#And I internally had to pause and realize that no.

[serendipitous-girl]

𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞

⊱✿⊰ summary: getting a curse that makes you horny is not how you expected your day to turn out....espeically when if means your friends have to help you deal with your situation

⊱✿⊰ warnings: straight up smut, pơrn w plot, aphrodisiacs, this could sort of be considered dub-con but i still believe it is consensual, also this is written by a minor so if u don't want that u can leave, don't report jst block chat, nobara teaching the boys abt girls bodies, simp boys, unprotected sex (be careful irl pls 🙏)

⊱✿⊰ notes: i went from writing slightly suggestive to a freaking foursome but im slay for it okay. i apologize if this sucks i do not know how to write sexual stuff but i had this dream and it was FIRE. Also i have seen like five episodes of this show so try not to give spoilers and i apologize if this is not how curses work 😭 if adults interact imma be weirded out bc these characters r my age 🤨

if you know me (other than skye) don't talk to me abt this unless ur happy im shy enough as it is 💀

you hadn't realized you had even been affected by the curse that hit you earlier until you were on the way to the academy. it was a strange sort of descent to suddenly have your skin feverishly warm and a white hot need coiling deep in your gut. you were practically shaking by the time you reached jujustu high.

you stumbled towards your dorm, ignoring the way any sort of friction against your core made you want to whimper like a cat in heat. your underwear was well on the way of being utterly soaked and your foggy brain couldn't even bother to care.

"you okay, [name]?" yuji asked, his sturdy hand wrapping around your waist when your knees started to buckle. you bit your tongue hard enough to draw small drops of blood to prevent the needy sigh from escaping your lips. he was so strong and he was so sweet, his gentle smile making you wish it was between your thighs.

"i'm fine...just exhausted." you managed to grit out, unable to disguise the thick strain on your voice. maybe you were going insane, because why else would you be feeling this...horny?

"i'd wager you're more than exhausted." megumi piped in, his intense stare sending electricity straight to your core. he walked forward, with nobara not far behind, his mouth in a set line. he continued, "you are being affected by an aphrodisiac inflicted by an incubus."

nobara gave you a sneaky smile coming closer and sliding her arms around your waist and pulling you against your body. you couldn't help the whimper that you released when you felt her warm breath against your cheek.

"you horny, baby?" she purred, making your jaw drop slightly. oh, so she knows. you looked at her shyly, give her a little nod.

"that's what an aphro whatever does?" yuji asked, his chest still firmly pressed into your back. megumi nodded, his eyes darting between how you're sandwiched between nobara and yuji.

"h-how do i make it go away?" you piped up, internally cursing at the tone of your voice. it was thick with need, heavy with lust. maybe you should google how to bury oneself alive? that would be better than this embarrassing situation.

"you need to orgasm, at the very least once. but it will probably require quite a few tries." megumi explained, calmly as if he wasn't talking about his classmate cumming. before you knew it, you were sitting on megumi's bed. nobara and yuji must have led you to his room while he was talking.

"your arms are almost like jelly, honey." nobara noted, picking up your limp arm before letting it drop to your side, "why don't you let us take care of this for you?"

this time megumi, yuji, and you all paused. even through the gnawing desire to be railed you were still surprised at the suggestion. yuji's jaw dropped and megumi blushed, both of their reactions endearing if you were in a better state of mind.

"i have heard far too much about how both of these losers want to fuck you but are too wimpy to do anything. and i wouldn't mind making my girl feel good." nobara sat on the bed beside you and let her hands drift down your thighs. you shivered, parting them almost instinctively.

megumi shot nobara a glare like he was pissed his secret had been revealed and yuji gave you a sheepish smile. both boths came closer until everybody was sitting on the bed.

"you should still be in good conscious to consent." megumi said, his eyes burning into the spot where your legs were spread ever so slightly. your skirt was rising slightly, more of your skin revealed. "do you feel comfortable with this, [name]?"

suddenly you felt all pairs of eyes on you, making arousal seep into your underwear and rendering them positively destroyed. even with your body weak and full of animalistic need, you still had a mostly coherent thought process.

"please, yes please." you stuttered out, looking down at your lap with a shy expression.

nobara grinned deviously at your consent before pulling you onto her lap, pressing your back into her chest. she leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck and her hands drifting down your body.

"just relax, we're gonna make you feel real good." she said spreading your legs and lifting up your skirt to show off your underwear. normally you would be embarrassed that megumi and yuji were kneeling in front of you and staring directly at your cloth covered pussy. but you were far too gone to comprehend a single thing.

your underwear was fully soaked, a massive wet spot on them and the smell of your arousal wafting through the air. nobara kept kissing your neck, nibbling at the supple skin as her nimble fingers hooked around the waistband and slipped your underwear off.

your cunt was weeping for attention, puffy folds and twitching clit. your arousal was dripping down your legs, onto megumi's sheets. although he seemed too enthralled with your aching hole to care about the mess you were making.

a sharp gasp escaped your lips when nobara's fingers met your clit, rubbing it gently and in circular motions. as though their eyes had an invisible touch, the intense focus of both megumi and yuji added extra stimulation to your body.

"see this? this is like the key to the treasure chest." nobara said, still steadily rubbing that little bundle of nerves. you wiggled in her lap, trying to stop the embarrassing whimpers from escaping.

"does that feel good, [name]?" yuji asked, his hand suddenly reaching out to grab your thigh and keep you from wriggling out of nobara's hold. his touch was gentle but fuck was he strong.

you nodded and let out a little moan as nobara fingers slipped to your slit, collecting the wetness before teasing your hole. it eagerly tried to suck her digits in, aching to be filled.

"needy, are we?" megumi noted, the goregous rumble of his voice sending vibrations straight to your cunt. it clenched around nothing, showing off your horniness to your entire friend group. dear lord you were about to be fucked by all your friends.

finally nobara sunk her slender fingers in your cunt, the pads of her digits massaging the gummy walls. your toes curled and your back arched, a sigh of pleasure and relief filling the air like a lustful breeze. she grinned against your neck, going back to kissing you as she dipped her fingers in and out.

your pussy shamlessly gushed as she did this, loud enough you were sure the entire world could hear how well you were being fingered. not to mention the pretty little gasps and sighs that slipped between your parted lips.

"fuck," yuji grunted and your eyes fell from staring at the ceiling to him. his hand was cupping his massive bulge through his pants, his brown eyes blown out wide with lust. megumi wasn't fairing much better with a bright red face and parted lips he kept wetting.

"c'mon pretty girl, you gonna cum for me?" nobara purred, her free hand drifting from your waist to slipping under your shirt. she found your tits beneath your shirt and bra, rolling your hardened nipple between two of her digits.

your body suddenly tensed, walls clenching around her slender fingers as they curled right at the spongey point of pleasure. your cunt practically sucked her fingers in as it gushed around them. your jaw slightly dropped as your long wanton moan filled the room like a symphony of your pleasure.

"good girl." nobara praised while megumi and yuji stared at you with wide eyes. with a sudden shyness, you realized you might have been the first girl to have cum in front of them.

even with the orgasm you still felt that burn in your core and slick dripping down your thighs, like the needy whore you were. your mind was fuzzy with lust, pussy aching to be filled yet again.

"megumi, how about you fuck our princess?" nobara suggested, still rolling your senstive nub between her fingers as though to appease you while you waited, "and yuji, fill her mouth so she can't be too loud, yeah?"

the two boys agreed and suddenly you were being placed flat on the bed. your uniform was being stripped off by all three hands, leaving you naked and vulnerable soon.

megumi lifted your legs and spread them a bit more, you whining as the cool air brushed against your leaking cunt. he groaned softly, his raging hard on rubbed against your thigh.

he unzipped his pants enough for his cock to spring out, a pretty pink color with precum leaking out of the reddish tip. then he fixed your position, stroking his dick and rubbing the tip aganist your weeping slit. you whimpered, wriggling your hips like it would make it magically slip inside..

"shit," megumi hissed as he finally sunk his length into your pussy. you whined loudly as he finally filled you up, your back arching in attempts to get him deeper.

suddenly your eyes snapped upwards when you felt yuji's cockhead pressing into your lips. eagerly you parted them, tongue sticking out to lick the precum oozing out. yuji let out a soft sigh as you finally let him in, tongue exploring the large mass inside your mouth.

nobara wasn't feeling excluded at all it seemed, with the way her hands wandered to play with your tits. she smirked, watching the erotic scene unfold in front of her.

you felt almost like a ragdoll, getting fucked on both sides. megumi's thrusts were long and teasing, sliding almost all the way out before slamming all the way in again. whereas yuji was erratic and passionate, carelessly fucking your throat.

it was possibly the hottest and strangest situation you have ever found yourself in.

your moans were muffled by yuji's cock, mixed in with the soft gags of being filled up so entirely. everything felt so lewd, squelching of your cunt being hammered into by megumi and the slurps of you intently sucking yuji off.

nobara wasn't too upset about not getting "her turn" yet especially since she would prefer to have you get her off when it's just the two of you. she was patient...for now.

suddenly yuji stilled, then he kept thrusting into your mouth with jerky movements. "fuck! I'm gonna-"

a white hot liquid squirted into your mouth. It was salty and a little bitter but not terrible tasting. you swallowed up the pink haired boy's cum, some of it dribbling down your chin. once he was done he slowly pulled out, his cock softening slowly. yuji looked at you with wide eyes, almost like you showed him jennifer laurence not sucked him off

you squeaked suddenly, returning your attention to megumi who pinched your clit. he pouted at you, as though a little annoyed yuji had held your attention for so long.

you gave him a breathless smile in-between the sighs of pleasure at his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. you didn't even know something could be that deep inside of you and yet here he was, turning your tummy inside out with his dick.

"i want you to cum at the same time as me. can you do that for me, princess?" megumi said, speeding up his sensual pace. his hips snapped up to meet yours quicker now, his nimble fingers rolling and rubbing your sensitive nub in all the ways that made you certain you would explode.

with a final flick to your clit, you moaned his name and your walls squeezed around his cock. as thought triggered by your orgasm you felt his warm seed spurting inside your core, filling you up. he fucked you both through your highs, keeping his creamy cum inside your pussy.

a small whine fell from your sore throat at the empty feeling where megumi's dick used to be. however you felt that almost agonizing burn started to fade, satisfied by what you had been giving.

"aw baby." nobara cooed, gently petting the top of your unruly hair, "let us clean you up. you must be so tired from all that, yeah?"

you nodded slowly, allowing the boys to distangle from your body and allow nobara instruct them on how to clean you properly. you only started to drift off when you felt the trio cuddle around you, with nobara laying on your tummy, megumi spooning you from behind and yuji in the front. the warmth of your friends (with benefits?) coaxed your exhausted body to sleep.

hopefully you wouldn't have to ever think about the consequences of this....or at least until morning.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[applesontheground]

I have a big, beautiful, fat fucking request for you. Let me get, some Danny Johnson, him totally, ferally obsessed with the reader. He is down BAD for her. He has so many cravings, he doesn't know where to *start* when he finally breaks into her place. He wants to do it all and has a knife, rope, duct tape and nothing but time since your vacation just started and no one is expecting to see you for DAYS. All he knows is he wants to fuck you and see you cry and bleed, ruin you for anyone else. <3

last night never happened 📞

SO, THIS IS GOING TO BE THE FIRST DIVE INTO DANNY, HUH?

As someone who's coming out of one hell of a break, i'm very excited to find my writer's muscle again, and what better way than to finally get started on some of my requests? :D

This is also a part of celebrating @bisexual-horror-fan's birthday today! I told Bex I wanted to do something special for this, and give a good reminder I sure don't forget about any ideas that get thrown at me... even the ones that have sat in the inbox for far too long.

Hope you like it, Bex. Happy birthday!! ❤

NSFW | Word Count: 3,138 | Danny Johnson x Female Reader contains MAJOR DUBCON THEMES, stalking/obsession, masturbation, B&E, sadomaso, knifeplay/v light bloodplay, titfucking, BDSM, gagging, fingering, orgasm denial 🎼: x, x

“How do we know the stories that come from that beat are always going to center around this part of town?”

“Well,” A pause, a knowing pause that was tired of answering the question, “How do we know it isn’t? This is downtown, [Y/N].”

Then came a small murmur from the group. You were silent, but you didn’t lower your head. It was a standard meeting with the head photographer, and you were merely sitting in. More of an intern than any sort of employee, it was almost mindless to speak up like you did. You appeared not to understand that it was all supposed to deter you from being so steady on your pedestal, of once-believed expertise that you were ahead of some nonexistent curve in reasoning. Your unwavering blink, a denial to be crushed despite the odds falling against your face, was tantalizing.

It made the muscles in his hands flex, white knuckling as he folded his hands and craned his neck to force his eyes on the space in front of him. You had no right to know just what those hands wanted to do, no one besides him did – at least, while he was forced to exist so identifiable in public, surrounded by others.

Someone could gut that pretty little body like a fish and she still wouldn’t find the need to run from the knife. That idea raced to the forefront of his head, a realization that made him need to shift uncomfortably, pretend his nose itched to explain to the world why a jolt of energy had just shot down his leg, made him almost leap at some thought up opportunity.

There was a scheduled break in the work – for all of the team, including you – after that session. A full week to catch up on the work at hand, take the time to do what mattered if you were already there. Although the weather was great for travel, for visiting friends, you had been idly chatting about it after the meeting, mentioning there were no plans outside of “decompressing”.

It was perfect, and he nearly moved in closer to get a look at you, mere steps away from where he had been sitting. He couldn’t meet your eyes just yet. It all came from deep in his chest, something that drummed sweat in his hands and made him promptly leave the meeting room without another look around.

Some time that evening, remembering the curve of your jaw when you would turn to look at the clock on the wall and melting into the hot sweat against his hand that stroked to the rhythm that he’d believe resembled a pulse under his fingers, Danny decided you were going to be his next project. He had been sliding ideas of others that he saw along with you day in and day out, and you were a babe, sure… but this oblivion you showed, a deer with no thought behind the eyes in the face of an oncoming car. It made him want to get under that skin.

When he had seen you before this decision, it was all casualties: picking up pencils that slipped off your desk, null glances when you passed each other in the hall. He would then observe from afar, over the edges of a novel he was reading or a laptop screen, acting like he was far more preoccupied with his work and you none the wiser. He could care less about editing photos he took, the program making his computer grow hot as he would instead shift his stare to you, fixing flyers on a corkboard or chatting with another body.

The way your hair framed your face and made you appear so friendly, mundane being too stale and homely being too chaste. You had a quirk in your lips, a scoff to your giggles; that all made you seem a little more than something plain.

Finally, there came the photographs. You walking by the building, mostly outdoors settings where he could perch somewhere perfect, capture your likeness without any sort of hints or the confines of indoors closing off noises, the way he had to sometimes move alongside you. When people approached, there was always a bird in the trees, something else happening to make Danny look unsuspecting. No one noticed anything close enough to see you in the background each time he was out on field work.

It was an easy plan to put together, because he figured he’d just need the basics: a hunter’s knife, curved and ridged in little spots for the variety and the flare. Then, a basic nylon rope, something itchy and uncomfortable to add to every reaction that he was seeking, knowing he could tear from you. He had gotten it on sale.

The idea to save his zipties, wanting to use them but recognizing there should be other times, only made a smile quirk on his lips. It would be the perfect plan for another visit, and that possibility would make him suck in a breath. He took the duct tape instead. That’d be far more fun than his other supplies he had used just as soon as a month prior.

The entering itself was as simple as he had imagined it would be. He had watched you come home from an evening’s grocery shopping, ready to hide from the world for this long week. He had waited until the streetlights on your corner turned on, a sign sundown was well underway, before standing from the bench he had been lounging on. One eye had been kept on some photographer’s notes he had been working on – he had to actually get some work done, form that alibi nice and early – and one on your front door, your windows as you passed through like a sweet visage only for him. He slipped the cloak on, the mask in hand as he walked across the street, found a bush outside your home, and got into position.

The first star in the sky rearing its luminous face was what got him to stand again, slipping through an unlocked garage door on the side of your home. You were so trusting of anyone who could find their way through the cracks of your personal life, your abode that maybe had enough locks to keep guys like him out…but unutilized.

He’d be sure to hold that faith up to the light for you. How real was it, [Y/N]? You’d really let anyone have a hold of your security, seeing that your coworkers treat it so poorly, laugh at you?

You barely yelled, more so yelped in shock before slipping in your socked feet around the kitchen when he let himself inside. He had considered making it more explosive, but sliding from a curtain and imposing with a feverish desire to feel that exposed skin he was seeing was far more interesting.

Moving before thought only made the soles of his shoes feel heavy on the floor, solid in his own movement.

“Where are you going, baby cakes?” he asked, laughing when your jaw dropped open. Again, it made a crick in his muscles tense, shiver as he willed self-control that was merely buying time.

He couldn’t go ballistic, not yet. Maybe not even during this visit.

He was heaving breaths, silent laughter in his chest and bubbling along the brook of desperate gasps for air. You tried to push your body away, the skin of your thighs and back squeaking painstakingly against linoleum. With a lunge that sent him on his hands and knees, the assailant merely prowled after you, eye contact much easier now from behind the slim shape of the mask.

He took his time; it wasn’t like you could make your way to the door in any way that would cut ice. Those eyes of yours, confused but still meeting the mask’s own in some unwavering attempt to comprehend what was happening. It only made the connection of pressing flush into your body more rewarding.

The first audible sound was an ecstatic giggle from his throat, one that could blow the whole lid off his entrance and his identity should you be able to recall what “Jed Olsen” from work sounded like, remember anything in the brief interactions you two shared…

You wouldn’t, and he knew that when you choked out, not sure what to even ask first, “Who- What are you doing!?”

He nodded quaintly down at you. “Something I should’ve done a long, long time ago.”

On your back, you really could've found the leverage to wiggle him off. Still, when the steady throb protruding from a pair of dark jeans and curtained with the robe touched your chest, it disarmed you.

It only got worse for your composure as his hand trailed between your breasts, and he then realized a knife wasn't ready for that spot yet. You jerked your hips against his own slightly, a meek warning with no bite that was met with his gloved hands touching them next, and you felt the way his palms were shaking. The shudder from your abdomen was involuntary.

Danny wasn't untrained, just at the hilt.

You shuddered, a hard swallow fighting gravity and the threat of that hunter’s knife now being grabbed from the floor, touching your bare thigh in an idle drag. It was in sync with a gentle motion he was making with his hips. One could assume it was just him trying to keep balance, but you saw his free hand go to his belt and start undoing it, and you sucked in a breath again. Breathing was all you could really bring yourself to do.

“Not gonna stop me?” He asked with a huff, opening his hands with the blade rolling against his palm idly. You murmured something intelligible, bracing the floor as his thighs squeezed the outside of your hips. He froze, a second of breath before grabbing you by your shirt collar, the knife sawing into the hem of your collar and making you jerk back. Still, you didn't scream as he tore through it, and let its messy remains fall behind you, a weird bump in the smooth floor that only gave you a little more discomfort.

"Awe, I appreciate you keeping your voice down." He cooed, idly pulling his pants zipper down and freeing himself. His cock fit between your tits, a slow motion that went up the middle portion between your stomach and your chest, a slow slide up your sternum, and then back down in an experimental pull. You didn't look down on the first thrust, but the second time warm metal brushed your face. A Jacob's Ladder twitched slightly at getting some attention.

The noise you let out, appalled by your own enjoyment, got him to falter again. You felt his own in the way he had to roll his shoulders. You turned your head, looking at the closest thing to you on the kitchen floor and only seeing the stretch of tile. The cool sensation was appreciated against your face, if nothing else.

“Come on, [Y/N].” The weight of your name, your actual name, made your throat tighten, meeting eyes with him in a snap of your head. This couldn’t be a stranger, a sure tone as he insisted with another trace of your searing thigh with a nitrile roll of texture up your skin, touching the marks of the knife and making you grit your teeth from behind shaking lips.

“You could at least try.”

He had to start pointing his energy into something that wasn't going to leave you in a pool of blood on the floor, take the urge back into sliding his dick in between your breasts and look down at it rather than you. He wondered if you could tell where his eyes were, and from where you saw it between the fight to keep from actually getting pleasure from this, he just looked focused on either you or what he was doing to you.

Still, you couldn't deny the weight of the assailant against your stomach, the way he pinned your legs together with his own in something far, far from chaste. You could do more, your unbound arms and hands could push him. Your free legs could come up, push a knee into his stomach, right in that cock that was helping itself to your bare skin. Still, he let a choked noise slip as his pace went a little quicker, and he then snapped the mask to face you more clearly, show he was looking up at your face.

"Hey, be a sweetheart for me." He asked, one hand on his own thigh and the other still holding the knife, the flat side of the blade tapping your shoulder and making you flinch slightly. "I have a proposal to make this easier for both of us. You can either hold your tits together for me, or I'm going to go ahead and tie them up."

You furrowed your brow, and he then warned you, "Five seconds." Quickly, and to your own disgust, your hands came up to cover your collarbone, arms and elbows squeezing together to give him what he wanted. The first slide between them was a little rough, skin catching before pre-cum from a few more thrusts made it easier.

He was far too worked up already, and more so than you. It only made the recognition that he was busting and able to leave before you even recognized what had happened a goal he was desperate for. The weeks of watching you from afar, getting to feel that jaw and those eyes on him was almost too much.

"Jesus," It wasn't reverent, it wasn't grateful. The first intelligible word out of your mouth was a plea, and it only made Danny stop thinking and falter as cum started to spurt out in the middle point between your breasts, deep between the valley. Bending almost perpendicular to you, the mask was inches away from your face, and you let out a gentle moan to the sensation.

One of your hands had his cum on the finger, and it was an insane move on your part, but what better way to try to end this than to scare him? You lifted a finger to your lips, and he saw your tongue lick up its length, his labored breathing stilled and the knife scratched tiled floor as he fumbled with it.

He had to shake out his hands to keep from letting them snug around your neck, scoffing under his breath to keep from snarling like an animal. He reached for the tape that he had placed on the counter in his setup, a loss of pressure on your body but your head was spinning to fast to take advantage of that, heaving breaths and trying not to make more noise as he ripped a strip off.

“Oh. Do you think you’re good enough to taste me?” He pressed the cool tape to your mouth, eliciting a shocked noise that you had been holding back until now. He leaned in, tilting his head and the chin of the mask brushing yours in a callous scratch of plastic. He turned attention to your wrists, taking them off your chest and pulling them down to sit on your still clothed abdomen. The rope had been fastened to his belt, weighing down off his hip from him unbuckling it. He unraveled it, still shivering from the exertion as he got them around your wrists.

“When do you think you’ll get that chance again. Huh, slut?” You just gawked, lips pushing against the tape, unable to answer and unable to consider what the fuck he meant by that. He played around with the idea of getting to see you again, “Next week? Next month, maybe?”

The rubber nitrile of his glove framed one side of your face as he then spoke in a more severe voice again, “Because I’m not done with you, [Y/N]. Not tonight.” He laughed when you let out a noise, trying to sound horrified. It became real as he finally slipped under your waistband, the cozy shorts and underwear barely acknowledged by his hand as he found your entrance in no time.

“Think you can wait?” He asked, hearing a more confident, more aroused noise from you from behind the tape as you rolled your head. He slid his middle in, the pressure along with all the fiddling he had been doing to stop himself from the choking, the tearing, only got his limp dick twitching slightly and another one going in with it after a few prods.

He worked until that shudder from your lower body came again, and you were in an even string of moaning under him, the mask all you saw in shy glimpses as you had to quickly forget this situation and let the pleasure take you down. When you clenched hard around his hand, he then pulled out, and the tears were quick to form in your eyes as you put on a pathetic display, glaring at him as your bound hands slapped him in the chest.

"I think I can wait." He giggled, like he was in trouble with you as he yanked the rope from your wrists, gathering it up as he stood again. You used the leverage to touch your face, and he suddenly knelt down.

"Don't cry, baby." He reminded you, a gentle tap on your face as he then paused to cup your cheek, rub the remnants of your slick against your face, "I'll be back for you."

He tore the duct tape off, a glance down to make sure the cum on your chest was dried and not going to be enjoyed in a way that mattered again before doing it. The wail was the first and only noise that had gone above confused moans and murmurs, and it was more involuntary from the quick motion, the pain of an industrial tool used on such gentle skin.

You caught a look at yourself in the reflection of the knife as he quickly took it from the floor and stood a final time. There was blood on your face, too, and looking down you saw he had done more than just dance the blade of his knife across your inner thighs.

He was already rushing out again, closing the door behind him in an insanely casual move, so you took the moment of utter shock and still on the floor of your own house to pull your leg into better view.

[How did he know my name starts with a D? / Why did he carve a very clear, concise letter "D" amongst the other marks?" ]

[kyouka-supremacy]

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[devosin]

GRIM ACCIDENTLY OUTING YOUR CRUSH ON HIM !! . . grim accidently blurting out how much you love the dorm head . .

gender neutral reader / fluff / crack taken seriously / mutual pinning

a/n: this has been rotting in my idea list for like over 2 years, enjoy! og account: @/cupids-chamber

MALLEUS DRACONIA

Malleus was surprised, when you had decided to tag along on his Gargoyle Study Club meeting, however he was ecstatic with the idea of you joining him, while he talked about his favorite things. Truly an exciting time, talking to his favorite person about his favorite things!

For once he didn't quite mind having no one at the meetings, because he got to spend time with you—and Grim . . he's there too . . In fact, Malleus kind of finds it endearing he stuck around this long with you, listening to him, despite clearly not being interested in the topic.

Malleus walked around, showing you his collection of gargoyles—explaining the extensive history of each one, and you listened, throughout his explanations which most people would find extremely boring, though seeing how passionate he was about the subject, you couldn't help but be engaged.

You followed along behind him, as he showed you each one, Grim on your shoulder, yawning rather loudly—clearly bored with the past hour, where you dragged him into Malleus's club meeting, which you passed off as a 'morale' thing to do—when he can clearly tell you did this because you liked him.

"Ah . . I have something I want to give to you"—Malleus shifted through the drawers, looking for the miniature gargoyles he had made for the both of you (well just you, he figured grim would appreciate something more . . edible . . he got tuna.).

Grim leans in closer to you, whispering rather loudly, so much so you knew Malleus could hear, "henchman, how much longer . . my whiskers are turning white here!!", he whispered all bit dramatically, and you sighed internally, mumbling a soft, "Grim not right now", in response.

After a few more moments of silence, Grim leaned back, and exclaimed, "You seriously like this guy, he likes gargoyles more then I like tuna—"

Grim paused, realizing he spoke a little more than he really should've. . . and Malleus paused, dropping whatever was in his hand to the floor, turning blankly at you, looking at you with a dumbfounded look on his face . . (he's processing, give him a minute.)

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Riddle isn't the kind of person to intrude in a conversation, especially when he knows he isn't wanted there (debatable)—He also doesn't enjoy listening in on others private conversations . . However, this case is different, obviously he has the right to be curious when you're being so very loud, I mean practically everyone can hear you!

His heels clicked on the floors, as he raced through the halls—Riddle doesn't often find himself in a rush, but lunch had started 5 minutes ago, and he was running behind on his schedule.

His hands gripped his notes tightly, and just as he was about to make a turn, he heard his name . .—Riddle stopped in his tracks, looking around, in order to find the source of the noise, that's when he spotted you . . and grim, who was speaking rather loudly.

Now, Riddle swears he's not purposefully ease-dropping, but Grim was loud. . he was bound to overhear anyways! . . Well that's what he'll keep telling himself, in order to ease the guilt of listening in on your private conversations.

"Riddle?!" Grim exclaimed, waving his little paws around in shock, "out of everyone henchman, you like that—", you covered Grim's mouth with your hand, whispering loudly in response, "Why don't you tell the whole school I like Riddle, Grim?!?"

Riddle paused in response to that, 'you liked him? . . as in romantically? . .', Riddle loses his grip on his notes, in shock. Papers scattered the floor with a thud, and before Riddle could fix the mess he had accidently caused, you turned, and faced him . . This is gonna be one long confessio—conversation.

VIL SCHOENHEIT

See, Vil isn't the kind of person to believe in a rumor or petty gossip that he hears across the halls of Pomefiore, because if there's drama then Octavinelle and Pomefiore are the absolute first at the crime scene—He's well aware of how a small lie and a fake rumor can go and ruin someone's life, which is why Vil prefers information from the source.

That being said, Vil does enjoy gossip—and at time's he draws his own conclusion to a topic, and keeps it to himself, he's on the middle line of it all, but you bet, he'll 'coincidentally' overhear all the drama going on at your family reunion but don't worry, he's amazing with secrets. (Headcanon: he probably pretends not to like gossip, but still listens and reacts when Rook tells him what he overheard)

And this is why Vil couldn't help it but approach Grim when he heard him complaining begrudgingly to himself, about you kicking him out and making him run 'errands' . . which were more likely then not, a distraction.

"Oh it's nothing, henchman just needed privacy . . ya . .", Vil raises a brow, and Grim should've shut down, but when a can of good tuna got involved . . Well a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Grim took the can of tuna from Vil, "They're preparing a confession letter", Grim spoke and Vil couldn't help but feel a pang of betrayal at the revelation, how could they like someone else . . When he's breathing! (At least wait till he's cremated, like gosh . . So as long as his body exists, even if he's not breathing, you should love him frfr #hawkmothcore for the win) . .

"To who?", Vil asks, curiously, and Grim stares at him blankly, "I'll give you another can to go—" he offers, "Gimme it right now, and I'll tell ya'".

Vil sighs, handing him another can, "The letter is for ya', henchman likes you—".

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Now normally, Leona could care less as to what goes on in the botanical garden, while he takes a nap there (mainly because he's too asleep to register his surroundings), because even with his acute sense of hearing, rarely anyone visits, and if they do, they only do so to take a break or catch a breather, or to just immerse themselves in the garden as a sort of escape, so it's usually all quiet and soothing, for the most part.

However, some days he wasn't so lucky, be it students randomly popping in so they could skip class, or to have a picnic, or that random couple, who thinks it'd be a cute and adorable idea to have a date in the botanical garden because no-one goes there, and it's so secretive and the mystery excites them. (he hates, he fucking hates it, he's the biggest hater there is, he despises all couples equally.)

Leona was all comfortable, half-asleep, his eyes were closed as he was ready to just get some shut-eye, sleep for a couple hours—until, he heard footsteps, rather loud ones . . Now, he normally doesn't care, and to be frank, he doesn't care right now, he figured they're taking a small stroll, and will stop . . eventually. (delusional king!!)

"Grim this is ridiculous—", Leona's ears perked up as he heard your voice, now that had his eyes wide open, looking around for you . . Well he's not that curious, as to what you find 'ridiculous' (he's very curious, he needs to know each detail, tell him everything), but he does hope you expand on it.

"C'mon henchmen! The best way to get over someone is confess and get closure?", Grim was confused himself, with whatever he was saying, "Oh yea Grim, which class did you learn that from, romance 101 with Crowley?—", Leona snorts.

"No actually I asked Trien!" Grim says . . a bit too confidently for comfort, "Grim . . I don't think you should be proud of that", you point out.

"Just tell Leona you like him? He's not gonna kill ya"

". . ." Leona froze, . . you liked him? I mean yea that makes sense, he's really attractive, but you—Liked him? . .

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Azul states that he doesn't favor you that much—although the twins will argue otherwise, especially since Azul got you to taste test the new Monstro Lounge menu items, before he released it . . before even tasting it himself, . . and maybe he didn't want to let it slip that he liked you only—because he ended up also inviting Grim to taste the food with you—And with Crowley's payments . . well you were more than willing to accept free food.

To be fair, Azul is aware you do get a bit more special treatment, and deep-down he's well aware he likes you, but confronting his feelings? in this economy? . . not gonna happen . . He'd rather you assume he's a cat person who likes Grim, because clearly that's what you think of him, since he's so pretty and smart and good at covering his feelings. (He's not, he's boyfailing a little too close to the sun.)

Azul had everything set up—and by that he means, he had a plan and got other people to set it up for him, according to said plan, because he couldn't give away the fact that he had planned it himself, no . . that would make it seem like he was into you, and he'd rather die then you know that—In fact, he'd rather have his tentacles inked dry and cut off, fried and dipped in his ink, and shoved so far down his throat he chokes and dies before that even remotely comes close to happening.

You sat beside Azul, as he asked asked you about the food, and you gave responses that he mostly liked, . . well you did have some comments about the blue cheese rigatoni . . But to be fair, he entrusted the blue cheese to Floyd . .

Grim was half-way through his food, when he randomly spoke, with his mouth rather full, "This is amazing . . I can see why you like this guy henchman . .—" Azul paused and he practically stopped blinking, if his ears could perk up, then it would right now, "—for once your taste in men . . has good justification henchm—" Grim only paused when he recognized your glare, and only then did he realize how badly he fucked up . . "I'm not getting the good tuna for awhile . . am I?"

KALIM AL-ASIM

Kalim doesn't usually come in without an appointment (lies), or before informing you beforehand (lies on top of lies), and he doesn't really like invading your personal time (and lies again) . . at least not knowingly, but today was different . . he wanted to go somewhere with you! It's a surprise, and surely you'd appreciate him randomly popping into your dorm and dragging you outside, in the sunlight like an upstanding citizen and friend.

Kalim settles on the couch in the lounge of Ramshackle, stretching his arms out as he gets comfortable. All the while, Grim stares him down, . . something Kalim noticed off the get-go, "Why are you looking at me like that?", he calls out, confused and a tad bit unnerved at the blatant piercing stare.

"You're the one henchman likes, right? . .—what's your credit score? . . how many cans of tuna are we talking—"

Kalim paused, ". . . what?", he asks blankly, still paused at the first half of Grim's sentence, enough to not notice or take offense to the rest of his words and questions. "Why can't ya' hear me . . ?! I asked what's your credit scor—", grim responds, only to be cut-off mid-sentence by Kalim "BEFORE THAT!"

"That you're the person henchman lik—", Grim pauses as he hears your voice, and as you enter the room, Grim realizes his mistake, "Fuck."

"Kalim act natural!" Grim asks, as he goes back into his usual stance, but as he see's Kalim not moving, . . "who am I kidding . . no one can get shit through to ya' in one go . . I'm fucked."

IDIA SHROUD

Idia had his gaming equipment set up for two, well it would be three—but paws and controllers isn't the most fun thing to play around with, therefore Grim has opted to watching, instead of playing. Which he gets bored of rather fast, and well Ortho preferred to watch his older brother then play, or do normal kid things like advanced calculus.

Although Idia didn't really mind that, he enjoyed playing with you, because you were a really good challenge, a true gamer! . . And with newer games, he found that you listened and got the hang of it fast, and it was fun helping you grow your account on his favorite games, and it was also fun listening to you ramble about your favorite games from your world.

"So yea in genshin impact—", you rambled on and on about the Fontaine chapter, and about the 'archon' which was like the great seven, and how sad her storyline was, Idia dabbled in Lore from time to time, though he really found it amusing how you took the time to describe everything, you really helped immerse him in the storyline, and to be honest, sometimes he could imagine he was playing the game with you.

"—and then if you went into this specific area you could actually hear her cry . . OH oh! . . and when Neuvillette cried, it would like downpour so hard . . ", you continued rambling, and Idia would just listen, so much so that you guys completely forgot the game you were actually playing . . which seemed to upset Grim, who wanted to watch.

"Yea yea . . henchmen, we get it was sad, and it's fun talking to the love of your life—but could we please have more playing and less talking!", Grim explained rather dramatically, his paws flinging up, only to be silenced when he saw the two of you silent, looking at each other . . and then Idia's hair burst up in bright pink flames . .

commissions / discord server / comfort letters

@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[pin-k-ink]

mania // hinata shoyo

tw ⇢ childhood friends to lovers, possessive!hinata, borderline obsessive behavior, teasing, squirting, cunnilingus, manhandling, dirty talk, unprotected sex, grinding, hinata takes a picture of you while you’re covered in cum

wc ⇢ 8.5k

The blaring of your alarm jolted you awake, the last wisps of a strange dream quickly dissipating. Groaning, you reached over to silence the incessant beeping. Another day, another monotonous routine to slog through.

As you raised yourself up on your elbows, you noticed a moving truck parked outside your window. Huh, someone new must be moving into the apartment next door that had been vacant for months. You supposed you should introduce yourself as the neighbor at some point.

You watched with detached interest as a figure emerged from the truck, hoisting a box into their arms with ease despite its considerable size. They wore a baseball cap pulled low, shielding most of their face from view. Suddenly, the person paused, turning to look in your direction. Even obscured by the cap's brim, you registered a pair of distinctly familiar bright eyes that sparked an old warmth within you.

Could it be...? No, it couldn't possibly...

As if hearing your internal questioning, the figure reached up with their free hand to remove the cap. Instantly, you gasped softly in recognition at the sunlight catching on his tousled orange locks and the gentle, friendly features - those of your childhood friend and neighbor Hinata Shoyo whom you hadn't seen in nearly a decade since his family moved away.

But as you drank in the rest of him, you realized this was not the Hinata you remembered. His compact frame had broadened substantially into toned, powerful muscles that rippled beneath his shirt as he moved. Faint tan lines gave a glimpse of the athlete's build lying underneath. Your gaze lingered perhaps a moment too long, feasting on the sight.

It was then that a myriad of conflicting emotions welled up - shock at his unexpected return after so many years, happiness to see your dear friend again, but also a growing flutter of something else in the pit of your stomach you couldn't quite identify. The tiny, energetic boy you fondly recalled was gone, unmistakably.

When Hinata's penetrating stare met yours once more, the intensity simmering there rattled you to your core. It was as if he were seeing straight through you, into you, assessing your reaction to his transformation in minute detail. You looked away sharply, heat creeping up your neck as your heartbeat quickened for reasons you didn't fully understand.

One thing was for certain - the reunion with your long lost friend was about to make your life anything but monotonous...

You stood there, still trying to process that the tall, chiseled man before you was actually little Hinata Shoyo, when he suddenly broke into a blinding smile and started bounding towards your door. Before you could even react, your front door burst open and powerful arms were enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug.

"(Y/N)! I can't believe it's really you!" Hinata's deep voice reverberated through you.

As he squeezed you tight against his firm body, his large hands splayed across your back, one slipping perhaps a little too low without meaning to. You gasped at the unbidden thrill the innocent contact sent through you. Get a grip! This was your childhood friend, for god's sake.

Pulling back finally, you drank in Hinata's features again up close - the sharpened jawline, intense eyes that seemed to glitter with unrestrained joy and something else you couldn't quite place, kiss-swollen lips quirked into a roguish grin.

"Shoyo! I...wow, you've really..." Your voice trailed off as heat flooded your cheeks.

His grin widened mischievously, as if he knew exactly what you were flustered about. "Yeah, I've changed a bit since we were kids, huh? The big leagues will do that."

There was a self-assured cockiness there that the old Hinata definitely lacked. His hands were still planted firmly on you, his thumbs tracing maddeningly slow circles against your sides that had you struggling not to squirm.

"Hey, why don't you come over in a bit after I get settled?" he asked, that molten gaze boring into you. "We have a decade to catch up on, after all."

You couldn't be imagined the darker undercurrent, the subtle heat behind his words and body language. This reunited friend dynamic was quickly veering into dangerous territory. Still, you found yourself nodding dumbly in agreement before he released you finally.

As you watched Hinata retreat back towards the moving truck, you realized with a start that he moved with the same fiery confidence and intensity he always radiated on the court - except this time, it was directed solely at you. A shiver ran down your spine at the implications.

What had once been an innocent reunion between childhood friends was rapidly becoming anything but. You didn't have the slightest clue just how obsessively Hinata's desires had been simmering underneath the surface for you all these years.

A few hours later, you found yourself standing at Hinata's door, your nerves a bundled mess of anticipation and trepidation. You had changed outfits twice, uncertain why you felt the need to put in any extra effort for hanging out with an old friend. But the simmering tension from earlier had you feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious.

Taking a steadying breath, you rapped your knuckles against the door. It opened almost immediately, as if Hinata had been waiting right on the other side. He greeted you with that same earth-shatteringly warm smile and ushered you inside.

"Make yourself at home! I just put the kettle on for some tea if you'd like."

You nodded, drinking in the neat but still half-unpacked surroundings. Pictures were already hung up - most showcasing Hinata's impressive volleyball accolades, but a few candid shots of the two of you together as kids. A pang of nostalgia hit you seeing your grinning young selves, so blissfully ignorant of what the years would bring.

"Those were the days, huh?" Hinata's deep voice rumbled beside your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You jumped slightly, not realizing how close he had gotten without you noticing. He was radiating warmth like a furnace, his clean, crisp scent enveloping you and cranking up your pulse.

"Y-yeah, I can't believe how long it's been," you managed, hating how flustered you sounded.

Hinata held your gaze a beat too long, as if studying you, before thankfully the tea kettle's whistle pierced the tension. He flashed you another knee-weakening grin before brushing past you towards the kitchen, his arm grazing your side ever so lightly.

You sank onto the couch, trying to collect yourself as Hinata pottered about preparing the tea, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having on you. This was just Hinata, your innocent best friend growing up...right? You had to be misreading the heated looks, the weighted silences, the proximity.

By the time he returned with two steaming mugs, placing one in your shaking hands, you had mostly regained your composure. Hinata took a seat beside you, his broad shoulders bumping against yours in the tight quarters. The smell of his intoxicating cologne clouded your senses again.

"So..." He took a long sip, those hauntingly amber eyes flickering over you from beneath his lashes. "What did I miss while I was gone?"

And so the two of you fell back into familiar banter and catching up, the years seeming to slip away with every laugh and anecdote shared. But you couldn't shake the feeling there was an underlying current of tension just beneath the surface - a raging storm of want and obsession Hinata could barely contain, no matter how friendly his words.

He hung on your every word, body angled towards you eagerly as you recounted pieces of your life since he'd been gone. You tried not to stare too openly at the way his toned forearms flexed as he gesticulated or how his shirt stretched deliciously across his muscular chest with each breath. This was torture in the sweetest way.

At one point, Hinata reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a beat too long and sending sparks ricocheting through you. His gaze had darkened an unmistakable few shades, pupils blown wide. You realized with a start your faces were mere inches apart, close enough for you to taste the lingering tea on his lips if you just...

The afternoon drifted by in a warm haze as you and Hinata continued catching up, swapping stories and reminiscing about old times. With each anecdote and laugh shared, you felt the lingering awkwardness dissipate as the familiar comfort and ease of your childhood friendship reasserted itself.

"Oh my god, do you remember the time we tried to camp out in your backyard?" Hinata chuckled, his eyes crinkling in that achingly nostalgic way. "We didn't even make it past 10 pm before you were crying because you thought you heard a bear!"

You gasped in mock indignation, swatting his arm. "I was 8 years old! Of course I was terrified! You're the one who insisted we could survive in the wilderness by ourselves."

"Hey, I still maintain we were doing pretty well until your dad came out and dragged us inside," he countered with a smirk.

Shaking your head at the memory, you couldn't stop the fond smile from stretching across your face. Those careless days of wandering the neighborhood and dreaming up adventures seemed like an entire lifetime ago now. An unexpected pang of wistfulness tugged at your heart seeing how much had changed - how much Hinata himself had changed into this ruggedly handsome man oozing quiet confidence.

As if reading your melancholic turn of thought, Hinata's expression softened almost imperceptibly. Reaching out, his thumb gently grazed your cheek, lingering on the cusp of something more intimate. You fought the urge to turn into his touch, to chase that fleeting connection.

"I missed you, you know," he murmured, molten eyes roving your features as if mapping every curve, every laugh line. "After we moved away, not a day went by I didn't think about you."

The raw honesty, the undisguised yearning in his voice made your breath hitch in your throat. What did he mean by that? You wanted to ask, suddenly hyperaware of the searing heat building between your bodies where your legs were pressed together on the couch.

Before you could find your words, Hinata dropped his hand, the moment breaking. He flashed you a brilliant smile, but you could have sworn you detected a fleeting look of frustration, of wanting more. But the instant was gone in a blink.

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "Tell me more about what you've been up to recently! Any relationships I need to intimidate the guy over?"

And just like that, you found yourself diverted onto a new conversational path, the flirtatious tension fizzling out into easy banter once more. But you couldn't quite shake the feeling that something deeper, something hungrier lurked behind Hinata's every glance, every casual brush of contact between you two.

Part of you was afraid to give in and explore where this was leading, this dizzying chemical pull between you and your newly reformed friend. Another part wondered if you were imagining things, projecting some deeper meaning onto innocent friendliness.

But the largest part of you, the part that recognized the same blazing intensity from Hinata that used to set gymnasiums alight when he took the court...that part was purely intrigued to see just how far this obsession could go if you fanned the flames rather than backing away.

As the conversation continued to flow naturally between you two, you started to relax more into the familiar camaraderie. Hinata's boisterous energy and lack of filter were still very much intact, to your amusement.

"So then this rookie on the team tries to mess with me during practice," Hinata was saying animatedly, "Acting all cocky because he's some hotshot striker right out of university. But he doesn't realize who he's messing with!"

His eyes flashed with a competitive fire that made something stir low in your belly. You could easily envision the intimidating aura he must command on the court these days.

"Well, what happened next?" you prompted, leaning forward with rapt attention.

Hinata flashed you a wicked grin. "Let's just say he learned very quickly not to underestimate the flight patterns of my freak quick strikes."

There was an edge of cockiness, of arrogance coloring his deep voice that you had definitely never heard from him before. This supreme self-assuredness, this awareness of his own prowess was utterly intoxicating coming from the usually humble, sometimes bumbling boy you remembered.

"You should have seen the way he was gaping at me after I spiked that ball right past his face," Hinata continued, leaning back to throw an arm over the back of the couch behind you. "The look on his face was priceless."

His movement brought you two even closer together, close enough for the heady scent of his aftershave to cloud your senses. You tried not to visibly react as the back of his hand came to rest against the nape of your neck, sending tingles down your spine.

"I'll have to take you to one of my games sometime," he murmured, eyes darkening in a way that had nothing to do with the story he'd been telling. "I think you'd enjoy watching me hit the court...get a taste for my stamina and power up close."

The words seemed loaded with innuendo, dropping into the silence like lead weights strangling the air from the room. You swallowed thickly, frozen under the banked intensity of his stare. Was this really still just playful banter to him or was there an undeniable heat simmering behind those amber eyes?

Hinata leaned in a few hateful inches closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke in a low rumble. "I have a feeling you'd appreciate the view, among other things."

The implication in his tone was clear, setting your already heated skin aflame. This was not the innocent boy you had once played pretend with in your backyard. The man sitting before you now was all bravado and unrestrained desire barely contained beneath the surface.

Just as your mind began to reel, Hinata pulled back abruptly with a laugh, the spellbinding tension shattering. "But enough about me, what about you? Any hot dates or romantic prospects I should know about as your best friend?"

You could only gape at him, utterly thrown by theiplodic shift as he regarded you expectantly. Clearly this new Hinata was a master at skirting the line between propriety and inappropriate suggestion, holding you in a constant state of off-kilter want.

Part of you was uncomfortable with wherever this was leading, fearful of crossing boundaries you could never uncross with your childhood friend. But the other part, the growing part, was undeniably intrigued to call his bluff and finally unravel the obsessive beast you saw lurking beneath his careful words and heated stares.

Licking your lips, you managed to find your voice at last. "No, no one serious at the moment. But I'll be sure to let you know if that changes."

The blatant challenge glittered in your eyes, tossing the ball back into Hinata's court now. His pupils flared, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he studied you. It was clear the gauntlet had been thrown between you two - the only question was which of you would be the first to stop playing games and give in.

The charged tension continued to build between you and Hinata over the next few hours, every casual touch and weighted look laden with the promise of something more simmering just beneath.

His words became more boldly suggestive, clearly testing the boundaries to see how you would react. "You know, sometimes at night I still get flashes of the games we used to play as kids in your backyard," he mused at one point, amber eyes burning into you. "Except in my dreams, we were a little...older and the games became much more physical in nature."

You nearly choked on your drink, warmth flooding your cheeks. The blatant innuendo hung heavy in the air, daring you to either deflect or match his energy. Holding his heated stare, you replied evenly, "Is that so? I don't recall those kinds of games, but I'm certainly intrigued to learn the rules now."

A muscle flexed in Hinata's toned forearm where it rested on the back of the couch, the only visible sign of your words affecting him. His gaze darkened further, a low growl sounding in his throat that had your heartbeat thundering. For a moment, it seemed like the dam of restraint was about to break and he would finally act on the smoldering obsession written across every part of him.

But then the moment passed, that infuriatingly placid mask of friendly interest slipping back into place as if nothing had happened. "Well, maybe I'll have to show you sometime and refresh your memory," he said with a wink, so achingly casual.

The back and forth continued like this, each salacious comment and heated look slowly unraveling your nerves until finally you realized with a start that evening had begun creeping in through the windows.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize how late it had gotten," you murmured, disappointment and relief pooling in your chest. Part of you was grateful for the reprieve from the exquisite torture, while the other part ached to keep pushing to see how far Hinata would eventually take this.

"I should probably get going," you continued, standing up from the couch and trying not to look too affected. "But we'll have to do this again really soon, Shoyo. I've missed you."

You realized the truth in your own words as you said them. Despite the simmering tension and undercurrent of something darker lurking within Hinata, it felt so refreshingly wonderful to have your oldest friend back in your life again after all this time.

Hinata's expression softened at your parting words, something painfully tender flickering across his features before the hungry gaze returned. "Count on it. In fact..."

He rose as well, following you towards the door with those powerful, assured strides. You felt dwarfed beneath his towering height, pinned by the smoldering look he swept over your body. Reaching out, his calloused fingers grazed your arm, tracing upwards to curl around the back of your neck with unrestrained possessiveness.

Your breath hitched in your throat, trapped by the unyielding heat in his stare. He pulled you flush against the solid wall of his chest with a gentleness that somehow felt more frightening than outright aggression. You could feel every shuddering inhale, every thump of his hammering heart against your own ribcage.

"How about I walk you home?" Hinata husked, his lips a hair's breadth from yours now. "Make sure you get there safe?"

You could only mutely nod in acquiescence, all power of speech robbed by the delirious tension rapidly crescendoing around you both. His grip tightened ever so slightly against your nape, a clear undercurrent of possession in the deceptively simple request.

The walk back to your apartment building passed in a heated daze, the only sound your shaky breaths and the white noise roaring in your ears. Every nerve ending felt electrified under the weight of Hinata's domineering presence beside you. He was so close, the scent of his cologne and body heat making your head swim with visceral awareness of him.

When at last you reached your doorstep, you started to turn and bid him goodnight, but your words died on your lips as Hinata suddenly crowded you back against the door. His large palm slammed against the wood by your head with a bang, face ducking down to crash his lips against yours in a heated, untamed kiss.

A shocked gasp parted your lips, allowing his insistent tongue to delve deeper, staking its claim as he devoured you. You clutched the hard planes of his chest, knees turning to liquid at the unbridled desire, the feral obsession driving his fevered movements. This was not the chaste affection of childhood friends - this was a man's unyielding passion finding its voice at last.

Then, as abruptly as the searing kiss began, Hinata tore himself away. You slumped back against the door, chest heaving as if you'd just run a marathon, lips still tingling from the lingering heat of him. When you finally managed to pry your eyes open, Hinata was watching you with hooded eyes, body tense like a lion poised to pounce again.

But instead, he simply retreated a step backwards, the briefest flicker of a satisfied smirk playing across his swollen lips. "Goodnight, (Y/N)," he murmured in that deep, rasping timbre that had become your undoing. "Sleep well."

And with that, he turned and started back towards his apartment, leaving you a gasping, disheveled mess still slumped against your door in disbelief.

The next morning, you awoke feeling groggy and disoriented, as if emerging from some fevered dream. Fleeting fragments of memory ricocheted through your mind - the blazing heat of Hinata's kiss, the undeniable hunger in his touch, the gravelly timbre of his parting words that had you squirming restlessly through the night.

Surely that couldn't have been real...could it? Your fingers drifted up to ghost across your still-tingling lips, the phantom taste of him making a shiver chase down your spine. No, it was too visceral, too branded into your very bones to be anything but reality.

Which made Hinata's complete nonchalance when you finally ventured next door all the more confounding.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted you cheerfully after pulling open the door, seemingly oblivious to your rattled state. Not a single hair was out of place, every inch of him the picture of friendly affability, as if he hadn't ravaged you against that same door just hours before.

"I, uh, made some coffee if you want a cup?" he continued when you failed to respond, holding up the steaming mug in front of you. "Cream and sugar's on the counter."

You blinked dumbly, struggling to find your footing as Hinata brushed past you towards the kitchen, jostling your shoulder with his warmth. The familiar citrus notes of his body wash and subtle musk wafted over you, conspiring to make your head spin anew with half-remembered sensations.

Clearly seeing your frozen, flustered state, Hinata's brow furrowed slightly in concern as he regarded you. "You okay? You're looking a little...flushed."

His eyes slowly trailed down your body in an unhurried once-over, like a physical caress raising goosebumps across your heated skin. You fought not to squirm beneath that smoldering amber gaze, dark memories of its intensity looming over you threatening to unravel you completely.

Somewhere beneath the indifferent veil, you caught the brief flash of a knowing smirk playing across Hinata's full lips before it disappeared just as quickly.

"Sorry, I'm just...still waking up I guess," you managed to stammer out at last, averting your eyes.

"Well, wake up quickly then!" Hinata clapped you lightly on the shoulder, the innocent touch somehow loaded with suggestion. "I was thinking we could go on a hike together later and explore some of the old trails? For old time's sake."

His brilliant, sly grin was daring you to read between the lines. What fresh depravities might await you two alone on those "old trails"? The question hung unspoken but heavy between you as your tongue slicked unconsciously across your lower lip.

Hinata's eyes followed the movement hungrily, pupils flaring for the barest hint of a moment before regaining their innocuous sheen. Every part of him screamed he was a master at this game of plausible deniability.

"Only if you're feeling up for it, that is," he added smoothly, stepping close enough for his clean, heady scent to cloud your senses anew. A heavy-lidded look was cast your way, not quite a challenge but definitely dangling an unspoken promise of something more if you were brave enough to agree.

Your throat clicked in a dry swallow as you held his piercing gaze, vividly recalling the taste of his tongue in your mouth, the scorching brand of his hands on your body. There would be no going back once you stepped over this line with him, of that you were certain.

"You know what?" you murmured, leaning in until your lips were a hairsbreadth from brushing against the heated skin of his neck. You felt Hinata's pulse kick up in response, a low rumble vibrating from deep in his chest. "I think a nice long hike is exactly what I need to...clear my head."

As you pulled back, you allowed your eyes to trail brazenly down the corded lines of his throat, across the broad expanse of his chest, daring him to stop playing coy and claim what was rightfully his.

Hinata's eyes were molten fire, burning straight through what little restraint still remained between you two. There would be no more childish pining from afar or hollow games of making you wonder - this day in the wilderness would be about finally indulging the ravenous obsession that had simmered too long unchecked.

This time, there would be no going back to how things used to be. One way or another, you were about to get a firsthand taste of just how far Hinata's hunger for you could go when given the chance.

The hike started out innocuously enough, just two old friends exploring familiar trails and reminiscing about days gone by. The warm spring air and lush greenery surrounding you was almost enough to make you forget the raging wildfire of tension simmering between you and Hinata.

Almost, but not quite.

No matter how casual and lighthearted the conversation flowed, you were hyper-aware of every loaded glance, every "accidental" brush of contact searing straight through you. The memory of Hinata's searing kiss was branded into your very cells, stoking an insatiable yearning you hadn't felt in years.

You found yourself unable to meet his eyes for too long without getting lost in their molten depths, breath hitching at the banked intensity that promised so much more if you let it unfurl fully. Hinata seemed to revel in reducing you to a flustered wreck with little more than a heated stare or casual touch skating along your arm.

The atmosphere grew thicker the deeper you ventured into the secluded trails, a heavy silence blanketing you both as words fell away in favor of something else entirely. You could feel the obsessive pull between you cresting towards its inevitable peak.

It happened so fast when it finally snapped - one moment you were walking slightly ahead of Hinata on the narrow path, the next you felt a solid weight slamming into your back as he crowded you up against the nearest tree trunk. The breath punched from your lungs in a harsh gasp, but any noise was swallowed by Hinata's scorching kiss.

His large hands cradled your face in a punishingly tight grip, angling you backwards as he devoured you with the same unrestrained hunger from last night. You clutched the solid plates of his back as he pressed closer, the hard ridge of his cock grinding shamelessly against you.

There would be no preamble, no questioning what was happening between you two this time. The dam had finally burst and Hinata was claiming you as his obsession laid bare at last. When he finally wrenched his lips away with a guttural groan, you were both panting harshly.

"About damn time," was all he rasped out in that ruined timbre before crashing his mouth back against yours.

No more words needed to be exchanged after that. You simply gave yourself over to the onslaught of sensations - his calloused hands roaming hungrily, his hips rutting against you in primal undulations, his harsh pants scorching your neck as he blazed a trail of opened-mouth kisses downward.

Restraint and uncertainty shattered, nothing existed in this moment except for slaking the ravenous cravings that had smoldered between you both for far too long. Years of repressed obsession, of dark desires aching to be indulged, all came pouring out in a frenzy of tangled limbs and desperate caresses.

There would be no going back after this. You had awoken the unrestrained beast in Hinata and he was never letting you go again. But as his skilled fingers deftly divested you of your top and his solid weight pinned you to the forest floor, you found you had no single regret about succumbing so completely to his smoldering hunger.

The frenzied make-out rapidly descended into uncharted territory, hands grasping and exploring with reckless abandon as you both surrendered fully to the raging obsession. Hinata's broad frame was splayed over you, caging you against the forest floor as he rutted shamelessly into the cradle of your thighs.

You arched off the ground with a keening whine, nails raking down the corded muscles of his back as wet heat pooled between your legs. This was really happening - years of repressed yearning were about to finally find their release. Hinata growled deep in his chest, the scorching brand of his tongue searing its path along the slender column of your neck.

Just as you reached up to tug insistently at the hem of his shirt, desperate to divest the offending barrier and feel his searing skin against yours, Hinata suddenly froze. His harsh pants fanned across your flushed cheek as he drew back slightly, eyes glittering with some emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

Before you could even process what was happening, he rolled off of you in one abrupt, fluid movement. The sudden lack of his solid weight crushed you with its absence, leaving you splayed out and utterly wrecked on the forest floor as he rose to tower over you.

You could only gape up at him, chest heaving rapidly from your entwined state moments before. Hinata simply stood there drinking in the sight of you so thoroughly disheveled, eyes blazing with something that looked a lot like triumph etched across his sharp features.

After allowing the weighted silence to stretch tortuously, he bent down to retrieve your discarded top, holding it out to you without a single word. It was like emerging from a fever dream, the abrupt shift disorienting you even further.

You felt heat prickling across your skin as you shakily accepted the offered garment, struggling to cover your breasts with shaking hands. Hinata didn't so much as bat an eyelash, merely turning on his heel and continuing along the trail as if nothing had happened.

"You coming?" he tossed over his nonchalant shoulder after a few paces, as casual as could be.

Still sprawled there in stunned disbelief, you could only stare after him, mouth agape at the whiplash shift. Part of you was mortified at being left utterly debauched on the forest floor. But the larger part, the part that recognized a deliciously depraved game when you saw one, felt a reckless thrill starting to build.

So that was how Hinata wanted to play things - all heated frenzy one moment only to leave you aching and unfulfilled the next with that stoic nonchalance. Well, two could undoubtedly play at that game if that was the case.

Scrambling the rest of the way into a standing position, you hastened to follow after his retreating form. If Hinata thought he could get away with teasing you to the brink like that without some delightfully torturous form of retaliation, he had another thing coming.

By the time you managed to catch up, his expression was a mask of polite obliviousness, the smoldering heat from earlier carefully banked once more. Only the slightest quirk at the corner of his lips hinted that he was well aware of the effect he'd had on you.

"Lovely day for a hike, isn't it?" was all he said, smiling beatifically as you fell into step beside him.

You shot him a sidelong look, letting your eyes deliberately trail down the distinct bulge still tenting the front of his shorts. That innocent facade wouldn't last long once you decided to enact your vengeance, of that you were certain.

"The perfect day," you agreed lightly, gaze skating back up to meet his heavy-lidded stare.

Let the games begin.

The thick tension lingered heavily between you and Hinata in the days following your hike, neither of you acknowledging or discussing what had transpired on the secluded trail. You went about your routines and conversations as normal, but the undercurrent of unresolved desire simmered with every lingering glance and casual touch that felt electric.

Finally, you decided to invite Hinata over for a home-cooked dinner at your place a few nights later, hoping to find some release from the maddening tension. He arrived with that same nonchalant ease, not a hair out of place, as if he hadn't ravaged you against a tree trunk just days prior.

Dinner itself flowed smoothly, the two of you slipping back into familiar banter and catching up. But you didn't miss the way Hinata's piercing stare trailed over your body when he thought you weren't looking, or how his large hands seemed to linger whenever he passed you something.

"You know, I haven't stopped thinking about what happened on that trail," Hinata said abruptly during a lull in conversation. His tone was conversational, but the smoldering look he fixed you with was anything but casual.

You felt your throat go dry under his heated appraisal. "Oh? And what's there to think about?" you managed to reply, keeping your expression carefully neutral despite your rabbiting pulse.

Hinata's lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk, clearly seeing through your nonchalance. He leaned in closer, braced forearms on the table bringing his face mere inches from yours as he lowered his voice to an intimate rumble.

"Don't play coy, you know exactly what I mean. I meant it when I said I've been waiting years for that moment, to finally get my hands on you like I've craved."

His words struck you like a physical caress, raising goosebumps along your heated skin as you fought not to squirm. The raw honesty, the undisguised obsession burning in Hinata's molten gaze made your head spin.

"I've fantasized about you more times than I can count," he continued in that same low timbre laden with promise. "Imagining what you'd look like splayed out underneath me, writhing and whimpering for more while I took you apart piece by piece."

You swallowed hard, suddenly regretting trying to maintain pretenses of normalcy between you two. This clearly was anything but a normal situation – the powerful, athletic man before you was practically vibrating with years' worth of repressed hunger and fixation.

"So no, I haven't stopped thinking about finally claiming what's mine," Hinata concluded, holding your stare captive with smoldering intensity. "And I won't stop until I've had my fill, until you recognize you've belonged to me all along whether you realized it yet or not."

There was no questioning his blunt words, no interpreting the blatant obsession and dark undercurrents driving him now. Hinata had been pushed to the brink, and he was done with subtlety. You were his all-consuming fixation, the object of his ultimate hunger.

And from the way his hooded eyes trailed over your lips, he was making it abundantly clear he had no intentions of stopping until that appetite was finally sated, no matter how long it took.

The heavy silence stretched between you and Hinata, the weight of his ardent confession hanging thick in the air. His burning stare pinned you in place, demanding a reaction even as your brain struggled to process his blunt words and undeniable obsession.

Before you could formulate a response, Hinata abruptly shoved away from the table and closed the distance between you in two long strides. Powerful arms encircled your waist, hauling you flush against the searing wall of his chest as he captured your lips in a scorching, desperate kiss.

You made a muffled noise of surprise against his mouth, but it quickly melted into undisguised want as the dizzying heat of him overwhelmed your senses. This time there was no restraint, no coy suggestion - just Hinata taking with the same unrestrained obsession he had promised.

His large hands roamed hungrily over your curves, bunching the fabric of your top as he angled your head to deepen the frenzied kiss. You clutched at the straining muscles of his back, whimpering at the solid planes you could feel flexing beneath your palms with each roll of his hips grinding shamelessly against you.

Hinata's harsh growl of approval vibrated against your lips before he seized the opportunity to lick inside, tasting and claiming you with fervent sweeps of his tongue. You melted helplessly back against the solid oak of the table digging into your lower back, utterly at his mercy.

There would be no more feigned nonchalance, no more skirting the issue driving this raging obsession between you two. Not when you could feel the undeniable ridge of Hinata's arousal rutting against your pelvis, or the wet heat of him leaving a searing trail down the vulnerable column of your neck.

"Hinata...we shouldn't—ah!" Whatever feeble protest you tried to voice was swallowed by his searing mouth devouring you once more.

"Don't try to deny this, don't try to pretend this hasn't been leading here all along," he all but growled when he finally tore his lips away, pinning you captive with eyes blazing like molten amber. "I'm done with games and holding back. You're mine, whether you can admit it to yourself yet or not."

His calloused fingers deftly worked at the buttons of your top, divesting you of the garment in one smooth tug as he bared your tingling flesh to his smoldering gaze. You shuddered, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed and vulnerable you were beneath his ravenous stare.

But any shred of self-consciousness was forgotten the next instant as Hinata dipped his head, fevered mouth searing a path downwards across your flushed chest. Your breath stuttered in your lungs as he reached the peak of your breast, suckling hard enough to leave a mark before soothing the sting with his tongue.

You couldn't contain the moan that spilled from your lips, the visceral pleasure and aching heat too intense to remain silent. Hinata rumbled his approval, calloused hands gripping your hips in a punishing hold as he continued his relentless onslaught.

The searing trail he blazed over your trembling body was unrelenting, leaving a map of open-mouthed kisses and love bites in his wake. His teeth nipped at the soft flesh of your stomach, followed by the soothing swipe of his tongue and then the graze of his nose as he inhaled your scent.

Every sense was drowning in him - the searing heat of his palms, the heady citrus notes of his cologne, the low growls emanating from deep in his chest as he slowly drove you mad with sensation.

You could feel the throbbing ache growing between your thighs, the telltale dampness soaking your panties. There was no disguising your arousal from him now, no pretending the raw desire coursing through your veins was anything less than the truth.

Hinata was a man possessed, his fixation driving him onward as he dropped to his knees, yanking down your leggings and underwear in one smooth movement. You felt a rush of cool air hit your exposed center, the sudden vulnerability sending a shockwave of goosebumps rippling across your heated skin.

The breath punched from your lungs as Hinata surged forward, burying his face between your legs without warning. You cried out, head dropping back with a thunk against the unforgiving wood of the table as pleasure jolted through you.

He wasted no time, licking a broad stripe up your center before suckling on your clit, making your knees buckle beneath you. All you could do was clutch the short strands of his hair for purchase, gasping and keening with every sweep of his talented tongue.

Hinata seemed just as lost in the frenzy as you, grunts of pleasure reverberating through your very core as he devoured you whole. You could feel his strong arms gripping your hips, pinning you in place while his thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your hipbones.

The sight of him kneeling before you, head buried between your thighs and feasting on your wet cunt with single-minded determination was too much. The white-hot pleasure rapidly crested, threatening to send you hurtling over the edge at any moment.

Your moans grew louder, fingers tightening in Hinata's hair as your climax neared. You felt his lips curve into a smirk against your slick flesh, clearly recognizing how close you were. Then, just as your entire body was coiled tight as a bowstring, poised to snap, Hinata withdrew.

"Wha—why did you stop?" you panted out in a whine, hips canting forward in desperation.

You were so achingly close, could feel the phantom pressure of his tongue where it had just been. You were right on the cusp, teetering on the edge. One more swipe of his skilled tongue and you would have tumbled over.

"Because," Hinata purred, his warm breath ghosting over your throbbing cunt and making you shudder, "there’s no way in hell I'm letting you come unless it's on my cock."

With that, he rose from his knees, dragging his tongue along the column of your throat. You whimpered, the loss of contact making you ache even worse than before. Then Hinata's lips were back against yours, hot and insistent, and you tasted yourself on his tongue.

You groaned, fingers fumbling to tear at the buttons of his shirt and push the offending garment off his shoulders. Hinata made a rumbling noise of approval deep in his chest, calloused fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.

The moment his shirt fell away, exposing the hard planes of his sculpted torso, you were clawing at the waistband of his jeans. You wanted him, needed him, craved the feeling of his throbbing cock splitting you open.

Your frenzied movements had him chuckling, the deep sound sending another shiver racing down your spine. But Hinata was just as far gone, his large hands grasping yours and helping to yank down his pants and boxers in one smooth motion.

The sight of his erect cock, swollen and throbbing with precum glistening at the tip, had your mouth going dry. Your eyes trailed down the hard lines of his stomach, taking in the rest of his powerful body. The faint trail of hair leading downwards, the sculpted v-lines that were a roadmap to the most delicious places on earth, and his thick cock standing proud and ready for you.

Hinata growled deep in his throat, seizing your hips in a punishing grip and hoisting you onto the edge of the table. Your thighs parted automatically, a whimper falling from your lips at the rough manhandling.

Then the thick head of his cock was nudging against your slick folds, not quite pushing in but still driving you wild with anticipation. His thumb guided the fat tip along your slit, rubbing it in small circles as he let it dip slightly inside, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

He was watching your face with such rapt intensity, his pupils blown wide and nostrils flaring with every shaky inhale. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, the corded muscles of his stomach twitching and flexing. He was just as lost in the sensation as you were, his self-control slipping the more his cock slid through your folds.

You could feel your arousal coating his thick length, slicking him up with each pass. Hinata's breaths were coming quicker now, his eyelids fluttering and his head dropping forward as he ground his cock along your aching center.

He was right on the cusp, his hips moving erratically. He was trying to hold back, to maintain his composure and tease you even longer. But you could see the cracks starting to show in his mask of restraint, could see how much he was struggling to hold himself back.

Just when the tension was about to snap, Hinata reached down, grasping his cock at the base and giving it a few rough pumps. His eyes rolled back in his head, a deep groan of pleasure rumbling through his chest as he came.

Thick ropes of cum painted your stomach and breasts, dripping down his fist as his cock pulsed and twitched in his grip.

It was so fucking hot, so depraved, to have Hinata's release marking your body, to know you had driven him to this level of ecstasy.

He gave a shuddering gasp, eyelids fluttering open as the last dregs of his orgasm washed over him. The look of utter satisfaction on his face as he took in the mess he'd made of you, the possessive gleam in his eye as he raked his gaze over your body, was enough to have you aching and needy all over again.

You watched on curiously as he reached over to grab his phone, aiming the camera at you. Your mouth went dry at the realization of what he was doing, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you at the thought.

"Don't move," Hinata murmured, voice heavy with satisfaction and desire. "I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. You don’t know how many times I've fantasized about this, how often I've jerked myself raw thinking of you covered in my cum."

The click of the camera captured the moment forever, the proof of your mutual debauchery immortalized on the screen. His lips curved into a sinful smirk, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"My turn," he growled.

In the next instant, he had you pinned back against the table, his weight settling on top of you as his tongue dragged through the mess on your stomach. You whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair and hips canting upwards to seek out some kind of relief.

Hinata hummed his approval, lapping up every last drop of his release before shifting further upward, licking and nipping his way across your heaving chest.

His cock was already hard again, pulsing and grinding against your soaked folds. The heat of him was searing, setting your body ablaze with pleasure. He was teasing you, torturing you, his lips sucking a dark bruise along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"You know," he murmured, hips rolling in an unhurried pace, his words a rumble against your ear, "I could get used to this view."

A strangled moan escaped your lips as his cockhead notched against your entrance, the heady promise of release just within reach. Hinata was still teasing you, dragging his shaft along your soaked slit as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"But if I'm going to keep fucking you on this table, I need to make sure you won't spill any leftovers."

You could feel his lips curve into a smirk, the barest hint of a chuckle vibrating through his chest. But you were too far gone, too lost in the sensation of his thick cock sliding through your folds and grazing your throbbing clit.

Your entire body was tensed like a bowstring, wound up so tightly that the slightest movement would snap it. And when Hinata finally, finally, pushed his thick cock inside you, the string snapped.

You cried out, arching off the table as stars exploded behind your eyelids. Pleasure unlike anything you'd ever experienced washed over you in waves, your cunt spasming around the solid girth stretching you open. You felt the foreign sensation of something liquid gushing from your pussy, coating Hinata's cock and your inner thighs.

"Fuck," Hinata hissed, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Did you just squirt? You didn’t tell me you were a squirter, fuck, that's so fucking hot."

He sounded almost drunk, his words slurred as he started thrusting into you. Each pump of his hips had another wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body convulsing and clenching around his cock.

Hinata fucked you through the aftershocks, his hips slamming into you and driving his cock impossibly deep. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingernails digging into the straining muscles as you held on for dear life.

He was relentless, pounding into you and chasing his own release. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt, the harsh slap of his balls against your ass, the groans and grunts escaping his throat – all of it only heightened the sensations overwhelming your body.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, a string of curses falling from your lips as the pressure built once again. This time you knew you wouldn't be able to hold back, wouldn't be able to keep from exploding into a million pieces.

The tension was coiling tighter, your body trembling as Hinata fucked you harder. It was too much, the pleasure was too intense, it was almost painful. You were so close, you were almost there, you just needed a little more, a little—

"Oh god," you cried, your body arching off the table as your cunt clenched around his cock, gushing another flood of liquid.

Hinata let out a growl, his thrusts becoming more erratic. You could feel his cock pulsing and twitching, his breathing ragged and uneven. He was right there with you, his own climax building.

"That's it," he rasped, his grip on your hips bruising as he slammed into you. "Fuck, I can feel your cunt milking my cock, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

With a final cry, his hips stuttered and he came, his cock spurting ropes of cum deep inside you. The sensation of his hot release filling you up, the feeling of his cock pulsing and twitching as he emptied himself, was enough to send you over the edge again.

Your orgasm tore through you, your body convulsing and gushing around his cock. The pleasure was so intense, it was almost painful. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down your thighs and soaking the table beneath you.

"God, I love watching you squirt," Hinata growled, his eyes half-lidded as he watched his release leak from your cunt. "I could do this all day, watch you cream all over my cock and soak this table. You're so fucking hot."

You could only moan, your body completely spent and limp from the intensity of your orgasms. Hinata pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your pussy with a wet squelch. More cum leaked from your cunt, dribbling down your thighs.

He scooped some up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you with a satisfied smirk. You shuddered, the feeling of his cum inside you making your cunt clench around his digits.

"Mmm, we're gonna need to do a lot more work to make sure none of this leaks," he purred, his other hand trailing over your stomach and smearing the remnants of his release into your skin. "We can't let any of this go to waste, now can we?"

You whimpered, his words and touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. He chuckled, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your cum-filled pussy.

"That's right," he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a scorching kiss. "Let's see just how many times I can make you squirt before the night's over."

[her-favorite]

THE CONSEQUENCES; M. STURNIOLO

MATT STURNIOLO X F!READER

warnings: SMUT, sub!matt/dom!reader, mommy kink, boring ending but i honestly just wanted to finish this bc this was one of those rare occasions where i actually finish writing something in one day 😭

a/n: the pics are boring but i was too lazy to make it look prettier - also it’s always “pink lingerie” on smuts and as an avid black clothing wearer, i’m gonna keep writing about black clothes

wc: 2,971

SYNOPSIS: Mindlessly stealing a pair of your discarded panties, Matt decided to use them to his advantage.. until someone interrupts him..

-

Matt knew it was wrong; it was an invasion of privacy. But he couldn’t stop.

Ever since he found his best friends underwear in his bathroom after a shower, he didn’t know better than to take them at the time. It was after you had left and he did think of texting you, but something else got the better of him.

Now, almost every night, he lies in bed with the fabric in one hand and his dick in the other. Before he does it, he always tells himself that it’s a bad idea and that he needs to stop.. but he doesn’t want to. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel something more for you, anyway. Everything about you was intoxicating; and that’s how he ended up like that, laying in bed with your panties up to his nose.

The dark fabric was held tight in his grip as the bones in his hand became apparent. Moving the opposite palm against himself, Matt huffs out a groan as he keeps your private piece of clothing close to him.

It had only been a few minutes after you left. Matt made sure he heard the front door click close before throwing himself on his mattress and tugging down his pajama pants. He knew it was wrong, especially since you were just here… but the thought of you potentially wearing another pair of the panties he hid in his dresser drawer immediately got him going.

Bringing your underwear closer, something clicks in his mind. Pausing his movements, he takes the dark fabric in his right hand and wraps it around himself, experimentally stroking his hand with it. With a sharp inhale, his hand grows tighter as he moves it faster, desperate for release. His mind pictured you on top of him, the side of your panties scratching him slightly as you ride him. The thought of your hands resting on his stomach and your breasts bare as you hover above him drove him impossibly closer. He felt the fabric get stickier as seconds pass, too engrossed with the idea of you to care.

Too engaged with his movements and thoughts, his ears don’t pick up the sound of a door creaking, followed by footsteps. Letting out another groan, his back arches slightly, his wrist starting to grow tired. Though, he freezes once he hears his door click. With a sudden gasp, his eyes snap open and look toward his door. It was almost like you knew he was thinking of you because there you stood, frozen in place as you realized what you had just walked into.

“I-I’m so,” Matt starts, before a guttural moan interrupts him. Subconsciously squeezing his base, his eyes shut tightly, either from the sudden pleasure or because of how bad he wishes he could disappear from this situation. The girl he was just fantasizing about to get himself off was standing in front of him while he’s rubbing her panties against his dick.

“I’m so sorry, I-“ Matt begins again, too scared to even flinch as his body doesn’t move, hoping and wishing that the dark fabric covers as much as it could.

“Are those mine?” Were the first words to leave your mouth, shocking the man on the bed.

He stutters for a moment, before hesitantly nodding, knowing he had no other excuse to come up with (not that you’d believe him anyway). With a shaky breath, he swallows dryly, internally scolding and yelling at himself as he makes himself believe that now he’s just some perv to you. Stealing your underwear and using them to jerk off.. yeah, totally not weird, he sarcastically thinks to himself.

“How did you get them?” You continue, stepping a couple feet into his room and quietly shutting his door behind you. Matt’s eyes follow your movements, still shocked that his best friend caught him touching himself.

“Um,” he swallows, looking away from your prying eyes and down at his hands, only to realize his dominant one was still resting around his cock. Immediately pulling it away, he moves himself up against his headboard, digging his fingers into his silk sheets. “You left—”

“Put your hand back.” Your voice was stern as you took a few cautious steps forward, the front of your legs leaning against the foot of his bed. The confusion Matt felt was basically written on his face as he tries to process what you said to him. Your eyes followed the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his jaw clenching.

“What?” He whispers, just barely audible in the room. His eyes meet yours, his pupils beginning to dilate.

“I’m not repeating myself, Matt.” You say, still cautious incase he denies you. The fleeting thought is quickly forgotten once he listens to you, wrapping his large hand around his dick. With your panties covering it, you couldn’t see the full thing, but you were more than surprised by his size. “Now, how did you get them?” You ask, never taking your eyes away from him, watching the way he slowly sinks into his mattress from your gaze.

“You, um, you left them in my bathroom a couple days ago when you got out of the shower.” Matt explains, his fingers itching to move as they rest against his base. His chest rose and fell heavily as his breathing became labored. “I was gonna give them back—” He tries to defend himself, but his words come out jumbled. The tips of his ears are a bright red, showing his embarrassment.

“But instead you’re using them to get off.” You finish his sentence, your lips mindlessly curling up once you see the way his face heats up as his body tenses.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know this is weird—”

“Keep going.”

Matt’s breathing hitches, his lips parting to ask you to repeat yourself before knowing better. He swallows heavily, beginning to follow your orders as he starts to move his hand. He was painfully hard by now. He always thought that if you’d ever catch him doing something like this, he’d immediately stop and apologize, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him needier. He always wondered what you’d be like if you both were to ever get together; would you be in control, would you be the one obeying him, would you be loud?

Exhaling harshly from the way his hand felt, Matt quickly purses his lips to stop any more sounds from leaving him. His eyes meet yours once he hears you tsk.

“I wanna hear you, Matt.” You say teasingly, leaning forward slightly to rest your hands on his shins. Matt whines as he watches you, his eyes thoughtlessly trailing down your neckline, centering in on your breasts. His hand speeds up, your panties still hanging around himself.

Propping yourself up on his bed, you sit between his legs, flickering your eyes from his movements and his face. Whimpers leave the boy’s lips as the knot inside his stomach grows tighter, the eye contact with you pulling him closer. Reaching forward, you take your underwear off of him, noticing the way his breath hiccups. Trailing your eyes over his entire body, you can’t deny how wet you were. Your best friend, and crush, was touching himself right in front of you.. to the thought of you.

His shirt still hung on his body, but it was pinched up enough to show his happy trail. “You look so pretty, Matt.” You mutter, bringing your hands up to hide under his shirt. He whines at your words, skin filling with goosebumps from your touch.

“Please,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut before looking down at you. Moans escape his pink lips as they grow dry, occasionally sticking his tongue out to wet them.

“Please what, baby?” You smirk, your hands still roaming his soft skin. His ears flourish redder as his humiliation grows, faux-irritated whines leaving his mouth.

“Please touch me.” Matt mutters, his back subtly arching from the name you called him. His hand never stopped as it went faster, but all he wanted was your touch. He knew that as soon as your hand came in contact with him, he’d be a goner.

“I am touching you, Matt.” You reply, the teasing tone in your voice evident. The smile on your face told Matt what you were doing, already sick of your teasing and you’ve barely done anything yet.

With another pitiful whimper, he chokes out, “please, mommy, I need you to touch my cock.” His blunt response surprises you, halting your movements. Once he realizes what slipped from his lips, his eyes widen as they meet yours. “Fuck, I, I’m so—”

“You need mommy, baby?” You tease him with his own words, moving closer to him. With a harsh swallow, Matt nods and starts to move his cramping hand away from himself. Following his lead, you wrap your hand around his dick, starting your movements slow. After a few seconds, you reach away, not without a loud whine from the man underneath you, and reach under your shirt to pull it off. The complaint from Matt immediately stops once he notices what you’re doing, his eyes wandering your body. Throwing the fabric on the floor, you lean forward and wrap your hands around him, stroking up and down. In your position, your arms push together, protruding your breasts forward.

Matt’s mouth opens in silent pleasure, his eyes ranging from between your boobs and your face. With his cock facing you, it was ultimately the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re so big, Matt. Taking it so good.” You say seductively, your hands never stopping their motion. Matt moans at your words, not only stroking his ego, but simultaneously striking that perfect cord inside of him. The piercing knot inside of his stomach became tighter and tighter, begging to be released.

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” Matt moans, his nails digging into his soft sheets. “Please mommy,” he whines, breathing heavy. Looking down at you, noticing your nod and raking his eyes over your position was his last straw. Arching his back as the band inside of him breaks, his breath hitches before a guttural moan leaves his lips, watching his cum drip down the crevice of your breasts, and just barely hitting the bottom of your chin.

“Did so good, sweetheart. Such a good boy.” Your words make him shudder, his cock already stiffening. Once his eyes open, he looks back down at you, gaping at the way you bring your hands up to your mouth to lick off the remaining taste of him. His breathing was still erratic, his chest heaving. You reach down to stick your thumbs into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down and discarding them on the floor beside you. A smile grows wide on your lips once you hear Matt’s breath audibly hitch. An almost identical pair to the panties he stole were tight-fitted around you, securing Matt’s suspicions.

“You like these, huh?” You ask rhetorically, your hands coming down to rest on your thighs, knowing how much it teased him from the longing look in his eyes. With a nod in response, you lean forward and press your palms underneath his shirt again. “You liked them so bad you had to keep some for yourself.” You mutter, your hands slowly bringing the loose fabric up as your hands move towards his shoulders.

As Matt’s cheeks tint pink, soft whines leave his lips from your teasing. Your touch alone shot electricity through his body, an insatiable need for you never satisfied. “I need you, mommy.” He whispers, his voice small as his hands reach for your thighs. His fingers dig into the plush skin, marking small crescent moon-shaped patterns on it.

“I know, sweetheart.” You coo, your hands reaching the top of his torso. “Can I take this off, baby?” With a quick nod from the man underneath you, your hands un-loop his arms through his shirt, throwing it somewhere neither of you cared about in the moment. You run your hands over his soft stomach, making a shiver pass through his spine. Chuckling softly at his reaction, you lean back and begin to strip yourself of your underwear. Straddling his lap, your bare center glides along his, resulting in his hands gripping your hips tightly.

“Fuck, mama,” Matt whines, inhaling sharply through his nose. You can tell he’s sore, but still so desperate for more. His tip was painfully red, the vein that made its way along the underside of his cock making itself apparent. Who knew it was so easy to get him so riled up..

“You gonna keep being my good boy, Matt?” You lean forward and rest your palms on his chest, subconsciously pushing your breasts together. With his eyes flickering between your chest and face, he nods, his Adam’s apple stuttering. “Words.”

“Yes, mommy, I’ll be your good boy.” He mumbles, as if he was shy to proclaim how much of a hold you had over him. Giving him the benefit of the doubt for now, you prop yourself up so you can sink down on him. Wincing slightly once he fits inside you, you take deep breaths as you lower yourself down. With a pitiful groan escaping the man, his eyes shut forcefully, his chest moving as erratic as it was before. With incoherent mumbles leaving his pink lips, sighs and moans interrupt him as he feels your walls clench around him.

Once you’ve grown accustomed to his size, you begin moving, watching his reaction. Bright blue eyes meet yours once they snap open from your sudden movements. “Faster, please,” he whines, his nails never relenting their violence against your skin. “Mommy, I cant—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you grab your panties that were lying beside you on the bed and stuff them into his mouth. With a moan from Matt, he looks up at you with the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. That look alone could’ve made you cave.

“Since you don’t wanna shut up,” you bring yourself down on him harsher, eliciting a muffled groan from him. “I can make you.” Your fingers move away from his mouth, letting the now-wet fabric rest between his lips. A pathetic whine escapes him, his noises still being wavered by your underwear. Reaching up behind you, you quickly undo your bra clasp, sighing at the relief before throwing it behind you. As soon as you feel his palms creep up your sides, your hands envelope his wrists and pin them above his head. You knew how bad he wanted to touch you and you knew how bad you wanted to see him crumble.

“Did I say you could touch me, baby?” You ask, your hips never stopping as they move up and down on him. With a shake of his head, you notice the tears start to form in his eyes. “Are you gonna cry, sweetheart? This too much?” Your question was obviously rhetorical, not looking for a genuine answer, but Matt nodded anyway. With a hot tear rolling down the side of his face, a guttural moan shakes him when he feels you squeeze around him roughly. “You can take it.” You mutter, feeling that familiar tug inside you.

Matt’s words come out jumbled as he desperately tries to speak, your mind bidding them incoherent babbles. You could tell he was close again by the way he tensed up and how his hips occasionally thrusted upwards.

Leaning your forehead down, you rest it against his, your breath fanning against his open mouth. Pulling away one of your hands from his, you trail it down to remove the fabric from his lips. As your breaths collided, you both ached more and more for release.

“Feels so good, mommy.” His voice is small and hoarse, but he tries his best to let you know how good you’re making him feel.

“Yeah? Good.” With a soft response, you hesitate for a moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. Without a second of thinking, Matt immediately cooperates, sucking your bottom lip sharply. Moaning softly into the kiss, you lick along his top lip, pushing into his mouth once he grants you permission.

Pulling away with a sharp inhale, your eyes slam shut as your forehead rests back against his. His hips thrust forward, hitting that perfect spot inside you, just seconds away from giving in.

“Wanna make you feel good, mommy.” He whispers, his eyes taking in your reaction. He continues his movements, getting off on your pleasure. As you both draw closer and closer to your climax, your breathing gets heavy as your eyes are kept on Matt. He holds it with you, making that band inside you snap. Moaning from the sudden pressure, your mouth opens in silent pleasure. Matt follows quickly, his breath hitching as he finishes for the second time that night.

After a few moments, you both have regulated your breathing and your head rests against his chest. Once you’ve gathered up the strength, you lean up and off of him, clenching your jaw before you throw yourself down on his bed next to him. Taking a second before looking over at him, you realize that he was already staring at you, silently wondering to yourself how someone can look so beautiful with tearstained cheeks.

“Hi.” You exhale, the both of you laughing softly.

“Hey.” Matt whispers, his eyes still taking in your state. Had anyone told him hours ago that he’d just had sex with his best friend, and crush, he would’ve scoffed and denied it. But now, as he sat naked beside you, he couldn’t be happier.

Who would’ve thought stealing your panties would lead to this?

[yuwuta]

YUUTA OKKOTSU’S DECLASSIFIED JUJUTSU TECH SURVIVAL GUIDE (AN APPETITE HAUNTING THE HEART)

❝i know this tastes too good to be healthy. the more it melts, the sweeter it gets, so take my heart out because i need all of you.

*this is yuuta okkotsu’s fool-reviewed plan for navigating all things curses, sorcery, and love. 

pairings. okkotsu/reader

content, warnings. canon-adjacent, reader has a cursed technique, friends to lovers, smut (uhh... no triggers i think? other than implied virginity loss on yuuta’s part), mentions of violence/curses, possessive/intrusive thoughts... he starts of kinda sweet and weird and then just gets... weirder and worse lol, so mostly yuuta being... yuuta &lt;2

notes. jujustu tech is a college not a highschool, yes i brought naruto in this, i believe in sasuke slander only from a place of pure love, real sasuke ridicule will not be accepted xoxo

word count. 12k i told you i could yap about him all day

playing. candy/baekhyun, untouched/the veronicas, cream soda/exo, lacy/olivia rodrigo, pure honey/beyoncé

#1 — Do NOT touch Maki Zenin’s tools (but if you do, the cute girl who hangs around Inumaki might help to patch you up).

Yuuta hadn’t meant to piss off Maki. He was trying to be helpful, but Yuuta learned the hard way today: do not touch Maki’s cursed tools, at all, for any reason whatsoever. He intended to hand it back to her, but she was prompt in assuming that was part of an attack, snatching it from under his grasp and giving him a jab on the wrist with the dull end of the stick. If the beatdown he’d endured during training put Yuuta on his deathbed, then that hit was the final nail in the coffin.  

The crack! sound of his bones made everyone pause their sparring, and Gojo winced the loudest, “Ouch! That one had to hurt, kid!” It was also Gojo who gathered everyone to stand around and look down at him clutching his wrist in pain, before making the executive decision to appoint you as Yuuta’s caretaker.  

“This is definitely something you can handle!” he cheered, patting the top of your head, “Take our dearest Yuuta to the infirmary and patch him up, please and thank you! With the way Maki’s been kicking him into the ground, those cuts are sure to get infected sooner rather than later. The two of you can join us for dinner when you’re finished!”  

Yuuta tried to refute, on the grounds of “No—no! I—ouch—this really isn’t worth using any kind of cursed energy over!” Which was quickly met with a mischievous raised eyebrow from his teacher, “Oh? Are you insinuating that my precious student doesn’t have the skill to fix a simple fracture?” That prompted Yuuta to spill a flurry of apologies, none of which were coherent, and ended up with him trailing behind you sheepishly to the infirmary with a broken wrist, several bleeding wounds, and probably early heart failure.  

Now, Yuuta sits with his feet dangling off of the edge of the examination chair, shivering from the chilliness of the room, and all of his nerve endings rattling at the realization that this is the first time that he’s been alone in a room with you since you’ve met. He winces, first at the sting of disinfectant into his wound, and then internally—mostly out of embarrassment—because his outward reaction made you pause your actions to question if he’s okay.  

Okay is relative, he thinks. In the grand scheme of things, he’s okay. Concerning his current injuries, he’ll be okay eventually. Concerning this… whatever this is he feels for you… maybe not so okay.  

“Sorry,” he stutters, too loud for the atmosphere and proximity of your bodies to each other, and, so, he winces again, cheeks staining red to match his embarrassment, as if he or you needed any confirmation of it. He doesn’t mean to be a difficult patient, but he has an adversity surrounding hospitals and medical care, and that alcohol really does burn, and you’re really close to his face, and—and you giggle a little, but Yuuta hears a chorus, instead; warm, spring-like, with violins and a piano and cellos strumming in perfect harmony, and the buzz of bees and butterfly wings flapping the melody.  

“You apologize a lot,” you tell him, a kind smile on your lips. You step forward, just a bit, as you peel off the band-aid adhesive and gently press it over the bridge of Yuuta’s nose. It’s Hello Kitty themed. It makes him want to scream.  

“Yeah, uh—sorry about that!” Yuuta apologizes, once again too loudly. He scratches at the back of his neck with his left hand, and his eyes go wide after a few beats, “No, wait—I didn’t mean to apologize again. I just... I, uh... thank you. That’s what I wanted to say. For helping me, you have my sincerest thank you.” 

Yuuta dips his head to bow, and when he raises it again, you’re blinking at him owlishly, and he thinks he’s really done it now. You must think he’s a freak, if you didn’t already. He thinks you’re gonna tell him off for being pathetic and a weakling, but instead you laugh again—that precious sound that pauses Yuuta’s world for the better.  

“You’re awfully formal. There’s no need for that, or to thank me. We’re friends, afterall,” you reassure him, “Even if Gojo did force you to be my practice dummy.” 

It’s his turn to reassure you, his uninjured hand moving from his neck to shake frantically in front of him, “It’s completely okay,” he does his best to give you a smile as warm as the one you give him. It probably doesn’t work, but he tries anyway—he’s always been an awkward smiler, too wide-mouthed and toothy, “You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you.”  

Your face seems almost solemn at his declaration, and the panic instantly kicks in again. Yuuta scrambles when his words play back in his head, “I’m sorry, was that weird? I meant that I trust your judgment. You can, uh, fix me up however you best see fit—or just leave it! I’m sure it’ll heal on—”

“You’re awfully self-sacrificing, too,” you cut him off with a laugh, your usual warm nature clicking back. Yuuta shrugs, feeble; you smile wider, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I keep staring, and I’m sorry to have made you uncomfortable.” 

“Not at all! You don’t... make me uncomfortable, I mean. You could never,” Yuuta rushes, curling back into himself after his outburst, “You... it always feels really nice when you’re around. I can’t explain it, but everything is calmer.”

Your eyes flutter across his face, before you turn away from him, “I can tell it makes you nervous—I can hear the changes in your heartbeat,” you tell him, opening the cabinet to return the alcohol to its rightful place. You must also be able to hear his thoughts, chiming in just as Yuuta continues to wonder if his heartbeat is really that loud, “It’s part of my technique. I don’t mean to intrude on your heart.” 

Is it an intrusion if Yuuta left room for you? If he wanted you to be there? Was it crazy to think that he’d give you his heart to hold and trust you to take care of it, even though you’d only met a few months ago? Maybe it would be easier if he let you squeeze tight enough to put him out of his misery already.

Luckily, you keep talking before he can say something stupid like that out-loud again. 

“It’s just that... you remind me of somebody that I used to know. You’re kind like him, and you both share a well-intentioned recklessness, too. I see so much of him in you that it’s hard not to stare sometimes,” you admit, turning back to face him, and gingerly taking his wrist between your hands. When your hands start to glow, Yuuta can feel it—your reversed cursed technique is warm on the surface, but chilly underneath, like a heated blanket on top of perfectly cool sheets. 

“I don’t mean to say that you’re just a replacement,” you continue, slowly rotating your hands over his injury. It stings a little, then soothes, “I’m just still in awe of how nice it feels being around you. It feels strangely—” 

“Familiar,” Yuuta interjects, “I understand. You feel that way, too. I think... that’s what I meant before.” He understands your words perfectly because you remind him of someone precious to him, too; someone he used to and still loves alot. “You—it makes me happy, that’s why I seem so nervous.”

It seems as though you understand him, too. His heart sings, and you can probably hear it, but Yuuta doesn’t quite mind so much now. What he feels for you is consuming, maybe concerning, but knowing that you know what it’s like to love like him brings him an odd sense of comfort. Maybe he should be jealous that you’ve had someone to love that much before, but he’s not exactly in a position to talk. What matters is that you can hear him and feel him—his heart and his love and his sad and his happy, and it doesn’t push you away. 

It makes him want to burst. He owes you a thank you for putting something so precious in his life. He owes you an apology, for ever doubting that you couldn’t handle his symptoms. He should have realized that you can handle his love.

“You feel really warm, too,” he blushes, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “And, uh, not just because you’re holding my hand.” 

The twinkle in your eyes turns into confusion, then surprise when you look down to see that the hand below his wrist had moved to rest underneath his palm instead. His wrist was well healed by now, and you’d been, effectively, massaging his skin and muscles with your technique for the latter duration of your conversation without realizing it. 

Yuuta couldn’t tell when it went from healing to hand holding, but he’s not complaining—and he doesn’t think he could have stopped it either. Another quality to your technique that he couldn’t understand was how your energy felt sticky, flowed like honey; how it managed to run into broken crevices and bruised dents with a mind of its own. Even if he’d wanted to pull his hand away—and he didn’t, he absolutely did not—he wouldn’t have gotten far from you. He never wanted to be. 

“You already have calluses on your palm,” you note, dispelling your healing energy, holding onto Yuuta’s hand only by want now, “You train hard. You’ll catch up to Maki and Toge, quickly, but not if you don’t take care of yourself.” 

Yuuta almost chokes when you rotate your wrist so that your fingers are aligned. Your hand is so much softer than his, warmer than his, and maybe he’s idealistic, but your fingers seem to slot perfectly between his when you curl them. 

“I’m not always going to be around to fix you up,” you warn him, “So don’t go around pissing Maki off too much, alright?” 

Yuuta can feel the heat from your body flow through him. From his palm, up his arm, down into his chest, and everywhere else. It doesn’t feel real. You’re holding his hand, you’re smiling at him, you’re right there and you’re so bright and beautiful, so Yuuta doesn’t know why his thoughts are so gray and dangerous; you wouldn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, so why can’t he stop thinking about keeping you like this—of stitching your hands together forever to keep you by his side, or letting this heat consume and burn you both. 

Yuuta shakes his head to wiggle those thoughts away, but to you it seems like he’s saying no to staying off of Maki’s radar. When he realizes it, he nods too reverently to make up for it; surely looking like an idiot, and then to top it off, he squeaks, “I—yes, ma’am!” 

Another foolish outburst on his end, perhaps, but it makes you giggle, fills the room with springtime for a moment, so to Yuuta, it was worth it. “Good,” you nod, release his hand and beckon him off of the chair, “Come on, we should go eat before Panda takes all the good sides for himself.” 

Yuuta follows you back to the dorms with his stomach already full of love, love, love. He loves you, and you can hear, and see, and feel exactly what you do to him, and you don’t run. Yuuta thinks maybe you should, even though he doesn’t want you to. Surely you know what he did to Rika when he loved her. 

Rika seems to like you, actually, if the humming of her voice in his head as he takes his seat at the table next to you is any indication. He can vaguely make out some of her words as you pass him the dumplings—warm, kind, loyal. He agrees. Pretty, too. No disagreement there. 

In such a short amount of time, you’ve shifted Yuuta’s ethos for life. He wanted to die to be with the person he loved before, and never quite understood why Rika would stop him, why she would want him to suffer in this life alone; but maybe this is what Rika was always trying to tell him; that his love was not lost and buried with her, but flowing towards you, his heart, a beacon for you to locate. 

You’d mentioned that he reminded you of someone you knew before, that you couldn’t see anymore. Yuuta doesn’t know what happened to your person before he came along; he can only hope that you’ll allow him and his heart to be a vessel for your love someday, too. He won’t disappoint you. He won’t let you let go of him. 

It shouldn’t be hard. You already have his heart in your hands. 

#2 — Gojo is more than a teacher. He is also the school event planner, once ranked Diamond in Overwatch, and is the only person blacklisted from any and all kitchens on campus. He also gives pretty good (sometimes questionable?) advice. His eyes are kind of scary.  

You’re there when he and Toge are nearly decimated by the Grade 1 curse in the abandoned market. He still doesn’t understand much about sorcery at this point, so seeing people like you and Toge in action is awe-inspiring to say the least. Yuuta knows that Toge is nothing short of amazing, but he can’t help but to be drawn into you, you, you—your energy, your fighting style, the seemingly never-ending applications of your technique. Cursed energy in and of itself is still a foreign concept to him, so perhaps it’s that seeing you use the reverse of it so effortlessly is even more novel to him. 

He can hear Rika strumming in the back of his mind, an indistinct itch and hum that sounds vaguely like laughter at his self-justification. He chooses to ignore her. 

After, while he’s still buzzing with the tingly warm sensation of your technique after you’d patched him up, Gojo finds him, and Yuuta, unable to keep up a façade, pours all his anxious, worried, inquisitive feelings about his mission on the table. 

“The way that (_____) can heal wounds... is that something I can learn?” Yuuta questions his teacher, eyes tired but genuine and earnest.  

And Gojo, all knowing and absolutely singing at the implications, smiles so wide he’s certain his newest student could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Maybe.”  

He goes on, leaning back into the old loveseat, one leg crossed over his other knee, “You’ll probably be able to learn to heal yourself with reversed cursed technique, but using it to heal others is difficult and rare. Shoko and (_____) are the only people I know who can do it.”

“Is… did she get to learn it because she’s a Grade 1?” He remembers Maki explaining the ranking system for Jujutsu sorcerers. You and Toge were ranked the highest in the class, and amongst the other Kyoto students; it would make sense that you two have learned more applications of your techniques due to your higher placements.

Gojo chuckles, much to Yuuta’s confusion. “That’s not quite how it works—and if it were, then you’d already know because you’re a Special Grade. You don’t unlock new lessons as you move up, you move up because of how well you’ve learned to control and apply your own cursed technique.”

Right. That makes sense. Except Yuuta knows that his classification of Special Grade is a bit of a cheat because he can’t control or apply his cursed energy half as well as any of his classmates. He has Rika to thank for his immediate promotion, not himself or his own skills.

“In any case, if you do learn it, you’ll never be able to execute it like her, that’s for certain. Reversed cursed technique is complicated to learn and nearly impossible to teach. It’s one of those things you truly have to figure out for yourself when the timing is right—I only got it when I was on the brink of death. It’s 100% effective on the person doing it, but only 50% effective when applied to other people by the user,” Gojo says, “Except for (_____). She was born with reversed cursed energy, which is why she has an almost 100% output on herself and others, so she’s extra special. ”

Yuuta frowns. He never expected to do anything half as well as you, but knowing there’s only half a chance that he could, literally, only ever meet you half-way is frustrating. You can save him time and time and time again, as you already have, and all he can do is be a wound for you to stitch back together. 

It must be difficult for you. A similar thought had crossed his mind when he first met Shoko-san, feeling bad for her having to carry the burden of healing others, knowing that she could never receive the same treatment in return. It’s worse for you, though, to be an angel amongst the men on this Earth—it’s not fair that you can give so much to help, and nobody can do the same for you. Yuuta wants to give something to you, he wants to devote himself to you, so at the very least, you have that. If he can’t give you anything else, he can give you himself.

Gojo laughs at Yuuta’s silence, kicking his legs up on the coffee table. “That’s hard for you to hear, huh? Ha! You truly are a lover, not a fighter, Yuuta.”

Yuuta blinks at him. “I, uh... thank you?” He says, even though he’s not so certain that those two things are discernable.  

“Right now, the best thing for you to do is focus on controlling Rika and your cursed energy. That way, (_____) can also focus on fighting, and not healing, when you’re on missions together. The stronger you are, the less she’ll have to clean up after you,” Gojo advises.

He puts his feet back on the floor and uses the leverage to lean over, a bit too close for Yuuta’s comfort. “The only thing you can do for her is to learn to help yourself.”

Yuuta’s eyes go wide. He wants to—he wants to help you, wants to help himself, wants to help others, too. There’s a selfish twang for a moment, the thought of not needing you anymore tugging at his heart, but Rika reminds him that he’ll still want you. 

Then an even scarier thought crosses his mind. “What happens if I don’t learn to control this? What happens if I curse her instead?”

Yuuta trembles at the thought, breathing and heartbeat erratic, his sensei moving back a bit. Rika is there again, reassuring him that he never hurt her, that his love never hurts, that the only person he’s ever truly harmed is himself by isolation of his own feelings. Trust her, Rika demands, she can handle this.

You can. Can you? You have, so far. You don’t run, you don’t push, you give, and give, and give to him; Rika was kind and playful and took and took and took Yuuta’s loneliness and sickness in stride and he still cursed her, seemingly for all eternity. He wants to love and be loved, but not if it means hurting you—isn’t it bad enough that he’s already inept at healing your wounds? Why should he risk giving you more?

“Yuuta,” Gojo calls him out of his thoughts, “I’m disappointed.” 

That truly breaks Yuuta’s cyclical monologue. “I—disappointed?” 

Gojo ticks his tongue, shakes his head and points a finger in accusation, “You should know your fellow classmates better by now. (_____) is not that weak or scared,” he chastises, “You’re so worried about cursing her that you haven’t realized that she is the only person so far to have effectively used her curse on you.”

Yuuta pauses, eyes wet with the awful realization that Gojo was right. You have already cursed him; your technique has already gotten past the barrier of his curse. You’ve cursed him. He never stopped to think that it was possible, worried only about himself. How selfish—he shares Gojo’s disappointment in himself. 

He’s spent so much time loathing his jealous mind and decaying heart that he hasn’t opened his eyes to see you that you’ve found him. You can poison anything he does, and make the antidote with equal ease; how stupidly naive of Yuuta to think that he could be the one to diagnose or treat you better than you could him, or yourself. 

“I’m sorry, sensei,” Yuuta dips his head, and also spares you an internal apology, “I understand better, now.”

“Is that so?” Gojo muses, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes scan Yuuta’s when his head is raised again, that knowing grin creeping back up on his lips. “Well, if you still want to know more about reversed curse technique, or want help learning it, it’s not an entirely lost cause. I’m definitely not the person for this lesson, but, you know who is?” 

Yuuta feels a sense of whiplash from the change in Gojo’s demeanor. Confusion clouds his mind again, and he shrugs, “Um... Shoko-sensei?” 

Gojo makes a loud buzzer noise, complete with crossing his arms in front of his chest in a big ‘X.’ Yuuta frowns again. Is that where Toge learned to do that? 

“Wrong! I’m talking about (_____), obviously!” Gojo claps his hands together, before lowering his glasses to wiggle his eyebrows, “Tutoring is a textbook way to get some alone time, kiddo. You want to spend more time with her outside of class and missions, right?”

“I want to spend all my time with her,” Yuuta confesses, mindlessly. And foolishly, he soon realizes, when he sees that Gojo’s grin has tripled; and he’s quick to flash his hands to correct himself, “No—not like that—not in a creepy way! I just... I want to get to know her better, like you said.”

Yuuta’s awkward chuckles fill the space, and he can feel his insides burning from his cheeks all the way down to his hands. Would he ever be able to think coherently or tactfully when it came to you? 

“So, uh... I... it’s okay if I ask her about this stuff, too?” 

“Some sorcerers don’t like talking about their cursed techniques. But (_____) might not mind. You won’t know until you try.” 

Yuuta nods shallowly. Try. He can do that—if not for himself, then for you; he can try for you. All you need from him is to accept your course of treatment; to love you is to let you curse him, completely. 

“I’m a firm believer that all’s fair in love and war,” Gojo stands, stretching into Yuuta’s space to ruffle his hair. He leans down further, giving him a glimpse of his glowing eyes before sparing him a wink, “So, be a little greedy, and give it your best shot.”

#3 — Social media is the most twisted curse out there. It makes you feel so close, yet is a stark reminder of just how far you are from the person on the other end of the screen. 

Yuuta has never considered himself good with technology. Even before Rika’s incident, he often felt ostracized by his peers because he didn’t have the same interest in or experience with games and cartoons. He had no reason to have a computer or a phone until enrolling at Jujutsu Tech, and there was an evident learning curve in navigating the devices. Toge often snickered watching Yuuta use his smartphone with the dexterity of a senior citizen. 

He only barely set up Instagram and TikTok accounts with Toge’s help, but he doesn’t really get the idea of followers—why would people who don’t know him want to follow him? Why would he follow them? He doesn’t know many memes or jokes and even after seeing them, he doesn’t think many are all that funny, but he laughs anyway. 

He doesn’t have much time to perfect his social media and meme skills, anyway. He’s dedicated to training and gaining mission experience—which pays off when Geto declares war on the school by the end of the year. Yuuta remembers how you returned his phone to him the next day, a few cracks and black, dark spots on the screen, giggling that you’d found it in the rubble, but that even your reverse cursed technique couldn’t fix its scars. 

He thinks he gets the hang of it in the end—the basics of communication and the appeal behind connection with others through it—even going so far as to trade selfies with Gojo sometimes, who always seemed happy to receive them, no matter how much post-exorcism curse gunk Yuuta was covered in. 

He also frequently exchanges texts with you. He much prefers to see you in person, but when you’re stuck for long hours in the ER, or away from campus on your own missions, Yuuta has grown fond of receiving your messages. He always attempts to read them in your voice and imagine your facial expressions to match those of the emojis you send. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of those yet, doesn’t understand what Toge means when he says that not all smiley faces are created equally, so to save himself the trouble, and potential embarrassment, he’s opted to use emoticons instead. Which, if you asked him, has been working out in his favor, seeing as you call them cute. 

Yuuta also uses the safety of his phone screen to implement some of Gojo’s advice; picking your brain about curses, sorcery, and healing via text message for just long enough for you to say it’s easier to explain in person to come to him and teach him in your spare time. Soon these study sessions turn into texts asking to hang out outside of class and missions and work, and Yuuta couldn’t be more elated. The screen he once scorned at seemed to be his one-way ticket to being able to talk to his favorite person constantly. 

But Yuuta never thought it would become his only means of communication with you. He’s devastated when you break the news to him, over half-finished oolong tea and nervous finger-twiddling. 

“You’re leaving?” He echoes, hoping he doesn’t sound too much like a heartbroken child, even though that’s exactly how he feels. 

It’s quiet outside of the tea shop where you two sit, nearing seven in the evening; only the soft sounds of other customers conversing behind you two inside, distant cars on the main street, and the sound of Yuuta’s heart beating frantically.  

“Not leaving leaving,” you clarify, pausing your finger twirling to place one of your hands over Yuuta’s on the table, “I’m still studying, but I’m being sent abroad for a bit.” 

He should be focused on the fact that you’re touching his hand—Yuuta should be happy! Rika still cheers for you in his mind, but her voice is quieter now—but Yuuta can’t. He’s focused on everything else, spiraling about the implications of your words. You’re leaving... going away from him when things are going so well. 

Yuuta was so happy when you taught him the reversed curse technique, even happier when he realized he did have the ability to heal others, knowing it also meant having the ability to help you relieve some of your burdens. That didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to give himself to you, he would if you’d have him—but now he wouldn’t have the chance.  

“I haven’t told anyone else yet—Gojo only told me this morning,” you mumble, “I’m going to miss you all a lot, but we can still text every day! I don’t know how long the time difference will be, but we can FaceTime.” 

It’s not lost on Yuuta that he is the first person that you’ve told about this. It’s another thing to be happy about, another little victory he never thought he’d achieve, but it’s still overpowered by the dread of you leaving him. 

He blinks, placing his other hand atop yours, sandwiching them between his, “How long?” Yuuta can’t read the expression on your face, but you don’t pull your hand away. He’s glad. He didn’t think when he’d done it, but the lack of rejection feels good—your touch always feels good, reverse cursed energy or not. 

“I’m… not sure—a few months at least, maybe until the end of the year,” you admit, squeezing his hand, “There are some cursed objects and scrolls they want me to help recover, and Gojo says I get to work with another Special Grade sorcerer, too.” 

His hands feel so good, so warm, but everything else about Yuuta feels cold, icy with dread and fear. You’re going away for a long time, and he won’t get to see you or hear you laugh or feel your warmth while you’re gone. His sunny days are going away, and Yuuta honestly doesn’t know how many more overcast skies and rain clouds he can take.

And it’s selfish, he knows. He should be happy for you—you were chosen for this mission, for this training; you’re getting the chance to use your skills to help others, and train even further. So, why couldn’t he be happy for you? Why could he only feel a pit in his stomach about the thought of you leaving and meeting some other Special Grade who’s rightfully deserving of their title? Not only had he lost the thing that brought him to you in the first place, but you’re about to find another replacement. Sure, with or without Rika’s curse, Yuuta had become so much stronger, but what’s it worth if he couldn’t keep you by his side?

“Tsukumo is supposed to be really cool, but you’ll always be my favorite Special Grade, Yuuta,” you taunt with a smile. 

Yuuta’s eyes go wide and watery with wobbly lips and flushed cheeked and sweaty palms to match. Favorite. Favorite, favorite, favorite. The word spoken in your voice rings in his head like a beautiful chime, the tones washing over him and erasing all his fear and doubt and insecurity. 

You had called Yuuta your favorite. Sure, he’s still upset when he and the other first-years drop you off at the airport too weeks later, he still cries the first night you’re gone, still nearly breaks his knee trying to jump for his phone the first time that you call; but it’s okay because Yuuta is living off of the temporary high of being your favorite. 

And also, because, in the end, your separation seems to have been inevitable. Not a month after everyone bids you farewell from Jujutsu Tech, Gojo tells him that he’s next on the docket to be sent abroad. He’s happy for a split second, thinking that he might get sent off to Europe where you’re still working with Tsukumo, but then Yuuta learns his true fate: studying under the tutelage of Miguel in Kenya; equal parts away from his classmates in Tokyo, and from you in Barcelona. 

Whoever said distance makes the heart grow fonder was a liar and a bitch, because the favorite boy honeymoon comes to an end when Yuuta settles into his new room and makes his first call to you from Nairobi. The feeling and reality of being alone, and even further away from you finally hits him. Still, he relishes in the sound of your voice; fantasizes that when you reach for your phone to show him your new things, it’s you reaching for his hand; dreams of you laying next to him when you fall asleep on the call, and desperately wishes that he could touch you, hold you, kiss you. 

He really wants to kiss you. He thinks he’s probably always wanted to kiss you, from the very moment his feelings for you started to grow; even if he couldn’t discern them at first, he knows now—Yuuta knows that he misses you like he’s never missed anyone before. The grief of losing part of Rika, and then losing his proximity to you merely weeks apart is finally catching up to him, and it’s morphing into a yearning that tugs on his heartstrings and rattles his brain. 

He knows that the rate of growth of his feelings for you hasn’t been steady, but he blames you for that. You’re the reason he loves you so much, the reason he can’t sleep at night, the reason he learns how to bring Rika back—because he thinks of you, you, you, and how he lost Rika once, and he’d be a fool to lose you twice.

Yuuta thinks it’s no coincidence that your cursed technique has the ability to alter him in mind and body. You have so much ownership over him and you probably don’t even know that Yuuta has spent every single moment of his life living and breathing for you since you’ve met. 

And you take his breath away yet again, when he gets to see you in Germany. Miguel is taking him to Switzerland on a classified mission, and you and Tsukumo are on your way to Austria, and by some great miracle, your layovers align. When he sees you waving to him down the long corridor in the airport, it feels like a scene straight out of his dreams. Yuuta spares no time trying to look cool or nonchalant; making a beeline to you, desperate to feel your touch after so long. 

He’s breathless in those ten minutes that you’re reunited. Everything is too short, but he does his best to live in it all. He speaks a mile a minute, cramming in anything he hadn’t already revealed to you in your many late-night FaceTimes, and swallowing everything you tell him. He wants to believe that he’d made the best of what little time he had with you, but the truth is he didn’t. Because while you were smiling and hugging and telling him that you missed him, all Yuuta really wanted to do was kiss you—and if he were a smarter man, a better man, he would have. 

He thinks, for a split second, that you might have wanted to kiss him too—when you rock back on your heels after saying good-bye, hesitating for just a moment, almost expectantly, before your eyes flutter away. He’ll never know, because he never asked, he never tried, he never said—only whispered, pathetically, to himself as he watches the silhouette of you and Tsukomo before you disappear for boarding, that he loves you. 

He almost believes that you hear it when you turn over your shoulder after his quiet confession. Would it have been better that way—if he kissed you, or confessed in the heat of the moment—or would it be taking advantage of an otherwise beautiful moment? Yuuta will never know, and the what if tantalizes him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens the thread of your messages. He starts typing, then stops. Backspace. Start typing. Pause. Read, re-read. Delete. Groan. 

What’s the point? He can’t kiss you through the screen, and he’ll be damned if the first time he tells you that he’s in love with you is via phone call. He slumps his shoulders, and Miguel gives him a pity pat on the back. Yuuta goes to lock his phone when he sees the gray thought bubbles pop up below your last message and his entire body goes rigid in anticipation. 

[received] 03:27 PM — [attachment: 1 image] — you should keep a closer eye on your things yuuta — i miss you already (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ 

Yuuta’s heart stops when he sees the picture of you in your seat, wearing his white uniform jacket. He doesn’t know when you snuck it away from him, but that doesn’t matter—like anything else, he would have willingly given it to you, and then some. It looks much better on you anyway, and Yuuta pinches his eyes shut for a brief moment, to swallow down the thoughts threatening to swarm his mind of you in his arms, in other clothes, in his bed. 

He opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets the warm, gooey feeling settle into his veins, and moves his fingers to type. 

[sent] 03:38 PM — keep it, you can have anything of mine you want — i miss you more (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥

You heart his messages and let him know you’re taking off soon, and putting your phone on airplane mode until you land. He’s not so confident to send a picture in return, unless you ask for it. Maybe you will, when you’re in Austria. He’ll have to work on his selfies.

He takes another once over the picture you sent, committing the idea of you in his clothes to memory. He knows the messages won’t delete themselves, but he takes a screenshot for safekeeping anyway. Maybe phones aren’t so bad, afterall. 

#4 — Do not kill Itadori Yuuji. Under any circumstances. Even if some days you really feel like it. Also, sign up for a Crunchyroll subscription. 

Yuuta can confidently say that his training abroad was both the most difficult and fulfilling thing he’s ever experienced. He believes that the change he’s endured is mostly good—he’s physically stronger, emotionally wiser, and overall more confident in himself and his cursed technique. One year ago, he would have been content with dying, but now he has more than enough reasons to keep living. He has people who care about him, and who would miss him if he were gone; and he’s got someone he would miss a whole bunch, too, should anything happen to them.  

By miss Yuuta means that he might burn down a small town, might level a city, might flip the entire world on its axis if something were to happen to you. In his defense, he’d go to extremes for most of his friends—but for you, there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t risk.  

He figured that out in his time abroad, too; came to terms with the fact that he’s selfish with his love. He loves too much, too hard, too close, and he isn’t very willing to share. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, anymore, either—Yuuta knows now that the way he loves makes him who he is, and right now, he has the confidence to say that he likes that person, and that he loves you, undoubtedly. 

So, forgive him if there’s a cloud of negative energy the size of a coach bus looming over him at the moment, because since you’ve returned to campus, Itadori Yuuji has been slobbering over you like a lovesick puppy.  

Because apparently, you happen to know Itadori Yuuji—as in, since you were four and he was three, all the way up until your senior year of highschool, when you were scouted by Gojo, who, believes that you coming home from your study abroad trip would be the perfect time to reunite two best friends who hadn’t seen or heard from each other for the better part of two years—all while keeping this little reunion a secret from everybody, including you and Itadori.

A surprise, it certainly is, when the first time that Yuuta and the other second-years see you in months is on the dingy couch in the common room, under a cuddle pile of the first-years. Nobara’s arms wrapped around your left arm, body slumped against your side, Megumi’s long limbs stretching over Itadori’s torso, leaving the palm of his hand resting on your thigh. Far too close for Yuuta’s comfort. The only saving grace is that the jacket he loaned you is also spread across your lap, offering another layer between your body and his palm. And then there’s Itadori Yuuji, squished right between you and Megumi, with his head on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, and your free arm slung around his neck. 

Yuuta should have been relishing in the fact that you were finally home, but all his focus is drawn to the way your position allows Itadori to cuddle right into you, to the way your arm is around his shoulder and your cheek pressed against the top of his head. You two might as well have been in your own little world, and Yuuta hates it. And, as if that’s not enough, the realization that he was not the first person to hug you or welcome you home clicks, and his anger bubbles deeper.  

Next comes dread, that creeps in slowly when you and the first-years wake up, and you and Itadori go on and on and on about how surprised you were to see each other at the airport, how Itadori just assumed that when Gojo said he’d assigned them to “pick up something super special,” that he was messing with them, how you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of your precious, precious kouhai that you’d missed so dearly.

Childhood best friends brought back together through sorcery. Yuuta’s seen that one before, and he didn’t like the ending.

You and Itadori mend the gap in your friendship like two years of no contact was nothing, falling into a pattern that’s so easy and familiar, that it’s painful for Yuuta to watch. The assumption that you’d died, and the knowledge that Yuuji had actually died only served to strengthen your vows to protect each other in the name of your friendship from here on out.  

Yuuta considers putting his own sword through his chest if it means you’ll swear your devotion to him. If he died, would you cry for him? Would you pray over his grave and beg for him to come back to you?—or would you find comfort in those who kept living, find solace in a friend who came back for you and can still hold you in his arms? 

“Tsuna tsuna,” he hears from his left, followed by a mischievous giggle. Toge’s taunting is hardly enough to pull Yuuta out of his cloud of rage, but the blunt end of Maki’s staff is.  

“Will you stop pining so damn hard?” she sneers, whipping the staff back to her side and placing a hand on her hip, “Not only is it pathetic, it’s gonna attract curses like flies to honey.”  

“Why am I the only one getting hit?” He turns to his right to motion to Megumi, who seems to be brooding just as hard. Megumi respects you, but it was easy to see that he was reaching his limit on sharing his recently revived lover with someone else. Maki huffs, “Because he doesn’t have a literal cloud of darkness looming around him.”  

Yuuta sighs, doing his best to reign in his feelings, but it’s pointless once he hears your laughter across the field—light and airy and sunshiney and all because of Itadori Yuuji. 

What were you two talking about? If Itadori were out of the way, would you pledge yourself to Yuuta? Did he ever hold a space comparable to Itadori in your heart—would you let him?

A broken chord strikes Yuuta’s heart when he realizes that Itadori is the person you told him about last year; the person you missed so much, and you never thought you’d be able to see again; the person that Yuuta reminded you of; the person he was happy and eager to be for you. And now, in knowing Itadori, Yuuta thinks that his willingness was beautifully naive—to think that he could compare to someone like this. Itadori is light, where Yuuta is dark; he sees the best in people, where Yuuta manages to come off on the wrong foot always; he perseveres in faith and determination, where Yuuta is fueled by an anxious desire to prove, prove, prove himself to be worth something to anybody. 

He can see how easy it is to love Itadori. It’s easy to cling to faith, to believe in something higher than yourself, to know that someone above can pull you up. Yuuta cannot compete where he cannot compare; he’s a shadow that engulfs you, takes you away from light, a dream that’s hard to wake up from. He could never be bright to you; his best attempt would probably drive you and him too close to the sun, martyred for love in burning flames.

Still, even in all his jealousy, Yuuta comes to the even more sobering realization that making Itadori disappear wouldn’t fix his problems. You told him he wasn’t Itadori’s replacement, but maybe that’s because he could never be him; maybe he doesn’t have to be. Yuuji could never be him, and he could never be Yuuji, but whether Yuuta likes it or not, he and Itadori are two sides of the same coin; and as such, Yuuta has, begrudgingly, grown to feel the same sense of responsibility over the younger boy that you do.

So, even though he never expected that they would both be at the mercy of your hand at the same time in this lifetime, he absolutely cannot kill Itadori Yuuji. Not only would it make you sad, but it would probably make Yuuta even sadder in the end, somehow. What a bother. 

He’s about to get up—to leave, maybe go over there, he doesn’t know yet—but he stops when he hears a calm buzzing by his ear. Yuuta blinks, slowly, shoulders relaxing unconsciously, allowing the larger than normal honey-bee to land on him. He recognizes it as one of your shikigami—and even if he hadn’t, that familiar, cooling sensation that washes over him would have let him know—so, gently, he lifts a hand across his torso, allowing it to crawl onto his finger, and strum its tune.

Yuuta can feel a few more, hear them humming around him, and he closes his eyes, lets the small group of bees flutter around him and all that looming jealousy dissipates from his body. 

Faintly, past the calm hum of the small swarm, Yuuta can hear the call of Yuuji’s voice, petulant, “Aw, no fair. Fushiguro, I want calming shikigami, too! Can you bring out the bunnies? Please.” 

Beside him, Toge and Maki seem bemused by his newly calmed state, then amused when Megumi sighs, stands, and reluctantly pulls his hands together before a couple dozen white rabbits flood the field and hop onto Yuuji. 

The buzzing grows softer, and then quiet. Briefly, Yuuta feels a bee land on his cheek, before it flies away, leaving the smell of fresh pollen in his wake, and when he blinks his eyes open again, you’re there, in front of him with a smile sweeter than anything he’s ever known. 

“Hope they didn’t scare you,” you muse, waving a finger before the last bee hovering around you disappears, “You seemed upset, everything alright?” 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when he’s cut off by Itadori Yuuji once again, with one bunny on either shoulder, and three more cradled in his arms. “Hey, doesn’t (_____) totally remind you guys of Sakura!”  

Maki scoffs, albeit with amusement, as she points her staff at Yuuji’s hair. “If anyone bears resemblance to Sakura, it’s you, Itadori.”  

Yuuji actually makes an attempt to look at his own hair before chuckling. Yuuta flashes a look to Megumi, who looks equal parts exasperated and enchanted. Yuuta doesn’t get the reference, and when Inumaki starts making gestures about how Yuuji is like some Naruto guy and Yuuji screams about how Megumi resembles a Shikamaru, he becomes too afraid to ask.  

You seemed charmed at the end of the discussion, when everybody fundamentally agrees that you’re the Sakura of the group. Yuuta is far less charmed by these comparisons (and it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t get one). He doubts that this Sakura person can do what you can do, doubts that Sakura is even worthy enough to be compared to you, whoever she may be. 

And maybe Yuuta goes back to his room to watch several compilation videos about ships in Naruto later that day, but nobody has to know that. From what he’s gathered, Sakura is pretty cool, and even though Yuuji bears the most physical resemblance to her, he can see why everyone agrees that your healing abilities compare well to hers. Yuuta thinks you’re better, and he’s still holding out hope that there’s some other character equivalent for you that Itadori didn’t think of, that Yuuta can, just to prove that he knows you better. He doesn’t fight any comparisons between Gojo and Kakashi, though. That one honestly freaked him out a little. 

If it turns out that you’re Sakura, then he should hope to be Sasuke, but Yuuta thinks this dude is kind of a dick. From the 47 minutes of scattered Naruto content that he’s consumed, he actually much prefers the dynamic between Sakura and Naruto, even if that does equate to Itadori Yuuji having a crush on you, at least you’re out of his league and chasing after somebody else. 

Still, he thinks Sakura would be upset if Naruto actually died, or worse, if Sasuke actually killed him—never mind the fact that apparently he tried to kill her? Yuuta would never do that, but Sakura still seems to like Sasuke after all of that... in any case, Itadori Yuuji must live, and Yuuta must accept his fate as Sasuke reborn. 

Though, to Yuuta’s understanding so far, Sasuke and Naruto are destined to duke it out and if only one of them has to survive, then maybe it’s not so bad to be this guy. Yuuta doesn’t know how it ends between them, but he thinks he could take on Itadori Yuuji if he had to. He won’t because he’s your friend, and Yuuta’s friend now, too, but if Itadori or the curse inside of him acts up, then Yuuta can at least rest assured he can put a stop to it. That’s not something he could have guaranteed a year ago, but now, he can. 

Yuuta sighs, finally locking his phone and shoving his head under his blanket. He’s been knee deep in analyses about Sakura ships for the past two and a half hours now, and he’ll admit Sasuke is growing on him, but not much. His only saving grace seems to be that Sakura is madly, unconditionally in love with him; Yuuta wouldn’t mind having that kind of devotion from you. He turns to lay on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling and wonders: if it came down to saving only one of them, would Sakura pick Naruto or Sasuke... would you choose the boy who’s loved and looked up to you since you were kids, or the boy who sacrificed everything in hopes of gaining enough strength so that what happened to him never happens to anyone else. 

Maybe they answer that in the series, Yuuta reasons. 720 episodes, at 20 minutes per episode... if he devotes about half-a-day to watching Naruto, then he can breeze through it in a little over two weeks, maybe sooner if he uses his weekends efficiently. That’s plausible, and by the end of it, Yuuta is certain that he’ll have the answers he needs—and even if it doesn’t, then at least, he’ll have one more thing to talk to you about.

In the end, Sakura picks Sasuke, Naruto marries somebody else, and Yuuta understands that the two were never opposites, but complements, and that Itadori Yuuji-shaped pit in his stomach dissipates. Still, about three weeks later at breakfast he makes the argument that if anything you’re more akin to Tsunade, minus the gambling addiction, and that gets him rave reactions from everyone, including you, who is more than happy to show him your new slug shikigami as a means of commemorating your new Naruto kin. 

Believe that, Itadori. 

#5 — None of this matters if you don’t kiss her. You have to kiss the girl—or she’ll get mad enough to the point where she’ll kiss you.

The following month comes your indictment into the Semi-Special Grade hall of responsibility. Yuuta vaguely recalls Gojo’s lecture on how people don’t really get promoted to Special Grade—it’s classification you’re born or cursed with, like himself, or Yuuji, or Tsukumo—but, you, of course, defy all odds and expand everything Yuuta knows. Nobody is surprised—Yuuta thinks everyone was among the similar thought that you were undoubtedly unique amongst your classmates, in a way that was different from him or Yuuji. Being born with a body that generates reversed cursed energy instead of cursed energy is deserving of Special Grade status if you asked him; he doesn’t know what pushed the higher-ups into finally acknowledging your skill, but he knows it’s well-past due. And while he’s happy you’re getting recognition for your efforts, Yuuta would never wish to saddle you with half of the shit the higher-ups put him through. 

They better hope that Yuuta doesn’t find out that they’re plotting anything with you, lest they meet the end of his sword.

Part of your promotion entails a dual-degree program that will have you starting medical school next fall. Yuuta almost cries at the thought of you being sent away again, until you tell him that Gojo managed to pull a few strings this time—to fund everything and keep you in Tokyo. 

And even though you’re not licensed to treat civilians yet, you’re already more than experienced with taking care of and healing your fellow sorcerers, which lends Shoko’s promotional gift to be a shiny new office, right across from hers. Yuuta is the first person you invite inside, and he brings you a photo of you, him, Maki, and Toge from last year—honestly, probably the only photo the four of you have together—to christen your desk, and a plaque with your name on it for the door, that he may or may not have fantasized about it reading with your first name and his last name on it instead.

To no surprise, your office becomes a safe haven of sorts. Yuuta would define any time or place with you as a safe haven, but there’s something special about this place. Maybe Yuuta is still leaping from this being the second time you’ve chosen him. He’s the first person to see your office, the first person to sit at your chair, your first official patient when he stubs his toe against the corner of your desk (where he left the first decorative object). Maybe it’s a little far to say that this place has him all over it as much as it does you, but Yuuta likes the sound of that. 

When he comes back from gruesome missions, he’s invited to let himself in, no matter how much blood he’s covered in, and you’ll be there to take care of him. It’s not different than before—not different than even last year when he’d waddled in your shadow to the room across the hall and sat down with heart palpitations while you fixed his wrist—but something about this feels special. It holds a different weight than hanging out in your dorm or cooking together in the kitchen; this office is yours, the things you say and do to him here are confidential, the yearning for and almost-kisses you almost have are for you and him alone; within these four walls, you’re free to curse him completely. 

So, he’s understandably upset when your office becomes a cozy corner for the other students as well. Maki likes to take refuge inside to study alone, Panda and Toge have been caught on more than one occasion attempting to wrap gauze around each other like zombies, Megumi uses your supplies and basic first-aid lessons to prepare small kits for him and the other first-years, hell, even Gojo has been found asleep in your office on more than one occasion. He gets why people are drawn to you like a magnet, why you’re comforting, and welcoming, and a source of warmth for them, but that doesn’t mean that Yuuta likes to share you. It’s much harder to almost-kiss you this way. 

He must have pouted loud enough about it, because shortly after, instead of inviting Yuuta to your office for lunch, you ask him to meet you on the field. Not one to question you, he obeys, and soon, instead he’s met with an entirely new safe haven, sitting criss-cross inside your domain with all your shikigami slithering and fluttering and buzzing about him. A butterfly lands on his nose, and Yuuta’s nose crinkles. You lean in to let it crawl on your finger instead, and don’t lean too far back when you slowly begin to explain to him the intricacies of your domain and how it all comes together. 

It’s amazing, surely. Yuuta listens as best he can, but it’s hard when there’s a halo of butterflies around you, and a symphony of bees buzzing in his ear, and a slug kissing at his hand, and a snake coiling around his body and gently massaging his muscles, and your voice sound so soft and warm, and you look so pretty and, and, and he wants to kiss you again. 

He wants to kiss you really badly. He wonders if that’s part of your domain—honestly, he’d wondered if that magnetic, honey-like attraction he has to you is in any part influenced by your healing nature—wonders if the confines of your space exacerbates the flow of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his—

“Are you listening?” you question, that glowing, addictive smile on your face, “You know I can make the snake bite, the bees sting.” 

God, Yuuta wants to kiss you. He wants to live in the spring garden of your love forever, and ever, and roll around in the grass and drink honey with you, and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. You could keep him here forever, he’d be perfectly content with living his days wrapped up in your curse. 

Yuuta shakes his head to snap out of his daydream, disrupting a few butterflies in the process. “I—sorry,” he apologies, “I’m listening now.”

You hum, folding your legs underneath your knees and sitting before him. Yuuta’s certain he looks slightly ridiculous, covered head to toe in animals and small insects and burning underneath your gaze—wasn’t this domain supposed to help people feel better? Is there no cure for lovesickness that you can use on him—or, at the very least, embarrassment?

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.” 

Yuuta knows that if he weren’t in your domain right now, he would have fallen to a sudden death. “I—I, um,” words, Yuuta, words; a bee lands on his cheek, he takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

That doesn’t seem like the right answer, judging by the twist of your lips. Of course it’s not—because it’s a lie, and you know it, and you know he knows that you know it. How could he be sorry for wanting you, for spending every last waking moment breathing for you, hoping that you’ll end his laborious breaths and pour air into him yourself?

“You know, I brought you in here to make sure that you wouldn’t run or pass out on me,” you confess, reaching out your hand towards him; the tip of your finger barely grazes his cheek as you allow the bee to crawl onto you, “I worry about your heart more than I should.” 

You flick your finger gently, allowing the bee to flutter freely and your eyes to focus back on Yuuta’s, “Right now, in this domain, it’s mine to control. To stop, to beat.” It’s yours outside of here, too; to fix, to break. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. “Why won’t you let me have it, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta gasps, and despite his surprise, despite his extreme lovesickness, despite his dark desires, his heartbeat remains steady, his body remains perfectly tempered and cool, his voice resonates clearly—all because of you. 

“You’ve always had it,” he confesses, “Always. From the moment I met you.” 

He can’t read your expression. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the power struggle here; domain aside, you can hear everything about him, sense the slightest physiological change in him, alter any one of his bodily functions at your whim and Yuuta doesn’t know what goes on in you. Would it be wrong to confess that he likes it; that this feels like you having him, that he likes knowing you can take him? 

“I thought so, maybe,” you enlighten him, “Last year with all the calls and texts,” you lean over and set free a butterfly from his shoulder, “And then in the airport,” then guiding the snake to coil around your arm and around your torso, “And then I thought maybe you’d have said something when you were jealous of Yuuji,” this time your hand touches him, a feather-light touch to his elbow, “But you didn’t, and I was beginning to wonder if I was hearing your heart beat for someone else, instead.” 

Yuuta grabs at your hand erratically, “No—no. Never.” 

He’s senselessly in love with you, and if it weren’t for your healing hands, Yuuta’s certain his ribs would have cracked from the pressure of his happy heart by now; but then again, maybe he should ask you to let it break—let that fracture serve as an entry point for you and yours, to prove to you that it beats for you and you alone. 

“So then what is with you? You have a habit of giving girls your heart and not kissing them, or asking them out—is it always straight to marriage with you?” 

It’s torture hearing that word fall from your lips. He doesn’t have time to even begin to process it. Yuuta’s eyes flicker to the smile on your lips, the slight tilt of your head. He says something he shouldn’t, “Would you be opposed to that?” 

“I’d like a kiss first,” you tease, “Would you give me one?” 

And how could he ever deny you anything. There, with a harmony of beautiful insects and warm sunlight, Yuuta finally, finally, takes the last move forward to kiss you. It’s everything he wants and exactly as he’d imagined—he can feel the rush in his bones, the want in his stomach, the love against his skin when you fall into him. 

It’s one kiss, and another, and then Yuuta can feel your tongue against his, greedily falling into the rush of you. He’s everywhere, hands on your neck, lips on yours, body stradling yours when he carefully leans you backwards; Yuuta has you, and you have him, and he won’t let this moment go to waste. He pulls away for a moment, only a moment, to take in your kiss-swollen lips and commit this vision to memory. He’ll have to take another visual photograph outside of your domain, when your bodies are free to breathe erratically and equilibrium is broken so you and truly, truly, feel all of Yuuta’s love in earnest. 

He wonders if it’s the effect of your domain that prevents his nerves from running haywire when you take off his shirt, when you let him take off your pants, when you have your hands on his chest and his on your hips. It must be. Yuuta knows for certain that otherwise, he’d be a blushing mess of fumbling limbs and stuttering words. 

Still, Yuuta thinks, domain or no domain, he wouldn’t let this moment pass him. It’s not nerves when his hand brushes over your clothed clit and he hears you moan—even if it had been, that would have been the antidote to his poison. Lust, pressure, possession wash over him in excruciating waves. He wants more. He wants you. 

Impatience when he adds pressure with his hand, bliss when you buck your hips to add more of your own, greedily grinding against his fingers. Yuuta kisses you again, swallows your moans and feeds you his own when slips his hand past the barrier of your underwear, and he feels your warm, wet cunt against his fingertips for the first time, and when he pushes two fingers into your heat, he thinks he could cum right then and there, from this alone. 

“Yu—Yuuta, more,” you plead. Your hand on his neck, fingernails scraping into his skin that should leave a mark. They probably won’t. He’ll be sure that next time they stick. 

And Yuuta, unable to deny you anything, obeys. He curls his fingers inside of you, thrusting gently at first, and then with more confidence—and warning, when he hears you snarl about not teasing. Ironic, he thinks, as he watches your lips fall open, since you’ve had him strung along since day one. 

“I wanna—wanna cum with you inside,” you moan, a sound that Yuuta promises to commit to memory. Later, when his brain is working better, and the coil in his stomach isn’t so tight, and you’re not clenching around his fingers. 

You’re greedy, and Yuuta’s never realized it. You suck him in and still want more, and you must know that he’ll give it to you. It should serve as a warning, you have the high-ground to take him any which way you want—for a fool, for granted, for yourself, for nobody else; so what does it say about him that it only spurs his arousal, that it makes him impossibly hard and he can feel himself leaking from the thought of it. 

“I want that, too,” he reassures you, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, because you’re perfect for him, “But I want this first. Give me this first, please. Please.” 

He thinks you might cry. The rational part of him knows you can regulate it, that you probably won’t; the sick part of him wants to see it, wants to know what it takes to make you lose control. 

You call his name like a prayer, once, twice, and on the third time, Yuuta can feel it as much as he can hear it. He can feel the moment that your walls clench, and your eyes screw shut, and your body convulses around him. You’re beautiful, irreverent, and Yuuta thinks that being responsible for this is the greatest achievement of his life. 

He wears your orgasm with pride, raking over you as you blink your eyes open to him again. You’re lucid too quickly, he really is going to have to take the time to enjoy this somewhere less controlled later, eagerly wrapping your hand around his wrist and forcing them to his mouth. Yuuta groans when he tastes you on his tongue, nothing short of euphoric, and he’s sure to taste every last drop. 

You smile, and then laugh—an almost inaudibly giggle that has Yuuta smiling back reflexively. Like always, he follows your every move and succumbs to all your whims when you lean up to kiss him, and then coax off his pants and underwear, and line the tip of his dick up with your slit and pull him in, again, by the neck to bite at his ear, “Come on, Yuuta. Give it to me.” 

An order, a promise, a plea—Yuuta vows to fulfill them all, determined and spell-bound when he sinks into you. He can only imagine what it feels like for you, but for him it’s warm, wet, soft, snug, sticky—like honey, like a bee drawn to sweetness. It’s good, too good, Yuuta doesn’t know how to last when you feel this good. 

He can feel you everywhere, around his dick, your hands on his back, your breath on his cheek, your skin against his. He feels stuck to you, stuck in you, mind, body, and soul as one, unable to differentiate him from you, from you, from you. 

“Fuck,” Yuuta stares, carefully swiping a thumb over your browbone, conscious but not in command on how deep he’s thrusting into you, “You’re so—fuck, I love you.” He wants to hear you say it back, he needs to, he has to. He can feel it again, stomach in knots, and nerves on fire, and skin sticky, and Yuuta has to know—“Please, please. Do you love me, too?” 

You stutter, only from the rock of his hips into yours, reaching for his face and cradling it between healing hands, ���Of course I love you, Yuuta.” His mouth opens, wobbly, and tears flow over his eyes—briefly, Yuuta thinks that it’s cruel that you’d let him cry; that you have command over every function in his body and that you’d let him cry, but he can’t bring himself to be upset. He’d probably have cried regardless, because hearing you say that you love him is a rush comparable only to burning tightness in his gut right now. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours when you finally let go together. Yuuta can feel you tight around him, when he cums; and an unfiltered harmony of moans and skin on skin when he lays on top of you, sinks into you. Your hands don’t leave his hair, and Yuuta finds bliss in your affection, in being in your arms, in being yours. 

He doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, he doesn’t know if physical time passes in your domain, but it doesn’t matter. He’d stay here forever with you, let you use the full extent of your prowess to eat his heart out as sustenance, bleed for you to quench your thirst. He’d be everything you need and more; he’ll make sure that he’s all you want when it’s done and over. 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi, I just found your blog, and I love your Simon's fics! I was wondering if i could please request something where Reader and Simon had broken up bc he thought he put her in danger. After a few months, he comes to her after a mission and they spend the night but he leaves before she wakes up thinking hes doing whats best (and all that angsty jazz 🥲🤭) . A few weeks after she finds out shes pregnant and decides to take on her own, as reader thinks simon wouldnt care. But maybe one of the guys see her heavy preggo and tell simon, and hes fuming and super protective mode is on.

Sorry if it is too specific and for the terrible english. I just have this idea, and i dont think i can picture it right. Anyway, thanks for reading this and for your good work on your fics 💗 hope you have a lovely day

—Digging Gaze

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞

You knew it was the effects of a less-than-gentle breakup, but you should have at least cursed him out before you let him have his way with you on the living room couch. You’d woken up back in bed, alone, and had gotten dropped back to where you had been weeks earlier—stuck in the throws of confusion and hurt. 

Simon had left you, and he never gave you a reason. 

A part of you was heated; pissed off and feeling betrayed by the insult, yet, the rest of you knew that Simon needed to have his reasons—he always did. Even if you didn’t agree with them, and you knew he tended to look at life with a glass-half-empty type of glance. 

So that left you here. 

You were pregnant. 

You’d found out two weeks after you’d slept together for that last time, your cheeks still hot from the memory and your fingers clutching the plastic of a test. 

Pregnant.

It had been a shock, a deep panic. The both of you had been reckless. Stupid. And while you had stared at those two pink lines, you felt a sinking in your gut akin to a drowning ship. Should you tell him? It would be proper, of course. 

But you don’t think you can face him again after you’d awaken to an empty bed—as if your entire relationship had only been about sex and not the deep nights of confessions and soft brushes of skin. You knew Simon Riley better than he probably knew himself.

And you wouldn’t put this on him.

At seven months, you couldn’t walk as much as you could before—and you would huff for breath as you went up the stairs to change the sheets—but who else could do it but you? Shopping also fell to you, and so, you pushed a large cart around and packed the metal basket with cravings and necessities. That was when you fell to a familiar face. 

“Johnny?” You ask, blinking. 

The Scot pauses, turning. His brows furrowed for a moment before a kind smile peeled his lips back.

“Hen!” He comes closer, laughing. “Well, I haven’t seen you in a good minute, then. What have you been up to in all—” 

The man freezes at the sight of your stomach, jaw going slack as you fight an internal war with yourself to say pleasantries and leave. 

“Hell,” Johnny clears his throat. “I guess you’ve been doin’ a great deal.” 

You sigh, shaking your head softly. “Thanks, Johnny.”

“I’m just joking, Little Lady.” The man laughs and waves a hand. “Who’s the lucky man then? I’ll have to meet him one of these days.”

Your face blanks and your lips snap shut in an instant. 

Blue eyes wait for an answer as the silence laps over itself. Slowly but surely, the realization dawns on his face in a tight pull of horror.

“You can’t tell him,” you interrupt his tight gasp. “Not a peep, MacTavish, you hear?”

“What the fuck,” he breathes at you, hand coming up to his mouth as he glances down at your swelling bump. “Holy hell.”

“Johnny,” you snap, his eyes jerk back to you. 

“It’s bloody Ghost’s—”

“You can’t,” you growl, coming closer, “tell him.”

“What do you mean I can’t tell him,” Johnny hisses under his breath, looking at the people passing by and lowering his tone. “You’re pregnant and he doesn’t know!”

“That’s the point,” you ease out, exasperated and feeling drained already. Jesus, you needed to go lay down—your back was killing you. “Johnny,” you breathe, growing softer as you reach out a hand and put it to his arm. He grips it and holds on, looking incredibly concerned. “He doesn’t need to know, okay? That’s a lot of stress on him, and you know what he does for work. Even worrying about me was hard on him, what do you think a child would do?”

“You can’t think like that,” the Scot mutters. “He can help—what, you mean to tell me you plan to do this by yourself?” It isn’t malicious how he says it; Johnny’s worried about you. Incredibly. “Hen, no,” he shakes his head. “No, you can’t.”

“I can, Johnny,” you frown, dread filling your heart. “And I will.”

In the future, you really had to take into account Johnny’s flapping lips when under the spell of alcohol. Maybe you had enough faith in him to watch himself for the last little while of your pregnancy as he had into the latter half of the eighth month.

And then three firm knocks were at your door, and when you opened it, you were face to face with a painted balaclava and frazzled brown eyes.

Those eyes immediately snap down, and not even a word is uttered to your face until then.

The both of you are stone-still. Frozen. Dead to all else. 

You swear it was hours of this—standing in the doorway with Simon’s fingers stiff in his pockets and his chest not even moving in a pulse or flare of his lungs. He doesn’t even blink. 

“How far along?” His voice is monotone. A low drone in the ringing of your ears.

Damn that Scot.

“Eight and a half,” you say quietly. 

Brown eyes shift up to yours. Simon stares, and you see his jaw clench under his balaclava, his shoulders moving. Again a long pause. 

“When’s the next appointment—”

“It’s a girl.” You see his eyelids peel back and halt there, watching you. “In case you care to stick around and see her.”

Cruel perhaps, but it was nothing short of how he acted while leaving you. 

Simon’s hidden face is slack, stuttering silently for a moment as the light fades outside.

“Didn’t…didn’t know,” he grunts out, blinking quickly.

“I know you didn’t,” you utter. “That was the point, Simon.”

“Johnny told me ‘bout it, didn’t believe him.” His brown eyes swirl, breaking. “Thought you’d mention it if you were.” 

“You left,” you breathe. “Why would I reach out to someone that did that to me.”

“M’sorry, I-I don’t…” Simon clears his throat, looking away. His eyes are glossy, fingers moving out of his pockets so his twitching hands can splay out. “Could have explained, but I didn’t know how, Love. I’m not…this isn’t…”

Words fail him just like his ability to explain his emotions. Part of him was angry—angry that you’d gone all this time without reaching out when he could have helped.

A daughter. 

But he was afraid, as well. Terrified. You were in the right and he knew it. Simon didn’t know the first thing about being a father…but then again, you didn’t know how to be a mother, either. 

This was new territory.

“Marry me,” Simon pushes out with a quick force of breath. 

“Wh—,” you choke on air. “What?”

“Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Gloved hands move at his sides, eyes honest but still shiny. “Wasn’t thinking—my fault and I can’t go on if I don’t know you’re safe.” He licks at the corner of his mouth. “...Both of you. Thought leaving would make the best sense, but I was…fucking hell. M’sorry.”

“Simon, there are many more ways other than marriage.” Your anger wasn’t something that could be washed away that easily, even if your heart fluttered at the idea and his apology.

You had more self-respect than that.

“Let me fix this,” he whispers, leaning closer. 

Your hand rests over your stomach, staying there as the minutes draw. Simon waits, nervous and his fingers tap on his thigh. You know he’s afraid. You know he’s nervous about what he could bring home from work, even if those are only his paranoia talking in his ear like a demon. 

You frown. 

You huff.

And you open the door wider.

“The sheets need changing in my room. Get on it.”

The man says nothing before he enters the house and slips off his boots; disappearing into the linen closet.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Turning Tables

Summary: The team finds you and Spencer, you come back to work after recovering, things are tense. Spencer realizes he messed up, but you're not so quick to forgive.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content (16+), mentions of hookup culture, talks of cases, reader is heavily assaulted by unsub, broken bones, dumb man Spencer, missed signals, bad communication

Word count: 6.9k

a/n: hiii there will be a part three!!

main masterlist part one part three

The team finally found the two of you in the abandoned warehouse, but the sight they came upon was brutal. Spencer had a black eye and a split lip from being hit, his face bruised and bloodied, but you— you had taken the worst of it. The unsub had unleashed relentless violence on you. You’d been slapped, punched, kicked, spit on, cut, and thrown around like a ragdoll. The unsub’s twisted plan was clear: break Spencer by hurting you, the "weaker" hostage, using your suffering to force him into talking. But you both knew that wasn’t an option. Spencer couldn’t give the unsub what he wanted, no matter how much it tore him apart to watch you take those blows.

Every hit that landed on you felt like it was striking Spencer himself. He watched, helpless, feeling the pain of every blow as though it was his own flesh being torn and bruised. Yet he remained silent, knowing that any begging or pleading from him would only make the unsub escalate. He couldn’t give them that. He couldn’t put you through more than what you were already enduring, though it felt like it was killing him inside to watch.

When the team finally stormed in, you were unconscious, your body battered and limp as they carted you away on a stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Hotch approached Spencer, his voice calm but filled with concern as he asked, "What happened to Y/N?"

Spencer, sitting in the back of another ambulance, stared blankly ahead. His shoulders were slumped, weighed down by the guilt and horror of what had transpired. His voice was quiet, flat. “She was the target.”

Hotch took in Spencer's empty gaze, the exhaustion and anguish etched into every line of his face, and knew better than to press for more. They’d have to wait until you woke up to understand the full scope of what happened in that warehouse. But even then, Hotch feared that some wounds might never truly heal.

—

You eventually did wake up, groggy but relieved to find that, despite the brutality you endured, you had very little internal damage. The doctors assured you that your body just needed time to heal. Two weeks of paid leave were granted as you recovered, a rare gesture of empathy from Chief Strauss, who seemed to have a soft spot for you.

As the painkillers faded and your mind cleared, the questions from your team began. You sat with them, still feeling tender but able to think straight, recounting everything you remembered from that night. You and Spencer had been investigating a house, following up on an anonymous tip. It seemed routine until the moment you two split up to check different rooms. That’s when it happened—ambushed from behind, a cloth drenched in chloroform shoved over your mouth. After that, everything went black.

"I only remember waking up inside the warehouse with Spencer," you explained, your voice steady but laced with tension. The memories still fresh, the pain still vivid. "The unsub wanted me. I was the real target. They said I was more of a challenge than any of their other victims."

JJ, sitting beside you, asked softly, her voice gentle and careful. “Why did they take Spencer?”

You heaved a breath, feeling the weight of the answer on your chest. “They thought if they took him too, they could find out where the rest of the team was. They wanted Spencer to tell you all it was a dead end, to send you off on a different trail.” You paused, your breath shaking as you continued. “They said if Spencer did that, they’d release him. But they made it clear… they just wanted me.”

The room was silent for a moment, the gravity of your words hanging in the air. Your team exchanged glances, but no one said anything. They didn’t need to. You all understood what it meant—that the unsub was willing to let Spencer go, but you were never supposed to walk out of that warehouse alive.

—

When you returned to work after your leave, the atmosphere shifted. The entire team was happy to have you back, and there were warm smiles all around. Spencer, however, seemed unsure how to approach you now. Still, he smiled as you passed by, his voice tentative yet sincere as he said, “I’m really glad you’re back and feeling better.”

You returned the smile, a brief and polite response escaping your lips. “Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.” The exchange was short, almost too brief, and you both seemed to sense the unspoken tension lingering between you. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by JJ, who had grown close to you since the incident. She had been your rock, someone you confided in more and more. 

When she found a quiet moment alone with you, JJ slipped into the conversation with ease. “Hey, how’s your first day back?” she asked with her trademark smile, though there was a hint of something deeper in her tone.

You shrugged lightly, trying to mask any unease. “Same as usual, I guess. It feels good to be working again, though. I was getting restless at home.”

JJ laughed knowingly, nodding. “I know exactly what you mean.” Then, her voice dropped, softer now, as she leaned in slightly. “Did something happen between you and Spence?”

The question caught you off guard, your brows knitting in surprise. Did Spencer say something to her? You quickly tried to brush it off with a joke. “Other than, you know, getting kidnapped together? Not that I know of.”

But JJ wasn’t convinced. She made a face like she wasn’t buying your casual response. “Are you sure? You two haven’t really been talking much. I guess I just assumed something like that would have brought you closer… in a weird, awful sort of way.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to deflect again. “Yeah… we didn’t get the trauma bonding memo, I guess.”

JJ still looked skeptical, her eyes scanning your face for cracks in your armor. “Okay, well… just, if you need to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Her offer was genuine, and the sincerity in her voice made you pause. You smiled back at her, feeling a small but comforting warmth settle in. “Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate that.”

Across the bullpen, Spencer had been listening to the conversation from his desk, his heart aching at what JJ was implying. He’d been mulling over the same thought—that the trauma you both went through should have drawn you closer. Shared experiences like that often created a bond, an unspoken connection forged in survival. But instead, he could feel the distance between you growing wider, and it tore him up inside.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how hard this must be for you, how you were facing it all alone. You were still relatively new to the team, and as far as Spencer knew, this was your first time being kidnapped. After his first time, he had shut everyone out. Granted, he’d been addicted to drugs back then, but that isolation still hadn’t been the right path. It had only deepened the pain, and he feared you might be doing the same thing.

He could only hope you were receiving the support you needed—support he wasn’t sure he could give you anymore.

—

Later that week, you found yourself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the sharp ache in your side as you reached for a mug to make tea. The pain in your ribs flared up with every stretch, the broken bones protesting loudly. As your arm extended toward the cupboard, the burning sensation became unbearable, and you yelped, clutching your side in an attempt to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was filled with concern as he walked into the room just in time to see you wince in pain. He was by your side in an instant, his hands hovering uncertainly, as if he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how far he could go. “Are you okay?”

You grunted, trying to downplay the pain. “I’m fine, just... need a mug.”

Spencer gave a small, understanding nod before stepping in to help. He reached up with ease, grabbing the mug he knew was your favorite—the one you always used for your tea. “Here,” he said softly, placing it on the counter in front of you. “Making tea?”

A small flutter stirred in your chest at the realization that he remembered both your favorite mug and your preference for tea. It was such a small detail, but it felt significant in that moment, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond that still lingered between you despite everything.

—

You laughed as you watched Spencer pour himself yet another cup of coffee. “It’s three in the afternoon, Spencer! Who drinks coffee this late?”

Spencer chuckled along with you, lifting his cup with a playful grin. “Me! Obviously!” he said, gesturing toward the steaming mug with a mock sense of pride.

You bumped his hip with yours, gently nudging him out of the way as you reached for the kettle. “Well, some of us actually like to sleep,” you teased, your tone light and playful.

What you didn’t notice was the way Spencer had stared at you after that, a soft, affectionate gaze lingering on your face, the kind of look that held more meaning than words could express.

—

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, knowing you needed the help but still feeling a little self-conscious about it.

Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your favorite tea from the cupboard and began steeping it for you, his movements calm and precise. He didn’t ask if you needed more assistance—he just did it, like he knew exactly what you needed in that moment. It was a silent kindness, one that reminded you of the Spencer you knew before everything had gotten so complicated.

As the tea steeped, you leaned back slightly, watching him with gratitude and lingering uncertainty. The simplicity of the moment, of him helping you with something as mundane as making tea, felt like a brief return to the way things used to be between you.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Spencer asked, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug in front of him rather than meeting your eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something tense beneath it, something unspoken that lingered between the two of you.

You frowned, feeling a bit of confusion and then a flicker of annoyance rising up. Was he only doing this out of guilt? You straightened up slightly, crossing your arms over your chest despite the ache in your ribs.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but you don’t have to suck up to me because of what happened,” you said, your words sharper than you intended. You regretted it immediately, but the frustration had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now—how careful everyone was being around you, how things with Spencer had grown so strange and distant since the kidnapping.

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand still resting on the counter as he absorbed your words. His jaw tightened, and for a second, he didn’t move or say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I’m not… sucking up to you.”

You huffed, unsure where this conversation was heading but feeling the tension building between you. “Then what is this? You’ve barely said two words to me since I came back, and now suddenly you’re… what? Trying to make up for it by being overly nice?”

Spencer’s shoulders stiffened, and he finally turned to face you, his expression guarded. “I’m just trying to help,” he said, his voice measured, like he was trying not to let his own emotions show. “I know things are… different now. But I didn’t want to push you into talking or pretending everything’s okay if it’s not. That’s all.”

The frustration in you wavered, your annoyance softening as you realized he wasn’t trying to guilt-trip or coddle you. He was as lost in this new dynamic as you were, both of you navigating the aftermath of something you hadn’t fully processed. His hesitation wasn’t about sucking up—it was about not knowing how to be around you anymore.

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to fix this, or me.”

Spencer's eyes softened slightly as he watched you, his own uncertainty flickering across his face. “I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said, almost a whisper now. “I just… don’t want to make things worse.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and suddenly the air felt heavy, filled with everything you both hadn’t said since the warehouse.

“Worse, right,” you scoffed, the bitterness lacing your voice before you could stop it. “Sorry I started an awful chain of events.” You could feel the hurt bubbling up again, the weight of rejection you’d been carrying ever since that day in the warehouse. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional bruise left behind, the wound that hadn’t healed.

Spencer looked at you, his expression faltering. He opened his mouth as if to respond but then hesitated, unsure of how to mend what had already spiraled so far out of control. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, his words stumbling out in a rush. “We were under a lot of stress… sometimes people say things they don’t mean, searching for comfort.”

You felt your heart drop at his words. He thought it was just a fleeting moment, something you’d said out of desperation. That stung worse than anything. You blinked back the frustration and the tears that were threatening to spill over, the pain in your side flaring as you tried to catch your breath.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out, the door to the break room slamming behind you with a sharp, echoing crack.

Spencer stood there, stunned, the sound of the door slamming reverberating in the silence. He hadn’t meant to make things worse. He didn’t realize until it was too late that you hadn’t just left the conversation—you had left the room entirely, and maybe… left something between you both behind.

He clenched his hands into fists, a knot tightening in his stomach. He didn’t know how to make this right, how to undo the damage that had already been done. All he knew was that you had walked away and it felt as if he was losing you for good.

—

Things on the team settled into a new rhythm, even if it wasn’t quite the same. Everyone seemed to accept that you and Spencer were no longer as close as you had once been, though there was an undercurrent of tension. The two of you weren’t assigned together anymore, and that seemed to smooth things out for the most part. But it didn’t go unnoticed that Spencer kept a quiet distance, while you partnered up with Derek in the field.

Spencer couldn’t shake the bitterness that crept in when he saw you with Derek. He couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch had reassigned you because he thought Spencer couldn’t protect you, that you needed someone strong like Derek to keep you safe. The thought left him feeling sour, inadequate, like he’d somehow failed. But then, just as quickly, he’d get mad at himself for even thinking that way. You didn’t need protecting. You were more than capable of handling yourself in the field. You had survived worse than most, even if he couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

What gnawed at him most, though, was how happy you seemed with Derek. The way you laughed and joked with him, talking easily like you once did with Spencer. It stirred something ugly inside him, something he didn’t want to admit. He couldn’t deny that Derek was the kind of man who seemed perfect—strong, confident, and charming. A man who could sweep anyone off their feet. He hated that it bothered him, but he’d never allow himself to admit that he was afraid you’d fall for Derek. That kind of jealousy was too much to confront.

You, on the other hand, were content with your new partnership. Derek was easygoing and didn’t pry into your personal life. He let you manage things on your own terms, only asking questions when you willingly brought something up. It was a refreshing change, especially after everything that had happened with Spencer. You didn’t want to talk about what had gone wrong. You were too embarrassed, too ashamed of how vulnerable you had felt. It was easier to leave it behind, buried where no one could see the cracks.

But despite the professional ease, there was still a part of you that missed what you and Spencer once had, even if you’d never admit that either.

—

On one particular case, you and Derek celebrated the capture of an unsub with a big, triumphant hug. In the heat of the moment, you jumped into his arms, and he caught you effortlessly, spinning you around as the rest of the team cheered. It had been the two of you who made the breakthrough that led to the unsub’s hideout, and everyone was thrilled. You were beaming, caught up in the excitement of the team.

But Spencer, standing on the sidelines, was stewing. His mind kept replaying the mistake he had made, the detail he had missed that Derek had caught. And now, it was Derek who had caught you, too. Watching the two of you laughing, hugging, and celebrating felt like a punch to his gut. His insecurities gnawed at him, building into a quiet anger that simmered beneath the surface.

The rest of the team, however, smiled at the sight of you, happy to see you so joyful and healed enough to engage in lighthearted horseplay with Derek. The dark cloud that had followed you since the kidnapping seemed to have lifted, and it was a relief to everyone.

When the team returned to Quantico, Penelope was quick to corral everyone for celebratory drinks at the local bar. You stuck close to JJ and Penelope, grateful for their company as the night went on. After a few drinks, they pulled you out onto the dance floor, laughter bubbling up between the three of you as the music played. You let yourself go, dancing with JJ and Penelope, the worries of the past few months fading in the glow of the evening.

But it wasn’t until Derek joined you girls on the dance floor that something shifted. Spencer, sitting at the bar, felt a surge of jealousy flood through him. Derek was there again, touching your arm, laughing with you, spinning you around as the girls cheered. Spencer’s vision blurred with red-hot anger, the insecurities and feelings he had been burying for weeks now boiling over.

Before he could think twice, Spencer stormed over, grabbing Derek by the arm and pulling him outside the bar. The sudden outburst left Derek confused, glancing at Spencer with genuine concern. “What the hell, Reid?” Derek asked, his voice sharp with confusion but tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”

Spencer was breathing heavily, steam practically pouring out of his ears as he glared at Derek. “Do you like her?” he snapped, his voice cracking with frustration.

Derek blinked, taken aback. “Who? Like who, Reid?”

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted, his voice louder than he intended. “You keep touching her, and dancing with her, and laughing like—like you’re trying to be with her!”

Derek’s face softened in realization, and he held up his hands defensively, trying to calm Spencer down. “Whoa, whoa, kid,” Derek said slowly, his tone measured. “You think something’s going on with me and Y/N?”

Spencer’s chest heaved as he struggled to control the emotions that had been brewing for so long. “I… I don’t know. I just—every time I see you with her, I can’t help but think you’re—”

Derek cut him off gently, shaking his head. “Spencer, man, it’s not like that. We’re friends. That’s it.”

But Spencer wasn’t ready to accept it. “Then why do you keep acting like that with her? I see it, Derek! You’re always laughing with her, touching her, like you’re… like you’re taking my place.”

Derek sighed, finally starting to understand what was bubbling beneath the surface. “Alright, Reid. What’s going on? ‘Taking your place’? You know Hotch was the one who reassigned us all. It’s just work, man.”

Spencer huffed in frustration, his foot kicking at the loose gravel beneath him. His mind raced, emotions swirling, but he couldn’t seem to piece together a coherent response. He felt like a rubber band stretched too far, about to snap, and it wasn’t just about work. He knew that much.

Derek watched him closely, reading the tension in Spencer’s body, the unease in his eyes. “That’s not what you meant, though, is it?” Derek questioned carefully, his tone soft but pressing for the truth.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed even further, his head dipping slightly as he tried to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky with frustration. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to confront what was really bothering him. But he also couldn’t stand feeling like this—watching from the sidelines, seeing you with Derek, seeing you laugh and smile like he wasn’t even part of your life anymore.

Derek took a step closer, lowering his voice so only Spencer could hear. “There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, but he wasn’t accusing. He was just trying to get Spencer to open up, to confront whatever it was that had him spiraling.

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, staring at the ground as his heart pounded. “I… I didn’t mean for there to be,” he admitted quietly, his voice strained. “It’s just… I don’t know how to be around her anymore. Everything’s different, and I—I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “You care about her. More than you’re letting on.”

Spencer’s silence was answer enough. He cared about you deeply—more than he had ever allowed himself to admit, even to himself. And now, watching you get closer to Derek while he kept his distance, it felt like he was losing you, piece by piece.

“I don’t know what happened in that warehouse," Derek began, his voice steady and understanding. "I read the report, but I’m sure there were some forgotten details… stuff that can’t be put into words.” He paused for a moment, giving Spencer a chance to process what he was saying. “If there’s something you need to tell her, just do it, Reid. Y/N isn’t the type to laugh at you or shut you out.”

Spencer sniffled, the tears coming against his will, his emotions too raw to hold back any longer. “I... I know that,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. He wiped at his eyes, feeling small and overwhelmed. “I just want to go back to how things were,” he complained softly, his words sounding almost petulant, like a child wanting to undo what couldn’t be undone.

Derek’s heart softened at Spencer’s admission. He had seen this kind of pain before, knew how trauma could twist things, how it could fracture even the strongest of bonds. “That’s not gonna happen, kid,” Derek said with sympathy, shaking his head gently. “What happened to the two of you… that changes people. It changes the way you see the world, and it changes how you see each other.”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words sink in. He knew Derek was right. He knew things had changed, that he had changed, and so had you. But hearing it made the ache in his chest sharper, more real.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t rebuild together,” Derek added, his voice hopeful. “It’s not about going back to how things were, Spencer. It’s about moving forward—together. You’ve both been through hell, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. You still have a chance.”

Spencer looked up at Derek, his eyes filled with uncertainty and vulnerability. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Derek shook his head, giving Spencer’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s only too late if you give up on her. Don’t wait until you lose her for good before you try to fix things. You care about her, Reid. She needs to hear that from you.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding slightly, though the fear still gnawed at him. He didn’t know if he was ready, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. He had to find the courage to face you, to face what had changed, and to see if there was still a chance to rebuild the connection he had feared was lost forever.

After their tense conversation outside the bar, Spencer headed home, deciding it was best not to linger. He didn’t want to ruin your night by bringing up anything uncomfortable, and the idea of watching you dance with Derek—or worse, with other men—was too much for him. The weight of jealousy and regret was already suffocating, and he needed space to figure out what he was really feeling.

It turned out to be a good thing he left when he did. After Spencer and Derek stepped outside, you were approached by a very handsome, very suave man. He had an easy charm about him, the kind that made conversation flow effortlessly. His flirtatious smile and smooth lines quickly caught your attention, and for the first time in a while, you felt yourself relax, enjoying the moment without overthinking it.

One drink turned into two, and before you knew it, the night had slipped away. The man offered to take you home, and in the haze of alcohol and the desire to forget the complicated feelings with Spencer, you agreed. You didn’t want to think about what had been left unsaid, about the tension between you and Spencer, or how much everything had changed.

That night, you went home with the charming stranger, eager to escape the weight of the unresolved emotions that had been building for weeks. But in the back of your mind, even as you tried to lose yourself in someone new, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just another way of avoiding what you were really feeling.

—

That one night started a fire inside you, one that you hadn’t realized had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long. The realization that—even if it was just for a fleeting moment—you were wanted, desired, was intoxicating. After everything that had happened with Spencer, after feeling rejected and unsure of yourself, it was refreshing to be wanted without complications or emotional baggage.

The feeling of being desired, even if only for one night at a time, ignited something within you. It gave you a sense of control, of freedom, and it felt good—so good—to be seen as someone worth chasing. So you leaned into it. You found your place in the hookup culture, where the rules were simple and the emotional weight was nonexistent. One night, one person, no strings attached.

And it was fun. The thrill of meeting someone new, the brief connection that didn’t require anything more than mutual attraction, gave you a rush. Sure, the expense of condoms and the constant reminder to stay on top of frequent STD testing was a minor annoyance, but it was worth it for the feeling of power and liberation that came with it.

You felt like you were finally getting your fix, like the hole that had been left after your complicated feelings with Spencer was being filled—albeit temporarily. It wasn’t about love or deep connection anymore. It was about reclaiming something for yourself, something you hadn’t realized you were missing. You had found an escape, and for now, that was enough.

But then, one day, you made a mistake—a slip of the tongue in the office. You weren’t necessarily trying to keep your new lifestyle a secret, but you hadn’t planned on making it common knowledge either. Your friends and coworkers didn’t need to know every detail of how you were trying to get over Spencer, how you had buried your hurt in casual flings to escape the complicated feelings lingering from the rejection.

It happened when Penelope asked about your weekend plans in the bullpen. You casually mentioned that you were busy, but the response sparked curiosity.

"Busy? With what?" JJ asked, her eyes narrowing playfully. As your close friend, she felt like she would have known if you had something going on. She sensed something was off.

You laughed awkwardly, realizing you had stepped into dangerous territory. "Uh, just... seeing a man."

Penelope's face lit up with excitement. "You have a date?" she asked, her glee impossible to hide.

"Not exactly..." you trailed off, hoping the conversation would end there, but you should’ve known better.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "Little miss thing, do you have a scheduled booty call?" he asked, his tone filled with mischief.

Your face flushed fiercely, the blush creeping up your neck. The small, involuntary smile on your lips gave you away instantly, and before you could protest, Penelope squealed with delight, while JJ chuckled in surprise.

"Oh my god!" Penelope exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "You minx! Why didn’t you tell us?"

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. "I mean, it’s nothing serious. Just… you know… having some fun."

But what you didn’t notice was Spencer, who had overheard the entire conversation from across the bullpen. His face paled, and his heart sank as the reality of your words hit him like a freight train. You were seeing other people. You were sleeping with other men, and it was painfully clear—you were trying to get over him.

The girl he had always wanted—you—had wanted him back. That truth crashed into him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for, and the weight of it left him standing frozen, unable to process how much he had lost. Spencer felt the deep ache of regret, gnawing at him with every word you spoke to your friends. You had moved on—or at least, you were trying to. And it was all because of him, because he had pushed you away when you had been vulnerable, honest, and open with him.

At that moment, Spencer couldn’t deny it any longer. He finally admitted it to himself—he wants you. He likes you. Maybe he even loves you. He always has. 

The realization of what he had been running from all this time hit him harder than any unsub ever could. He had been too scared to face it, too afraid of messing things up between you, too unsure of how to handle his own feelings. But now, watching you laugh awkwardly with your coworkers about casual hookups and hearing how you were slipping further and further away from him, it became painfully clear—he had already messed things up. 

Spencer clenched his fists at his sides, his mind racing with the weight of what he'd been denying for so long. He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you laughed with, the one you came home to after a long day. He wanted to be more than your friend, more than someone you used to be close to. He wanted you in his life, in every possible way.

—

Spencer had always been on your speed dial—back when things were simpler, back when you called him almost every day, your friendship close and easy. So when his phone buzzed after 11 p.m. on a Saturday, his first instinct wasn’t concern. But after everything that had happened between the two of you lately, the timing made him uneasy. This wasn’t normal anymore. He hadn’t heard from you in weeks, not like this, and certainly not at this hour.

His heart pounded as he grappled for the phone, his mind racing. If you were calling him this late, something had to be wrong. He didn’t hesitate for a second, fumbling to answer as quickly as possible, already imagining the worst. “Y/N?” he called out into the phone, his voice tense with worry. “Y/N, are you okay?”

But instead of your voice answering, what he heard stopped him cold.

It was faint at first, a muffled noise, but as he strained to listen, the unmistakable sounds of… pain? groaning? It left him on edge, his panic rising. His mind raced, thinking the worst—had you been hurt? Were you in danger? He called your name again, louder, more frantic this time. “*Y/N!*”

But still, no response from you. Just the sounds, growing clearer, louder.

And then, it hit him like a punch to the gut. Through the haze of sounds on the other end, he heard a man’s voice, moaning your name.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as realization dawned painfully, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t called him on purpose. You had buttdialled him during a hookup. The groans, the noises that he had thought were of pain—they weren’t what he had feared. They were… something entirely different.

His hands shook as he stared at the phone, the pit in his stomach growing. He could hear everything, the intimacy, the passion—things that weren’t meant for him, things he should never have been privy to. The knowledge of what was happening, of who was with you right now, left him reeling.

He hung up, the phone slipping from his grasp onto the bed. Spencer sat there, stunned, trying to process what had just happened. It was the harshest reminder of what he had lost, of what he had pushed away. You were moving on. You were finding comfort in someone else. And here he was, on the other end of a phone call that was never meant to be made.

For the first time, Spencer felt the full weight of what he had done. He had pushed you away, too scared to face his own feelings, and now he was watching—no, hearing—you slip further away from him. The girl he had always wanted, the one who had wanted him, was now with someone else. And all he could do was sit there, helpless, with the sharp, bitter taste of regret heavy on his tongue.

—

You were blissfully unaware that you had called Spencer the night before. After a fun, carefree night with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember, you woke up feeling satisfied and content. It wasn’t until the next day, when you went to call Penelope, that your heart stopped. Staring at your call log, your eyes widened in horror as you saw the call to Spencer. A call that had lasted for several minutes. 

You quickly checked the time. It had definitely been when you and what’s his name were together. Oh god. A pit formed in your stomach as the realization hit you—did Spencer hear anything? Your mind raced, mortified by the idea. You hadn’t spoken to him much lately, and now, this? It was beyond awkward.

By Monday morning, you were terrified to face Spencer. The embarrassment gnawed at you, and the thought of seeing him after that accidental call made your stomach churn. When you arrived at the office, you tried to keep your head down, praying the situation would somehow blow over. But as soon as you made it to your desk, Spencer stormed over, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression.

“Y/N,” he said lowly, his voice tense, “a word.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You nodded silently, following Spencer into the hall, the weight of what you feared was coming making it hard to breathe.

Before he could speak, you blurted out, “Listen, Spencer, I’m sorry—” You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was grappling with something—whether to be angry, hurt, or simply frustrated. “You called me,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else you couldn’t quite place. “I heard... a lot.”

Your heart sank even further. He did hear. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for that to happen,” you said quickly, desperate to explain. “It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Just…” Spencer interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable. His voice was quieter now, but the tension between you was palpable. “Please don’t do that again. It was horribly uncomfortable.”

You winced, guilt washing over you. The last thing you had ever wanted was to make Spencer feel that way. “I’m really sorry, Spencer,” you said, softer this time. “I didn’t realize I had called you. If I had known...”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “I know. It’s just… hearing that, knowing what was happening, it was…” He trailed off, the words hanging unfinished in the air.

"It was what?" you pressed, sensing that Spencer was leaving something unsaid, something important.

Spencer glanced away, his expression tense, and then, as if the weight of his feelings could no longer be held back, he blurted it out. "I was jealous, okay?"

You blinked in disbelief. “Jealous?” The word left your mouth before you could stop it, confusion swirling in your mind. How could he be jealous after everything that had happened between you two?

“Yeah, Y/N,” he sighed, finally meeting your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze clear now. “I was jealous.”

You shook your head, still baffled by his confession. “Spencer, you rejected me,” you reminded him, your voice sharper than you intended. The hurt from that moment still stung, and hearing him say he was jealous felt like a twisted irony.

“I know,” he said quickly, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know I did, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what you said or what I was feeling, and I pushed you away. But hearing you with someone else, knowing you’ve moved on… it hit me harder than I expected.”

You stood there, staring at him, processing his words. Part of you wanted to lash out, to remind him of how much his rejection had hurt you. But another part of you, the part that had always cared for Spencer, softened at the sight of him so open, so raw with his emotions.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentler now, “you don’t get to be jealous. Not after everything. You made your choice.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes full of regret. “And it was the wrong choice. I didn’t realize how much I wanted you—until it was too late.”

There was a pause as his words hung in the air between you.

“Well, I’m sorry it took you so long to realize it,” you said, the hurt still lingering in your voice despite the calm exterior you tried to maintain.

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression full of regret. “Me too,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say before, the weight of his hesitation clear now that the truth was out.

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, heavy with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the hurt and confusion swirling around inside your chest. This was what you had wanted once—to hear Spencer admit that he had made a mistake. But now that it was happening, it didn’t feel as satisfying as you thought it would.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you for good.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. There was no quick fix for what had happened between you. His apology was genuine, but the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know what to say, Spencer,” you admitted. “I’m not going to pretend like this doesn’t hurt, or that everything can just go back to how it was.”

“I understand,” he said softly, looking down at the floor. “I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. And that I’m sorry.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate that. But this doesn’t change everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his eyes meeting yours once more. “But maybe… maybe it’s not too late to figure it out. If you’re willing.”

You hesitated, the rawness of the conversation still fresh. You didn’t know if you could open that door again—not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to rebuild what had been broken.

“We’ll see, Spencer,” you said softly. “We’ll see.”

And with that, the conversation hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, but with the faintest glimmer of hope.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[connorsui]

Infinite Heartstrings

Obsessed! Satoru x fem! Reader

Genre/warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, comedy, satoru falling in love with you

Synopsis: Satoru Gojo is hopelessly smitten with you, but his usual confidence falters whenever you're around.

Note: this takes place when everything hasn't gone to depression 💔

w.c: 1.3K

Satoru Gojo was not one to lose his cool. The man who faced down curses without batting an eye, who cracked jokes mid-battle, and who carried the weight of the world on his broad, relaxed shoulders—he was unshakeable. At least, that's what everyone believed. But those closest to him, like Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, knew better.

"He's doing it again," Shoko muttered, glancing over the top of her medical file at the white-haired sorcerer pacing back and forth in their shared lounge.

"How could anyone be so perfect?" Satoru gushed, his hands waving animatedly in the air as he recounted every detail of his latest encounter with you. "The way she smiled at me—I'm telling you, it was like the sun itself decided to bless me with its warmth!"

Suguru, leaning against the wall with an exasperated look, sighed deeply. "You’re hopeless, Satoru. We get it. She smiled at you…and to be factual she wasn't doing it just towards you"

"But it wasn't just a smile," Satoru insisted, blue eyes sparkling with an intensity that had nothing to do with his cursed techniques. "It was... it was *the* smile! Like, 'I can die happy now' kind of smile!"

Shoko rolled her eyes, closing her file with a snap. "You’ve been saying the same thing for weeks. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?"

"Because—because—" Satoru paused, searching for the right words, his usual confidence faltering. "Because– I mean she wouldn't reject meeee …right!? …THE Satoru Gojo!? – I just gotta find the right time is all”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes without words. Satoru Gojo, the man who could have anything and anyone, was terrified of rejection.

When you spoke to him, it was as if the world slowed down. The way your voice reached his ears, gentle and melodic, made his heart race in a way he couldn't control. It wasn’t fair how you did that to him, how you made him—a man who usually had the upper hand—feel so completely and utterly at your mercy. That even his six eyes looked at you with pure admiration and beauty.

“God's it's as if I can stare at her soul forever”

“Do you see that! She styled her hair today!”

“Having her in our lives would feel less lonely”

“ She will love us too, right!?”

“She looks so soft…”

“Her very being is immaculate”

"Satoru?" Your voice snapped him back to reality, and he realized he'd been staring at you for a little too long. His face flushed, and he quickly cleared his throat.

"Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry, I was just... uh... admiring the view!" He cringed internally, immediately regretting his choice of words. What kind of line was that?

Surprised; you stared at him directly until you giggled, a sound that sent his heart soaring. "Your mind is getting soo cloudy lately, Gojo…but, I can't lie when you stare off into the universe, it makes you look cute!”

Cute.

You called him cute, for a brief moment Satoru's six eyes went silent.

You liked him enough to tease him!

Later that night, he found himself groaning into his pillow, replaying the conversation in his head for the hundredth time. "Cute … I can't believe she called me cute..." He grumbled, his face half-buried in the pillow, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks. Why couldn’t he ever say something smooth to you? Something that would make you see him as the suave, confident man he was supposed to be?

But the next day, his resolve hardened. He was Satoru Gojo, after all. He could do this. He can make this right!

So, he showed up at your door with a bouquet of red tulips and baby’s breath, their soft elegance a reflection of his feelings for you. Of course, he didn’t tell you that he had grilled your friend for an hour to find out your favorite flowers.

"Red tulips?" You raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. "How did you know these are my favorites?"

Satoru grinned, pushing up his sunglasses with a cocky tilt of his head. "I have my ways. Lucky guess, maybe?"

You smiled, taking the bouquet with a gentle touch that made his heart skip a beat. "Thank you, Satoru. They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he blurted out, and immediately, his face turned red. He couldn't believe he’d just said that out loud. The normally confident sorcerer was now a stuttering, blushing mess.

"You're so sweet," you said softly, and Satoru could have sworn the entire world melted away in that moment. Just you, him, and the beating of his heart that felt louder than any curse he’d ever faced.

Satoru couldn’t take it anymore. He’d spent weeks—no, months—dancing around his feelings, trying to play it cool, trying to be smooth. But every time he saw you, every time you smiled at him, he felt like he was going to explode.

So there he was, standing in front of you, his usual swagger nowhere to be found. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, revealing those striking blue eyes that were now filled with nervous energy.

"Any moment i'm going to lose myself…" he stammered, his voice a little too loud, a little too shaky. You looked at him, curious and a bit concerned.

"....what?"

"I... I really like you. And not just in a 'hey, let's be friends' kind of way, but in a 'I think about you all the time and I want to be with you' kind of way, — I mean — who wouldn't want to be with me right? — you would be with me …right? " he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush before he lost his nerve. His face was burning, and he was sure he looked like an idiot, but he didn’t care anymore.

You blinked, taking a moment to process his sudden outburst. Then, a soft smile spread across your lips, and you stepped closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Satoru Gojo," you said with a teasing lilt, "I think I like you too."

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief flooding through him. “Me…right? ..you mean me….not as the stro-"

Silencing him. You kissed his cheek. “I mean you Satoru …I mean you”

Satoru's heart nearly burst from his chest as your words sank in, the warmth of your kiss lingering on his cheek like a brand. For a moment, he was utterly speechless, his brain short-circuiting as it tried to process the fact that you actually liked him back.

His usual confident grin slowly returned, this time softer, more genuine, as he gazed at you with those intense blue eyes, now filled with nothing but adoration.

And for the first time in a long while, Satoru Gojo knew that he didn’t have to face the world alone. Because now, he had you.

Ooc satoru is my fav satoru

[vivid-dreamscapes]

~♡~Caught~♡~ Bakugou X reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tw: Swearing, suggestive themes Themes: Humor mainly Summery: Getting caught in the middle of being hot and heavy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well this was embarrassing. Just two seconds ago, you had been making hella love with your boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou, at 2:56 AM. Things were going well, you were getting your brains fucked out, he was saying some not so SFW stuff to you, all that.

Then the ever so lovely Kirishima decided to burst in for gods knows what reason, and now you were stuck here, hiding under the covers of your boyfriend’s bed, naked, bound at the wrists with the black tank top he had been wearing, and gagged with the new ball gag he had been excited to try out.

Bakugou’s whole body tensed up in shock as the sound of the door banging open suddenly jolted him out of the state he was in, his eyes snapping to the door where Kirishima was standing.

He was so taken off guard by the sudden arrival that he could barely muster up a response to Kirishima.

“WHAT THE HELL SHITTY HAIR!?!!” The blonde yelled, trying desperately to prepare himself to act like nothing was out of the usual.

The fact that the two of you’s clothes were strewn on the floor didn’t help though. Hopefully Kirishima wouldn’t see them in the dark. And assume that Bakugou just slept shirtless.

Bakugou was practically holding his breath, hoping that Kirishima wouldn’t notice any of the clothes and just think nothing was odd about the room.

Unfortunately, Kirishima was not that thick.

“Hey man, are you alone in here?”

Your boyfriend let out an internal swear inside his mind as Kirishima asked that particular question, knowing that he could not say that he was alone in here without being obviously caught in a lie.

“Y-yeah, why?” Bakugou answered and then silently cursed himself at the slight shake in his voice.

Kirishima paused before looking up at him. “Nothing, I just-“

“Heyy, we bothering kcchan?”

Both you and your boyfriend went stiff. Oh no. For fucks sake. Denki Kaminari’s voice was heard as he poked his head into the room alongside Kirishima.

The spiky blonde heard the dumber blonde’s voice too, feeling his heart almost stop as he realized that not only was Kirishima there, but now Denki was too.

He wanted to strangle both of them for being so goddamn stubborn about coming to check on him at such an ungodly hour of the night.

“Yeah, why’s it so dark in here?” Denki pondered, looking around.

“Because I was trying to sleep, dipshit!”

The little electric boy raised an eyebrow before he recognized your ‘Yeah, I rolled my eyes at you, sue me’ shirt on the floor, plus your favorite bottoms.

He glanced over at Bakugou who was mentally swearing again, but still trying to act as innocent as possible.

“Hey Bakubro…?”

“What?”

You tended up and prayed your friend wouldn’t recognize the outfit as your own. But luck really wasn’t on your side today.

Denki glanced back at the scattered outfit in the floor again, trying to find any other excuse that wasn’t the one right in front of his eyes.

“Aren’t these Y/n’s clothes?”

Bakugou froze as Denki asked that question, feeling every cell in his body just scream at him to answer properly and not make it any more obvious. It didn’t help that they knew you two were dating either.

Your boyfriend’s mind was racing with a million things to say, but none of them were working. Everything he thought about saying failed before it even came out, his brain short circuiting as he tried to come up with an answer.

“Yeah…they are…” Kirishima said, speaking up for the first time with its that minute.

Denki looked up at the shirtless hothead, covering the rest of his indecent self but keeping it under the blankets. You had a nice view of his ass under there while you hid though. “Why are they on your floor?”

“Because…” Bakugou stopped a moment and cursed again before he finally said the dumbest thing he could think of. “…they were here earlier.”

Kirishima raised both his eyebrows at that, both him and Denki now looking at him with the same look of disbelief.

“Really?” Denki asked, clearly not buying the excuse, although he was still giving him the chance to dig himself out of the hole.

“…yeah.” Bakugou said, silently cursing himself again and praying they would just take the lie.

Unfortunately, Kirishima was far from stupid.

“Then why did they take their clothes off? And just leave them?” The shark boy asked, arms crossed.

Bakugou swore under his breath for the umpteenth time at that question, knowing there was no way to answer this that wouldn’t be extremely suspicious now. “…they took a shower…”

He said, the lie sounding just as terrible out loud as it did in his head. There was a moment of silence as Kirishima raised his eyebrow again. “Why would they come over in the middle of the day to take a shower and then ditch their clothes?”

Your boyfriend tensed up as he realized more and more that there was no hope in trying to lie about this situation.

“…Because.” He ever so genius-ly said.

Denki and Kirishima raised their eyebrows again, the answer sounding even more suspicious than before. They knew he was lying at this point, but it was so entertaining to watch him flounder around trying to cover up the truth.

After a moment, Denki broke the silence. “…and why are you shirtless?”

Bakugou wanted to strangle both of those dumbasses in the doorframe, silently cursing the fact that they had to pick this particular moment to come up here to bother him. “…Because I was hot.” He lied, knowing it was possibly the worst lie given these circumstances.

“It’s 66 degrees.”

“YOU TRY HAVING A QUIRK THAT GIVES YOU UNNATURALLY HOT BODY TEMPERATURES SHITTY HAIR!!”

Bakugou shouted again when Kirishima pointed out that it was, in fact, not hot enough to be warranting him to be shirtless. He was losing hope in trying to cover this up. He just couldn’t keep up the facade much longer.

“Okay, so you’re telling us that she came over, took a shower, left her clothes, and you’re in here shirtless, even though it’s not that hot out. You’re sure that’s right?” Denki asked with a raised eyebrow.

“….Yes.”

Bakugo’s eyes darted between Denki and Kirishima, a small voice in the back of his head begging them to just believe him so this would all be over, but a bigger part of him just knew they weren’t buying it one bit. They had him caught and they knew it.

After a moment, Denki spoke up. “Okay, so…prove it.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PROVE IT?!”

Denki shrugged and gave a sly smirk.

“I don’t know, open the covers.”

“Hell no!!”

Kirshima decided to wedge in real quick before what got intense. “If you really-“

The red head was cut off as the familiar voice of your pink best friend was heard from the door over, saving you from this situation.

“Ejirou, are you coming back yet? I just found another toy we can use! This one vibrates~”

You all froze at Mina’s voice, coming from Kirishima’s dorm.

Knowing her, she had probably known you were going to be caught naked if this continued—by eavesdropping—and was helping you slightly.

But Oh how the tables have turned.

All three boys looked at the door as they heard Mina’s voice coming from it, their eyes wide as they realized that she was also up and possibly doing some frisky stuff in Kirishima’s room.

Neither one of them had expected her to say something so sus at that moment, and all three boys froze, their minds racing to try and figure out how to respond to this new development.

It ended up coming down to Denki and Bakugo turning to look at Kirishima with raised eyebrows.

Kirishima’s face was beet red as he turned to look at them both, his voice slightly shaky as he spoke. “I-It’s not what it looks-“

“Oh shut it shitty hair, and stop acting like you weren’t just trying to catch me when your doing the same thing.”

Denki nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah…hypocrite much?”

“Wait, you admit it!” Kirishima pointed to Bakugou as you giggled through the ball gag under the sheets. Your boyfriend gave them one warning look, a few sparks, and they were gone.

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

Sorry there wasn’t much reader interaction! This one was just kinda suppose for be silly and make yall laugh. And like usual, it ain’t proofread

[halfwayhearted]

Will You Cry? — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: Ever since JJ’s confession, it feels like your relationship with Spencer is crumbling to pieces right before your eyes. You’ve had enough.

Word Count: 920+

Disclaimer/s — ANGST (hiphip!), no fluff/comfort ending, no use of Y/N, I think that’s it! 🎀

A/N: Soooooo, haha… Lmk.

‘I’ve always loved you’.

Those were Jennifer Jareau's exact words to your boyfriend of two years. You weren't angry; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. She had to give the UnSub what he wanted, to be impressed. And she did exactly that.

You weren’t mad at her at all. Nor him.

Well, you weren't mad at him then. Now, it was a whole different story.

The pieces of your relationship were shattering, bit by bit, right in front of you. The worst part was, you felt completely and utterly helpless. You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But, he just kept on acting the same way.

Distant.

Once it hit exactly two months, you realized you faced one thought and one thought only.

If you decide to let go, how will he feel?

Will he reassure you, claiming it's just a… a rough patch, finally realizing just how deeply his lack of understanding and communication has quite literally affected you? Or, will he keep doing what he's been doing, shrugging and brushing you off like you're nothing but a stranger he happens to pass by almost every single day?

You'd find out one way or another.

Oh. You’ll actually find out right now! How fun.

As soon as you hear the front door unlock and creak open, you rise to your feet, casting a wary glance towards him. You nervously wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.

He had spent yet another few hours at the BAU, even though he didn't have to. That was also one of the reasons you so badly needed to talk to him. He never stayed this late before, but ever since everything went down, he started to. Leaving you to drive home alone, wondering if this was the slow, painful end of something special.

“Hey,” you begin, “You’re home late. Again.”

He merely hummed, a distant sound, as he took off his leather messenger bag, hung it on the hook with a weary sigh, and slipped off his shoes.

How could you even bring this up? Just—you didn’t know, take a deep breath and go for it? “Do you think we could maybe… talk?”

Slowly, Spencer flicked his gaze to meet yours. He mutters your name under his breath before replying, “I’m tired. Can this wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“No,” you blurted, internally face-palming. “It won’t take long, I don’t think.”

Inhaling sharply, your boyfriend nods and begins to take off his tie, his eyes never leaving you as you figure out how to start.

“About JJ’s confession,” you begin, mentally cursing yourself when you see him stiffen almost immediately. It’s already out. So, just stick with it. “Did it mean something to you?”

Silence. Deafening silence. The only sound is the subtle hum of the air conditioning. You vividly remember you and Spencer on the couch, his head on your lap as he read a book you both wanted to read together. He’d pause whenever the air conditioning kicked on, making you let out a small huff of laughter. It feels like it was just yesterday. But, in reality, it was four months ago.

You felt your patience thinning, “Spencer—”

“What do you want me to say?” He quips, lifting his arms in frustration. His words cut through the air, earning a bitter scoff in return.

You kept your composure. “Answer the question.”

“Why does it matter?”

Why does it matter? You could’ve burst out laughing right then and there, but you held it in.

“It matters because I need to know if everything I've been doing these past two months has been for nothing!” You snapped, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I tried to make this work, it’s like you’ve given up on us or something.”

All you get in return is silence, so you continue. “You don’t talk to me as much as you used to. Not about your day, what you’ve read, how you’ve been—nothing! It’s always ‘I’m tired, talk later,’ or you vanish into your office for hours and hours on end. We don’t even do the things we used to. Haven’t you realized? I—I don’t even know what to say to you anymore, Spencer. No weekly dates, no quality time spent. I didn’t mind because as long as you were here, I was fine. But now? Now, I’m not so sure. I’ve tried to get at least a little communication from you, but you’ve given me nothing. I’m tired, okay? So, please, talk to me.”

…

He blinks. Once, twice, three times. Nothing.

Of course.

A humorless laugh bubbles up and escapes your lips. The tears you fought so hard to hold back now stream uncontrollably down your cheeks. You brush past him and reach for your sweater. Just then, you feel the desperate brush of his fingers against your elbow, but you pull back and slip the fabric on with a trembling resolve.

You hear him say your name. You don’t answer as you grab your bag. He says it again, this time much louder. Still, you don't respond as you grab your keys. Once you stand in front of the door, you turn to face him. “If you can’t come to terms with your feelings just yet, I understand. But I’m done putting myself through that—the waiting. I won’t put up with that anymore. Not right now.”

He says nothing.

Spencer Reid is silent.

You catch the softening in his expression, but you turn away sharply, refusing to let yourself crumble under the weight of his gaze.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” And with that, you leave.

You were done.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[hgfictionwriter]

Discovery: Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's nervous about a date at your apartment. Despite enjoying the evening and a chance to talk, she's left with lingering doubts about how to handle your evolving relationship.

Warnings: G!P content. Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts; themes of self-acceptance. Reluctant gaslighting??

A/N: Thank you all for the interest in this piece. Still heavy on the angst here. Things will move more significantly in the next chapter. First chapter is here.

"Hey, for Saturday I was thinking of making us reservations at that new place on Greenwood. What do you think?"

"That sounds nice. But I was thinking maybe you could just come over instead. I'll make us dinner. We've been going out a lot and while it's fun to check out new places and it's sweet of you to plan all these dates, I miss our chill nights in."

A pit formed in Jessie's stomach upon reading your message. It was inevitable, really. You two couldn't have an entire relationship outside of your apartments. In fact, this whole going out every week thing was draining for her, but it was the lesser evil compared to hanging out at either of your places and what would, eventually, follow.

She ran a hand through her hair with a sigh.

"Yeah, sure. That's fine." She paused, staring at the message before exhaling in frustration. What a lackluster response. She deleted it.

What you were offering was legitimately what she wanted. She had the most fun when it was just you two, relaxed and in the comfort of your own homes. Just, now, there would be nothing relaxing about it. It would be coded with all sort of hints and allusions to something more now that you were dating. That tentative dance of will you, won't you, and when.

"That sounds great. What do you want me to bring?"

"Just yourself 😉"

Her shoulders slumped with a sigh. She should be excited. Instead, her mind ran rampant with thoughts and scenarios, each one more concerning than the last.

Through the rest of the week, she couldn't quite shake that weight in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes she forgot about it, but as soon as she had space to think or rest, worry came rushing back.

"Still want me to come over?"

Jessie hit send though she was standing at her bike already, helmet on and ready to go. And it's not like she wanted you to cancel. She really wanted to see you, but she was so torn.

"Yes lol. Of course I do. Been looking forward to it all week!"

Her chest panged and another text came through.

"Do you want to do something else?"

Now she really felt bad.

"No, no. Just checking. Just about to hop on my bike. I'll be over soon, then 😊"

"Sounds good. Ride safe."

Jessie's heart was racing as she shifted anxiously from one foot to the next as she rode the elevator up to your apartment. She looked down at the bouquet of flowers she picked up along the way and shook out a hand as she let her head fall back and she stared vacantly up at the ceiling.

"Calm down," she said to herself.

Soon, she stood tentatively in front of your door, hand poised to knock. She stood there frozen for a second before she brought her knuckles to the door. She fidgeted with the straps of her helmet and the paper around the bouquet as she waited.

A few seconds later the door opened to reveal your smiling face. Despite how she was feeling a second ago, the veil of worry that weighed on her dissipated upon seeing you. She couldn't help but smile back.

"Come in," you said cheerfully as you waved her inside before your eyes fell to the flowers. Distracted by seeing you, Jessie momentarily forgot about them and glanced down to follow your gaze.

"Oh," she voiced in belated realization before she smiled brightly and held them out. "For you."

You gave a wide smile and took them from her, smelling them and smiling once more before wrapping her up in a hug.

Her grip around you was slack to begin with, but when you held her tightly she found herself reciprocating. Her chest tightened as she held you close; she really missed you and it was a relief to hold you in her arms again. She felt herself relaxing a touch.

When you pulled your head away from her, you two locked eyes.

"I missed you," you said. Jessie felt a small blush forming and she gave you a coy smile.

"I missed you, too."

Her eyes closed as you gently closed in and soon your lips were on hers. It was chaste and sweet, but it sent a shiver down her spine and she couldn't help smiling into the kiss. Her heart warmed as she opened her eyes to see you smiling affectionately at her as your hand came to her cheek and gave her other a peck.

"Okay, let's get inside. And thank you for these, they're beautiful," you said as you ushered her in and closed the door. "Gosh. It feels like you haven't been over in ages. I guess you haven't - not since we started dating."

"Yeah," Jessie agreed with a faint laugh as she scratched the back of her head, nervousness starting to creep back in. She tried to remain relaxed as you stood close to her.

"Make yourself at home. Dinner should be ready soon."

Jessie followed you with her eyes as you returned to the kitchen and found a home for the flowers. She was lost in her thoughts before shaking her head out.

"Can I help with anything?"

You looked around briefly with the cutest frown on your face before giving a shrug.

"I guess you can get some plates and cutlery out."

She did so, carefully laying everything out before returning to the kitchen and standing awkwardly waiting for further instructions.

"Go sit down," you laughed as you shooed her away.

"No, let me help you," she insisted, a smile finding its way onto her lips, your mannerisms infectious.

You placed your hands on your hips and cocked your head at her. "Fine. Go get me these things," you unlocked your phone and handed it to her with a recipe on screen. You nodded to the pantry cupboard. "The shaker's in there. I saw this on a mixology account I follow and wanted to make us some tonight."

"Oh," Jessie voiced as she looked at the drink recipe. "Tequila?"

"Don't tell me you're scared of a shot of tequila," you teased lightly. "I thought some of you varsity athletes partied hard - especially in LA."

"Yeah, some," she emphasized as she scanned the cupboard for the items.

"You don't have to drink anything if you don't want to," you added. She gave you a fleeting look over her shoulder before returning with the supplies.

"It's fine," she said. "I'll try it."

It's not that she never drank, she enjoyed a relaxing beverage as much as the next person, but alcohol seemed like a dangerous thing given her current circumstances. However, perhaps it would take the edge off.

She started measuring out ingredients into the shaker and sealed it before shaking it all together. You looked back and gave her a not-so-subtle look of appreciation as your eyes fell to her biceps. You even reached out and gave her nearest arm a brief squeeze.

"Oh," you said with a quick raise of your eyebrows, a hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth before you turned away. Jessie blushed under your attention.

"For you," she announced after she poured out the drinks and handed you your glass.

She smiled softly as you cheers each other and took a sip. You both immediately winced and she started coughing at the overwhelming taste of alcohol.

"Shit," Jessie coughed, her eyes started to water.

You burst into laughter, but took another tentative sip.

"They are not joking with these drinks. Either that or you're heavy handed," you teased.

"I measured!" She insisted.

The drink certainly took the edge off for Jessie. By the time you were done dinner and settled into watching a movie together, her body was void of tension and her head still felt a bit light.

It wasn't long before fleeting pangs of concern started to edge in though. You two had watched shows and hung out on the couch together before, that wasn't the big deal, but as Jessie became acutely aware of your hand brushing up against hers, she found herself fidgeting lightly. She cleared her throat.

She tried to view you out of the corner of her eye and got the sense you were doing the same. Eventually, you took charge and slipped your fingers between hers, giving her hand a light squeeze. She turned and gave you a tight smile that caused your cheeks to grow flush.

While you'd both been quietly watching the movie, now you started to talk - making comments about the movie or other things. She responded softly as you chatted, cluing in that you were nervous and trying to distract to some degree. Soon, your clasped hands were resting on Jessie's thigh as you leaned into her, eventually resting your head on her shoulder.

Her heart started to pound with increasing intensity in her chest. She cursed inwardly. This shouldn't be a big fucking deal. She wanted to cuddle with you. She wanted to put her arm around you and pull you close. But it was the possibility of what would follow that had her wary.

She completely lost track of the movie, fully preoccupied with what to do. She was so conflicted. You drew small circles on her thigh and at one point laid a soft kiss on her shoulder. She cast her worries aside and lifted her arm to wrap around your shoulders. A rush of affection went through her as she caught the smile on your face as you cuddled in.

If she hadn't forgotten about the movie earlier, it was certainly forgotten now as you grew more handsy. Jessie tried to not appear affected, but her body was so tense in apprehension; she just didn't know how to relax.

When your lips suddenly made soft, sweet contact with her neck. Her free hand dug into the underside of her leg as she fought to remain indifferent. Your lips were sensual and teasing, your breath hot on her neck and she could feel sensations building within her and threatening to spill over. When your tongue grazed the sensitive skin of her neck she instinctively jerked away, fully breaking away from the embrace. She'd done it before she even realized it. An apologetic frown etched onto her face already before even seeing you.

That pit in her stomach hit deeper than ever when she saw the hurt and embarrassed look on your face, even if it was just for a second before you quickly masked it.

"Sorry," you said with a forced smile and a breathy laugh.

"No, I-" Jessie stammered, struggling to find her words. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and she could just picture the pathetic look she was giving you. You forced another chuckle and tucked your hair behind your ear self-consciously.

"No, no. I'm sorry. Must be that heavy pour," you faintly joked, forcing a fleeting look. You straightened your posture and seemed to recenter yourself. You looked to her, earnest. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have pushed. I think I just-" you paused, collecting your thoughts, "I think I just thought you were being, I don't know, really...chivalrous? Or just shy. I don't know." Your face fell briefly before offering her a brave, half-hearted smile. "You clearly want to take it slow, and I should respect that. I do respect that."

Jessie turned to you, shifting on the couch to face you more fully.

"Hey, don't apologize. Seriously. It's completely okay," she assured you. You looked far from comforted, so she reached out and took your hands. Your grip was nearly non-existent until she gave you a squeeze and you mustered up a soft smile and squeezed back.

"Y-yeah, I do want to take things slow, and it doesn't help that I'm super awkward and shy," she said self-deprecatingly. "But please don't feel bad. I'm just...I'm awkward."

You made a slight face at her.

"I made you uncomfortable," you countered.

"I liked it," Jessie said, and it was absolutely true. "I just," she looked away briefly as she found her words, "I just want you to know that I'm interested in more than just physical with you." That wasn't a lie either.

You frowned deeply and your mouth quirked up in a smirk. "I think I sorted that out," you said somewhat flatly. You seemed to contemplate your words, choosing to move forward. "You know. After going on five dates and having barely kissed."

Jessie could feel her face start to heat up and her mouth felt dry. While she struggled to figure out what to say, you scratched at the back of your neck and spoke further.

"I don't know. Maybe it's in my head. You seem less comfortable with me now than before we started dating." You relaxed your shoulders, taking a breath as you sat straight and gave her an earnest smile. "I really like you, Jessie. And I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, at all, so. If there's something I'm doing that's making you feel like that - you know, other than trying to make out with you unprompted-" you rolled your eyes, "please tell me. I don't want to push you away."

Jessie's jaw was clenched hard and she didn't realize her fingers were digging into her palms. She hated that she was making you feel this way and making you doubt yourself, and her.

"Y/N," she said your name imploringly, "I really like you, too. Please believe me. I really, really do." She searched your eyes, hating the hurt and uncertainty she'd sparked in you. Her shoulders fell and she thumbed the back of your hands softly. "I haven't dated in a long time. I don't really know what I'm doing. And I think I'm just in my head. I don't want to mess things up with you."

Your gaze softened and you gave her hands a light squeeze.

"You're not messing anything up. And, it's good that we're talking this through. I think that's really good and I'm grateful for it," you told her and she nodded readily.

"Hey," she said softly as she shuffled in closer to you. "I really like you. Please don't doubt that. Even if I'm being stupid. Thank you for being patient with me."

You gave a faint frown. "You don't need to thank me. Nor are you stupid."

"Mm, I'm kind of dumb," she said as she gave you a comical expression. You chuckled, but frowned further. She smiled at you. "I have this gorgeous, incredible girlfriend and I'm getting so stuck in my head that I'm making her think I don't feel the same way about her as she does about me."

You rolled your eyes briefly, but looked at her in thanks nonetheless.

"You're not dumb."

"Mm," she voiced further as she slowly leaned in. She whispered, "I kind of am," before her lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Though you reciprocated, it was passive. Tentative.

Jessie kissed you anew, deepening it. Something she hadn't initiated before. Your reaction was delayed. She could almost feel the confusion and hesitation, but she stayed the course. Her hand came up to the side of your face, her thumb caressing your cheekbone and she kissed you more. You met her briefly, but paused, your hand coming up to her cheek, your forehead resting against hers as you broke the kiss.

"Wait - we don't have to do this," you said, opening your eyes and looking at her.

"I want to," she assured you as she kissed you again. And she did want it. And she didn't want her fear and apprehension to control her.

This time, you returned her kiss fully. Whereas all of the kisses between you two had been relatively tame and mild, now, with Jessie opening up just so, things were heating up quickly.

Kisses deepened and grew hungrier, breathing was heavier; soft, subtle moans starting, and hands began to wander.

Jessie was immersed in the moment, in you, before a tightening sensation in her pants brought reality crashing back down upon her.

Her eyes shot open and she became keenly aware of your hand drifting up her thigh. She cleared her throat and did her best to gently pull back without it seeming too abrupt. She forced a smile as your eyes belatedly drifted open and you blinked at her, confusion settling on your brow. She shifted away, positioning her body as best she could to conceal the bulge that was threatening to reveal itself.

"That was really nice," she said, trying to somehow feign that the make out session had reached its natural end.

"Um, yeah," you said slowly, a subtle frown still on your face and Jessie could see your mind trying to process what happened. You eventually offered a smile of your own. "Yeah. That was nice," you reciprocated. Your eyes studied her.

"Do you want something to drink?" Jessie asked as she got up from the couch and turned her back to you, already retreating to the kitchen. She released an inaudible sigh of relief as she rounded the counter and out of your view. She opened your fridge and glanced down. She ground her teeth together upon seeing the bulge in her pants.

"Fuck," she mouthed, upset with herself.

She peeked up over the fridge door to look at you again. You were looking vacantly at the wall before you realized she was watching you. Your expression immediately brightened and you gave a small shake of your head.

"I'm okay, thank you."

Guilt washed over her again.

The night wore on and though you both cuddled and it was less awkward than before, there were still hints of unspoken tension. That aside, it was a nice evening and Jessie was glad to have this alone time with you. It was just different than being out together.

At some point, you were both stifling yawns. She was keenly aware of the time and knew another key point in the night was fast approaching.

"If I'm exhausted, I can't imagine how tired you must be," you said as you covered your mouth as another yawn forced itself up. "You just got back into town on Monday, training all week, game yesterday and now today."

"I'm good," Jessie dismissed, despite the yawn yours pulled out of her. "But I should probably go."

You watched her quietly for a moment, before giving a nonchalant shrug.

"It's really late. I don't want you to have to bike home at this hour. Why don't you just spend the night?"

Jessie was shaking her head already and stood up by the time you were even done speaking. She waved off your offer.

"It's totally fine," she assured you.

"Babe," you beseeched, giving her pause. It still caused a small flutter in her chest when you called her that. She faltered, rubbing the side of her face briefly. You rose. "I can sleep on the couch," you offered and she shot you a withering look.

"Babe," she reciprocated. "You would never sleep on the couch on my watch. I would take the couch."

You didn't respond immediately and Jessie felt like you were going to say something else, instead saying, "Well, offer still stands. I really would rather you not go home this late."

She was tempted. God, she was so tempted. Again, it ate her up that you were paying for all of the baggage she now carried. In another time, she would've gladly taken you up on the offer. Hell, you two probably would've slept together by now - assuming you wanted to. She'd certainly dreamt of it enough and you seemed keen to move things forward. Instead...

"Thanks baby. But it's okay. Really. I'll text you when I get home." She tried to ignore the expression that flashed across your face before you gave a small smile of resignation.

"Be safe," you warned.

She put on her shoes, grabbed her helmet and jacket, but was fully distracted with how quiet you'd become. She put on a bright smile for you.

"Thank you for an amazing night," she said as she wrapped your arms around your waist. You reciprocated, wrapping your arms around the back of her neck, but you hesitated for just a moment. It was subtle, but Jessie noticed it. She gave you a kiss in hopes of bridging whatever thoughts you were having.

"Thanks for being okay just staying in. I enjoyed it," you said once you pulled back. Your gaze flicked away and a faint smirk crossed your face. You looked back to her, your cheeks growing rosy. "I swear I didn't invite you over just to try to make out with you or to try to convince you to spend the night." You shrugged. "I just like spending time just the two of us at home. It's more relaxed." Jessie nodded.

"I know. Me too," she agreed. Her tactic of booking dates around town had expired; she'd have to let it go. She gave you an encouraging smile. "We can do this more often."

"Okay," you accepted with a nod. You gave her another quick kiss. "Well, you better go."

"Okay," she said. She started to thumb the small of your back and stopped immediately. "Goodnight." She stepped out of your embrace and opened the door, taking a step out into the hall before pausing and turning back. "Raincheck on spending the night?"

Your smile reached your eyes this time. You nodded. "Of course."

A/N: Forgot a couple of folks asked to be tagged. @multifandomlesbianic @marvelwomen-simp

[balteredsworld]

wilson’s hypothesis. gregory house

🥼🩺 | according to wilson, house likes you and you like him. so, house confronts you with wilson’s hyposthesis.

masterlist: greg house n all

warnings/tags! fluff of sorts, angst if you squint, talks of self-sabotage, idiots in love, sherlocked reference!!! (just watched 8x18—house self-sabotages so bad my lord)

author's note: lowkey hate this but it's idk what're we thinking fellow ducklings???

"wilson thinks i like you," house airs.

you throw him a strange glance.

"crazy, right?"

"yeah? and you think i like cameron," you mimic, matching his dismissive detachment to comedic effect.

only, house is serious.

“no, wilson thinks i like you.” house ignores your joke, repeating wilson’s solemn hypothesis.

when you pause to look at his face, your mind goes off into complete nonsense like's just tipped you over and left you with internal bleeding in your brain, upon the realization that he does, in fact, mean those words he's telling you.

"what makes him say that?"

"i'm apparently connecting with you,” house indulges, relaxing into the cold bit of wall behind him. the moonlight hits him in a more subtle way, half hidden in the shadows. the blue of his wrinkled shirt melts into the glow it radiates.

you're not particularly sure what to say. thankfully, he elaborates.

“you share your food with me, i take your food, ergo it means something in wilson's romantic world,” house offers, before quickly dismissing the thought of his supposed feelings for you. "but you know wilson, he's always been a romantic. thinks he can diagnose emotions as easily as diseases."

you consider the argument, "well couldn't that just mean i can't finish my food and you don't wanna get your own?"

he squints at you, as if with drills for eyes. you're playing dumb, unless you really believe that. but you don't.

you clear your throat, "well, do you believe that?"

"well it's either that or i must obviously like you."

you gawk. "well, do you?"

"do i have to spell it out for you?"

"wilson had to," you snark back. "so, do you?"

"no," he says with a flat face.

something in your chest drops, just as your brows shoot up. "no?"

"no," he reaffirms.

you don't know if you manage to catch your frown. house doesn't say anything if you didn't. you're more than a little embarrassed, surely flushed. you're thankful that the two of you are under the dim veil of night.

"well good thing," you grumble.

house looks at you with a curious look, as if he was almost offended you would say that. "good thing?"

“we’re both lonely. lonely means self-sabotage,” you explain, fiddling with one of the main trinkets that line the ledge. you were sure you proving your point, coming up with an off-putting rationale to cover up your embarrassment. "two self-saboteurs, well, that's an equation with proven unresolved issues... so yeah, good thing."

you were internally cringing at the words you were spitting out, but you were trying to play it cool. it's something that's never worked in your favour though when you were near an attractive guy, and you always swore this was to make them repulse the inkling of interest. and you swore off doing this years ago, but the blunt rejection, if you could call it that, sprung the teenager out of you.

then again, house affects you like that. blue eyes and blue shirt and all.

he makes it no secret that he's a ladies' man, often hitching hookers into the hospital despite cuddy's gentle parenting to make him stop. but house does whatever he wants in the hospital, hence all the lawsuits you've had to deal with.

when you look at him again, he's somehow uncharacteristically quiet. you're unsure if his speculative eyes are because of a lightbulb moment, but one thing's for sure: he was thinking.

"you're thinking, aren't you?" you glean in a tilt.

house doesn't say anything, but turns away from you. when he does, you're unsure if you see his lip curl in disappointment—he hides it too well. some part of you hopes, but you know you're not his type. a bit too much like him in the overanalyzing and overthinking.

and maybe you're convincing yourself, but realistically speaking, your happy arrangement of sharing food in the middle of a hospital shift may work for lonely and misery, but not for anything else. two people who like self-sabotage is like a dumpster fire.

you'd rather have house like this, happy and alarmingly blue.

"aaand you've stopped listening. i shall take that as my cue to leave," you announce, hopping off the ledge in the same ginger fashion you had waltzing in.

when you land your feet, house airs his deduction, nodding along as if he was finally making sense of you and wilson’s hypothesis. 

“maybe he’s onto something.”

you turn to him with a tinge of a worrisome brow. 

“who knows? maybe i’ve been sending subtle signals that even i’m not aware of. so what do you think?” he croons his head, all ominous, arriving to a conclusion. you can practically see the cogs turn in his brain. “you like me.”

"i never said that.”

house looks at you, rising in a smooth motion, as if to showcase his towering height, forcing you to look up at him. sitting down, he's not so large, but now, all you can think is that he's tall.

"you might not, but your body does," he croons, dangerous smirk playing about his face. his eyes probe your face, confidently with a proven theory. "pupils dilated..."

house grabs your wrist, eyes practically lighting up in delight at his impending diagnosis.

"…and pulse elevated. i understand that wilson thinks that love's a mystery to me, but the chemistry's incredibly simple," he says, softening his grip on you.

house doesn't let go, lingering in this proximity, leaning closer like some ghost and spirit you'll always look for. your breath hitches, but house doesn't afford you time to quite think, capturing your lips in a kiss that you reciprocate, clutching onto his arms for balance.

you feel one of his hand snake to the nook of your back, pushing you flush against him. house keeps his other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, large enough to cover that expanse of your face. it's a little dry and rough, but you don't mind, all too preoccupied with his lips.

house makes good work on you. his lips are even better than you'd imagine, but you finally register his words and what you were doing, so you pull away. the furrow of your brows returning, apprehensive about his next words.

you whisper, “i thought you didn't like me.”

"i was lying," he shrugs. "i needed to see if i was right, and i was."

"so you figured me out?"

"you like me,” house concludes, triumphant. “i was right.”

“i thought this was wilson’s hypothesis?” you cock a brow.

“hypothesis,” he nods before flicking your head. “but i can’t give him the credit for my diagnosis.”

you let out an airy laugh, relieved that he didn't make you spell it out for him. "you're an ass, you know?"

his eyes are proudly heralding trumpets. you could practically hear the victory going off them.

"it comes with the sitting arrangement."

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap having to emergency fill in for a demo guy on a mission. He wasn't on demo for this one, he was needed on sniper along with Ghost and Gaz to cover price and the ground team and demo team he was leading. The goal was the blow the entire location skyhigh, but it wouldn't be an easy job. Not with the high amount of enemy soldiers, or the sheer mass and density of the building making it so that they would need to plant charges from the inside as well as the outside.

The demo guy goes down inside while soap, gaz, and ghost can't see them. They'd been keeping the outside backup at bay when price's voice fed through the radio.

"Soap. Our demo guy is KIA, need you down here NOW!"

"Aye, Sir. On my way." The urgency in the man's voice told him that they were running low on time (not that he didn't already know that. He was counting seconds. Always was.) He abandoned his sniper with little fineness, Ghost or Gaz would get it for him.

Ghost and Gaz covered him on his way down. He shucked his gloves on the way, throwing them carelessly to the ground, didn't bother going for cover, they were on a very real time limit with the fixed timer on the charges. It wasn't an ideal situation, and ordinarily they wouldn't have such a thing, but just the night before they'd caught someone tampering with the explosives. It had fucked up the wiring, and the closest to good they he could fix it was a fixed timer because he couldn't get them to communicate with the detonator anymore.

The actual inside of the building was large. Much more winding and dense than breifing said it would be. That was a problem. A big, huge, major problem. Because now they didn't have enough power to blow it all.

And it turns out to be an even bigger problem because when he got to price he realizes that the amount of explosives they had brought wasn't going to be enough in the first place.

"Shit." He hadn't been included in the demo planning, it hadn't been necessary. But now he sees that it was, because whatever calculations had been done were wrong. Even being off by .01 of anything was near fatal with the stuff they were working with.

"What? What's wrong?" Price was even more urgent now.

"There's not enough." He said, setting the first one he picked up, it was further from the last one that had been set before him than he'd have liked.

"Can you make it work?" Price says in, what soap always called, his captain voice. Soap pauses for a moment after that, running mental calculations.

"Maybe?" He wasn't entirely confident to be completely honest, "we'd have to go back and re-do all the ones that have already been set." He curses internally, mentally smiting whoever didn't include him in the demo meeting.

Price sent a soldier off to go collect the set charges, but soap only let them off with very clear instructions on how to do so.

Soap sent price and the rest of the soldiers off without him to finish collecting the data they had been looking for. He worked in silence for a while. If he was lucky (he doubts), it the soldier that price sent off came back with more charges than soap expected, he would be able to just barely make it stretch.

He wasn't so lucky. He sent the soldier after price. He flipped his radio on.

"Ghost, go to channel 2." He switches his own radio to channel 2.

"You solid, Johnny?"

"There's not enough." He was not panicking. Soap doesn't panic. And definitely not on the field. If he did it would be in the dead of night where nobody could find him.

"What's not?" Ghost was calm, solid as a rock. Soap liked that, won't deny needing a win, even if it was as small as Ghost being his normal self.

"Charges." He moves up the hall to work on the next one, "whoever did the calculations did a bang up job, there's barely enough to stretch from the original plan, and the inside is a lot bigger than we thought. Fucking bullshit."

"You weren't workin' with demo on this?" Ghost sounded confused, "I was given an optional attendance." Ah, that explained it. And- GOD-FUCKING-DAMNIT.

"Nae. At this point it seems more like a big fuckin' joke that I'm nae in on, than it does a tactical operation." Soap was seething, it was like the gods had something personal against him, but he kept his head.

"Seems like they all hate you, Johnny." Ghost hummed cheekily. Soap couldn't help the chuckle he let out. Leave it up to Ghost to still be a bastard despite it all.

"Awh, c'mon, L.T. you'd never let them all hate me now would ya?"

"Well, I don't completely hate you if it make you feel better." He could hear Ghost's smirk even through the radio.

"Aye, sir, gets me all warm and fuzzy inside, I'll buy you a drink to keep in your good graces after this."

"Assuming you live."

"Assuming I live." Soap parroted

"Can you make it work?"

"No. Not unless you've got some secret magic powers I dinnae know about, sir." He grumbled.

"Not for you, sergeant." Ghost told him. Bastard.

"Bastard." He huffed, amused.

"You still workin' on it?"

"Aye, I'm gonna blow the supports. If it goes right- better hope that it does- it'll bring the whole top crashin' down." He imitated the well-loved sound of the boom and crash he was hoping for, "if the brass wants it gone though, they'll have to send someone back. Hopefully someone competent this time." He was already halfway through the charges, and that was with a generous amount of spacing that he didn't like too much, but it would do, he had to get around to the other side of the building. He glanced at the timer, seven minutesticking down, he'd have to move fast if he wanted to get out in time, his thumb flipped his comms unit to channel the main channel.

"Price, keep an eye on the time." They all had their watches set to the timer so they could keep track. He switched back to channel 2 as soon as he got an affirmative. "Ghost, mind me at the two minute mark, aye?"

"Copy that." Came the steady manc accented response.

"Ya'know what's on my bucket list, L.T.?"

"What?"

"One day I want an OP that goes smooth start to finish."

"A steep ask."

"I felt inspired." He could hear the shrug in his own voice, and there was a breathy laugh in his ear.

Usually he's excellent at keeping track of his time, but this time he was still running minor calculations to every charge he set, making sure they were in the best spot possible. Which meant that when Ghost interrupted his mutterings with a tense "two minutes, Sargeant.", he had only just started on the last quarter of the explosives he had left.

"Shit." He chewed on his lip, using precious seconds to think. He could see the stairs to the exit at the end of the hallway, maybe 200 yards away, but there was still had 6 charges left. Fuckit, no more time for thinking, his gut's never let him down so far, he trusts that it won't this time either. "You see Price? Is he out?"

He wired the charge in his hands in two paces, placed it in six, started on the next.

"Negative. I've got no visual. I need you out of that building, now, Johnny." Ghost went silent after that, but soap was too busy to worry about that.

Shit.

He was almost halfway down the hall when he placed the next charge. Three charges left. The next charge went on in seven paces. The last two went up on either side of the stairs. His lungs burned as he took the steps two at a time. A glance at his watch showed 48 seconds left. The stairs seemed to go on forever. He would not be making it to a safe distance, he'd be lucky to get out of the building.

"I've got Price, Need eyes on you, now." Ghost sounded in his ear. He had not enough air in his lungs to respond, squeezing every cell of blood of its oxygen to keep himself moving.

10 seconds, he could see the door, it was big, and green, and had one of those push bar handles.

9 seconds, his foot slipped, his knee met the unforgiving corner of concrete, and his ankle twisted.

8 seconds, he caught himself.

7 seconds, pain lit up in his ankle. He kept going

6 seconds, he'd halved the distance to the door

5, he could see himself reaching the door already

4, he had an arm out to catch the push bar

3, he made contact

2, fresh air hit his face

1, he was running. It was like every molecule knew what was coming, like every building block of space was waiting for it. He could feel the charge it in every fiber of his being.

0, he dove for the ground, tucking himself in, harms coming up over his head. He didn't even feel it before it all slammed into him like a freight train. But he knew it was coming, knew it like a sixth sense, knew it like knowing the sky was blue without even looking up.

His ears rang. He hadn't realized before. The ringing in his ears was intense, almost overwhelming. Every thing hurt when he uncurled. His fands were stiff whe he flexed them, it looked like he was piloting a robot instead of his own body, he felt it all but from a distance. The world was bathed in gray. His mouth was dry, it tasted bitter as he smacked his lips together.

Something...

There was something... wrong? Or- he needed to do something? He flexed his fingers again. The world looked frozen. Like even the trees were looking at him, whispering that he was dead. Maybe he was, he couldn't be sure. Uncoordinated movements managed to wobble himself to standing. His back. Something on his back. It hurt. But he couldn't feel it. A hand went to his throbbing, and he stumbled a few step before he collapsed. He was tired. He was breathing but he couldn't feel it in his lungs, knew his chest was moving with it though. Maybe he wasn't breathing. He couldn't feel it. He should breathe, he focused on that. But he was so tired. Maybe too tired. Maybe he didn't need to breathe all that bad. He could just.. he was.. everything hurt. He wasn't breathing, except for his moving chest. It's okay. He'll just.. close his eyes. He'll try breathing again when he woke up again. When everything hurt less. It'll hurt less.

---

It didn't hurt less when he woke up again. It hurt more. A lot more actually. He felt his mouth open with out his command, sound left but he didn't hear it. And he couldn't tell if the incessant, ear-blinding ringing was him or if the world around him had gobe silent in lieu of the ringing.

It was a moment before he realized his eyes were open. The world was still covered in gray powder. Ghost's mask comes into view, it moves like he's speaking, but he's not making any sound. Soap thinks about telling him as much, to turn on his voice, but the world hurts, or maybe he hurts, and either way, it's easier to just close his eyes.

---

A hand smacks his face, he see brown eyes first, gaz's mouth is moving.

A glimpse of green rushing past, but black invades and he lets it happen.

The next thing he blinks and there's white, swishing, lots of it. Coats he realizes. Doctor's. A lot of them. He turns his head, it saps his strength, and the last thing he sees before his eyes close are mouths moving in muted shouts.

He blinks again and he's greeted with blinding white. He's moving. Not with his own two legs. It's fast. It makes him sick. He feels frantic hands on him and then his mouth opens, he feels contents leave him. And then he's being rolled back over. It's too much. He welcomes the dark of unconsciousness again.

---

He wakes slowly, there's a thin stream of air that chills his nose, he can feel cords on him but it would take more effort than it's worth to rip them off, uncomfortable as they were. So a hospital. If it wasn't obvious that was here he was, then it could be the plastic guard rails, or that he could see the edge of a very hospital-esq desk right outside the cracked open hospital-esq door where white flourenscent hospital-esq light leaked through.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. Not terribly so, there's a window that lets in moonlight, but dark enough that his eyes don't burn. There's a figure in the corner of his eye, and when he turns it's Ghost. Slumped down, arms crossed, sleeping. He's wearing one of the balaclavas with the narly faded skull, and the eye black he usually wears looks rubbed off, but not washed off, he can still see evidence of its remains. He looks tired, sporting a twin pair of eye bags the size of a small island, and the line of his shoulders is tenser than usual. He wonders when he got familiar enough with the man to notice his "regular tenseness", but he doesn't dwell.

His throat itches with dryness like he's swallowed a bunch of cotton balls. He's fairly certain he did not do that. There's a glass of what looks like water (or some mysterious other clear liquid) on the swinging side table, he reaches for it, but his movements are uncoordinated, limbs reluctant to listen to his demands. His hand swings a little too far and it knocks the glass to the floor. He watches it shatter, cringing in anticipation of the loud sound, but the sound is muted and far away, like he's listening through a pane of plexiglass. Ghost shoots up in a panic, looking for the danger. He does a quick double take when he sees soap's eyes open, then he notices the shattered reamins of his would-be drink.

Soap can only give him an apologetic look for disturbing his sleep that he looked like he desperately needed. Ghost walks over to him, and it looks like he's talking, but it sounds muffled, again like listening through plexiglass, or like he poured thick ink into his ears. That's not good. He can feel his mouth split into a displeased look. This is very not good. Bad, even.

Ghost leans over him, one of his big hands rests on his chest, he puts a little pressure then lets off. He does it again. And again. In a steady rhythm that soap can't help but follow.

A nurse walks in, and Ghost backs off leaving soap feel a little unteathered, but he's nolonger panicking. The nurse talks but everything is underwater, and someone's poured glue in his ears. He can't help the nervous look at ghost while the nurse keeps on, ghost holds his gaze steady. And then she's gone.

Ghost tries to speak, then he pauses, holds up a finger as if to tell him to wait, and then slips out of the room.

Great. Absolutely perfect. He's gone deaf. Well, that definitely seems like that would be the sort of thing that gets labled as "career ending", a cateer that he was damn good at. Did they even complete the mission he was on? He didn't even know if it was a success. Or even if he'd gotten any one killed. He hoped not. And to top it all off, Ghost had gone. He rationalized that Ghost had clearly meant that he was coming back. And when he did, he'd explain everything. It would be fine. So fine. Completely fine. Aside from the fact that he's probably kicked from the military.

Ghost slipped back into the room, carrying a small whiteboard, and a marker. He'd wrote something on it before turning it to face soap. It was nothing long, just two words. Quick and lethal. "Burst eardrums" oh...

"Recovery?" He felt the words in his chest when he said them, but he wasn't sure how loud he was being.

"Full recovery. Few weeks" he wrote. Soap found he likes the way he wrote. It was a simple scribble.

"The mission?"

"Success. Few casualties. Demo was KIA. Few others"

It was a bitter win, but it was often best not to dwell on it.

"You look like you got run over by a minivan three times." He says with a cheeky smile. One that always gets him a long-suffering sigh. One that he could see but not hear this time.

"Not the one in the bed." Ghost scribbled, and gave him a pointed look. It only served to make his smile toothier before a yawn broke it. Either exhaustion, or pain medication, or a combination of the two wanted to make him sleep, and he wasn't inclined to agree until ghost pushed him down gently, and scribbled "sleep" in black ink.

The morning after was better. Still inky and underwater, but less panicked. Ghost had stayed as well. Gave him a long list of injuries ontop of his missing hearing.

By the end of the week his hearing had improved a bit, words no longer blended into a blur of tv static. And he's told by Ghost that the doctor said it looked like he'd be back a full hearing in the next three weeks or so.

The second week was when the boredom really hit. It he concentrated hard enough he could parse out syllables, some distinct sounds. Nothing very quiet. But the world made sound again. And he'd taken to pestering ghost to wheeling him around the halls since he wasn't allowed to leave. Not until his hearing was back, and he started on PT.

The third week wqs much the same, aside from starting physical therapy. PT sessions weren'tanythingnew to any of them, but it was always a pain in the ass. But the fourth week, he had full sign off that his hearing was back up to 100%, and he's successfully made good progress on his PT sessions, so he was getting discharged, and sent home on medical leave.

Apparently Ghost had followed right behind him, taking leave of his own. And he declared that he was taking soap to his own flat. Soap didn't much and to protest, but he did to hear the amused tone in Ghost's voice when he bickered with the man.

[feyburner]

I loved LOVED a word, a look, will be enough. I’m obsessed with the way you write jason and tim. No pressure to answer this at all, but I was curious if you have a headcanon about how the missing spleen reveal eventually goes

Jay »

Good afternoon Timothy.

« tim

uh oh

Jay »

I just had a fascinating conversation with Doc thompson

Care to hazard a guess about what?

« tim

pollen season

Jay »

No.

« tim

bird flu

Jay »

Is there a reason you havent told anyone in your life that you dont have a fucking spleen?

« tim

okay first of all

i’m not sure why doc thompson felt the need to tell you my private medical information

pretty sure they have a rule about that

Jay »

It’s not her fault.

I mentioned that you got whammied with that stupid germ bomb from Typhoid Tony or whatever the fuck his name was

« tim

vik vyral

Jay »

And she got all serious and told me I should get you into the clinic asap, and I was like no he’s fine now, it was basically a 24 hour bug, and she was like no, theres no such thing as a 24 hour bug for him, he needs to come get his blood tested yesterday

And then she clearly realized I had no fucking clue what she was talking about and clammed up. Wouldn’t say a thing. Told me to ask you myself.

Jay »

The look she gave me when I said you slept it off and went back to work. Like I should know better. like I was letting you be careless and shit bc thats just how I am or something.

« tim

“letting” me?

Jay »

yeah. Letting you. I know you know what I mean

« tim

i’m not sure i do.

Jay »

When youre with someone you take care of them.

I dont pretend to know much about this shit but I know that.

I’m not talking about handcuffing you to the radiator. Im talking about knowing whats going on with you and knowing that sometimes you let shit slide that I wouldn’t. When it comes to you

You do that for me and the others all the time. Thats how it works.

« tim

doc thompson doesn’t know you’re “with” me

Jay »

If you think everyone doesn’t know exactly what’s going on then your detective skills need work

Jay »

Also, Jesus, Tim.

« tim

ok sorry, i didn’t mean the scare quotes part

but did you pause to consider maybe there’s a reason i haven’t told everyone other than whatever shortsighted masochistic bs you’re assuming

Jay »

I dont need you to tell everyone. I’m not asking you to write a report on it.

Just like. if there’s any other major medical shit can you maybe tell me

Before you fucking die of a sinus infection or whatever bc the asshole who lives with you didn’t know your immune system has the horsepower of a bicycle

« tim

did you know you curse more when you’re fronting like you’re not worried about me

Jay »

I’m actually not fronting! in this moment!

« tim

okay

well. i am sorry

that sounded sarcastic bc of who i am as a person

but it’s not. i mean it.

Jay »

Sorry for yelling at you

« tim

i dont wanna go into it over text but i’ll tell you tonight. okay?

about what happened.

also there’s nothing else. it’s just the spleen thing

ok?

Jay »

Okay.

« tim

well and the mango allergy

well. and i’m double jointed specifically bc i have joint-hypermobility syndrome

which is why im so flexible :)

but also why i dislocate things a lot :(

um and im mildly allergic to carrots, bananas, pineapples, and most legumes, but it’s fine they just make my tongue itch

i think that’s all

Jay »

Tim can you be honest with me for a second

« tim

yeah…

Jay »

Are you inbred

« tim

NSJDN/&2&jdj?!_£_??

Jay »

Like are you that type of rich person

You can tell me. We are not going to procreate so I dont mind either way

« tim

just scared the living shit out of an intern who had never seen me laugh before. i think she thought i was choking

jesus CHRIST

i will see you at home.

Jay »

You

didn’t answer the question….