets on the roof of the small pavilion and wonder how cold it is. the day is not nearly over.

everything is electric grey around, including the heavy door of the dungeon. behind that door, you had a great sleep, and now it's guarded the same way like before. guards were about to stop you from visiting Namjoon but now, unfortunately for them, you know your aces. you start flirting with them, even try to touch one of the guys on the shoulder, and, mortified for their lives, they step away from you like you could infect them. just your gaze makes them pace back and let you to the door, where you step on your toes and call for Namjoon. in the darkness, you hear shuffling. you try to see with the little silver light from the sky, rain covering the sun in heavy manteau, but there's only sound.

"Joonie?"

"what is it? who is there?"

"it's me, y/n".

he stands up, by the sound of it. you want to picture him sitting in a monk position on the floor.

you shove the fabric into the wide slit through the door with effort.

"sorry. that's the best blanket i could find".

"why?" he says, dull. you can feel the blanket isn't being tugged from the other side.

"i also brought you some nori. it's the only kind of food that can fit through the bars, lol".

he hums quietly, barealy audible.

"did you know my father?"

"no, i never met Ambrose. that was his name, right?"

"then what's the purpose of this?"

"come on, chill a little. it's cold i bet", you murmur and, when he finally takes the blanket, you push the nori through, wrapped in the rough paper. "i also put some beans in".

"you aren't from here, are you?" Namjoon asks. you prefer not to overthink the second meaning this question may entail.

"i am not with Europeans", you clarify, "i just happened to get a job at the palace".

"is Heongil alive?"

"the tangerine garden man?" you strain your memory, "oh, he was executed some time ago. their plans have been intercepted".

"are you a witch?" he asks suddenly. his voice sounds clogged, like he is unwilling to speak, or fights back tears.

"i wish. i am just a florist".

his silence doesn't believe you.

"wang was right about my family. they were meaning to throw me in here to facilitate access for themselves".

"where's your mother?" you ask.

"she has been long dead. my father left her and took me when i was seven years old. i barely remember her".

your fingers slide through the bars clutching the door. guards are fidgeting, groaning something, like disgruntled babies.

"you might find family here", you whisper. "you will see it later".

the rain is really cold, but in two layers of hanbok, you feel comfortable. miraculously, the time here has accustomed you to these less than perfect conditions. you leave Namjoon to think; he must be completely upturned with what happened. he has things to munch on.

the puddles start gathering in place where the ground had been dry and gaping for water before. once the rain starts, you see no end to it, it's been the second day. forever rain, you think, Namjoon has brought it. he is the bamboo: bending but unbreakable, his voice tight, himself stoic and closed up. standing out.

taglist: @cerulean1riz , @kiki-zb , @mar-lo-pap , @ashyiiy , @enfppuff , @coolpeanutskeletonpersona , @jajabro

[lionb00bfan]

What type of drunk/high/crossfaded are they?

This was a shower thought gone wild.

So I’ve seen people say the whole group is basically addicted to silvervine/catnip and are probably heavy drinkers too. So, I wanted to write how I think they act when they’re drunk, high, or crossfaded. Just for fun lol.

Chief Lion

I think he’d be a pretty happy, loud drunk. He cracks jokes, swinging his arms around his subordinates and walking around the room. Mini life of the party.

I feel like he wouldn’t get high for fun. I think he’d get high for pain management. Whether it’s age or injury (we never got full confirmation on why he uses a cane), he smokes a little when he just wants the physical pain gone for the night.

He probably just lays down if he gets crossfaded. Kinda just stares at the ceiling, enjoying the high.

Ibuki

Surprisingly funny drunk. He finally lets loose and cracks jokes, maybe even tags onto one of Free’s crude jokes now and then. Does that thing where he side-hugs people as he leans on them.

I don’t think he’d go out of his way to get high. He’d prefer regular cigarettes in general or while he drinks, but if someone already has a joint rolled up. He’s not passing it up and taking a few puffs. He gets relaxed.

He’s pretty relaxed when he’s high or drunk only, but he’s not great with being crossfaded. Low key tweaks out a little and will lose his balance. He’ll throw up if he smokes too much while already drunk. 

Free

Drunk Free is just Free, but louder. He’s inviting everyone to drink with him, cracking jokes, tripping over himself, and just having a blast. If he’s one-on-one with someone, he’s suddenly the emotional “I care about you so much, bro” drunk.

High Free would be the opposite of him drunk, he’s much quieter, kinda melting into the couch. He just stares at random things with a soft smile. Gets bad munchies but needs help because he’ll stand in front of the fridge and forget what he was doing. 

Crossfaded Free is less coordinated and laughs at everything and everyone. He’s still loud but not as much as he would be if he were just drunk alone. 

Dolph

His drunk self low-key depends on who he’s around. If it's around his comrades, he’s having fun, chatting, and his face isn’t as serious anymore. However, if he’s alone for a while or with Agata, he gets a little mopey and becomes an “I love you so much” drunk.

 He likes to get high but then he regrets it because his body doesn’t feel like his anymore. He’s literally promising himself he won’t smoke as much during the high and then does it again the next time. Doesn’t tweak out too hard, takes away any unknowing pain he has.

He handles being crossfaded decently as long as he moderates. The first time he got crossfaded, he threw up in a bush and couldn’t handle the combination. So he gets to feel the best of both worlds as long as he doesn’t over do one.

Agata

Probably not a fan of hard liquor, but gets drunk fast off fruity drinks without realizing it. Very happy drunk too, he’s much more confident and cracks a lot more jokes with everyone, also tends to be the one who trips and laughs to himself a lot.

Big fan of getting high though. It’s casual for him, he can be high and go about his day, just more chilled out. If he overdoes it, he gets giggly and stares at random things. Some members caught him laughing at a pear one time.

He can’t get crossfaded all that well. He’ll kinda just lay wherever there’s space and try to focus on one thing at a time, waiting for the high to wear off. He’s better at handling it when he’s more drunk than high.

Miguel

Light weight. He doesn’t drink much because it messes with protein synthesis in his gains (them bio classes paying off omg). So whenever he does drink, he gets super silly. Playful taps knock people over. It takes two or three lions to carry him to bed when he goes dead weight. 

Also a very big fan of smoking, especially after a good workout and shower. He lays down and just purrs to himself. Often smokes with Agata after training together. Both are just vibing.

If he does get crossfaded, it’s the only time he’s breaking his diet because gets hardcore munchies. Also becomes really clumsy, he has broken a lot of things while crossfaded. The other members don’t offer him a smoke if he’s drinking.  

Sabu

He’s a way more chatty when drunk, laughing more than usual, adding to jokes, striking conversations. Also more likely to want to wrestle or play-fight to prove he’s still got it.

He gets real bad munchies when high. Eats anything and everything before flopping down to stare at nothing, occasionally letting out a random high laugh.

He doesn’t like getting crossfaded. Too much food + alcohol = guaranteed throw-up. No one notices, and he always cleans up after himself like a ninja. He avoids getting crossfaded unless he’s way too drunk to care. 

Jinma

He’s a sleepy drunk, dozing off wherever he is. He’s also silly but more sleepy. Most members are trying to get him to go to bed and are dragging him. He goes limp if he’s drunk way past his limit.

He gets super dumb when he smokes. He gets goofy like when he had that spiked drink in the anime. Silvervine turns him into a giggling mess, staring at the walls and muttering nonsense.

Crossfaded Jinma is just existing, he’s not moving cuz of the alcohol, and his mind is turned off because of the high. He just sits wherever he is, barely moving, enjoying the feeling. Probably the second chillest crossfaded member of the group. 

Dope

Drunk Dope acts his age. He’s loud, competitive, and challenging Agata to shot contests, reading everyone out loud instead of silently. More unfiltered, less calculating.

He only smokes when he’s drinking. Being high alone makes him extremely paranoid. One bad trip had him bedbound for two days. He doesn’t remember why, but even a couple of puffs sober make him uncomfortable.

Weirdly enough, he’s always crossfaded. The alcohol loosens him up and the high keeps him semi-alert but chill. He doesn’t understand why mixing both works for him, but smoking alone doesn’t. 

Hino

Tries not to get drunk because of the image he has to keep up. But when it doesn't matter, he’s a completely different lion. He’s chaos. Energetic, wild, and prone to bolting. He’s a runner. Twice, the group had to chase him after he ran off from a club and found him passed out at the mansion doorstep.

He takes a silvervine gummy every night to help him relax. He’s affected in the best way possible, he feels light, his body gets comfortable, his mind is blank, just an overall perfect setup until sleep takes over. 

Crossfaded Hino is just a sleep combination. If he’s too dizzy from alcohol to fall asleep, he’ll smoke until he knocks out. It’s usually immediately but drinking and smoking don’t happen often.

[msmk11]

Alone, but Together

poly!jily x gn!reader

WC: 1.3k

CW: reader is overstimulated; fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Moving in with your partners has been amazing. But as an introvert, you're struggling with the lack of alone time. James and Lily comfort you.

A/n: self-indulgent and my biggest fear if i ever live with a romantic partner

--

When James and Lily asked you to move in with them, you were absolutely and totally thrilled. It was a big step, sure, but one you were ready for. You loved your partners more than life and wanted to share a home with them- to wake up with them, enjoy James’ breakfasts that Lily always raved about, and do your girlfriend’s laundry after she had a long week at work. Moving in was easy, and you folded right into the domesticity. It felt as though you’d always lived there. 

But despite all the goodness of living with your partners, there was one downside, and that was your lack of alone time. As an introvert, you needed more time alone than time you were with people. Living by yourself made things easy. After a long day of work or an afternoon with friends, you could go back to your quiet flat and recharge, binging tv or reading a book. There were no social standards to uphold, just the loveliness of your own company. 

While you felt no need to “perform” around your partners, living with two other people guaranteed you’d never enjoy silence. In the mornings, James was up before the sun, murmuring sweet nothings to you as he set off to the gym. When he returned, all three of you were up and getting ready, and Lily always enjoyed soft banter and conversation over your daily routines. Then, it was off to work, where you were surrounded by people all day long including annoying coworkers and pesky bosses. You got maybe 20 minutes of peace upon arriving home before James would return, and you loved him, but he was always loud. He’d be all over you, kissing you, hugging you, and going on about his day. Of course, you wanted it all- the affection and the chatter- but you also really wanted a break. Then Lily returned home and it’d start all over again. And then it was dinner and quality time together and bed. Not a single drop of alone time. 

To put it frankly, your battery was dangerously low, and every interaction with any human being was beginning to grate on your nerves. So when you arrive home from work in the evening and you see that James has beat you there, you nearly burst into tears. Those twenty minutes of peace were the only semblance of solitude you had left and now they were gone. Your boyfriend, of course, is none the wiser, and jumps up like an eager puppy when the door opens. He bounds over to you, wrapping you up in his strong arms and smattering your face with kisses. Despite your grumpiness, you flush under his affection and the sweet kiss he presses to your lips. 

“How was your day, sweetheart?” He murmurs into your skin, slowly walking you back towards the couch. 

You shrug, your exhaustion making you nearly nonverbal. 

James’ brows furrow and he coos, “did my love have a bad day?”

“Not bad, just tired,” you slur.

He kisses your forehead, “m’sorry. Wanna have a bath when Lils gets home? Or I can make you some tea? Or we could watch your favorite show or-“

“I think I’m gonna shower,” you say abruptly, cutting him off.

James wiggles his eyebrows, “ooh a shower sounds nice, I’m sure Lily will agree. And she can use her nice products on you. They always make my face feel so soft-“

The brunette keeps eagerly rambling on and you want to curl into a ball. His touch is too much. His voice is too much. It’s all too much. 

“James” you respond sharply, more sharply than you intended, “I meant alone.”

His face falters and you instantly feel guilty, but you need to get away. You climb out of his grasp desperately, feeling claustrophobic, and clamber up the steps, shutting the bedroom door behind you resolutely. 

You find solace under the hot water and in the silence. The isolation is what you needed, although the guilt clawing at your throat doesn’t ease. James really did look like a wounded puppy and you feel awful. You stay in the water for a while, letting the heat ease your muscles before you pull on your softest clothes and climb into bed, keeping the lights off, the curtains drawn, and your headphones on, canceling out the world. With your eyes shut, you don’t settle into sleep but into peaceful daydreams. 

It’s not until you feel a soft palm on your cheek that you realize you’re no longer alone. Your eyes flutter open to meet your favorite shade of green, and your heart warms. Lily taps her ear and mouths, ‘can you take those off?’ Your stomach turns as your gaze flits between Lily and James, but you nod, pushing the headphones down around your neck. 

“Can we talk?” Your girlfriend mutters sweetly, her voice thick and warm like honey in tea.

You fidget with your shirt but hum in consent. They both find a seat on the bed but give you plenty of distance. Still, their worried gazes feel a little suffocating.

“Jamie said you’ve been off since you got home. Wanna tell us what’s going on?”

A lump forms in your throat and you shrug, eyes refusing to meet theirs. 

“Sweetheart, you know you can tell us anything,” James adds, his tone reassuring, “and I’m sorry if I upset you before.”

The guilt twists in your stomach as you look at your boyfriend’s sad face, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jamie.”

You twist your fingers anxiously and take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts, “m’just feeling really overwhelmed.”

“What do you mean, my love?” 

Lily awaits your answer patiently, her gaze soft and encouraging. 

“I- I’m just struggling with…living with you guys.”

Their faces twist into confusion and hurt and you’re quick to correct yourself, “not-not you guys. I- well I’m struggling to live with other people…in general.”

James’ head cocks thoughtfully, “not us but people in general?”

You huff and tug at your shirt. Lily grabs your chin gently, forcing you to look at them. 

“It’s not anything you two are doing that’s making me upset. It’s just that… I’m used to living alone. Or, when I lived at home, having my own room. My own space. You guys know I’m an introvert and well…”

Your lovely girlfriend hums in understanding, “It must be a lot for you to go from having a lot of alone time to none at all, hm?”

“Oh is our darling feeling a little burnt out?” James coos, “you should’ve just said so.”

Your face feels hot with shame and you shrug, “didn’t want to make you guys feel bad. I love you both, you know that. And I love living with you, really. It’s just-”

“You just need some time to yourself too?”

You nod.

“Can we touch you?” Lily murmurs.

You nod again and she pulls you into her arms. Any anxiety melts out of your muscles at her touch and she kisses your forehead. James’ hand rubs up and down your back, “we can absolutely do that for you, sweetheart. You just say the word and we’ll leave you alone.”

Your eyes flit between the two loveliest people on earth, “I don’t wanna kick you out of places in your own home, either. And I do like spending the evenings with you. I just need some quiet. Time to decompress.”

Lily kisses your nose, “well why don’t we be alone, together, hm? We can all lay around in the bedroom or sitting room and not talk, but still enjoy each other’s presence quietly?”

“You’d do that? It’s not too much?”

James smiles at you and shakes his head, “of course not, my love. We’d still be together, and that’s all I can ask for.”

You nod slowly, your brain starting to accept the lovely idea- alone, but together.

[calmcoldevening]

Do you do non x reader fics? I say because I'm a massive Stuilly (Billy x Stu) shipper and love how you write. Even if you don't, I'd love the Ghostface boys x reader who acts like the other.

Ghostface x reader who acts like the other

Billy Loomis

• At first, when you're acting almost exactly like Stu, being so loud, energetic, and unable to sit still, it annoys Billy. One more headache. However, as time goes on, he gets used to it. He won't say it out loud, but you truly complement their unique bond in the best way possible.

• Billy often criticizes both of you for being overly active and cheerful, as he's used to being more quiet and contemplative. However, your cheerfulness brings color to his life. You help him feel loved and needed, for which he is immensely grateful.

• He likes your tactility. Stu hugs him around the waist, and you hang from the back of his neck. Although Billy complains, he has never felt so happy and at ease in his life.

• His favorite gesture is to pat you on the head like obedient puppies. Because you two really do look like puppies. You're so active and restless, but also incredibly affectionate. One day he jokingly said that he would buy you two collars with your names on them so that you would know your owner.

• Billy doesn't like you being too friendly with anyone other than the two of them, he's jealous. Billy is a little insecure due to his childhood, so he wants you to always be around and show your attention only to him.

• Sometimes Billy feels like a single father of the two most mischievous children in the world.

• He has to keep an eye on you two all the time to make sure you don't do anything. But he loves it.

Stu Macher

• You're being more cold, calculating, and deliberate. This reminds Stu of Billy, and he's crazy about you. He just knows that you don't have the same level of trauma as Billy, so he can be more gentle and affectionate with you.

• Now he has two cold boys whose hearts he needs to melt with his love!

• You and Billy are very protective, so if someone dares to say something bad about Stu, like that he's too loud and active, you've already sharpened your knives. And then Stu will draw on his body with the victim's blood. He finds it funny. Especially if you have a hot night ahead.

• Your intelligence gives you a significant advantage, and now you plan all of Billy's "missions" with you, while Stu just participates. This greatly improves his mood, as Stu prefers to act rather than think.

• Sometimes you and Billy argue about things, and Stu just sits there, looking at you with a lazy smile and thinking, "Wow, and they are my lovers! So cool!!!"

• Stu is really happy that you've quickly gained Billy's respect. Like, Billy is quite jealous in this regard, and he believes that no one can be as smart and thoughtful as he is. But when it really benefits you, Billy recognizes your usefulness. Stu is already preparing matching underwear for the three of you.

-------

Ps: Actually, yes. I'm writing with characters without a reader. Let me know if you have a specific idea for these boys or if it doesn't matter to you what I write about them.

[iputbigsnake]

Swain-connor family quality time!

[beaulesbian]

im just noticing some similarities

[magicalgirl6]

remember the april fool's day of smile precure. that was good I liked that. yayoi’s a disaster. anyway poisson d'avril or whatever hi

[passerinesoncaffeine]

I'm actually going to gnaw my own hand off.

[aflockofravens]

I have watched the Jujutsu Kaisen anime twice since the beginning of the month, and I just finished the entire manga that I started on Sunday morning.

This is fine. I'm fine. It's fine.

[emily-mooon]

I feel mad >:(

[hotroadkill]

today 2 years ago i was in america and i had the worst hangover of my life and i was in a waffle house with my friend in awkward silence bc we’d fought in a stranger’s kitchen the night before and the server refilled my water for the 5th time while i fought to swallow half a forkful of hashbrowns and she said “i know that look, y’all had a good time at the superbowl last night” and i was thinking actually we had a mediocre time at a nerd bar where u throw darts and all the drinks r named weird things and anyway my friend gives the fakest laugh ive ever heard followed by “yep we sure did” like are we in a CW show right now what was that line delivery and also what even is the superbowl i was born here and should know but honestly i’ve always just pictured everyone gathering at a comically large bowl of cereal but her nametag says leslie and she’s really nice and she’s refilling my water for the 6th time so yeah sure whatever i’m a red blooded american i’ll be anything for leslie in this moment and she tells us stories about working at bars downtown and my friend tells me bad jokes and i feel a little better even though my heart is kind of withering away because my flight is in 17 hours and theres not enough time never enough time i won’t see him for another year and a half and i won’t ever see leslie again and if i ever run into the italian stranger who fell in love with me over darts then it won’t be the same because we won’t be dancing and i’m sitting in a waffle house while the sun sets and i’m sweating gin and tequila and my flight is in 16 hours and i have so many goodbyes to say in this

city because when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out much less back together but i feel like ive been trying for eight years all the same and my flight is in 15 hours but maybe if my friend brings me home now i can spend three of those looking for more shards even though i’ll cut my hand because time never wore down any of the hurt because time might heal wounds but it cant really do jack shit about a metaphysical glass shard its still gonna make me bleed and my friend brings me home and we curl up beside each other in my childhood bedroom thats too small for us it was really a supply room but it became my bedroom when i was eleven and i painted it blue and put up stickers of fish and never took them down but someone someday will take them down and hopefully the house burns to the ground before anyone can touch them theyre mine i grew up here theyre mine dont touch them dont please dont please please please i grew up here and my flight is in 12 hours now because i fell asleep beside my friend and he let me because he knew i needed it he kept watch even though we dont have time we never do because he has to go now and all i can give him is a hug and my hoodie to keep safe until i can see him again and fight him in a stranger’s kitchen again and the sun is gone now and i go and i sit with my dad and my flight is in 10 hours and im trying

not to cry im trying to stare at the stickers because maybe if i look at all of it hard enough i’ll get to stay but i dont because thats not how it works and now my flight is in 4 hours because i fell asleep in my childhood loft bed and now i have to leave i have to pack up and go for the fifth time and it never never gets easier and i know i only have a few more trips left until someone takes my stickers down and paints over my ocean but for now my best friend’s stepmother comes with me and my dad to the airport because my best friend is in college two states away and my flight is in 3 hours and i cry i cry so much and she cries too because she loves me and i think it is such a beautiful blessed thing that i am so loved but oh it is so painful too because i spend more time in its absence than its presence and my flight is in 2 hours and i have to go and my dad is waving goodbye and i see it because i looked back because im stupid i always look back i never look forward i’m forever walking blind through my life because i’m looking back and i can tell my dad is crying and now i have to go through TSA sobbing and it’s awkward because they ask are you okay kid and im not but i cant tell them sorry its just that when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out i cant tell them that so i nod yes im okay and i go and my flight is in 1 hour and i hope it fucking crashes and my flight is in the air and im so far away from all those shards on the kitchen floor now but they’re hurting me all the same and i think i look kind of insane sobbing in the middle seat but how can i miss so many people and so many rooms at once and not lose my mind a little bit? i was going to tell you a short witty little joke about the time i realized i was 21 and didnt know what the superbowl was but i think i slipped on a shard. i’m sorry. maybe next time i’ll get it right. maybe in another two years. maybe you’ll never see me again. maybe this is all the time we had.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

almost immediately into dating, simon riley would buy you a gun.

probably a 9mm. matte black, no frills, utilitarian. nothing bigger than needed. comfortable enough to hug your palm, heavy enough to remind you of the implications of what you carry.

and really, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you.

you knew he was a soldier, knew he kept closets full of gear and could disappear without a sound — appear the same way too. you knew how he moved, how his eyes never slowed until they met yours. knew there was something unsaid about his skill level, redacted parts he left out on purpose. but even above that — you knew the truth of him. under the mask, under the muscle, under the scars of his past. the boy who grew up with vigilance as his only defence. you know enough to know you don’t survive what simon has survived and come out normal.

you come out disciplined. dangerous. prepared.

simon doesn’t believe in luck. won’t leave his trust in the cavalry showin up in time when that’s already failed him many times before. simon doesn’t deal in safe.

he deals in preparation. for the worst. for even the most unlikely.

love comes in many forms. and maybe for simon it’s not candle lit dinners or couch cuddling movie nights (though of course you bribe him into those anyways. he’s never quite been able to say no to you) it’s making sure he does everything in his power to make you capable.

and he does it with all the patience he’s got to offer. there’s no expectation no pressure no timeline — god knows simon isn’t expecting you to become a super assassin overnight. he takes you out to some half-forgotten range an hour outta the city, tucked in nice between the pine and fog. sets up the targets and has you aim at them empty, watching the way you hold tension in your tendons. teaches you how to force it out through breath. how to work the weapon like an extension of yourself.

the rundown is quick and simple. caliber, kickback, magazine release. then he steps back and tells you to shoot.

you exhale the breath like he taught you and pull. when you miss, he nods once and says again. you go through three full mags and miss each one. it isn’t long before your palms burn as bad as your cheeks do with the humiliation of it — but it’s all forgotten when you land just a tap off the bullseye and simon walks over with his hands up.

“that’s how it starts, sweet’eart.” he murmurs, smirking against your mouth.

simon riley is a man of many talents, but his greatest achievement yet is loving you. and maybe it’s not always voiced by ‘i love you so much baby.’ — but instead it’s running you through drills around the crooked ikea furniture in your living room until the sun has set and the moon is out. or blindfolding you and telling you to unload and reload the mag. or leaving sticky notes with unlikely scenarios scattered around the house and quizzing you on your answers while youre cockdrunk against the counter.

you’ve learned his language by now. hes protective and realistic and a little bit cynical. but god does he make you feel alive for it.

you know by him teaching you how to use this gun it’s his way of saying i will do everything in my power to keep you alive because im in love with you and i wouldn’t survive a fuckin day if i lost you.

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part four

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- this is a LONG part like really long aha- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, oral (f receiving) lots of tension, explicit sex, aftercare, honestly this got angsty asf, Satoru is bad at feelings. But dw the end will be happy,reader is HELLA rich and Satoru is almost a sugar baby- pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Three - Part Five>>>

Escort! Satoru dies when he sees you that night, he'd cum so many times to you it was ridiculous, why he was turning down your offers to make him cum he still can't figure out, why he's turning every offer is batshit insane. But all he can manage is to get women off and picture you with every single one of them, still trying to grin and go on dates, laugh and act like he enjoys any of it, when he can't get his mind of your lips half the time.

Escort! Satoru still has a five star rating, still makes money, he may get carpal tunnel from all the work his fingers put in though, since he can't manage to get hard around anyone anymore. He's shaking them even now as he struggles to form a word, as the woman richer than him is standing there in the night, prettier than any star in the sky- and since when was he so poetic, hmm? You're in a gown he can't describe, it fits your body so fucking perfect, your hair up in elegant curls, chandelier earrings dangling, enticing him with your bare neck and shoulders. He is dying to know what all of you looks like, not just parts of you, surely all of you is beautiful, so beautiful it makes a man like him stutter.

Escort! Satoru throws on a casual smile as you slip in the car with him now, giving him a hug and a kiss on his cheek, grinning so pretty at him. 'Is it weird to say I missed you?' your vulnerable question leaves him floored. 'Ignore that, I'm sorry... I bet a lot of girls get like confused...' he curses softly then, tilting your chin up when you look down. 'You're beautiful tonight' is his quiet, husky answer, and he can feel the heat of your cheeks when his thumb brushes one, and your breaths come quicker. 'Thank you, Satoru, you look handsome' you run a hand over his black dress shirt, slowly, as he sighs, pulling you against him then, lips an inch away. 'I was excited to see you-' 'shh' he puts a finger to your lips then, shaking his head. 'So am I'

Escort! Satoru has a hand slipping up your thigh, thumbing the garters there and sighing, looking down at where your thigh hits over your black stockings. 'God, look at you' his words fall out, and your breath quickens. 'How am I gonna make it through an auction when I wanna bury my cock in you?' your lips open and close, shifting your thighs now, as the desire floods through your body, your pulse quickening in the close proximity while you all let the driver lead you to this auction, when all you'd rather do is kiss him. You respect that he doesn't, you know you're delusional, but fuck if you're not falling into the fantasy that is Satoru- top escort there was. 'You want that?' your faint whisper makes him laugh without humor, it doesn't quite meet his eyes.

Escort! Satoru presses you down on his lap, hands on your hips, and you feel him then, cunt pulsing with need, exhaling as you're so close to lips that tempt you endlessly. 'What do you think, sweetheart?' His hoarse voice barely concealing the stark desire, your heat presses against his hard cock under his slacks, making your manicured nails press into his shoulders over the expensive tuxedo jacket, against his skin over the barrier. Satoru's blue eyes look up under snowy lashes, thinking just how beautiful you are, how much you make him ache for you. He cups your face, hand brushing along the delicate line of your jaw, as he sighs, drinking you in, the confines of the back of the car, that drives steadily underneath you.

Escort! Satoru makes you cry out when he grinds you on his cock, your throaty moan nearly ending him, he has such trouble holding back then, having thought of you every fucking day this week, stroking it so much it was damn near rubbed raw. Your earrings glitter in reflective prisms as Satoru kisses up your neck, as your head tilts to the side, allowing him further access. 'Satoru... mmm, please...' he's yanking your dress up over your hips, kissing lower over a breast, raising up and down as you pant, grinding on him. 'Please what, pretty girl?' His teeth nip your collar bone as the car stops, you both curse just a bit, you try to compose yourself, failing miserably, blowing a strand of hair off your face as you ease off his lap.

Escort! Satoru takes you inside the auction then. Arm and arm, the two of you walk past, people murmur about just how good you look, your business partners are glad to greet him, and Satoru seems to know more about you than you've even shared with him. Holding a glass of champagne, his hand on the small of your back, he grins easily at them, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. 'She's still just obsessed with sushi, you know she has been to five different places this month?' the men laugh now - 'she eats it all the time at work too' and you giggle a bit, admitting 'I do enjoy it, yes' but when they leave you look up at him curiously. 'What, did some research- you keep snapping pics on your IG' you giggle then. 'stalker much? maybe you did steal them?' Satoru smirks down at you, sipping his champagne now. 'No way, just thorough so I get another good tip you know' you pause now, sighing, and Satoru notices your mood shift.

Escort! Satoru wants to tell you the truth, that he was scrolling through your IG because he's dying to see more, know more about you, but he tries to hold it in, what would you see in him? Surely you desire him, he can feel it in your heat, see it in how you move, but he knows he's wanted for that. The two of you fall into a quiet, mingling still, when a tall man with shocking pink hair grins at you, he's another business partner apparently, grabbing you to him. When Satoru watches you dance with - Sukuna is the name- something makes him insane then, he does not like you giggling in a man's arms, even as your eyes keep catching his across the room, he hates his hands on you, big and tattooed, taking over your much smaller frame, daringly low on curve of your spine.

Escort! Satoru leans along the wall, peering at his phone now, trying to act unbothered, clients fell for him all the time, but not once has he confused himself. He accepts the next jobs tomorrow, trying to remember what he's here for, getting angrier the longer you dance, which feels like an eternity. When you finally get back, you're smiling up at him, but pause, seeing his full lips are in a frown. 'It's boring, isn't it? Pretentious' you try to tease, but he just can't answer you, even as you're sitting next to him now, and the items are going on display, he's stiff and tense. You wonder if he had better things to do, better jobs to take- perhaps it's just too boring? You lean close, a hand on his shoulder, holding the little auction tag in your other hand, and his blue eyes are cold. 'Satoru I'm sorry it's so boring, is there anything you'd like? You'll still get paid, of course...' he sighs now, shaking his head, you have no clue what's running through his mind.

Escort! Satoru wonders how you are single, when so many men flirt with you, are you oblivious to just how gorgeous you are? To how perfect you are to not just him, but seemingly everyone? 'It's fine, sweets, I've been to worse events' you miss the fun, sweet man you've grown to enjoy in just a few visits. He's shifted from the car- was that because it was physical? Surely that's what an escort like Satoru excels at. You try to remember you're just a client, not more. As there is a beautiful painting from your favorite artist, you end up bidding on it, and Satoru watches you light up when you win, so pretty with your eyes sparkling, smile breaking him down, to where he can hardly stand to look at you. He knows then, he can't keep taking your jobs- he can't perform with anyone now, and he's falling for someone who probably wouldn't consider him in her life.

Escort! Satoru doesn't pick anything out, so you immediately pay him on his app as you two wait for the car, the night breeze blowing, and you give your exorbitant tip that has him suddenly furious, gripping you by your waist suddenly, making you gasp. 'What is wrong with you tonight?' you whisper, blinking back tears suddenly, and he shakes his head at you. 'Why are you giving me so much, I was a shitty date, altogether awful, and you still overpay' you swallow nervously now, looking down at the dress flowing from the wind at your ankles. 'Because I enjoy having you around too much' he pauses at your admission, when the car finally pulls up, and you hug yourself tightly. 'I'm sure you have many clients to see, I won't keep you, go ahead and take this one home, I'll wait.'

Escort! Satoru feels it, you're upset and you have it so, so wrong, god all he can think of is you. Your lip trembles with emotions as you bite it, and the driver waits for the two of you. 'You paid for an entire night, you know' his whisper drives you insane, your eyes lock then, lips so close you wish you could know how they feel. 'We don't have to spend the whole night, don't worry' he sees it then, the Sukuna man stepping out, eyeing you from the back, and Satoru scowls right at him. 'You're riding in the car' you go to protest when Satoru yanks you in the back seat, and you shove at him, turning and crossing your arms as the door shuts. 'You're gonna be rude all night then suddenly want me in the car?' He pauses now, cupping your face, breath dancing on your skin in a cruel tease. 'Let me make it up to you'

Escort! Satoru is soon in your penthouse, it's quiet and tense even then, so much unspoken between you, but Satoru knows one way to explain himself - and that's pleasuring you. He has you turned, ass pressed against him as soon as you look your door, unzipping your dress inch by inch. You barely breathe at the sensation, his fingers dancing down your spine, filling you with so much longing, as it pools at your ankles. He exhales when he sees you naked fully, turning you slowly, cock throbbing when he realizes just how beautiful you are. 'Fucking look at you' his words end you, as does when he's on his knees, worshipping you with ardent kisses up your inner thighs, until he's burying his face against your eager cunt once more. 'More, Satoru, please... more...' you're begging so quickly, as you're grinding on his pretty face, and he's drinking you up, looking at you with those blue eyes.

Escort! Satoru stands and finally you see his thick, long pretty cock spring out, you reach out and stroke it, watching his lashes flutter shut, hear his little whimper, before he's gripped your wrist, pulling out a condom from his pocket, handing it to you now. You rip it open and slip it on nervously, trembling before he is picking you up, cock pressing at your entrance, stretching you and burning with just his pink tip under the latex. 'Ah!' you're already crying out, but when Satoru sinks inside your heat, your slick cunt feeling so goddamn good he can only imagine what it's like raw. He knows then, he's so fucked for anyone, as he kisses down your neck, shoving his cock in so deep, slamming your back against your door as your nails grip him over the jacket he still wears. You're struggling to take him, so full, he's slamming into your cervix, gripping you so bruising - fuck you hope he leaves bruises, unable to get enough of him, as he looks at you now, jerking his hips and watching you shatter.

Escort! Satoru has you delirious, screaming against the door as he continues to fuck into your perfect cunt, you're so wet it's loud, dripping down his cock and drooling onto your tile floor. He's barely even noticed your home, so entranced with your warmth. 'Feel her, she wants to cum, doesn't she?' you just nod weakly, and Satoru presses in fully, as tears fall from your eyes, his eyes so dilated they're black. 'Cum then, pretty, lemme feel you milk him' he presses so deep you feel he's splitting you apart, so thick and huge as he's pulsing inside you, and your vision goes dark, all while he watches, cumming all around his length, and he can barely stand how good it feels, how beautiful you are for him, wishing it was him, and only him.

Escort! Satoru knows every spot on your body, lifting you up high and starting to pound his cock inside you like you're weightless, sweat breaks on your brow which he swipes away, drool falls down your chin and your cunt as he slams deep and rolls his hips again. 'That's it, c'mon sweets, again, you can do it' his encouraging ends you all over again, orgasm washing over you in waves, so many now you've lost count. 'C-cum for me Satoru' you whisper, and he gasps, before shutting his eyes with a moan, burying his head again, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he cums so hard, so much, wishing he had no barrier, wanting to fill you full of him. He struggles to catch his breath, leaning you on that wall then, as you bury your own face, pressing the cutest kiss on his neck, right above his collar.

Escort! Satoru helps you clean up, careful as he brushes your hair and eyes you in the mirror, wiping you gently between the thighs, you're so weak you can barely move after cumming so much, he's helping you get dressed, fuck he gets you water and takes you to bed even. You're sitting against him as he strokes your hair, and you swallow down the sadness of him leaving after that, clinging your arms around his narrow waist, cheek against his heartbeat. 'Satoru how much for... holding me tonight?' your ask destroys him then, almost to tears at your vulnerability, as you make him question everything in his life. He shakes his head then, and you pause. 'One of your rules?' he nods quietly, unable to speak as your lashes lower, and you whisper an 'oh' before pulling back, leaving his arms empty. 'I'm so embarrassed at myself... please just forget this... I'll get you a ride home, okay?'

Escort! Satoru hates himself when he watches tears threaten to spill in your eyes, as you quickly get his ride ready. 'Don't be embarrassed sweetheart, please...' you pull away when he tries to touch your cheek, so many feelings you feel dizzy now. 'I can't just have sex, I thought I could but... it meant too much. I can't... see you again, I'm sorry.' Your words crush him now, when you're standing at your door, unable to look up at him, and his lips open and close, then open again, his own tears threatening. 'What do you mean-' you cut him off, leaning up and kissing right by the corner of his mouth, he grabs you tightly now, never wanting to let go. 'You were amazing to me, thank you for tonight, I... hope you get everything in the world you want, Satoru' you turn and shut the door, leaning against it and sobbing hoarsely, because you know it then- you're in love with him - with a man that sees you as a job. Hopeless, for the first time in your life feeling that way, it seems cruel.

Escort! Satoru gets another ridiculous amount of money with your tag as an 'apology' and scowls when he gets home, throwing his phone across the room, stumbling to his bathroom as he yanks off his tie. He sees your lipstick imprinted on his collar in his reflection, before yanking the dress shirt off, struggling to forget you somehow. But you're in his mind, in his heart, in his fucking dreams that night- why couldn't he have held you? Why couldn't he have kissed you, told you how he felt? He calls you several times, but you don't answer a single one, driving him to the point of insanity, but you're too scared, you've already fallen so far, and you're not sure if you can ever stand to see him again and have any hope of moving on.

Escort! Satoru tries to live his life again, and you try to live yours, but it's just... different now. His endless clients and your loneliness, constantly aching to reach out, but now you know better, you know you fell in love when you were never supposed to. Three months later he sees you for the first time, you're in line at the coffee shop by his place, and his breath catches when he sees the sunlight hit your face, you falter as you see him, giving him a small smile before turning away and walking out. A sad smile that makes him run out after you, shouting your name out on the sidewalk, you pause and turn, he's getting closer, too close, it's too much. 'Yes, Satoru?' your voice is quiet, hollow, the yearning in him makes him want to pick you up right then and there. 'Can I ask you on a... date?' you gasp in shock now, blinking rapidly. 'What?' he sighs, stepping even closer, like magnets pulling him in, he inhales a sweet scent he never thought he would again, murmuring - 'a date, with me, please' eyeing lips he can't wait to brush on his own, waiting for your answer.

I knowww this got angsty OMG - not me tearing up writing this while I'm still super sick UGH lol- dw next/last part will be much cuter lol <3

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[kkusuka]

i would love to be john price's (141's) little bird.

(afab reader, you're lowkey a housewife, g/n pronouns, this was also a lot longer than i meant it to be-1.2k words- and i also wrote it entirely in class)

part 2

just the cute little thing he comes home to after long missions; ready to give him anything he needs to fully enjoy his time at home. barefoot and wide-eyed waiting for your bear of a husband to return from his long hard mission, keeping him fed and fucked as much as he needs. and he just loves you so much-- so much that he needs to show everyone how good you are for him.

it's not like he sets out to rub it in, but when his sergeant mentions not having anyone waiting for him at home-- john just can’t help but invite him over, you always talk about how much you love taking care of him, adding another man shouldn't be a problem! and what kind of captain would he be if he didn't take care of his subordinates?

and you aren't complaining! you love when john lets you see into his job! and gaz is just so sweet, saying please and thank you, offering to help clean the dishes, and politely refusing any leftovers even when you all know he has no food to go back to. so, you just have to keep inviting him over, night after night. and he's so good at conversations, even when he and your husband talk with all their military jargon, he makes sure you understand all of it; you just want to keep him in your house forever! so you kind of do…

you can't imagine making him go all the way home to his cold and dark apartment, it's so far and you know he's tired from his month of constant action-- so suddenly kyle has a bedroom set up right next to yours (close enough to hear how john thanks you for being so good to his sergeant, and just maybe a hand goes down below his waistband) a fully stocked bathroom and a place to put his shoes when you all come back your occasion dinners out. (they're dates, you don't think it but they do)

but kyle is not a man so stay silent about his blessings. you're too nice, too pretty to not tell soap about-- and trust john isn't going to complain, and he knows that you won’t either. 'the best roast i think i've ever had' and 'knows exactly how to make a man feel at home' and soap is not one to stray from his desires.

so you end up with your boys, and a bubbling scotsman in your dinning room with no warning. and you're upset, no one told you that you had to make more food and now there isn't enough to give everyone your usual heaping portion- and there is no way you're letting anyone go hungry in your home!

so you end up bouncing around the kitchen, trying to whip something up before the main course finishes in the oven and who but soap offers to help you out! he's got a hand on you at all times (two on your waist when you're chopping the onion, he just wouldn't know what to do with himself if you got hurt making him dinner. so he has to hold you steady, he has to run his hands over your hips keep you stabilized-- don't think too much into it, just stay focused on chopping bonnie)

and soap knows that he can talk for hours, but he can't help it when your eyes light up when he mentions his childhood in scotland and his missions around the world. and your small flinch and frown when he talks about getting hurt. their lass just can't help but worry about them. he just can't stay away from his captains sweet bird-- not when you send him off with a steaming pile of leftovers and a tight hug (pressed against him as hard as you can because you don’t want him to go)

johnny, a man to brag, never shuts up about how it took kyle three months to get a room but it only took him two. (sometimes when he comes back from the bathroom in the morning he can see into your room as you're getting ready. and he doesn't mean to do it but your panties are his favorite shade of blue and they look so amazing on you-- he wants to see them up close so bad.)

and so he tells ghost of all his troubles- unasked and randomly the next time they got sent out. and does ghost really care about johnny's playground crush on their captains bird? yes. how had he been left the only one not getting home cooked meals after being sent out? is he going to say anything about it?

not a chance.

so it takes a little while before the final place at your dinner table to be filled. but after a particularly grueling mission (and already wishing to come over), ghost is finally convinced he belongs with the rest of his team.

and you've never been happier to make extra food; you've been hearing for months about the illusive fourth man of your husband's battalion but having him stand in your kitchen with a cute little store bought dessert was certainly worth the wait. ( 'Ah didnae ken ye liked pink that much, lt' 'it was all they 'ad, can't show up empty 'anded, johnny')

and is he a little awkward and standoffish, of course-- years of military pressure will do that to a man!

and simon is just too sweet, even if he doesn't know it. he's pulling your chair out for you, and running out in the rain to collect the mail that you'd forgotten all about. he even lets you drag him to the grocery store during your weekly trips. (it's not dragging, he'd follow you into the pits of hell if you'd asked him too so the grocery store is really not a big deal.)

everything is just so perfect when all of your the boys are all in the house together!

and suddenly everything in life makes sense again. that plate that you can never reach on the highest shelf in the kitchen, a body is pressed against you as simon leans over you to grab it leaving you with a squeeze to your hip and red face. the gossip that your husband just never understood in the way he should is studently being told to kyle over coffee every morning as your other boys roll out of bed. the soap opera that you rope johnny into watching every thursday night becomes facemasks and wine time.

and john just loves it. he just loves you so much; loves the way you smile at kyles flirting, loves how you cuddle up to johnny on the couch, loves how you let simon hold you so close when you make his tea in the morning, and he just loves teasing you about it. (teasing? yes. making you face the fact that you want your husbands men to run a train on you like a whore. also yes.)

i wanna keep going but i have to let it end at some point

[zealouswitchwerewolf]

Dick was so tired. Exhausted, really. He had been for years. It had been that way since he had decided to make it his mission to compensate for the shortcomings of an emotionally stunted man with an adoption problem and no intention to change. Dick didn't regret it, not exactly. He loved his siblings and wanted to give them the world. He also knew he couldn't fully raise them while Bruce was there in the middle. He had tried. He always ran himself ragged and ended up on the other side of Bruce's rage for trying to "push his sons away from him". It took a lot out of him but he still tried for the sake of his younger siblings.

It didn't help that Bruce hadn't ever been great at showing affection and tended to push people away from him whenever they got hurt or too close to him for fear of losing them. It had lost some of its effect on Dick after the second time Bruce had kicked him out, after Jason's death, but he could still see the hurt on his siblings' eyes when they were on the other side of Bruce's cold shoulder. It had certainly made him feel unwelcome at the manor and unable to stay more than a few days at once. It also made him irritable at Bruce, although that might be more about the man's actions than the coldness he associated with the manor. He tried to mask it for his siblings. Compensate with easy smiles and warm hugs. He knew it wasn't enough. He had always had to choose between mitigating the biggest mess Bruce had left behind and truly being there for his loved ones. He could not do everything. He couldn't be everywhere at once. No matter how hard he tried. It was exhausting. And he always failed.

Dick had seen Damian pack. He had just gotten back from the cave after his latest attempt at reasoning with Bruce. He had gone to find Damian and had seen the boy organizing his bags and looking around the room to make sure he didn't miss anything. He had seen him take the family picture on his bedside table. Damian hadn't noticed him. Dick had made a split-second decision and left. He went back to the cave and prepared for patrol, telling Bruce about a case he needed help with in the Narrows and leaving with Batman in tow, just in time to see Superboy flying towards Damian's window. He had distracted Bruce and made sure he didn't see.

He had considered taking Damian to live with him before. Many times. The only thing that had stopped him was Bruce's reaction after Tim had rescued him from the timeline but before he started trying to mend bridges with the family. He had seen the closeness between Damian and Dick and had decided to take it away. He had thrown a fit and forbidden Dick from coming to Gotham, when that hadn't worked, he had told him not to come to the manor, when that also didn't work, he started sulking and gave Damian the silent treatment until Dick backed off and distanced himself from the kid enough. That was when he approached Dick and apologized with words that Dick now knew weren't his own and started trying to bring the family back together. Maybe Dick had always known and was just in denial about it. The point was, if Damian ever left, Bruce would immediately suspect Dick and bring the kid back while enforcing more restrictions. It wouldn't help his brother in the long term. So Dick let him leave and pretended not to notice anything amiss.

The realization came hours later. There were no kids living in the manor anymore. All his siblings had left and were starting to figure out how to live independently from Bruce. Dick didn't need to shield them anymore. He didn't have to keep pushing himself to the limit, trying to be everything they needed, trying to overcompensate for everything Bruce fell short on. He didn't have to go back to a place where he wasn't wanted, no matter how many times he was reassured otherwise (not many. Not even once). He could finally leave.

He ended patrol early and got there just in time to see Clark trying to maneuver the rest of Damian's animals in his arms without having to take multiple trips. "Take care of them?" He couldn't help but ask, even knowing he should be doing more and had no right to ask that of anyone else, let alone Superman.

Clark's eyes turned soft and sad. He nodded solemnly, finally having managed to carry all the pets, and left without another word to Dick. They both knew Dick wasn't referring to the animals when he had said 'them'.

Dick went back to his apartment feeling so much relief he felt guilty to ever feel like that towards his siblings absence. It didn't stop him from going to bed and having a full night sleep for the first time in years. It was more rest that he had gotten since Bruce had introduced him to a tiny Jason and told him he was his new brother. Maybe someday Dick would have enough energy to go back and try to fix things between them again. Maybe he'd reach out to his siblings and try to have a real relationship with them. One that wasn't so dependent on Bruce's moods. Maybe one day he'd be ready to talk to Tim, Damian, and Jay and listen to their experiences at the manor without immediately trying to smooth things out or getting defensive. Maybe the anxiety attacks would go away with time. For now he'd just enjoy not having to worry about anyone's emotional well-being but his own. Maybe he'd call Wally and the other Titans. It had been a while since the last time they talked. His siblings were safe. Dick was free. Everything else could wait.

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[xoxojisu]

FUCK, I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU.

synopsis: katsuki doesn't know how to fix. he doesn't know how to heal, or how to love. but for you, he wants to try.

notes: part one here!

he doesn’t see you the next day.

not in class. not at lunch. not even in the places you always pop up, like a constant thread woven through his life. it’s the first time in he-doesn't-even-know-how-long that you’re not just.. there.

sitting on his bed. laying on his chest. places he never asked for you to be, but liked it more than he was willing to admit. places he'd gotten really used to you just being there.

where were you? where did you go?

oh, that's right.

he pushed you away.

and boy, he feels it.

feels the empty. feels the loss.

he doesn’t eat much. doesn’t talk to anyone, which is sort of scarier than him snapping at everyone. his hands shake all day with this restless, helpless sort of guilt.

because he remembers.

remembers your smile, how it faltered.

remembers your laugh, hollow and too small.

remembers how you hugged yourself as you walked away.

remembers how heartbroken you looked, and how it looked like you were trying to shield yourself from him as you left.

and he hates himself for it.

by the time the sun dips low and the sky starts to turn orange, he’s pacing outside your dorm room, hands in his pockets, head down.

he hesitates.

not because he doesn’t want to see you, but because he’s terrified you won’t want to see him.

but he knocks anyway.

soft. three times.

no answer.

he knocks again.

“it’s me,” he says, voice low. “can you.. can we talk?”

still nothing.

then, after a long pause:

the door clicks open just a crack.

you don’t meet his eyes. don’t say anything.

just stand there in the sliver of space you’ve allowed him, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, expression unreadable.

he feels like shit all over again.

“can i come in?” he asks, like he’s not sure he deserves it.

you hesitate, then wordlessly step back and let him in.

his heart clenches. he takes slow, careful steps inside like he’s afraid of breaking more than he already has.

the silence sits thick between you.

he doesn't know what to say or what to do. katsuki's destroyed things all his life. pots and vases, people's feelings, people's dreams. he's never had to try to fix them before.

but now he does. because you're precious. because losing this, you, would be way too much to bear.

his head spins with different thoughts. he should've rehearsed what he was gonna say before he came.

he's scared. really, truly, scared. it's a rare feeling for him, and he hates it. hates how much he's shaking. hates how nauseous he feels. hates that he even put himself in this position.

“i didn’t mean it,” he blurts, voice hoarse. “any of it. not a single fuckin’ word.”

you sit on the edge of your bed, arms crossed tight around you. you don't say anything. it scares him.

he nods. “i know i was a huge dick, and i’m.. fuck, i’m sorry.”

he drops into a crouch in front of you, gaze upturned, hands twitching like he wants to reach for yours but doesn’t dare quite yet.

“i got scared,” he says. “you’re so.. you. you're always so.. bright. and i’m just.. i'm me. i didn’t know how to deal with how much i.. fuckin’ need you.”

your eyes flicker.

“so i panicked. pushed you away. said the worst thing i could think of, because maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad if i did it like this. or maybe i just couldn't handle my own fuckin' feelings. maybe i don't know how to be.. loved, or whatever. i don't really know.”

you finally speak, voice wobbling. “it hurt.”

his heart breaks.

“i know,” he says, hand reaching up slowly and hesitantly to cup your face. you let him. “i know. and i’d take it back if i could. i’d never say anything like that again. not to you. not ever.”

you’re quiet for a long moment.

"i don't want you to have to pretend," you mutter. "if it was really how you felt, i wanna respect your wishes."

"it's not," he says immediately. no hesitation. "fuck, i need you. don't.. fuck, don't go anywhere."

you still look doubtful. there's clearly something else on your mind. he can read you like a book. he nudges you gently, silently urging you to speak your mind.

you look away.

“do you even like me?”

he pauses. then laughs. short, pained. not at you, but at himself.

“fuck, i’m in love with you.”

you blink, eyes wide.

he grips your hand. “and it scares the hell outta me, but that’s not your fault. it’s mine. and if you give me another chance, i’ll spend every damn day makin’ sure you know how much you mean to me.”

silence again. his heart is racing. he's never been this scared before.

then, quietly:

“…okay.”

his head snaps up.

you smile at him. still cracked, still cautious, but at least it's there.

he doesn't care. you smiled at him. he lets a smile slip, too. because yes, you smiled at him.

“okay,” you say again, softer this time.

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

and when you reach for him, when you bury your face in his chest and let him hold you like he never wants to let go, he finally feels like he can breathe again.

“i love you too, you asshole,” you mumble against his hoodie. "by the way."

he squeezes you tighter. presses a kiss into your hair, like a promise.

“i know. ’m gonna earn that back. gonna make it up to you. i swear.”

and this time, he means every word.

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