#if so do you think the ghosts are like ''lol okay sure'' or do they desperately try to inform Toritsuka every year with mounting horror?

[no-psi-nan]

Hey gang, do we think the ghosts in the Saiki world are affected by Saiki's yearly global restoration + mind control wombo combo or nah?

Discuss.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

another day another "applying the concept 'disposability' to 'someone withdraws from a personal relationship, & that wasn't signed off on by the other'" kill me

[poppyseed799]

I feel like life series fanon jimmy is kind of mischaracterized and there’s an easy way to make sure you’re doing it right: he has a lot of unearned confidence

[wintaerbaer]

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3

[arminsumi]

First request ever: Can you make a story about Gojo, where their both in a relationship but gojo had to end it because he was afraid that she would be in danger?

Thank you! Keep up the good work, I love your stories!!!

LET ME MARRY YOU

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

The risk of dating you his too much for him to handle, so he breaks it off, only for him to come back to your doorstep years later and ask: "Let me marry you."

2k

Note : istg each time i edited this... the wordcount grew lol. i hope u enjoyyy 🥹💗 tysm for enjoying my work it means everything

Warnings : angst -> fluff (?) -> happy ending trust me, Shibuya arc spoilers (Ep 9), manga spoilers (chapter 221)

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works / oct. reqs open

The risk of dating you is thrilling when Satoru's just a teenager in puppy love. But as he grows older, and heads into those dreaded 20s, the risk makes him more and more nervous.

What if something happens to you?

He presses kiss after kiss to your forehead and feels his chest tremble, feels his lips quiver, as he refrains from telling you the truth about the Jujutsu world. Satoru just can't do it.

There are so many instances of him saving you from curses that you're oblivious about. He just smiles strangely, and you wonder why he looks like he's just seen a ghost. Because he has, those pretty eyes see ghosts. But those pretty eyes also see you, "What am I looking at?" he responds after you ask why he's looking at you so tenderly, "I'm looking at my future wife." he flirts just to fluster you.

That's at the cafe, when things are still simple. He keeps thinking to himself, as he lays with you in bed some nights;

I want to marry you.

I'm going to marry you.

Please let me be your husband one day.

As if he's trying to manifest it.

Everything is okay-ish... until he gets pangs of fright when your name starts to be known outside of his closed circle of friends.

It's October 11th.

Gojo Satoru breaks up with you.

He leads you to believe that the two of you are just "right person, wrong time". It all hurts an incomprehensible amount for him, to finally cut the string that tethers the two of you together.

He sits on the stairs, head in his hands, mourning.

He starts many mornings with crying spells that last until midday.

He destroys evidence of you and him. In case anyone ever finds it and thus finds your apartment, or work, or college... or anything.

But he can't part with a very special photo. It's you and him in Okinawa, sharing a cheesy kiss at the beach. In the moment this photo was captured, Gojo remembers having whispered some dirty joke in your ear and that's why you smiled so big into his kiss.

He drifts to sleep to the lullaby lovesongs that defined your love.

Years pass, he refuses to even talk to you. The heartbreak worsens with time, he laughs when he realizes that on his 27th birthday.

Isn't time supposed to heal all wounds? Someone said that to him once. Well, they must have been lying without realizing it.

The day Gojo Satoru is sealed, he looks into Suguru's eyes, and remembers you through them. When he resides in that awful prison realm, he only thinks of you you you you you you you oh god he misses you so much that it feels like the very thought of your smile stabs his chest. Every memory is painful. Every flashback puts one more crack in his heart.

"Can't I ever catch a break...?" He laughs to himself, chattering skeletons making their eerie symphony around him.

He thinks. Ponders. Wonders. Broods. Daydreams. All about you. Always about you. Never anything else. Just his first love, from the late spring of his 17th year.

His earthly goddess.

The purpose of his benevolent actions.

He cries. And sobs. And weeps. Because no one can hear him but the skeletons and he's sure they don't mind the sight or sound of a 27 man howling in pain over a lost lover.

It's not just your relationship that he's mourning. But the fact he can't feel you in this cube... that he can't feel your presence in the world... that's worse than the heartbreak. At least through all these years, he's been able to sense your existence. Feel the subtle ripples of your soul no matter how distant you are; you'd be stood in a coffee shop, he'd be at Jujutsu High teaching, and yet feeling you.

Because as he promised to you at 17, "Half my soul is yours. And half your soul is mine. I'll always be with you even if I'm not there."

He has the biggest breakdown of his life in that little cramped suffocating claustrophobic eerie creepy box.

It's 19 days later. He's out. He's back in the world. And he feels the sense of you, your existence, swelling in his chest, tickling his mind, prodding his heart.

"Gojo sensei, where are you headed?"

"I'm gonna go find my other half." he says cryptically.

It's a stark bright day.

Gojo Satoru knocks at your apartment door.

You open it.

He looks at you, and you look at him.

"Hi."

"...hey...? Wow. Haha... you grew into your features, huh?"

Your voice fills his heart with life.

"You too... glad you still live in the same place... I was worried you might have moved out..."

"... Ah, Satoru, you'd be able to find me no matter what corner of the world I resided in."

Your laugh fills his mind with pleasant memories.

There's an a magnetism between you and him just like there always used to be. It feels like two magnets connecting at last, after feeling the distant attraction throughout all these years of distance.

"You're right." Satoru says after a silence of just staring into your eyes.

"I'll always find my way home."

A silence ensues after he says this.

"...haha... don't cry... or I'll cry..."

"... Satoru... I thought of you every day after you left me at the station."

"... me too."

"... why did you leave?"

He stares at you.

"... I was scared of you being in danger."

He gulps.

"Me? In danger? But you're the strongest, why would it matter."

Oh god that's right. You said it then when you were 17, "You're the strongest" and he carried that title with him from then. And now you've said it again. He's reminded. He feels a bit stupid. A bit ridiculous. A bit...

"You're right..." he chokes up. "I am. I could have protected you I guess..."

"... yeah, duh."

He smiles meekly.

It was more complicated than that, sweetheart. But I won't tell you.

He hesitates. He contemplates.

"I have to tell you everything... will you promise to believe everything I say even if it sounds insane?"

"Of course. What is it?"

He inhales deeply. And instead of blurting out his whole life story of being a sorcerer in the Jujutsu world, he just leans in and kisses you hard and truthfully. Cups your cheeks. Closes his eyes. Tastes you like a sweet from his childhood that he hasn't had for years. Presses to you. Takes in your scent.

Yeah yeah... he'll tell you everything in a minute.

But for now just let him kiss you until he runs out of breath.

Let him just...

"Hey..." he pulls away, gasping, "Let me marry you."

"Haha, Satoru..." you take it as a joke and laugh, because it sounds as bizarre and unexpected as one. Then you realize there's that serious look on his face. "... Satoru?"

"Can I?"

"... what?"

"Can I please?"

"... huh??"

"Can I marry you, please?"

He looks at you and waits for your answer. His poor heart. It's palpitating. His whole chest cavity inspires with love for you. This man that you haven't seen in years has just asked if you'll let him marry you — with very specific wording.

Can he? Will you let him?

It's funny in a way, because you think to yourself; this is such a Satoru thing to do... show up unannounced years later on your doorstep and ask for your hand in marriage as if no time has passed, as if you know the full story.

"Satoru... what happened to you throughout these years for you to come back to me and ask for my hand in marriage?" you ask, genuinely baffled.

He swallows slowly. "I know I sound like I've lost my mind. But I promise I haven't."

"That's hard to believe. The Satoru I remember was always on the brink of mania. A bit insane but not quite."

You make him laugh. "Yeah..."

"So are you asking to marry me out of insanity?"

"No."

"Well alright then. I guess I'll marry you."

You make him laugh again, with that funny tone. He hasn't laughed genuinely in years... it's always been that plastic laugh. But this is his genuine laugh. Silky and quiet. The opposite of his demeanor.

"I guess I should be explaining everything to you properly... before I ask you something like that."

"You're damn right..."

"... don't scold me too hard when I tell you all the reasons I left. Or, if you do, then at least hold me while you scold me. And run your fingers through my hair like you used to."

"Satoru."

"Yes?"

His heart throbs. He looks at you.

"Stop standing at the doorway and come inside."

"Oh."

You sigh. He smiles. Then he bows his head so it doesn't hit the top of the doorframe. Damn tiny Tokyo apartments. Your archway always had it out for the crown of his head. You laugh when he bumps into it just like he always used to.

So the two of you sit down and just talk. And talk. Maybe cry a bit. Actually, you cry a lot. And he holds you. And he says he's sorry. He says sorry over and over, as if the word is a bandage he's trying to wrap around all your heartbreak wounds that he caused.

"I'm sorry."

Satoru's apologies aren't easy to come by, and when you receive them, they nurse your heart. It's the gentleness with which he says it, and earnest too. Each successive sorry means more than the last.

"My angel..."

When you call him this after he vents to you about his time in the Prison Realm, and his overwhelming duty of being the strongest, he breaks down completely and just weeps in your arms.

He sobs like you've never heard him sob before, like a dog.

Finally. At least for a moment. He could be weak. Let down his guard. Be raw. Be emotional. Not a teacher. Not a sorcerer. Just your boy. Your Satoru.

Your consolation is all he wanted throughout these years. He looks up at you, eyes red and sore, nose sniffling, and stares at you like he can see your soul.

"...Satoru?"

"Marry me."

You chuckle again.

"If that will stop your tears..." you joke.

He sniffles loudly and swallows, composing himself.

"I thought about marrying you so much when we were together... 'n I tried so hard to bite my tongue when your name nearly rolled off it while talking to my students some days. I was always..."

On the verge of saying your name.

He sniffles long and hard and waits for your hand to weave into his hair.

"Will you think about it?"

"I will."

There's a silence. Satoru feels hopeful. He lays on your chest, arms around you like you're his whole world that he won't dare let go of again.

"There." you say with finality. "I thought about it. Let's get married."

"That took you, like, ten seconds."

You laugh with him. "Yeah... I already knew in my heart when you asked me at the doorway... you know... Satoru... it's funny. When you left, it felt like half my soul was gone. And when you knocked on my doorstep, it felt like I was whole again. Does that sound freaky, or does it tie into all this... Juju... Jujutsu stuff?"

He's silent.

"I have no idea."

"Wow. My future husband isn't knowledgeable at all." you joke.

His heart flutters at 'future husband'.

"Sorry." he says, smiling softly, "My mind is blank when your fingers are running through my hair."

The two of you go on and on, until you're laid in bed sleeping at each other's side. Resting. And god, did Gojo Satoru need a good rest.

In your arms, he's no longer an insomniac.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[7ndipity]

Just found your blog and LOVE your bts headcanons so much… after having watched Are You Sure?!, I need all your NSFW headcanons for OT7 as your boyfriend… please please please 🔥

Random NSFW Headcanons

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: Random spicy headcanons about the members

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex(don’t do this), breeding kinks, mentions of edging, oral(m. & f. receiving), bondage, sensory deprivation, dom/sub dynamics, somnophilia, voyeurism, idk there’s a bunch of stuff lol

A/N: You want my hcs? I’ll give ‘em, hehehe😈 Hope you like them!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin:

Okay, I’m gonna make some of y’all real happy by saying, although I still think he’s mostly switch/sub leaning, he does have a dom streak in him. Like as much as he loves letting you lead him like a puppy on a leash(sometimes literally), nothing quite gets him off the same as taking control and pounding into you until you’re his empty headed baby, only able to whimper is his name.

He’s also a big fan of sensory deprivation, both giving and receiving. Blindfolds, handcuffs, etc. He loves the heightened sensitivity that they create, turning even the lightest touches insanely intense.

Has a major thing for cumming in you that it’s bordering on a breeding kink. Like tell him that you want him to cum in you, and he’ll propose on the spot💍

Yoongi:

He’s definitely into bondage and shibari(he’s been tied up/handcuffed wayy too many times in music videos to not be, lol) tho it would take a bit of coaxing to get him to admit it. There’s just something about trying out different knots and restraint styles, both on him and you, that intrigues and excites him.

Lowkey into angry sex, but not when he’s angry with you. It’s more those days when he comes home frustrated from the studio and he just wants to scream, so he makes it his mission to make you scream instead, hehe.

Has recorded himself getting off for you and thought about sneaking it into the background sounds of one of his Agust D tracks(might have actually done it, but he won’t admit it bc he’s a menace and likes to fuck with your head, so you’re just sat listening to every little detail on his demos, lol)

Hobi:

This boy is a certifiable freak, you cannot convince me otherwise. Like except for a relatively small list of hard no’s, he’s open to playing around and testing out pretty much any sort of kink/scenario that you might be interested in.

Lowkey very into the idea of watching you fuck one of his friends rapline whats up?, guiding them on just how to touch you, watching the way your face scrunches up in pleasure, just to turn around and fuck you into oblivion afterwards.

Man adores having his head between your thighs and actively begs you to ride his face. And don’t even think of arguing that you’re too heavy or whatever, bc he’ll spend the next hour worshiping your body and showering you with so much praise that you won’t be able to think, let alone remember any of your insecurities🫠

Namjoon:

Although we’ve established he’s definitely more of a daddy dom, he definitely has a weakness for you taking the lead or being on top(“pro rider, hohohoho rider” I had to, I'm sorry). Something about him being under you, watching the way your body moves on top of his, feeling the way you take him so perfectly, just makes his brain go hazy🤤

Idk if he’s fully aware that it’s a kink/thing, but he’s definitely into temperature play. Ice cubes, hot wax, even just blowing cool air over his skin makes him tingly in all the right ways. 

He loves to tease you at the worst moments. Like you could be on phone with a friend or whoever, and he’ll let his hands start to ghost along your arms, down your sides, across your chest, between your thighs… seeing just how long it takes before your voice and focus start to waver, quickly hanging up and giving him your full attention

Jimin:

*cough*ropebunny*cough* Sorry, what?

No but fr, he loves being tied up in different pretty styles of shibari, but he treats it like an art form, with different silk ropes and ribbons. He wants to feel pretty and treasured, caressed with soft voices and sweet words, regardless of if you’re teasing and edging him to tears.

Lowkey into semi-public sex, teasing you at dinner with his friends with his hand creeping along your thigh under the table till you’re squirming and begging him to find an excuse for you both to be excused for a minute. Dude will fully have you shaking and seeing stars and then walk out of the bathroom like nothing happened.

Definitely the biggest fan of aftercare out of all the members, like he treats it as more of a sensual spa night for the two of you; candlelit baths together, gentle massages to work out any tense muscles, cuddling in bed that might turn into cockwarming or a very sleepy round two... 

Taehyung:

Definitely into taking photos of the two of you, both on his phone and on his retro film cameras. Man turned his guest room into his own studio/darkroom and learned how to develop film by himself so that no one else but you would see his artwork.

Loses his goddamn mind every time you go down on him. Like if you ever wanna make his mind go completely blank, all you have to do is let him feel your warm, wet mouth close around his length, and he’s absolute putty in your hands.

Feel like he’s very into lingerie, both for you and himself. He loves feeling like a pretty present for you to open and play with, and vice versa. You literally came home on your birthday to him waiting for you in some pretty little silk number with a bow on his head as your gift.

Jungkook:

Although I’ve said before he’s a dom leaning switch, when he subs, he lets go completely. He loves letting his mind shut off and being at your mercy, letting you take control and turning him into a needy whining mess. 

For the similar reason, he has a major dumbifacation kink, both giving and receiving. He loves the idea of being fucked to the point that your mind goes completely blank and all you can think and focus on is how you make each other feel.

Definitely has a thing for somnophilia, again both giving and receiving. The thought of touching and teasing each other, your bodies reacting purely out of instinct, seeing how long it takes for you to wake up so that you can fuck each other properly, the whole thing makes him crazy. His favorite way to wake up, 5 stars, highly recommend🤭

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[decojellyfish]

OH MY GOD I just fell in love with the blog and not if you are taking requests but if so I would like to suggest a guard dog!Ghost and Abandoned kitten!reader where price maybe adopt the reader and ghost take care of her??

I am so sorry this took so long! But thank you SO much for being my first request/ask! This idea is really cute, I'm sorry it's a bit short, but I hope you like it! Also, I hope this makes up for the angst fic about Dragon! Price lol

------

Bonbon

Hybrid AU! TF141 (Retired) Guard dog! Ghost x Kitten! Reader x Owner! Price !!No Romance For Obvious Purposes!!

SFW ~ Fluff

Warnings: None!

───♡───────────── Beginning

10:30 AM. That was the time John Price would go grocery shopping every day. Today’s list was a few ingredients for tonight’s dinner, more rawhide for his rescue dog, Ghost, and paper towels. What he didn’t expect to be suddenly added to the list, after he had just bought and paid for his groceries, was a kitten. Today, Price had to take a different route to the grocery store. The usual trail he would take was under heavy construction, much to his dismay. But he still managed to get to the store. About 4 minutes after leaving the store, he passed by a short alleyway. Now, no one ever really pays any mind to alleys. Until a noise comes from said hypothetical alleyway. And that’s just what happened. A little grunt, followed by a small cry, and then the sound of a takeout box crashing onto the ground. It made the retired captain stop in his tracks and turn his head to look into the dark alley. He could only hear tiny little munches now, and he could only make out the tiniest little figure in the void. Price made sure to be careful with his steps, he could tell that this little thing could be easily startled. Then he finally realized what he had come across.

It was a you! A little kitten and a very hungry one at that. You were munching on someone’s thrown-out, moldy, spaghetti, your tiny little fangs doing the best they could at tearing the pasta apart. It didn’t seem like you’d been there for that long, considering how young you looked. You remained in a little cardboard box, that appeared to be your makeshift home. It was filthy and withering away, like the blanket you had too. And your clothes. And you in general. You were a very dirty kitten. It didn’t help that your being hungry all the time caused you to be a messy eater.

By the time you had realized a big thing had snuck up behind you, your face was already coated in marinara. You snapped your head to look at the big creature and quickly folded your ears back and fluffed your little tail up. You hissed with all your might, knowing that you were probably the scariest thing this large figure, well over five times your size, had ever seen. Price only looked at you, taking in your starving appearance. Eating tossed food was unhealthy for a young thing like you. Surely, he had to have something on him that would make you trust him. He set his bags of groceries down and searched his pockets. He was relieved when he found one of those strawberry bonbons in his back pocket. You know, the ones that only grandmas seem to have. He unwrapped it and set it down in front of your hissing form. He would then grab his bags and slowly back away, watching for any kind of movement that came from you. After what felt like ten minutes, you would sneak up to the bonbon. Cautiously, you would reach your little hand out to it and snatch it right into your mouth. Price was almost terrified, thinking you would choke on it with how disparate you were for this little piece of candy. But thankfully, you didn’t. You would sit there and just let the hard candy melt in your mouth. This tasted so much better than moldy pasta. You looked up at the guy who gave you this candy, reaching up and making grabby hands for more. Price was relieved at your reaction, taking it as an okay that you wanted to be picked up. So he scooped you up into his arms and began the journey home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ghost could already smell his owner through the door, peeved that he was a little later than arriving home on his usual time. But something was off about Price’s smell. There was an additional scent, something he’d never smelled before. It was a rancid smell, especially overwhelming due to his strong nose. Whatever Price was bringing home, it needed to either be cleaned or immediately disposed of. The door opened, and Price would quickly set his bags of groceries down before going into the bathroom. Ghost would pause, processing that he’d just seen his owner with what looked like a tiny human. Had he been seeing a mistress of some sort??? Ghost would’ve known, he would’ve smelled some perfume on his owner by now. He continued to think about it while he took the groceries and began to put them away in the kitchen.

Price had drawn a bath, ensuring the water was warm but not scalding. You were sitting on the bath rug, looking around the bathroom you were in. The large dog man sitting in the doorway wasn’t that subtle, so you looked at him too. You looked at him for a long time, mostly because he’d been staring at you for a while. It was like a staring contest between the two of you. “That should be good.” Price said to himself, turning around to you. He watched the silent stares between you and Ghost, causing him to chuckle before he picked you up and gingerly set you down in the warm, bubbly water. You mewed and squealed in protest like any other cat would. Price would quietly shush you as he began to mush shampoo into your hair and tail.

After your little bath, during which you spent a good chunk of it verbally disapproving until you realized it wasn’t doing anything. Now, you were content. You’d been swaddled up in a large towel, your hair air-drying as you rested on the couch. Price could tell you were happy because you sounded like an active car engine. You were purring, and you were purring loud. You hadn’t felt this warm and cozy since… well, you’ve never been warm or cozy once in your life. You were always cold, hungry, and never comfortable. Now, you had this random guy clean all the dust, dirt, and grime off of you and now he was preparing food for you. And yeah, this big dog who’s constantly trying to figure out why you suddenly appeared in his home. But you were willing to put up with him. Eventually, Price came back with a small plate filled with soft foods. He would spoon-feed you a bit of squishy rice to which you happily ate it up, you were starving. You would loudly purr through your little munches, causing Price to chuckle. “This must be a lot better than the rubbish you were stuck with earlier, yeah?” You wouldn’t respond, but still purred and opened your mouth for another bite, to which Price readily spoon-fed you some more.

Ring ring! The sound surprised all three of you, Price was getting a phone call. “Agh, work…” He grumbled when he checked the caller ID. “Ghost, why don’t you feed the wee one for a bit, hm?” He handed the plate and small spoon to his big scary dog, to which, he begrudgingly agreed as it looked like he had no choice. Ghost looked down at you as Price stepped away to take the call. You looked up at him, both of you resuming your staring contest. Until you meowed, impatiently. Ghost rolled his eyes, hastily feeding you a spoonful of pudding. The sweetness of the dessert surprised you, you’d never had a dessert that was fresh, cold, and not coated in mold or garbage juices. You immediately meowed again, demanding more. This big monster of a dog couldn’t believe he was being bossed around by this little kitten! But alas, he fed you another spoonful of pudding, then rice, until the whole plate was empty.

About 10 minutes later, Price returned to the living room. He was pleasantly surprised by the scene that beheld him. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping soundly while Ghost was curled around you and loudly snoring. Price could only chuckle to himself, shaking his head before he grabbed a blanket. He placed it over you and Ghost and relaxed on the couch as well.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ghost woke up, immediately alert when he couldn’t smell you. He could hear Price in the kitchen, cooking up dinner for that night. The dog-hybrid got up and began his search for you, faintly being able to smell you from down the hall. Peering into Price’s bedroom, he could see that the television was on. It was set to a children’s cartoon channel, and then he saw you. You were swimming in one of Price’s shirts, making biscuits out of his fluffy blankets as you happily watched cartoons. He would walk up to the bed, sitting on the side of it. His weight caused the bed to dip on one side, making you almost roll over if it wasn’t for Ghost panicking and swiftly holding you in place before he moved to the center of the bed, balancing the weight out. It didn’t phase you, you just went back to making biscuits. It made Ghost chuckle, your nonchalant-ness. Price entered the bedroom after about an hour, ready to announce that dinner was ready. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw you and Ghost playing together. He was using one of his old toys that he had held onto since he was a puppy, playing tug of war with you. Obviously, he was going easy on you, his grasp on the toy limp while you were gripping the toy between your teeth like your life depended on winning. But it made him smile when he saw how happy you would get every time you won each round.

But he would definitely make it harder to win when you grew up.

───♡───────────── End

If you have any requests or asks, feel free to submit them! And thank you again, anonymous, for being my first request!

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Hi hi!!

Okay so I was thinking what about a task 141 + big man konig with a reader that likes to slap their ass cheekily or just plain ass grab them,any time is fair game,the boys are all in the barracks or in a meeting room? Better line up. 😂

Only if you're comfy ofc!!

Aha! This is perfect, lol. Hope this does what you were looking for justice😊 did a little twist as the reader doing it for the first time.

Warnings: sexual references, mild swearing

141 + König x GN Reader When You Slap/Grab Their Ass Playfully.

Simon "Ghost" Riley-

You'd seen videos circling the internet of people slapping their partners asses randomly to see their reactions, and you wanted to try it on Simon. While you were mildly terrified of what his reaction would be, you decided you still wanted to go with it.

The two of you were cleaning up after a home cooked meal, and you knew now was the time to strike. He was wearing a tight-fitting pair of sweats, and his ass looked just too good not to hit.

You sauntered up to him with a smile and gave his ass a loud "SMACK".

He set the dish he was holding down in the sink before turning head slowly to look at you, a dark look crossing his face.

You gulped at the look on his face before backing away. "I-I had to. I'm sorry."

"Had to?" He asked, and you nodded meekly in response.

"Or wanted to?" A smirk started to form on his lips.

".....both?" You mumbled sheepishly.

"That so?" The smirk lining his face was terrifying to you. He moved closer to you, effectively trapping you against the counter. "Why don't you head on upstairs, yeah? I'll up in a few. "

It seemed Simon, too, enjoyed smacking your ass, as evident from the large red handprint that was left on your ass cheek later that night.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish-

You and Johnny had a little bet going on who out of the two of you would be the first to crack without sex. Johnny had said he'd be able to last longer, and you desperately wanted to prove him wrong.

It started out simple enough, soft arm touches, thigh squeezes, "subtly" grinding yourself against his crotch. Nothing seemed to be cracking him, to your surprise.

Determined to win, you had one final card up your sleeve. Johnny was out working on his car, minding his own business. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find the sight incredibly attractive.

He was bent over, wearing a tight muscle T-shirt and tight workout shorts. You bit your lip in anticipation and walked over to carry out your plan.

"Hey baby. Looking good out here." You cooed as you walked up behind him.

As he peered around to look at you, you slid your hands down his waist until you reached his bum and squeezed the flesh there firmly before smoothing your hands up and down.

"I uhhhh, fucking hell Y/N." Johnny shook his head and moved away from your wandering hands. "Nope not falling for it. Nope."

You moved closer to him once more and gave his ass a harsh smack, before walking away.

Johnny set the tools he was working with down and came over to you, throwing you over his shoulder as he made his way to the bedroom.

Needless to say, he lost your bet, but not that you or he were complaining.

John Price-

John was giving a debrief to 141 in the conference room, and you couldn't help but let your eyes drift to his backside. He was walking back and forth while talking, giving you a perfect side view of his ass.

You turned to look at the boys and saw not a single one of them were paying attention, as they were probably all beyond exhausted.

Deciding to have some fun, you peered one more time to make sure you didn't have an audience and waited until John made his way past you before you made your move. He started to make his way past you, and when he came within arms reach, you slapped his ass.

Truly, you hadn't meant for the smack to be as loud as it was. You appeared to have misjudged the pressure, as everyone in the room, including Price, stopped and stared at you.

Rather than being embarrassed about it, you smiled widely and settled back into your seat as if nothing had happened, ignoring the looks of horror from the boys.

"Y/N, a word, outside if you will?" Price said sternly as he promptly forced you up and escorted you out of the room.

The minute the two of you made it outside, he pushed you up against the wall with a loose grip around your neck. "Thought that was funny did you?"

"I couldn't help myself, sir." You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing, as Price dragged his eyes up and down your figure.

"Couldn't help yourself? You won't be laughing later. I'll guarantee you of that."

Price kept to his word later that night. You surely weren't laughing as he took you from behind, slapping your ass repeatedly as you took exactly what he wanted to give you.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

141 was getting ready to be sent out on a mission, and the 5 of you were getting on your gear. You could feel your nerves bubbling in your belly in anticipation of the mission.

Looking over, you saw Gaz putting on his gear, particularly the band around his thigh for his knife. You couldn't really say why you wanted to slap his ass, but unable to help yourself, you walked over to him, giving a resounding smack to his ass.

Shocked, Gaz turned to you with wide eyes before looking around to make sure nobody had seen what you just did. "Babe?"

You gave him a small smile before returning to your gear. Feeling Gaz walk up behind you, you looked to him. "What's up, love?"

"I think you know what's up. What was that for?" He asked.

"Just a good luck smack, that's all." You put both hands up in mock innocence.

"A good luck smack? That right?" A smirk formed on Gaz's face. "Well, I think I need a good luck smack of my own."

You turned to try and flee before Gaz wrapped his arms around you. "Nowhere to run, sweetheart."

The slap to your ass that ensued had everyone in the room turning to you and Gaz with wide eyes, much to your amusement.

König-

Poor König. He was minding his own business cleaning his weapons in the armory when you walked in. He was bent over staring in concentration at the gun he was in the middle of cleaning, giving you a perfect view of his ass.

You'd always wondered what his reaction would be if you were to go up and hit it, but you were always too nervous to try it. You were in a particularly playful mood, so you'd walked up to him with a polite smile before slapping his ass with all the force you could muster.

"Maus...have I done something wrong?" König asked timidly, standing up to his full height as he turned to you. His face was scrunched in confusion.

You bit your lip to contain your laughter at his reaction. "No? Baby, why would you think that."

"Oh. I um. Well. You spanked me, so I thought I must've done something to upset you." König's cheeks were red from embarrassment.

"Oh gosh, no Kö! You just.. looked really good, so I.... felt the need to slap your backside?" You now felt unbelievably awkward, not expecting this reaction.

"I see." König stood and contemplated your words for a few moments, before moving behind you. You felt a harsh smack on your ass, and heard a small giggle erupt from your boyfriend.

"Kö?"

"You look good too, so I smacked your ass." A tiny smile appeared on his lips.

From then on, König made it a point to slap your ass any time he deemed you looked good, so your ass was constantly imprinted with his large hand prints.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: thanks for reading!!!😊🩷

[gojoscinnamonroll]

“how fun it’s going to be to fuck rip your insides out”

whatever you do… don’t fuck the psycho killer!!!

warnings: minors/ageless blogs dni, slight knife play, INO AS GHOSTFACE MHMM :3 (takuma girlies this one is for u mwahh), ino x fem reader , oral + unprotected , fingering, stalking , pet names , use of y/n , everything is consented btw

word count: 1.6k

a/n: fun fact this fic was based on a dream i had the other night LOL freak

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you were cozied up in your bedroom of the apartment that you shared with your best friend, utahime, alone one night watching horror movies (like a psychopath :D ) because she had left to go to a halloween party that one of her boyfriend’s frat friends was throwing.

“are you sure you don’t want to come y/n? i’ll feel bad just leaving you here, especially with that rumor of that ghostface slasher guy going around… you’ll probably be safer with us, y’know?” your bestie asked out of concern.

“yes ‘hime, ill be fine don’t worry!!! plus i know im going to be all awk since i won’t really know anyone but you” you reassured her. “okay well, just text me if you need anything, and if you want me to stop by for food on the way back just let me know ‘kay!! be safe please and lock the doors when i leave” she said as she gave you a tight hug.

“okay! bye! have fun!! but not too much fun if you catch my drift” you teased as you stood behind the door, “oh hush” utahime laughed as she walked away and met up with her boyfriend down the stairs. you closed the door (forgetting to lock the door because you swore that you heard the click but it was just in your imagination) and walked back to your room to start your michael myers movie marathon which got you to the situation you were in now.

little did you know that this rumored “ghostface” was actually plotting on you next, as he had seen you around campus and thought that you were the most beautiful thing to walk this earth but he didn’t know how he was going to approach you, so he decided to do it the only way he knew how. and lucky for him the door you thought was locked was calling for him, inviting him inside. you were too focused in on your movies, that you didn’t hear the sounds of him coming in and let alone hear him standing outside your bedroom door.

you were about to pop another brownie into your mouth when this mr. ghostface decided to come up behind you and place his hand over your mouth to muffle your shocked screams. you wanted to turn your head to see who it was but this mysterious masked man had a tight grip on you that it was almost impossible for you to turn around and catch a peek. “what’s the matter y/n, you look like you seen a ghost” coyly said from the man behind the mask

wait a sec… why does his voice seem so familiar.. and how does he know my name..?

“if you keep quiet and won’t tell anyone you seen me tonight, i won’t cut your pretty head off and keep it for myself, yeah?” you muffled a “mhm” and he delicately (which is ironic for a psycho killer) removed his hand from your mouth. “so… you got a boyfriend?” he inquired, you shook your head no, in fear of what he’ll do if you speak. “good.. because you don’t know how much i been thinking about this moment y/n. it’s been hard seeing you walk around campus knowing your not mine.” he whispered in your ear as one hand slips down to the waistband of your ghost covered boyshorts and the other down to your right breast in your cropped black tank top.

“someone’s nice and wet for someone who should be scared of the fact that the psycho killer is in their bedroom right now huh” he mocked you in your ear as he plunged two fingers inside of you and you let out a whimper. “cum for me baby and maybe ill let you see who i am”. he was scissoring in and out of you so good that you just couldn’t help but chase your release as you rode his fingers.

what am i thinking?? i just came on a stranger’s fingers?? let alone THE ghost face killer’s fingers??

“eager to know who i am, hmm?” he said as he released his fingers from inside you and up under his mask to get a taste of you. “greedy girl… i’m sorry.. but im not done with you just yet, i wanna hear you scream” as he flips you over and lays you on your back, he pulls your shorts down to reveal that (scary!!!) you aren’t wearing any panties? you can feel the flush of embarrassment rising in your face but all you hear from him is low groan and seeing him lift the mask up (just a teeny bit, exposing everything under the tip of his nose)

“wow your pussy is just as pretty as you, i need to taste more of it too” he starts kitten licking at your clit to get a taste then like the sicko he is, something ignites in him that make him start devouring you. you can’t help the whimpers that come out of you as he starts eating you like a man who hasn’t had a meal in 5 months. he then brings the same 2 fingers that were in you previously back into you as he starts sucking on your clit. you feel your second orgasm of the night building up, “gonna cum baby? good job, you’re doing amazing , i got one more thing for you then you can see who i am” you see a little smirk peek out from under his mask; you can’t help but wonder why does this dude look and seem so familiar? you had a feeling it was that cute, laidback guy from your algebra course, ino takuma. but you could also be wrong and its also wrong that you were about to cum on this strangers fingers + mouth for the second time thinking about another guy like a whore.

“good girl, but i’m going to need you scream on this cock, m’kay?” he pulls down the black sweatpants that he had on revealing the hard on he had hidden in his boxers and his rock hard abs showing from underneath his sweatshirt. fuck, you didn’t know who was more sicker in the head, this stranger that just broke in and is now about to fuck you or the fact you are drooling over his long, skinny, and hard cock staring back at you. either way, you just wanted him to relieve the need you had built up. with his mask still a little lifted, he started giving light pecks on your neck and on your chest as he was rolling his hips into you, leaving your arousal smearing all over the front of his boxers.

“f-fuck me… please” you mumbled under your breath.

“what was that doll? you said you want me to…” he paused as he let his length spring out as he freed it from his boxers, “to fuck you?” he pumped it a few times as he watched you practically beg for him with your cute, big, pleading eyes, “please” you whimpered as you look up at him. and he was wasting nooooo time because like i said before, he was waaaitinggg for this moment ever since he’s laid eyes on you. he won’t admit it but the amount of times he’s fisted himself to you, is a shameful amount but even he can’t believe it himself right now in this moment that his dream was about to come true.

he let out a low growl as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling you clench and gasp around him as you struggle to take him whole, he was fighting the urge not to finish already because goodness gracious did you feel ten times way better than his hand. “you’re such a good girl, you know that right… taking it so good, letting a psycho killer fuck you like the whore you are” he then remembered that he had his prop knife with him, not the real one but its close to it, because he didn’t want to hurt his beautiful girl, and pulled it out to hold it gently against your neck while still pounding you into your pink mattress. “just think baby, how fun this is going to be when i fuck your guts out, yeah?” deep down you knew you had some kinks, but whoever this stranger is, he just unleashed a kink you never knew you had because you couldn’t help the sounds that rolled out of your mouth as he kept hitting that sweet spot in you while holding his signature weapon to your throat.

and its like somehow he knew what you were about to ask because he took off his mask and you were shocked to see that this stranger who was deep inside of you, messy brown hair down, sweat running down his jawline, and breathless ,was indeed who you had a feeling about before. the man you caught yourself drooling over in algebra class many times was the ghostface slasher that was pounding into you at this very moment. you felt your orgasm coming, and coming hard all over his length and at the same time you can feel his coming too. “g’nna cum all over this cock aren’t you pretty girl? go ‘head, it’s all yours ma. you’re going to make me cum all inside of you too” he moaned in your ear as he shot long and warm ropes of his seed into you as he collapsed on top of your warm, fucked out body.

you couldn’t help but play with his hair a little bit as you mumbled “ino… is that you..” he was shocked that you even knew his name but he gave you a kiss to your cheek to confirm that yes, it was him. “did i scare ya?” he giggled. “let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

now… if utahime comes home to see you like this when she checks in on you, what the heck were you going to tell her when she sees you cuddled up with this psycho killer…

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SORRY GUYS FOR THE RUSHED ENDING don’t hate me pls 😔

[iloveboysinred]

That zuko smut you wrote was SO good!! is it okay if i request some nsfw hc ??? but from keith kogane, idk how to be specific lol!! Thank you sm 💗💗

Thank you anon youre my second ask ever i’m super excited !!!!! I’m glad you enjoyed it! You are so kind🥰 & Ofc you can !! I love me some Keith Kogane. Top tier boy in red

Masterlist

cw; sexually explicit content, 18+ MDNI! Nsfw under the GIF kinda long!

GIF BY @/kin-of-the-sheep

- Okay so in my head i feel like after you and all the paladins get launched into space and learn about Zarkon and the war and everything, you and Keith definitely didnt have time to really “get it on” if you know what i mean. Things were moving so fast and you all needed time to adjust.

- But after a few days of training and getting used to the fact that you’re literally in space the switch is back on for sure.

- Keith isnt a patient man. So I feel like he definitely enjoys quickies here and there around the castle. They’re never planned. Sometimes the way you train in hand to hand combat gets a little too touchy, sometimes the way you looked at him made his stomach turn and his dick jump. Keith just needs you in that exact moment, and the way ya’ll be fucking its a miracle nobody has walked in on you yet

-or maybe they just stay away on purpose 😭

- he likes to be rough during these, slapping your ass, squeezing your hips, shit even tugging on your hair. Everything is moving so fast he wants to get a feel of everything.

- but when you guys have real sex, its like night and day.

- You guys would come home from a mission, tired and scared for each other, every time you guys go out there you run the risk of being captured or worse. So immediately you and Keith embrace each other, heading to the showers to clean off.

- It starts innocent, Keith washing your back, washing your hair. He was savoring every caress, just wanting to be in your skin.

- but then he starts getting touchy feely, ghosting his fingers over your nipples, leaving soft nibbles on your neck. You feel him starting to get hard, his body pressed to yours as close as he can be.

- knowing thats on his mind, you decide to take it to his room.

- it takes you a minute to get there, because Keith kept stopping mid walk to press you against the wall and kiss you and feel you up over your towel. He gets needy fast. Like i said, he’s not a patient man.

- So, when you finally reach the intended destination, his movements are in haste, wanting to get you bare and open for him as soon as he can.

- His kisses are slow as his hands wander, holding you close to him as if he’s never going to get the chance again.

- he’s greedy with your body, eating you out messily. He wants every last drop of you, whole time relishing in the fact that you’re all his.

- every sound you make, every reaction to his touch is reserved for him. In a world where everything was taken from him, Keith wanted something to himself. Something he could take.

- So, he took and took. Orgasm after Orgasm until he was satisfied with the mess he’s made of you.

- But even then he’s not finished with you yet. He likes to watch you closely when he enters you. Eyes half lidded as the tightness of your heat squeezes around him, its utter bliss for the two of you, and he doesnt hold back.

- I dont care what anybody says, Keith is vocal during sex. He grunts and moans right above you, thrusting into you with a passion that shocks you. He loves to ask you how he makes you feel, if you like what he’s doing, ect. Despite having been in the same predicament many and i mean maaany times and knowing just how to set you off.

- “like that, baby?” “Fuck…tell me you like this dick” “take it baby, fuck!”

- Very into eye contact during sex. You guys will lock gazes often. You love to drown in his purple iris while he fucks you, getting almost lost in each other, the only thing you can think of is the stuttering of his hips as he nears his end. He’s everywhere at once, his scent, his body, his voice. All you see is Keith.

- ngl Keith folds you up into so many different positions. He just wants to be as deep and as close to you as he can. He’ll have your legs on his shoulder while he basically folds you in half, beating down into you with his forehead pressed against yours, grunting out curses as his hips rock into yours. He loves the way your face contorts with every thrust. He’ll reach between your legs, playing with you just to watch you squirm.

- He loves when you scratch up his back. It lets him know that he’s hitting it just right, boosting his ego as well as adding to his pleasure.

- he doesn’t really do pet names during sex. He’ll call you “baby,” “hun”, “beautiful” maybe even “my love” if he’s feeling sappy & he loves when you call him “baby”, “honey” or even just his name sounds good coming from your lips. But as far as daddy, sir, master?? He will roll his eyes at you so fast and look at you so crazy, it actually makes me laugh thinking about it.

- When he reaches his peak, he smashes his lips onto yours, his hips jerking into yours as he spills into you.

- But when you reach your peak he takes his time to coax you through it, riding it out with you, whispering encouragement and littering your skin with kisses as you come undone.

- after care is a must. Once you guys are all cleaned up you lovebirds will lay next to each other and lock gazes. Kissing and giggling like lovestruck puppies.

- But all that lovey dovey shit aside Keith is a freaaaaak

- Its the little things you do that really gets Keith’s blood pumping.

- like when the team found out he was half galra and Allura was being cold and standoffish to him, you didnt hesitate to rip her a new one about your man! I know thats right

- while you were bickering with her, Keith was just smug as shit, getting turned on by your protectiveness.

- soon as he got you alone he was beating your walls loose, biting you, sucking marks into your neck.

- when you get angry like that he’ll happily bottom and let you ride him. He absolutely loves when you take control and throw him around a little bit. He reaches up to play with your nipples and leave hickeys all over you as you rock yourself down on him, letting you essentially get yourself off on him any way you wanted.

- Be rough with him. Grab his hair, bite him, mark him up. He’s yours and he wants you to prove it.

- teasing Keith is a dangerous game. If you’re in public doing it especially. You’re basically asking him to break you down as soon as he gets you alone.

- sometimes it gets competitive, Keith doesnt back down and he’ll make sure you’re nothing short of a wreck by the end of the night. But you’re his perfect match. The both of you essentially going tit for tat all night. When he thrusts into you, you throw that ass back on him. When he presses heated kisses to your lips, you suck his tongue into your mouth and turn it into a make out.

- When he came back from being gone for two years with his mom, you guys fucked like animals.

- Seeing him shed his angsty teenager phase into his angsty grown ass man phase was making you feral.

- his hair had gotten longer, he was taller, and his body had become more muscular, but still lean.

- when you got him all to yourself after everyone greeted him and he delivered his news and all that, you guys were just straight up nasty.

- you had two years of no sex to make up for, after all.

- He fucked you in just about every position in the book. Doggy, missionary, cow girl, full nelson, all of it. He missed your gasps, your hushed whispers of his name as he brought you to your high. It was sentimental almost, the way his thrusts showed how much he missed you.

- and it was when you reached your peak that it really dawned on him that he could never stray too far from you. Your boy in red was wrapped around your finger, bound to you. He gazed at you in new astonishment, almost childlike wonder as you fluttered around him. Forcing his own orgasm to rack his body. He moaned, low and drawn out. Pressing his lips to yours like he always did when you reached your climax, rocking his hips gently into yours to draw it out as much as he could.

- hushed “i love yous” between the two of you as you basked in the glow of having your Keith back.

Hope you like this Anon 💕 thank you for your request/ask :> notes and reblogs are appreciated, comments, asks and submissions are welcomed !

[thegnomelord]

Okay fuck after reading @killerkillerkillher 's fic with demon Soap and Price, and angel Ghost and Gaz, it got my own brain worms multiplying (as if I don't have enough going on lol) so here's the au draft that's been rotting for a while lol.

So here's an idea for an au:

Reader is part of a small group of friends that are Ghost hunters/DIY exorcists (read: They're all drop out college students and the ghost hunting youtube channel's putting food on the table). Reader doesn't believe in the supernatural but the friends keep reader around because you're the group's 'ghost deterrent' because spirits GTFO when reader's near and reader thinks the friends are just bullshitting you.

Anyway the group are moving to a bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere where an old haunted house the reader's grandmother left is. Then their pos car breaks down an hour away from town. 'Luckily' the town's mechanic, Johnny, was just driving by and helps you lot out. And ain't he a handsome devil (emphasis on devil) thinking he can con a couple of young and dumb humans out of their souls. Soap's all hooded eyes and husky voice as he lures you away like a lamb to a supply closet, oil darkened hands sliding under your shirt and lips sucking dark hickeys into your throat.

He pulls away when you tug on his mohawk, raising his head until his lips are just inches from your own and you don't even notice him mutter a verbal contract, nor do you understand you've agreed to one when his lips crash on yours like he's drowning.

And Johnny's grinning into the kiss like a loon as he tries to take the soul of the stupid but hot mortal he's just met only to find out he... he can't. No matter how consuming his kisses are or how aroused both of you get your soul sits stubbornly in your chest and doesn't even budge.

When your friend bangs on the door and yells for you to "stop shagging every guy you meet!" you're forced to give an awkward goodbye and scurry away. And Soap's left completely bewildered and confused as fuck wondering what just happened and thinks he needs to tell Price.

Meanwhile, while your car's being fixed up, your friends drag you to the town's only pub that's run by a Simon Riley. He's an intimidating man without trying to be, but he doesn't immediately chase you out like some bar owners. He's quiet, listening to your friends chatter while cleaning a glass rough scarred hands, but the way he looks at you is... odd. Like you're an interesting bauble he's found on his gran's shelf.

He's there to catch you when you trip on a raised floorboard you swear wasn't there before. "Thanks, I owe you one." You say with a small awkward laugh, though for some reason it feels like him catching you had been an excuse to touch you.

"That so?" His thumb traces the dark hickeys across your throat, surprisingly soft, and you can feel your cheeks getting hot. "You let Johnny have fun with you?" His chuckle is rich like aged wine, fingers gently pressing down on a hickey; it feels possessive. "You'd let any old thing like me take from you, yeah?" There's something in his words that has a shiver running down your spine, though from apprehension or arousal you're not sure.

"Ye- eh, yeah." You don't know which question you're agreeing with, and you understand the weight of your words, quickly walking away from him before your friends can embarrass you by wolf whistling at you and him. And you completely forget to ask on how he knows it was the mechanic who gave you the hickeys.

With still some time to burn before sun sets you decide to visit the radio station in town, mainly because your friend swears on his life that those are always haunted or have some decrepit old host that knows all the gossip in town. And when you meet the man you had heard softly yet confidently talking on the radio? He's handsome, pretty brown eyes as enticing as his voice, and you're starting to sense a theme with you meeting all these very nice looking men.

But Kyle, or Gaz as he asks you to call him, is a wealth of knowledge to the point you're not sure where the gossip stops and some crumb of truth begins. He talks all the way into the night with you and your gang of amateur ghost hunters, and you see why he is the radio host because his voice is like the song of angels, silk soft on your ears and you feel like you could fall into the best sleep of your life from listening to him.

And all he wants from you in return for his knowledge? "Nothing much mate, just a small favor, I'm sure you'll manage." Kyle leans in and pecks your lips like he's sealing a promise, or a bargain, but that's just you being stupid after getting kissed by the second hot guy today, surely. Gaz already knows he can't just nab your soul, he has ears in every wall in this town, but at least he can put his own claim on you.

Day, for the most part, well spent you and your friends go to the house for a good night's rest. It isn't any good as you're woken up numerous times and by morning you have several broken vases and an exploded lightbulb — everything you explain away as the house being old as fuck, but your friends claim it to be the work of spirits — your friends drag you to the church on the hill at the asscrack of dawn.

And that's how you meet Father Johnathan Price. (Insert devil in church joke here)

He listens to your friends explain the situation, calm and collected, but you swear his eyes stay on you the entire time. "That's quite a predicament." Price hums, offering to bless you and your friends in hopes of protecting you from evil spirits.

You're the last to go, nearly jumping out of your skin when he grips your chin. "Relax my boy." Those words frazzle your brain enough for him to easily pull on your jaw until your mouth opens, his thumb almost playing with your bottom lip. The look in his eyes is dark, the air between you far heavier than it should be between you and a bloody priest. But Price doesn't see anything wrong with this, pressing a thumb down on your tongue and then putting a wafer on your tongue. "There you go, you are now blessed in the name of a lord. Now consume it, my boy."

You obey automatically. You're not quite sure if a communion wafer is supposed to taste so... weird, it has a coppery and peppery taste to it. Almost like spicy blood or something but that's just you being stupid again, especially as you can feel heat burning between your legs.

Sufficiently embarrassed about getting hard at a priest you give an awkward goodbye and leave, trying to fix your pants before your friends see your... problem.

Johnny appears by Price's side in a small flicker of flames and brimstone when you leave, confident smirk on his face. "Ooh, couldn't resist claiming a piece of him fer yourself?" He smirks, nudging Price on his side.

"I suppose he is more interesting than the usual rabble." Price hums, already imagining of how handsome you'd look laying naked on the altar, and how to get you to that point.

Congrats! Now you've got 4 hot dudes trying to take your soul :D

[vbecker10]

The Night Nurse (Part 1)

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 (in progress)

Request:

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You are the newly appointed night nurse for SHIELD and you couldn't be less excited about it. You have been given the side task of finding out who is stealing supplies from the infirmary. Soon after you start, you learn Loki is the one who has been slipping in at night to patch up his wounds and you confront him about why he can't heal as quickly as Thor. He reveals a dangerous secret he is keeping from the team and you worry increasingly for his safety as the two of you become closer over the next few weeks.

Warning: You asked for angst so I shall give you angst lol but also... some mentions of blood, minor injuries needing stitches, Loki generally feeling alone and isolated, arguing between you and Loki, very brief mentions of Loki's torture, Loki being an ass in the beginning, swearing, a pretty major injury towards the end but no one dies... a romantic ending was requested so of course there will be fluff and cuteness and whatnot it just won't be in part 1 (sorry)

A/N: I really really hope you like this @glitterylokislut! It accidentally got super long and I just went with it so I hope that's okay. Thank you so so so much for sending this request! I love it 💚

You have been given your new assignment by Director Fury and Dr. Palmer and to say you are less than thrilled about it is as understatement. You are officially the first and only night nurse for SHIELD, stationed in the Avenger's Tower. Unfortunately for you, Fury and Dr. Palmer thought you were perfect for the job and it was made clear that there was no room for you to turn down the transfer.

You were doing inventory a few days ago and noticed several discrepancies which you immediately brought to your supervisors attention. The decision had been made to staff the infirmary at all hours and since you discovered the issue, you were tasked with finding out who was stealing the supplies.

So here you are for the sixth night in a row and nothing... not a single patient, thief or otherwise to keep you occupied. Not that you are honestly sure what Fury expected you to do if you caught someone stealing. You aren't an agent and whoever it is has to work for SHIELD since no one else could even access this floor. Very few agents lived full time at the Tower and the ones who are here at night are working. This really only left the members of the Avengers but you can't understand why any of them steal bandages and gauze, it just doesn't make sense.

What is more concerning for you than the specific items being stolen is that whoever it is has been able to avoid the security system. While the infirmary itself has no internal cameras, the cameras in the hall leading to the elevators are all in perfect working order. Fury had the tech support team check and recheck the security system but they couldn't find any glitches or issues. No one had been seen entering or exiting the infirmary on the nights when the inventory went missing.

Maybe the Tower has a ghost, you think to yourself as you finish the inventory checklist yet again. You double check your count and note that nothing is missing. Tossing the clipboard onto your desk, you pull your book out of the top drawer and settle in for what you assume will be another long, uneventful night.

About five minutes later, you hear something coming from the main section of the infirmary and get up from your seat. Holy crap! There's actually a thief, you think as you leave your office quickly.

You stop short when you see Loki rummaging through one of the metal cabinets, one that you know you had locked only minutes ago. "What are you doing?" you ask him. How the hell did he get in here? you wonder. You hadn't heard the door open.

The tall prince looks up a bit startled by your sudden appearance but he doesn't respond.

"I'm not allowed to let you take supplies," you tell him, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You hadn't been prepared to confront a god, you had hoped it was some young agent who didn't know the rules or an older one who was too cheap to buy band-aids.

He curses under his breath in what you assume is Asgardian and slams the cabinet closed. He glares at you and turns to leave.

"Wait, do you need help?" you ask noticing the items in his hand are for stitching a wound and there is a hastily wrapped bandage on his left forearm.

"No," he answers in a harsh tone.

You put your hand on your hips and say, "You can let me help you or you can leave. If you leave, you can't take the supplies. I'll have to report this as theft of SHIELD property to Director Fury."

"Fine," he grumbles and walks towards you slowly. You point him towards an exam table and roll over a stool then you take the items he gathered, setting them out on a tray next to you. He watches you intently while you work, you aren't sure if he is trying to make you uncomfortable but it is clear he doesn't trust you.

How the hell did he cut himself like this? you ask yourself as you open all the tools you will need. And what is he doing here anyways? He has accelerated healing, the same as his brother. He shouldn't be bleeding this-

"Thor is not my brother," he corrects you. "And the manner in which I was injured is none of your concern, mortal."

You sit back and look at him angrily, "Get out of my mind. You know you aren't allowed to use your telepathy on SHIELD employees." He shrugs at your outburst but sits quietly while you finish closing his wound.

"Done," you say when you add a bandage over the closure. You snap off your gloves and push your stool away from him. You can't imagine he will thank you for your assistance so you add, "You're welcome, now get out. I have to clean up."

You turn away to pick something up and suddenly feel as if you are alone. When you look back towards the exam table, he is gone. You shake your head in confusion and walk over to open the infirmary door, the hinges creak loudly as it swings open and closed.

A few days later you are completing the last of your paperwork just as someone knocks on your office door. You gasp in surprise and nearly drop your coffee, looking up to see Loki standing in your doorway. He is holding his right bicep and lowers his gaze to the ground in front of him to avoid eye contact with you. His demeanor is completely different then the last time he was here.

"Would you help me?" he asks almost as if he expects you to say no.

You sigh and nod, "Of course, it's literally my job... even if the person who needs my help is an ungrateful ass."

He flinches at your harsh tone and says, "I am sorry I was unkind to you last time I was here."

"You were a jerk," you tell him flatly, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

"I was," he says to your surprise. "I apologize for my behavior, it was uncalled for."

"Accepted," you say, not wanting to waste anymore time since you could now see blood begin to seep through his fingers.

He sits on the exam table you motion towards and begins to unbutton his dress shirt. You turn towards the cabinet to grab the things you need and when you look back you are struck by how annoyingly hot he is. You quickly remember that he can and will read your mind so you try to push the thoughts away but you are not fast enough. Loki looks down as he folds his shirt and places it next to him, the corner of his lip curling into a smile.

"Okay," you clear your throat. "Let's see what you did this time." He moves his hand and you see the long gash on his bicep. "Wow, you did a pretty good job on this."

"Yes, I thought the bleeding had stopped but it began again so I thought I should come here" he says.

"Good thing you did. It's going to need a lot of stiches, more than last time," you inform him. "Do you want anything for the pain?" you ask when to get up to grab a few more things from the cabinet.

"It doesn't hurt," he shakes his head.

"Really?" you ask, not sure if you believe him but you don't press the issue.

You sit close to him on your stool and begin to work on his arm quietly. Loki doesn't make a single sound or move an inch while you clean and stitch his wound. You reach for the tray to grab something and realize he is watching you again but this time he's studying you and not your work.

"So what happened?" you ask him. You are fairly certain he wasn't sent on a mission this week.

"Training with Thor," he says simply.

You nod, sensing that he won't give any more details even if you continue to ask him questions. You glance over at his right forearm and pause mid-stitch when you don't see the injury you treated last time.

"It healed," he answers before you can ask what happened.

"Stop reading my mind," you tell him and go back to what you were doing. He doesn't respond and you assume that means he doesn't intend to listen to you. You decide to search your mind for a song that can easily get stuck in a person's head, hoping that if he does go sifting through your thoughts he will at least be annoyed. It might be childish, but it's the best solution you can think of at the moment.

You look up at him when you are finished, sitting back on your stool you say, "I know the other day wasn't the first time you snuck in here." He tightens his jaw and gets up from the table, buttoning his shirt without saying a word.

"Are you the one who's been stealing supplies?" you ask him even though you know he is. He ignores your question but you don't think it is because he is being rude like last time. He almost seems distressed that you know his secret so you add, "I didn't tell anyone it was you."

"I know you didn't," he finally responds. "I assumed Fury would have spoken to me if you had." He is silent for a moment than he says, "Thank you," before turning to leave the exam room.

"Wait," you follow after him. "I can't keep hiding this from Dr. Palmer and Director Fury. They are going to want to know who was taking the supplies."

He turns to face you, "Why didn't you tell them it was me?" His curiosity seems genuine, as if he fully expected you to turn him in the first time you saw him here.

"I'm not sure," you shrug. "I guess I wanted to talk to you about why first you were doing it but then you pissed me off and I just wanted you out of here as soon as possible."

He nods, "Again, I apologize for how I spoke to you. I was not expecting anyone to be here but that is not an excuse."

You are stunned by the second apology and the abrupt change in his attitude since last time. Maybe I'll have a better chance of finding out why he is clearly not healing well now.

"I would rather not discuss that tonight," he says as he walks away from you and you know he read your mind again.

"Loki, I can't pretend I don't know it's you for much longer. Fury is going to want to know why the supplies are missing. It's the whole reason I'm here this late," you tell him.

He puts his hand on the door to leave and looks back at you, "I know you do not owe me this but please, do not tell anyone... at least not yet."

You sigh, "Fine, but this is the last time."

He nods and you watch in awe as he simply vanishes from sight. So that's how he gets passed all the cameras, he can just disappear?

It's been a week since you've seen Loki and after the fourth day you had decided he wasn't going to come back. You hope you will be able to finish out the next few weeks without any additional discrepancies in the inventory and things would go back to normal. Just as you are about to open your book, you hear him call your name and you roll your eyes. Of course he's back, nothing ever works out simply for me.

You walk out of your office to meet him, expecting to find the God of Being Annoying and Evasive needing a handful stitches like he has the last two times he visited but he appears fine. "Hi again," you greet him with the least excited tone you can manage.

He grimaces and takes a few steps towards you but falls, grabbing his side tightly as he collapses onto one knee. You move quickly to grab him but don't see anything wrong until he moves his hand and his illusion flickers. There's blood on his hand but it vanishes then appears again when his magic gives out. His shirt is covered in blood and you hold onto him, helping ease him to the floor.

"What the hell happened?" you ask trying not to panic. You remember your training and move his shirt to the side so you can see the injury clearer. He flinches when you press his hand on the open wound and tell him to keep it there. "Shit," you mumble a curse then get up to grab everything you need.

You kneel next to him and take care of his wound as quickly and cleanly as possible, stitching the long, deep cut closed. Thankfully it wasn't any deeper or you might have needed to call for help, the wound was too close to his lung to not be taken seriously. When you finish you help him sit up slowly and he uses his magic to clean the blood off his clothing.

"You need to stay here and rest," you urge but he shakes his head no.

"It will heal," he says and he tries to get up. You help him so he doesn't hurt himself further but you keep your hands on his arm. "Thank you," he tells you then takes a step away from you but you don't let go.

"Stop," you get his attention. "You can't leave, this wasn't just some little cut. You were stabbed really close to your lung. This isn't okay Loki, you're not fine."

He takes a deep breath as if to prove his lungs are clear and says, "I appreciate your concern, Y/N, I truly do but I need to deal with this on my own."

"No you don't," you argue. "Just tell me what's wrong, maybe I can help."

He shakes his head, "You are an excellent healer but this is beyond you."

"I don't get it, why are you getting so badly hurt. I thought you had accelerated healing abilities like you bro- like Thor," you correct yourself before he has the chance.

He gently rests his hand over the wound on his side and tries to reassure you. "I will heal, it just takes a bit longer than it used to. Thank you once again for your help Y/N," he says before he vanishes.

Three nights later, you are sitting at your desk looking down at your tablet while you drink your second cup of coffee. You've clicked on Loki's file but haven't opened it yet, your fingers drumming on the desk rhythmically as you think. You have treated him several times now so it isn't a violation of his privacy to view his chart but for some reason it feels like it is. You sigh and open his file, maybe whatever he is hiding from me is in here.

You intend to skim his chart then log his recent visits like you should have been doing but you pause completely confused. His file is almost blank, his name and general information has been filled out but there is not a single visit to the infirmary listed. How is that possible? He must have been able to heal at one point but he doesn't seem to be able to anymore.

You exit his file without adding anything, determined to talk to him the next time you see him. You only need to wait fifteen minutes before he knocks softly on your office door.

"Loki, are you okay?" you ask, your voice has more concern than you meant.

He nods and holds out his hand when you walk towards him, "It is only a small wound tonight."

You look closely at the back of his hand and agree, he will only need a butterfly bandage or two and some gauze. You hold his wrist gently and lead him into one of the exam rooms. Loki sits on the table and you roll your stool close to him with your tray of supplies next to you.

"What happened?" you ask, reaching for the tape and he hands it to you, "Thanks."

"A training accident," he says and you nod, unsurprised.

"I need to log this into your file," you say as you throw out the garbage. "The other injuries too," you add.

"I would rather you didn't," he says.

"I know but I need to, it's proper procedure. I could get in trouble if I don't," you explain. "I could lose my job."

He sighs and remains seated on the table. You sit on the stool again and move closer to him. "I'm sorry, I never meant to cause you trouble," he says.

"Well... maybe if you tell me what's going on, I can keep it out of the record," you suggest. He looks up at you as you can tell he is thinking about your suggestion. "I can't tell anyone what we talk about, if that's what you're worried about, doctor - patient privilege and all," you explain with a smile.

"You're a nurse," he says, but his tone isn't condescending like it is when some people call you a nurse, it is as if he is simply clarifying a fact.

"Yeah... it's the same concept," you sigh. "Loki, you can trust me. I don't want to see you keep getting hurt like this," you tell him honestly, touching his hand lightly and he looks into your eyes.

You aren't sure if he is reading your mind or not but finally he says, "You must promise me, no one will know what I am going to tell you."

"I swear," you agree.

Loki shifts uncomfortably on the lightly padded table and looks down at your hand over his. He sighs deeply then says, "I cannot heal the same way Thor does, I have never been able to."

"What!?" you ask unable to hide your shock. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that but... I don't understand."

He says, "Accelerated healing is an Asgardian trait and I am not a full Asgardian, I am half frost giant. When I was a child, I thought I healed slowly simply because I was smaller and weaker than Thor but now my lack of abilities makes sense."

"But how did you hide it all this time?" you ask. "Someone must have noticed you were always getting hurt."

"My mother helped me," he explains. "She taught me to use my magic to create illusions to hide my injuries and dull my pain. When I was alone, I would use my spells and potions to heal myself."

"And no one knows, not even your brother?" you ask in disbelief.

"Not even Thor," he shakes his head.

"But wait... so this was obviously working fine for the last thousand or so years, why isn't it working now?" you ask confused.

"There is something wrong with my magic," he tells you and your heart sinks. "It has been fading since I was taken by the Mind Stone."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 203

Another Hydra prompt! Because I am enjoying the designs I’ve made lol. And perhaps it’s a bit inspired by @radiance1 ‘s different dragon prompts too. 

So they’ve succeeded! They’ve managed to combine their powers- with a bit of shapeshifting helped along by so many ghost allies- and become a giant duck-you dragon! Well, originally they were going to do something else, but they couldn’t agree on an animal, so dragon it was! 

And how mighty they are! They’re giant, absolutely massive- dwarfing the couple of skyscrapers still in Amity. Damages via ghost attacks and general sparring made it where people really didn’t want to rebuild those types of buildings. 

But anyway, dragon! Them! They’re absolutely stunning! And did they mention powerful? Because boy oh boy, are they powerful. The GIW’s guns do practically nothing against their combined might, and barriers shatter before them! 

The uh, issue is that they erm… can’t turn back. Which is fine, they’ve all sort of outlived most of their generation- thank you possessions and ecto-contamination, it’s just a tiny bit of an adjustment. But really it’s not too bad, and someone needs to stop the GIW from trying to poke their heads into Amity. Like it’s been a solid couple of generations, it’s time to stop, thanks. 

Actually they’ve been a bit quiet. Meh, that surely isn’t a problem. Probably. Honestly they’re all going to use the opportunity to sprawl out where the school yard once was, their favorite place to sun their scales. Huh. Usually more people are around now that they think about it- or really, as Paulina points out, sharpening her fangs on one of the rocks. 

…

How long had they been sleeping, because it couldn’t have been that long. One of them was always awake, they slept in shifts after all! Yet there are things missing now as they patrol the skies, both Wes and Tucker pointing out specific buildings that the others didn’t particularly notice usually that now lay empty. 

Hm. 

Oh. That is a… strong barrier there. A really strong barrier actually. Pfft, they can take it! They’ve shredded every barrier together before- Ow. 

…

Okay this might be a bit of a problem. Shit. 

You want a general size reference? :P

[moonchildstyles]

hiii i was wondering if you would write a blurb about vamp h taking care of a drunk y/n lol i think it’d be awfully cute omg or a girls night out (+ one vampire) and he’s like trailing after her trying to keep her out of trouble

wordcount: 3.9k+

—————

"Darling, are you certain you are not going to be cold?" 

Twisting and turning in the mirror, her dress ruched over her body in tight folds, it took all of (Y/N)'s effort to keep her smile at bay. "I'm sure I'll be fine, H. It's not that cold out, and we won't be spending much time outside anyway." 

It was clear he still wasn't pleased at her answer with the way he folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth in a grim line. (Y/N) had to bite back her smile lest he see her amusement from where he was leaning against the doorframe to her closet. He hadn't moved much from where he'd started the night watching her try on practically every outfit she had stuffed into both their wardrobe and closet. 

She could feel his eyes on her as she smoothed her dress over her thighs, pulling down the hem another inch before ruching it back up. Counting down in her head, she had to keep herself from laughing when he followed the same pattern he'd curated for the past ten minutes.

"What if you fall ill? Or the weather changes while we're out? Y'could freeze before I have a chance to warm you."

This time, she couldn't stop the laugh from falling from her lips. She stopped her assessment in the mirror, turning to Harry with her amusement clear on her features and a cant of her head.

"H, c'mon."

His own expression tightened, his stubborn streak peeking out. "Come on, what?"

Stepping towards him on bare feet, (Y/N) peered up at him. "I know you think humans can't handle anything, but, honestly, do you really think it's that easy for me to get sick or freeze to death?"

They both knew well that Harry had done his share of research when it came to anything human. Especially after bonding and ensuring (Y/N) wanted to be at his side for their forever, he'd deep dived into anything and everything human to refresh his knowledge and become the most perfect beloved he could be—including knowing just how to take care of her. He knew better than to assume she would drop dead after a gust of wind. 

Despite the stubborn line of his jaw, he relented, "No." 

"Then, why are you so nervous about tonight?" she crooned, wrapping her arms around his middle with her chin set on his chest. 

His palms ghosted down her back, leaving a chilled trail just barely felt through the fabric of her dress, until he stopped at the bottom of her spine. His touch was delicate. She could see the whole of him softening the longer she looked up at him. 

"You know I worry about you," he murmured, "Anything is possible when it comes to humans. I dread testing the limits when it comes to you." 

As much as she teased him and found his concern over something as simple as a breeze something to laugh over, the root of it all was something that had her softening. It was hard not to hear his words and grow tender. 

"I promise I'm going to be okay, Harry," she told him, "I'm going to bring a jacket, and you're meeting us after dinner, anyway. If I feel like I need more than my jacket I can text you and let you know." 

Though she knew he would never be one hundred percent pleased with her answer unless it was her layering up with all dangers padlocked away from her, this seemed to be enough for him as he sucked in an unnecessary breath. 

"I suppose that will work," he sighed, overdramatic as always, "You are rather strong." 

Stretching to the tips of her toes, (Y/N) pecked a quick kiss to the soft of Harry's lip. "I promise I'll be okay. Thank you for worrying about me, though." 

He chased after her when she pulled away, craning his neck to steal one more kiss before she landed on the flat of her feet once more. "'S a privilege, m'love." 

It was poetry like that that almost had her agreeing to wrap up in layers and layers complete with a shell of bubble wrap before she left the house. 

————— 

Harry couldn't keep the frown from his face as he parked across the street from the nightclub he was meeting (Y/N) and her friends at. He'd never been to an establishment like this before (minus blood clubs but that was an entirely different concept that appealed to his more baser needs, so it didn't count), and, judging by the specimens he could see pouring in and out, he would have liked to keep it that way.

But, this was where (Y/N) had asked him to meet her and there was no way he was going to let her down. 

He was just going to have to hold his breath, he decided. Before setting foot inside, he was sure he would not be a fan of the scents perfuming the building. 

It would only be a few hours, he reminded himself as he stepped out of his car. Hours like this were a minute compared to the eternity of his existence. He could handle tonight without a doubt.

The slight breeze in the air (he didn't even want to think about (Y/N)'s bare legs enduring this wind) pushed open the unbuttoned lapels of his shirt. He hadn't been sure what he should wear for the night, but he took some cues from (Y/N)'s dress and heels when he decided to pull a shimmering satin piece from the wardrobe and fitted black trousers. Looking at the young men walking in and stumbling out of the nightclub, he wondered if they were underdressed or if he was overdressed. 

That concern didn't last long, though, pushed aside once he heard a familiar peal of laughter pouring out of the swinging door of the nightclub. What he was wearing was pushed to the back of his mind then, his priority shifting. He needed to get inside and ensure (Y/N) was alright just like she had promised. 

Making it to the entrance of the nightclub, Harry was stopped by a man tucked away in a cubby by the door. He was dressed in all black, a bored expression on his face when Harry approached. 

"Hey, how are you?" the man asked, barely looking at Harry as he spoke. 

A furrow pinched Harry's brow. "I am well, thank you." 

At his abrupt tone, the man finally chanced a look at Harry. He lingered for only a moment on his stern expression before seemingly shaking it off. "That's great, man. Can I see your ID?" 

The man set his hand out, palm up in expectation. The knit in Harry's brows tightened that much more at the ask. This never happened at the blood clubs from what he could remember; why did it matter who he was before stepping inside? 

Nonetheless, he pulled out the (forged) ID out of his wallet, passing it off to the man with a quick flash of his hand. The man barely glanced at the piece of plastic before he flicked his eyes back up to Harry with a slight smile curling his lips. 

"So, you're Harry," the man pointed out, passing back Harry's ID. 

Pocketing it, Harry wasn't sure what this man was trying to get at, but answered him nonetheless, "Yes. That's me. Why?" 

The man shook his head, a small laugh falling from his lips before he stepped away from the door. "Nothing. Your girlfriend just made sure to let everyone know you were coming tonight. She'll be excited to see you."

Mumbling a thank you to the man, Harry stepped around him and entered the nightclub. While it was a sweet thought that (Y/N) had boasted about him to the nightclub staff, he wasn't sure why she would go through all of the trouble. It wasn't like her to bubble off to strangers. 

The lights were off, leaving the bar lining the back of the space with only a dim glow for the tenders to work by. The main floor, full of people dancing (at least that's what he thought that was what they were doing. Harry couldn't be sure, and he truthfully didn't want to look close enough to find out) was the darkest space with only pumping strobes and multicolored spotlights to be the only guides. Here and there were tall tables stationed by the bar and rounded booths tucked into the walls, no seat left unclaimed despite the busy dance floor. Scanning his eyes over the packed bodies, Harry searched for a familiar dress or the peak of a familiar scent, hoping to find (Y/N) somewhere. 

His hunt didn't take long, finding (Y/N) with a few other girls he was familiar with only through photos on the far edge of the dancing crowd. He was only able to catch a view of her profile, where she had a lazy smile on her lips and her lashes sitting half lidded over her eyes. There was a cup in her hand, the neon liquid almost empty between shards of ice, though she still managed to slosh it almost to the edge with every uncoordinated sway of her body. 

Harry didn't waste any time before he was meandering his way through the throng of bodies, keeping his breath stilted so as to not bother his senses with the scent of so many others that were not his beloved. It was bad enough he felt the heat of their bodies and the unnecessary brushes against him, he didn't want anything more from him to invade his senses. 

Just as he hit the edges of their little group, (Y/N) stumbled on her heels, her features falling. In a rush, Harry was at her side, saving her balance and settling her back on her feet. A bewildered expression crossed her face, one he was sure matched her friends who all had eyes on him as well. Though the second she recognized his chilled touch and the familiar hands wrapped around her arms, she loosened back into her oblivious state. 

"Harry!" she cheered, completely forgetting about her almost finished drink when she twirled on her feet and threw her arms around his shoulders, "You're here!" 

His bunched muscles finally relaxed, allowing him to reciprocate her hug. Dipping his head down, his cheek pressed to hers with his lips by her ear, he murmured, "'M here, love. Are y'alright?" 

"Yeah, why?" she bubbled, seemingly having wiped the stumble right out of her mind already.

It didn't take Harry's extra senses to notice the vodka on her breath, though he was sure he was the only one that could notice the sharp edge added to her scent from the alcohol. With how saturated it was, she hadn't just started her night at the club. That would at least explain why she had made sure to alert the man out front that her boyfriend (a silly title, but cute nonetheless) was on his way.

"No reason," he smiled, dropping his hands to sit on her waist, "Are y'having fun?" 

"I am! I'm so happy you're here now! I've been telling everyone that you were coming, and now you're here!" 

The glaze over her eyes was enough to draw Harry in, his lips curling into an amused smile. He'd never seen her anything past a bit tipsy. Drunk (Y/N) was a person he'd never met before.

Before he had a chance to offer any kind of response, using a surprising amount of her strength given her state, she pulled him along before presenting him to her friends. 

"Guys!" she bubbled, catching the attention of the rest of the women, "Look who's here!" 

One of the women looked decidedly more sober than the rest, though Harry could smell a tint of alcohol on her as well. She was the first to step forward, giving a small smile. 

"Harry, right?" she said, the ends of her short blonde hair dusting her collarbones, "(Y/N)'s been so excited to see you tonight." 

"As I've learned," he laughed, offering a hand out for her to shake, "And you are?" 

"Oh, I'm Charlotte! It's nice to meet you!" 

At that, the surrounding group made their own introductions with (Y/N) clinging to his side. He dedicated each name to memory, hoping that would help him pass the test that he was surely going through that night. Meeting her friends had been foiled before with the changes in weather keeping him stuck inside, or his insistence that (Y/N) live her life outside of him lest she feel trapped in the manor at his side. Tonight had been the first time everything had fallen into place: a girls' night with an open invitation after dinner. 

Shifting his arm around her shoulders, Harry pulled (Y/N) to his side as he guided her out of the way of those still dancing behind them. His features set pleasantly neutral, he looked towards Charlotte first. 

"(Y/N) told me your significant others might also be joining us tonight," he drawled, his version of asking of their whereabouts as he seemed to be the only boyfriend having shown up so far. 

"I'm not sure, actually," Charlotte mused, the evidence of her own drinking beginning to show. "I know my boyfriend will be here to pick me up later, but I haven't really heard anything about the other girls’. It might just be you, if that's okay." 

Feeling eyes on him, Harry glanced down at his side to see (Y/N) still gazing up at him with a dreamy smile on her lips. He hoped he didn't come off as rude when the sight distracted him as Charlotte spoke, taking a beat to reciprocate her look and keep her snug to his side. 

"I am okay with that. I hope 'm not intruding on your night then," Harry charmed, shooting his gaze around the room in search of a vacant booth or barstool, "Perhaps, I can find a free spot and let you all have fun without me interrupting." 

"No," (Y/N) piped up, "You have to stay with us now! I don't want you to go."

Her words are slightly slurred but her passion was clear enough. He didn't bother to look at what the rest of the women had to say, only worrying about  keeping the smile on his beloved face. "Okay, then I will stay, love. I will still try to find a table, though, so y'can sit with me for a little."

She was more than quelled by his answer, her body pliant against his own as if she were already ready for him to drag her wherever he wanted. 

"I don't know if anything is going to be open," Charlotte interjected, having heard his proposal over the music, "I've been hoping someone would move, but they've all been taken since we got here." 

"I'm sure I can make something work," Harry smiled, already spotting a booth he would prefer over the others, "We'll be right back." 

As soon as Harry stepped out of the small circle formed by their group with (Y/N) on his arm, it was closed up once more, though he could feel eyes pasted to his back watching where they went. Aware of her stumbling steps at his side, Harry took it slow as he escorted her towards a booth situated in the back corner, just out of view of the others. 

"I think people have—hic—they're already sitting there, H," (Y/N) murmured. 

"'S alright," he answered, tightening his hold on her hand, "I think they're about to leave." 

He didn't waste any time in reaching the group, a charming smile on his lips when he picked out the leader. An underdressed (in Harry's opinion) blonde man with a drink in hand seemed to be the center of attention, the first one to acknowledge Harry approaching. 

Before he could utter any kind of greeting, Harry took over the situation. "Hello," he smiled, "M'girlfriend and her friends would like to sit here, please." 

The man looked bewildered for a moment, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "Um—I'm sorry, but—" 

"No need to be sorry," Harry cut him off, voice taking on a quality he didn't utilize very often, but this was a special occasion, "You can find another space. Right?" 

As soon as the man met his eyes, Harry could tell the effects he wanted were taking place. It was all within the span of a heartbeat that this man took Harry's words as his own idea and nodded his head. 

"Yeah, we can find another spot," he relented, a faux cheer to his voice as he beckoned his friends to follow him out, "C'mon, guys, let's try the bar." 

There were a few questioning glances thrown to both the man as well as Harry, but no one questioned. Instead they only murmured amongst themselves as they followed their leader towards the bartop. As he led her into the now free vinyl seating, (Y/N) was one of the few that had a question in her eyes and pinch in her brows. 

"How did you do that?" she asked, her voice low under the music but still audible to Harry's ears, "Is that a vampire thing?" 

A breath of laughter fell from his lips at her words. "A little bit, yes. I don't like to do it often, but I want to make sure y'have somewhere to sit and relax while I get y'some water." 

"You're getting me water?" she questioned, thoroughly distracted at his new offer as if she didn't have a cup of half melted ice in her hand. 

"Mhm," he hummed, releasing her hand once she had tucked herself into the corner of the booth, "After I grab your friends, 'm getting y'some water before y'have any more fun." 

With the way she was looking at him, he would have figured he had proposed and offered diamonds and jewels to her, and not just a glass of water from the bar. This night was already going better than he'd thought. 

—————

"Did you guys know that Harry's a painter?! Like, he does huge murals and things all over the house! He's amazing." 

Only Charlotte seemed to catch (Y/N) words—the same declaration she had cheered about only ten minutes prior. She and Harry exchanged a small glance while the rest of the table treated this as new information. 

It'd been a long time since Harry had drank, and even longer since he'd been intoxicated to (Y/N)'s degree. Was short term memory something that was now lost when mixed with spirits, or was that just her? 

"Do you really?!" one of (Y/N)'s friends (Cecilia, maybe?) bubbled, her cup of ice water cradled in her hands as she leant over the table with wide eyes, "What kind of stuff do you paint?" 

"A little bit of everything," Harry answered, just as he had the last time a similar question was posed, "M'style has changed a lot over the last year or so. I can show you all some time if you'd like—'m sure (Y/N) would love to have you over to the manor." 

Even Charlotte perked up at this offer, looking to (Y/N) for confirmation. "That would be so much fun, (Y/N)! We could do that the next time we get together!" 

At that, Harry sat back while the chattering arose amongst the group. Under the table, his hand rested on (Y/N)'s thigh, the warmth of her skin anchoring him through the pumping music, strobing lights, and unfamiliar smells surrounding him. As much as he was aiming to leave a good first impression on her friends, he was still very much out of his element in the nightclub. He hoped (Y/N) would call for him to take her home sooner rather than later. 

As if she knew he had her on his mind, (Y/N) leant into his side, looking up at him with a toothy grin and affectionate eyes. The chattering was going strong on the other side of the table, the conversation sounding as if the women were making plans for their next outing together—one that would take place at the manor with bottles of wine and movies. 

"You'd really be alright with everyone coming over?" (Y/N) asked, moony eyes trained on his face. 

"Of course," he answered, a smile landing on his face on instinct, "It is your home too, petal. Y'can have your friends over as well—'s not jus' Mitch and Niall that are allowed over."

She curled into his side, her thigh under the table practically draped over his own. "Do you think Sarah would want to hang out with us?" 

The thought of Sarah playing around with a bunch of human girls was more amusing than he thought it would be. He wondered if that was how she and Mitch felt when they realized he was courting a human girl. 

"She might," he told her, keeping his amusement to himself, "I can ask for you." 

In an impossible feat, (Y/N) looked that much more in love with him at his offer. As much as he missed her regular scent without the sticky edge of alcohol, he did like just how tender she became—adoring his every and any move. 

"That would be so nice, H. Thank you," she told him earnestly, her hand coming to rest on his middle with his shirt in her grip, "You're the best ever, you know that?" 

"I have been told as much a few times." All by her, but that was a detail that he would leave out for the moment.

"Well," she pouted, "It's true. I'm so happy you came tonight. I think the girls really like you, too." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, hoping it was more than just her drunken tongue making the claim. 

"Mhm," she hummed, stretching to rest her head on his shoulder with a squeeze of her hand over his shoulder, "You're better than all of their boyfriends." 

At that, Harry couldn't help but to release the laugh building in his chest. While he understood the sentiment, that wasn't quite the impact he was going for. 

"You think so?" Harry questioned, unable to wipe his amusement from his voice. 

(Y/N) didn't seem to notice—or, most likely, care—responding with a definitive nod. "I know so." 

Another breathy laugh left his lips as he ducked his head, burying his nose in her hair. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Charlotte glancing their way; an adoring smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she saw the way her friend clung to him. 

Taking in a lungful of (Y/N)'s scent, Harry decided that nightclubs weren't so bad. 

At least when (Y/N) was there.  

“Wait, (Y/N),” Cecilia babbled, a look of urgency on her face, “You said he cooks, right? You cook right?” 

Her attention was splashed over Harry then, forcing him to draw away from (Y/N)’s hair. Clearing his throat under the music, he nodded his head. “I do, yes.” 

A squeal fell from her lips with her companions being just as excited. “Would you make us food when we come over? (Y/N) says you’re so good!” 

Just as (Y/N) perked up at his side, turning her wide eyes on him, Harry stifled his own laugh. God, how he wished he had been a fly on the wall while she apparently spouted off all these facts about him—the ones reserved for her. 

“If you’d like.”

Just as he expected, more noise erupted from the table.

—————

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any fun ideas or requests you have!!

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[cloudcountry]

1ST PRIZE WINNER, POP-SPARKLE! (@pop-sparkle)

— IDIA GHOSTS YOU ON YOUR FIRST DATE...OR DOES HE? (2013 words)

You try not to look too anxious as you chew on your bottom lip, eyes darting to each person as they walk past the cat cafe you are currently waiting in front of. Your first date with Idia Shroud had you pacing around your room hours before, picking out the perfect outfit and accessories that didn’t seem like too little or too much effort. You’d asked Grim a million times (much to his annoyance) if you looked okay, and had checked the mirror over and over to make sure nothing was stuck in your teeth and not a hair was out of place. You wanted to look perfect for him, you wanted to make him stumble over his words and feel that thrill of being so well put together it made his heart tremble.

You’d even tried to coordinate your outfit to Ignihyde’s aesthetic since you didn’t know Idia’s personal tastes yet. The plan was to ask him on the date what kind of clothes he liked, just so you could tailor some matching outfits for the two of you or make a cute Twisterest board of your aesthetics and how they’d play off of each other.

The plan was not to be waiting in front of the cat cafe for about thirty minutes now with no sign of your date, and all the giddy excitement you felt slowly evaporating into pure panic.

Had you done something wrong? You knew Idia was delicate socially but you tried not to treat him as such, knowing all too well how condescending that could be, but maybe you were too forward? Did you come off as desperate and he secretly didn’t want to come at all? Was he disgusted by you now? Did he just ghost you and intended to never talk to you again? Did Idia wish he never agreed in the first place? Did he forget, completely unbothered by your excitement, or got too wrapped up in his games to think of you?

You unlock your phone and scroll through you and Idia’s past conversations for any signs you may have missed that he wasn’t interested. He seemed enthusiastic enough, replying with longer looooools and kitty faces such as :3, but if anything that only made your current situation all the more confusing.

to: gloomurai ... 11:55am

-> hey idia! i’m at the cafe!! super excited to see you C:

to: gloomurai ... 12:10pm

-> hihi!! are you here yet? i can’t see you with all these people around lol

to: gloomurai ... 12:25am

-> ...idia? are you even here at all?

You read the last message over and over again, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over your eyelids. It was so jarring to suddenly be given the cold shoulder like this when he’d been so receptive before. You should just take the L, as Idia would say, and leave. It wasn’t like he was showing up anytime soon.

At this point, him showing up wasn’t even needed. You just wanted to go back to campus, ask him what the hell was going on, and maybe get some ice cream and cry over your amazing outfit if the conversation went south.

You do the walk of shame all the way up to the front gates of Night Raven, pushing the gates open with the strongest push you can muster (which comes off as very weak and half hearted.) For once, you look like the wet cat in your relationship, and at least that thought makes you chuckle when you feel like your world is falling apart.

You find your way to the hall of mirrors and go straight to Ignihyde dorm, summoning all of your courage as you step through the mirror. You don’t know where Idia is going to be, but knowing what you know of him now, there’s no way he’s anywhere but his dorm.

(You push down any thought that suggests he’s somewhere else just to get away from you—you won’t get anywhere thinking about things you don’t know to be true for sure yet. You know Idia is usually in his room, so that is where you’ll look first.)

When you make it to his room, it’s almost like you’re paralyzed with fear. You’ve never really been in a situation like this before—you have no idea if this is the right thing to do or not. Is this creepy? Are you stepping wildly out of line?

You almost chicken out, but then the door opens.

Ortho stands there, looking all too happy to see you.

You forgot he could read vital signs—he probably read your heart beat outside of Idia’s door and got concerned at its elevated rate.

“What are you standing outside for? Come on in!” he greets you cheerfully, like this whole fiasco didn’t just happen.

And, you suppose, was still happening.

You stumble dumbly into the room at his insistence, eyes locking with Idia’s all too soon. He looks ashamed, droopy flames flickering slowly in the darkness of his room. Seeing him in such a state proves to you that he didn’t forget—he looks so guilty, there’s no way he didn’t opt not to go of his own free will.

He chose to ghost you.

You bite your bottom lip, brow furrowing as you choke back the tears. It’s hard when you feel that telltale ball in the back of your throat that makes it just a little too hard to breathe, and you know if you start talking now you’re surely going to mess it all up and start sobbing in front of him. You clutch the fabric of your top and hope you don’t look as pathetic as you feel.

Things weren’t supposed to be this way.

“Why are you crying?” Ortho asks softly, cold metal hands touching your face gently.

He starts listing off a bunch of vital signs that indicate that you’re upset, and Idia makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a wounded puppy.

Ortho looks between the two of you and makes the executive decision to drag his brother out of his bed, forcing him to stumble his way over you with the guiltiest look you’ve ever seen.

“Make sure you have a productive conversation!” Ortho cheers, exiting the room quicker than you could blink.

The door whirs shut behind him. Idia is shrinking in on himself more than usual, and you’re certain that if you don’t get your shit together first he’ll start breaking down.

“So Idia,” you cringe at how your voice breaks but keep going, “What happened?”

Silence.

“With the date, I mean.” you prompt.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles, and while it sounds halfhearted your ears have been trained to pick up on the inflections in his voice that indicate otherwise.

He’s crushed.

“That doesn't answer my question...why didn't you show? Did something happen?” you ask, keeping your tone as level and gentle as you possibly can even though you feel like crying.

“Well, uh, nothing really.” he mumbles, and he brings his hand up to grasp at his arm like he always does when he's nervous, “It's just that...the hit boxes on this quest were a little too finicky and I didn't know if I'd even be able to pull an SSR character like you. So, uh, I panicked and ditched the whole quest. A total botched mission. And I understand if you hate me now for being the worst player two ever, you deserve someone who would beat the final boss with you, not lose on the first one.”

So in short...Idia was so nervous he didn't show up?

You breathe a sigh of relief, all of your overthinking vanishing into thin air. He looks confused when you smile at him, clearly expecting an angry outburst or a disgusted snarl but instead you press a hand to your chest and thank him profusely.

“Um...lol, why are you thanking me?” he mutters, brow furrowing as he shifts his gaze to the ground, “I, like, totally ruined everything. You were willing to give me your time and I threw it away like level one materials you get when you've beat the game. I'm totally unworthy. My gacha luck should be at zero rn tbh.”

“Idia, are you kidding me? I thought my luck was at zero! I'm so glad I hit pity.” you huff, hurriedly wiping the tears from your eyes, “Listen, when I showed up and didn't see you there, I didn't feel joy or relief or anything close. I felt scared and anxious because I was worried I upset you. I didn't want you to think I was too desperate or intense. I just wanted to have fun with you. I wanted to spend some time with the guy I like more than anyone else.”

Idia shuffles his feet, the tips of his hair turning pink. You can feel your face heating up too, but you do nothing to hide your wobbly, flustered smile or the way he makes you feel.

He needs to see it if this conversation is going to go anywhere productive.

“Sorry, um, this is just...so new to me. I mean, you're excited to do things with me? You...you dressed up for me?” he swallows thickly, eyes catching on your outfit before flicking back up to your face.

You feel your stomach jolt at his gaze — it's a warm feeling, definitely not unwelcome. You'd almost forgotten how much effort you put into your outfit this morning. You're so glad he likes it. Just the approval alone makes the whole experience worth it.

“Get used to it.” you beam, “I want to do lots of things with you.”

He blushes, pink hair fanning out behind him like an angel’s wings. You're certainly looking at him like he is one, if the way he pulls his hood over his head and tries to cover as much of his face as possible is any indication.

You wish he wouldn’t, you love looking at his face, but you figure that’s something you can get him more comfortable with another day.

“I would also really like a second date. If Idia Shroud would be up for it, of course.” you say, a little softer, a little gentler, just enough to coax him from his hoodie.

“Um. I think it'd still be our first date. I don't want that to count.” he exhales sharply, turning away from you again.

Even after your talk, he's still embarrassed. He's still the same old Idia.

“Okay. Whatever you want, Idia.” you hum, happy that this situation wasn't at all what you thought it was and even happier that he suggested something so cute.

Oh, how did no one see his charm as deeply as you did? Idia was such a kind, warm soul—as warm as the flames cascading down his head, flickering pink as he stares at you.

He's still nervous, but so are you, the both of you shuffling your feet and exchanging shy glances. You think to suggest starting off your first date by gaming, a suggestion that wins you ten love points on his intimacy meter as he beams and scrambles to pick one out.

He asks you a million questions about what style of games you prefer and if a certain variable matters to you in your gaming experience. He digs deep in his collection, tossing away any single player games he finds and it makes your soul sing because wow, he wants to play with you. It’s the obvious choice—after all, this is a date now, but it still tastes sweet on your tongue as you whisper his name.

“I’ll like any game you pick out.” you offer.

“It can’t be any game for you. It has to be perfect.” he huffs, not even turning back to look at you.

Dedicated. Passionate. Hardheaded and laser focused. This is the Idia you fell in love with.

As you sit down next to him and riffle through his collection with him, you can’t help but feel so, so happy that you did.