#He doesn’t have the energy to put into fixing it. He doesn’t know if he could handle it. And ofc all of this is happening on a subconscious

[topzsun]

AM I NO GOOD?

── ♡ MR CRAWLING

from the abyss of your mind, he crawls in. your last remnants of humanity. cw: familial death, suicide idolisation

Your ceiling fan has a creek in it. It groans melancholy as it slowly spins, barely giving enough breeze in your poorly ventilated, dingy apartment. Despite how the sound tempts you to rip your ears off, it still stays on as you lay in bed, vacantly staring at the ceiling as it rotates until you can’t bear hearing it anymore.

Your room is dimly lit, curtains drawn and your lightbulb a mess of shards that you haphazardly brushed aside. You haven’t had the energy to buy a replacement bulb, fix it, and carefully throw away the remains of your old one. The process felt long and arduous, like most things these days. It was taking you a Herculean amount of strength to get up for work, but it’s not what your co-workers or managers see when they cast judging glances at your sunken eyes and unstyled hair. Perhaps, if you had always been this sloppy, their stares wouldn’t have burned holes into you as much. There was a time when you had cared for yourself, your work clothes iron-pressed, hair carefully decorated, and skin glowing. Now, it felt like a distant memory concealed by thick fog in the crevices of your mind.

People were hardly the same after burying their mother.

There is shuffling underneath your bed. Once, the sound had scared you. Now, it’s welcomed. It gives you a faint flutter in your stomach when you see a grey-tinted hand, marred in grime, reach outwards. Reach for you. You lift yourself into a sitting position, and a genuine smile graces your lips when you see him crawl from the space. Appropriately, you named him Mr Crawling. A man with long, dark tresses that fall over his shoulders, concealing his face like a curtain. From the bridge of the nose, in replacement of his eyes, is a wide red slash caked with what you assume is dried blood. His unnerving, foreboding appearance should predictably scare you. Yet, it doesn’t. He is born from the rubble of your mind, how can you hate the only friend you have left?

You have severely outgrown the age of having an imaginary companion, and yet he is an anchor, even if communication is hard and there isn’t much for you both to speak on. You weren’t aching for conversation anymore, anyway.

“Hi Mr Crawling,” You greet him, almost affectionately, and while you know he doesn’t understand your tongue, he seems to have grown used to the syllables that leave your lips and the tone of your voice, a toothless grin stretches across his face as a result. You flop from the bed to the floor, sitting beside him as he perks up straighter, supporting the weight of his body with his arms. He lets you lean into his side, strands of hair tickling your cheek. The gown draped over his body is raggedy, stained and tattered, and yet he seemed the most put-together inside the mess of your home. If you had the energy, you would have laughed.

Your fingers graze his skin and he is ice-cold, like the dead. Yet beside him was the warmest you have been in a long while and you savour it. It’s the closest you have got to another person’s loving touch.

“Work was tough today,” You mumble under your breath, and he stiffens when you speak in his vernacular, or whatever you managed to pick up over the months. “It’s difficult.”

He garbles something close to “Leave” and a breathy, humourless laugh leaves you, hoarse against your dry throat.

“I can’t. I’ll die without money,” Your fingers twirl the end of his hair and he takes it as an invite to drop his head on top of yours, becoming bolder at your contact. “Maybe it won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

He doesn’t reply, and you aren’t sure if it’s because he didn’t understand or if he’s displeased by what you said, seeing as his grin has left and been replaced with the neutral press of his chapped lips. You felt a kick at his reaction, disgusting but innate, pleased that someone cared enough if you died, and guilty that you wanted to put him through the same cycle of grief.

Mr Crawling was kinder than most people you have met, and somehow you felt that even a being curated from your imagination deserved better than you.

You blearily sit up, hit with a sudden wave of nausea and inertion that makes your head spin. However, you attempt to fix yourself upright quickly, even when Mr Crawling asks if you are sick, reaching with a single hand at a poor attempt at breaking any sudden fall. You weakly smile at him as reassurance. You crouch over to the TV positioned at the end of your room. It was incredibly old, evident by the boxed screen and antennas sitting on top of the plastic frame. However, it was your mother’s, recalling nights when she would lay in her bed watching the jittering coloured shows as you blundered through making yourself dinner. You had rolled it into your room shortly after your impromptu burial of her. Your clothes had still been stained with dirt, a shovel tossed to the ground as you clumsily attempted to fix the device. When you laid in bed that night and flipped through channels much like she once did, you didn’t understand the appeal.

However, Mr Crawling was utterly fascinated by the moving pictures on the screen, so for him, you turned the old thing on. When it flickered to life, his grin returned, much to your relief. You took your place next to him again, pressing your knees to your chest as a soap drama whose title you were unfamiliar with played. Honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. Mindless entertainment lost its appeal around two months ago, with you spending your time after work lying motionlessly in bed or sitting around with your new companion. You had already tuned out the show, blankly staring at the eye-straining colours with disinterest, your mind already wandering. The floor beneath you, the chipped walls, and even Mr Crawling beside you felt as if they were worlds away. The soil from the plot of land next door, visible from your bedroom window, curls within itself. It shakes. She is desperately clawing away and reaching out when you—

He makes a confused sound next to you, and you snap your head away to meet the tilt of his head. Once again, he’s not smiling and your heart seizes. You begin to stammer out an excuse when he points at the screen and you follow his finger to the television screen. There is a bright wedding scene playing, two characters standing at the alter as they exchange vows, the male actor’s hand encased around his pretend bride’s as he beams at her. Carefully scripted lines, perfectly painted masks and flawless costumes. You could almost admire the craft.

However, Mr. Crawling isn’t of the same opinion as you, unable to understand what was happening outside of the funny laugh tracks and comical acting. His confusion is almost cute, though you don’t voice this out loud.

“That’s a wedding,” You say and when his expression doesn’t change, you switch to your shoddy understanding of his language. “It’s a party. For love. Love between two people.”

He sits up a bit straighter and you assume he’s starting to comprehend what’s happening and he fixes his gaze back to the screen where the scene has now moved onto what seems to be the after-party. He seems pleased that the show has gotten back to the humour and repetitive laugh tracks he likes as opposed to the more emotionally heavy wedding he is unfamiliar with. However, not long after he momentarily turns his attention back to you.

“Me,” He points to himself. “You,” He points to you. “Love,” and finally he points to the screen. “Party.”

This stupifies you into silence, your eyes widening as you digest the confession. You are sure the meaning of love varies for him, just like it does for people here. He doesn’t understand the type of love that is involved in marriage, perhaps him meaning something akin to the care between two friends.

“One day,” You reply flippantly, but you lean into his shoulder anyway, letting his long tresses conceal your line of vision as if it were a curtain between you and the damn window. “If only you were real, Mr. Crawling.”

Unable to see from where you have hidden yourself at his side, his smile drops into something more contemplative. How odd humans are. They could be holding someone in their arms, and still not believe they exist.

[fumifooms]

Honestly I wonder if anyone’s ever read Chilchuck’s “I cheated on her” admission as an implicit reference to prioritizing alcohol over his marriage and feeling guilty abt it.

Ohh… "I cheated on her" as a half-truth because something ended up taking priority over their marriage, because emotionally he was elsewhere… "I cheated on her" because after having all the time in the world to think about it now that he’s alone, he realizes that that might have been how she felt, and that’s how it felt like to him too.

Love that. I def think he’s ironically someone who deflects guilt a lot, in a similar way that he compulsively goes "You’re wrong! I don’t care about you guys at all! I’m an asshole!" he flees emotions by making the problem something else that’s fake, a burden easier to bear, he’s so used to being seen for what he’s not after all. I went into it a bit in one of my fics and in a couple meta posts, but when it comes to his wife he was very much like an ostrich with his head in the sand, seeing her fall into a bad mood on the outing before she left him but dismissing it as something "sudden" that’s not worth thinking deeper about. Overdrinking is a problem for future Chil. I think he did a lot of "You want me to drink less and you’re afraid for my health? Get over it lol" and "I should be less strict with the girls and raise my voice less? My father was a strict drunk and look at me, I turned out functional and great! The girls are literally fine and love me" and "Oh? My drinking is affecting our family? No it’s not smh smh get off my back"< Drunk a significant portion of the time he spends at home since he’s off-work and somewhere he can relax. Type of guy to always dismiss any issues that might exists because he prefers ignoring them as if they’ll go away. All his problem solving energy is spent during work and the issue is with his family he already likes things as they are, they’re his comfort zone and change is scary, he doesn’t want the change, even if it’d be better. He doesn’t want to change, his unhealthy habits are guilty pleasures he wishes people didn’t try to make him feel guilty for

BUT POINT IS he struggles with guilt and like. Letting it be a feeling that he gets sometimes, so it’s all bottled up and festers and gets twisted into frustration or such like how his worry usually does. I like this take, wether it’s something he’s already thought a lot about or it’s something he’s repressed that came suddenly pouring out of him like blood out of a wound, now that he’s putting it into words with someone for maybe the first time.

It’s interesting how he didn’t refuse going up to the bicorn, I’m sure part of him wanted to see if it would like him, like the virtue test it is. Would a monster that loves despicable men be magnetized to him? Would it confirm his fears?

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[artsninspo]

"JEALOUS TYPE" - Rio X Reader

Summary: The restaurant your date picked to take you out to is owned by Rio, and he’s there sitting at a table when you walk in. Just your luck. This ones a little steamy 🌶️.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Black Reader

Word-Count: 1.6K

Full Masterlist

RIO MASTERLIST

Read the first two parts of this Rio miniseries:

“Baby-Girl”

“Whisky, neat”

Biting the inside of your lip you stifle a smile looking into your date's brown eyes. His animated expression is feeding off of yours as he tells an arguably hilarious story. Honestly, you wouldn’t know. Your eyes sparkle at his and by some strange miracle you seem to break into a laugh at the right moment. Although handsome, well put together, kind and funny, your date doesn’t have your undivided attention. Three tables away Rio sits with a scowl staring daggers into your side profile. He was having dinner with an older woman when you arrived with your date. Rio’s eyes met yours then looked down to see your hand in your dates and frowned. Since the woman left you’ve been subject to his displeased looks. He hates the sight of you with another man. Especially after resisting his advances. He’s furious really that your pretty ass didn't spend time getting ready to look good for him. Having had enough he calls over a waiter, it's his restaurant after all.

“You’re gorgeous” your date tells you, picking up your hand to kiss it from across the table. He’s a charmer for sure. His dimples and smile are to die for but he’s not the one making your heart race. 

“You’re not so bad yourself” you smile, taking a sip of your wine. The waiter comes over with a bottle in a bucket.

“Vintage Cabernet” the waiter says, putting the bucket on the table.

“We didn’t order that” your date says as the waiter slips you a table card.

Wine by the glass your man’s a cheapskate huh?

Is written in excellent penmanship. You thought he was signing the bill when he started writing. It takes everything in you not to smile as you fold the card. The waiter looks amused. The use of a Drake lyric in such a petty exchange is all the more amusing. Casting a look over to his table Rio sits seemingly unbothered. 

“On the house” the waiter says and your date shrugs allowing the waiter to top him off first. You don’t like that. A man that doesn’t put the woman he’s with first is  a slippery slope. Sitting back you taste the wine as the waiter pours yours. It’s excellent, you raise a glass to Rio and your date is too self absorbed to notice your eyes aren’t on him. After a few minutes you take your leave heading into the ladies room. Your heels click on the floor and you take out your compact to powder the shininess of your forehead and top up your gloss. That’s how Rio finds you. He strolls in wearing all black, which seems to be his signature.

“This is the ladies room” you say mirroring his nonchalance.

“Don’t make any smart comments. I have a dick and it works” he warns casually. It’s crass but you’re amused so you smile anyways fixing your gloss in the mirror.  The look he gives you tells you exactly where his head is. The physical attraction is a ten out of ten. “Get all dressed up for a guy who can’t even buy you the bottle but you won’t get in a car with me” Rio says, offended by your rejection. You turn to face him and he stands there unimpressed with his hands in his pocket.

“I didn’t take you for the jealous type” you tease.

“You can do better” he swallows, stepping forward.

“I appreciate you looking out for my well being. I’m sure you have more important things to do, places to be '' you dismiss, and he nods a little irritated with your flagrance. It's been awhile since Rio had to put in any effort to bag the woman that had his attention for the moment. You pass him to get to the door and he takes your hand. You should be terrified but you aren’t. The energy in the restroom is electric. Your chemistry is undeniable. You feel your heart racing as his eyes look down at your lips, he wets his bottom lip before casting a look back into your eyes. You want it just as much as he does. Your entire body hates the riskiness of your current predicament.

Reaching around you Rio locks the door Rio closing the remainder of  the distance between. Leaning in his lips connected to yours, he purses his lips tight against yours chastely before pressing his body against yours in a dominant gesture, pressing you between himself and the door. Pulling back he comes in for a second time, this time parting your lips, goading you into a slow, sloppy and seductive make out session. His kiss is teasing and claiming, you feel your temperature rise as you indulge in forbidden fruit. His hands slip under the hem of your dress gripping your thighs, snapping you out of it. Pushing him away your chest heaves. You want him so much but it’s not right. You're on a date, Stan warned you about him and he carries weapons.

“No no no no no” you snap to yourself as you hear a knock on the door.

“Y/N” your date calls from the other side and you feel your heart racing in your ears.

“I got a call I’ll be right out, go back to the table” you say through the closed door and Rio smiles. He reaches for the lock and your eyes tell him not to. He smiles absolutely thrilled at the prospect of blowing up your spot.

“Are you sure?!” Your date asks.

“Yep, just give me 5” you say and there’s a long pause.

“Ok” he says and you breathe finally. It’s your turn to scowl Rio comes in for another kiss but you push him away annoyed with him and yourself. Rio laughs to himself completely unbothered by your predicament.

All trouble. You think to yourself about Rio as you touch your make up again and Rio smiles looking at his phone. He puts a finger to his lip signalling you should hush and when you walk over you see your date still waiting for you outside the bathroom from the security feed on his phone.

“Give me your number or I walk out,” Rio says, playing dirty. You put your number in and he calls making your phone ring. He looks satisfied.

“Pick up, own the lie” he whispers, coaching you in your deception. His eyes are full of mischief and amusement. You just may be in love.

“I swear I care but I’m on a date sis, please call mom” you say loud enough for your date to hear. Rio unlocks the door letting you out. You smile at your date and he takes your hand.

“I didn’t notice your perfume smells slightly like cologne” he says and you hope he really has no inclination Rio was all over you. His cologne is more sweet than masculine and musky.

“Hmm” you raise a brow.

“Who was calling?” He asks.

“Sister” you lie and he nods suddenly more attentively. Your phone goes off again, you know it's Rio without checking it.

“Family emergency?”

“Sister stuff” you dismiss getting another message and you put your phone on silent feeling terrible. Sitting in front of your date you can still feel Rio’s kiss on your lips, his body against yours, his big hands on your thighs. The rest of the night is more of the same. RIo keeps texting the entire ride back to your house and you end up at square one as your date stands outside of your condo door with you. You dodge his kiss, letting him kiss your cheek. He takes it like a champ and you sigh frustrated. Unlocking your phone you see a flurry of messages of Rio talking shit about you being a bad girl, worse than him, a player. Warnings not to lay up with your ‘lame ass date’ and more. The final tells you to call once you get in.

Smiling, you set his name to Crazy Christopher in your phone. After a steamy shower you head into bed alone. You're far too excited to be sleepy in spite of the time. Your phone rings and Crazy Christopher flashes across the screen.

“Hello?” you pick up.

“Are you home safe?” he asks like he cares.

“Yes, Christopher”

“Yes, Christopher,” he mocks, making you smile.

The phone line goes silent for a few moments and your smile never fades, you haven't felt this giddy about a situation in years.

“You tired? I was hoping to come and wear you out” Rio says, making you laugh. Honestly you want the same thing.

“That isn't how you speak to a woman” you correct him.

“Nahh, you don’t want me to pretend I have manners. That’s not you” he says, reading you right.

“Some other night Rio” you cave, deciding you won't deny yourself a good time.

“Alright, well you tell me when” he responds in his usual tone. It’s an odd relief he doesn't promise forever’s or any other ridiculous niceties.

“Why don't we make it interesting, the next time I run into you - you can take me to your place” you shrug, lying in bed looking up at the ceiling.

“Bet” he agrees. “Goodnight baby-girl” he says.

“Night Rio” you respond.

“Christopher” he corrects. “We’re on a first name basis” he says and you laugh.

“Goodnight” you respond, hanging up in a final act of defiance.

You smile looking up at the ceiling heart racing at the risk. Sitting in his car Rio smiles hoping you stay true to your word before heading into the warehouse to check on his operations. He has plans for you.

Big plans.

_________

Let me know what you think of this update and Rio's bad behaviour 😉😘

Authors note: TYSM 💖 to everyone who's read, liked, commented or reblogged any of my work and more particularly this 'series'. It's been a fun palate cleanser. If you're a writer and need a sign to purge your drafts you think no one will enjoy here it is.

xoxo

[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. 

[dorabellingham]

Bother you

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader x jobe

summary: when his younger brother keeps teasing you

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a warm summer afternoon in Birmingham, and the Bellingham house was full of life. The sound of hurried footsteps upstairs, doors opening and closing, laughter coming from the kitchen, and Jobe's deep voice echoing through the house as he tried to tease his brother.

You were in the living room, scrolling through your phone, waiting for Jude to finish getting ready. You were wearing a light denim skirt, a white top, and a dark jacket. Your hair was down and slightly wavy at the ends. You always took special care to dress up when you went out with Jude. Not that he demanded it, but because you liked to feel beautiful around him, and you knew he loved it when you dressed up. Your relationship, although still young, was already strong enough for you to feel safe. You understood each other in a unique way, even in the small provocations that arose between you.

Suddenly, Jobe appeared coming down the stairs with that mischievous smile of his always. He had a soccer ball in his hands, tossing it from one hand to the other. At 15, Jobe had already shown that he had the same passion for soccer as Jude. And, just like his older brother, he loved to play and tease. When he saw his sister-in-law on the couch, his eyes lit up with amusement.

—Hey, Y/n! —He shouted, throwing the ball up and catching it again. —Did you know that Jude takes longer to get ready than you do?

You laughed, shaking your head.

—I know. He’s been upstairs for an hour already.

You replied, crossing your legs and leaning forward, as if you were expecting more jokes.

Jobe came closer, sitting in the chair in front of you, his eyes bright and full of energy.

—He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s because he’s trying to impress you, you know? —He continued, with a mischievous laugh. —He keeps picking out the right clothes, trying to fix his hair... and in the end, he just wears what he always wears!

—Don't tell him, but I think it's really cute.

You confessed, winking at the youngest.

—Of course you do! — Jobe joked, putting the ball on the floor and leaning back in the chair. —But you know... Jude has always been the type who wants to impress everyone. Only now, it's you who he wants to impress the most.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. It was true that Jude always tried to look perfect when he was with you. Not that it was something exaggerated or that bothered you. In fact, it was adorable. You knew he wanted everything to be special between you two, and that made you feel even closer to him.

—What about you? —You asked, leaning towards Jobe. —Will you be the same when you have a girlfriend?

The youngest Bellingham rolled his eyes with an exaggerated grimace.

—Me? No! I'm much calmer than Jude. He's the one who's all proper. —He said, standing up and starting to dribble the ball around the room. —But seriously, Y/n, you need to be tough on him. If he takes much longer, you'll only be going out tomorrow!

You were about to answer when you heard Jude's footsteps coming down the stairs. You looked up and saw him coming down the steps with a focused expression. He was wearing dark jeans, a white t-shirt and a black jacket, and he ran his hand through his hair to make sure everything was in place.

—Finally, Jude! —Jobe teased, holding the ball under his arm. —Y/n was already thinking she was going to have to go out with me!

—Shut up, Jobe! — He replied with a smile, but there was a touch of nervousness in his voice. He looked at you, and his smile widened. —You look beautiful.

You stood up, approaching him and pulling him by the hand.

—You look very handsome too. Ready to go out?

He asked, trying to hide his laughter.

—I’m always ready when it’s with you. He said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

Before you could walk out the door, Jobe got in the way, holding the ball in front of his body as if it were a shield.

—Hey, wait a minute! —He exclaimed, laughing. —Jude, you’re not going to leave me here alone with mom, are you?

Jude sighed, shaking his head.

—Jobe, I’m just going to go out with Y/n. You can survive, man.

Jobe made a dramatic expression of pain, as if the idea of ​​staying home was the end of the world.

—But you’re always with your girlfriend! And I’m your brother, remember? —He protested, trying to keep a serious expression, but he couldn’t hide his smile. —Besides, you know I’m way more fun than you.

The older boy rolled his eyes.

—Oh, sure. How could I forget?

You laughed at the interaction between the brothers. You knew Jobe adored Jude, and the constant teasing was just his way of showing it. But you also knew that Jude was eager to spend some alone time with you.

—Jobe, you know you’re the fun of the family —You said, winking at him. —But I promise I’ll give you all the boring Jude back later.

Jobe laughed.

—Okay, okay. Just don’t forget I exist, okay?

He said, making room for the two of you to pass.

As you walked out, you could hear Jobe yelling behind you:

—And, man, try not to drool too much on Y/n, okay?

Jude shook his head, laughing, and you squeezed his hand as they walked away from the house.

—He really knows how to tease you.

You commented, glancing at your boyfriend.

—Jobe is a teasing machine, but he’s my brother. It’s part of the package...— Jude said, smiling at you. —Besides, I’m sorry I took so long, babe.

You stopped walking for a moment and turned to him, holding both of his hands.

—Jude, you always look good to me. You know that, right?

He looked at you with those sincere eyes that you loved so much. There was something vulnerable about him, a quality that made him real. He might be the most popular boy in school, the future big football star, but with you, he was always just Jude Victor. The boy who wanted to impress you, but who didn't have to try so hard because you already adored him just the way he was.

—I just want everything to be special for us, Y/n.

He said softly.

You smiled, feeling your heart melt a little more. You pulled him closer and gave him a soft kiss.

—It's already special, love. Just by being you.

[unluckilyimnot]

fixing the other's hairstyle to let their hands run through their partner's hair

Characters : isagi, reo, karasu, yukimiya, hiori, sae, rin, kunigami, nagi

Fluff

m.list || rules

Note: Charles being friends with shidou is really no surprise 😭 they're both menaces

isagi

is a smiley little pookie

never do your hair ‘cause he’s gonna ruin it and he doesn’t even intend to and he's SO sorry when he does

he wants to touch your hair all the time, brushing it away, make sure you don’t get it or eat it

he’s so oblivious about the fact that he KEEPS touching your hair

it’s always some “wait I’ll help you out” when you want to tie it (if you can), or “wait” and he brushed it away from your eyes

All. The. Damn. Time.

If your hair is long/shoulder length, he wants to brush it for you on windy day so you’re all pretty again

karasu

I see him as a gentleman who tease a little

so I think he tends to play with it a lot, twirling it around his fingers and then say it was to fix the strand

even more if you have curly hair or curl it yourself, it was losing its bounce a little, he helped :)

he doesn’t do it much outside, but when it’s just the two of you he likes it

ruffling it, putting a falling strand behind your ear/out of your view

he just loves the softness

nagi

it’s easy, he’s taller than you so it’s his favorite part and he doesn’t even try to find any excuses

he just touch it, even pet your head as if your a damn cat

he loves it if you have long hair, he can play with the end easily when he’s out of energy for the day

he can lay his head on top of yours and that’s generally, if needed, his excuse to touch your hair – inside, all alone or outside with people

he’s the type to brush your hair away of your face if it bothers him and he can’t see your eyes

kunigami

his best excuse is that he knows how to style hair thanks to his sisters so he can help effectively

he does your hair for you, I don’t make the rules

that’s his favorite part of getting ready, doesn’t matter where you’re going or if you stay at home

he LOVES breaking the curl when he just done it to make them look loose – plus you look amazing

tie your hair for you just to feel it between his fingers

and always has a hair tie to do so

he’s the best, he can do anything and if not : he’ll learn to

everything to see you smile

sae

he’s too serious for his own good when he’s in public, you like to mess with him

he freshly cut his hair and you can’t help but want to run your hands through it all day, it’s all soft and nice and he smells as good as always and –

he had to glare at you for you to stop your move, rolling your eyes, you left to get a drink

a hand find it’s way on your smaller back again and you roll your eyes

“Stop that would you”

“Cut your hair after next time” it’s his time to roll his eyes

“You’re impossible” and you returned him the compliment, this time ruffling his hair for good before fixing it and smiling

“I love you though” he narrows his eyes at you, taking a look around him before leaving a peck on your cheek

“Me too”

rin

you like to fix his bangs to bother him

putting it a little on the side to get a better sight of his eyes even if he hated it

or ruffling it until he can’t see anymore

annoying Rin is your favorite job on earth

this end up in a fight half of the time – and he always win, be for real

but deep down, he loves it a lot

this boy is touch starved, so you playing and touching his hair a lot make him feel better and loved

reo

he’s a tidy man, he knows what he’s doing and big gathering, brands and companies or not ; he just has to be perfect

and he’s glad to have someone around him ready to fix his look if needed

but you two haven’t left yet that you already fixed his hair a few time

“You can’t act like that tonight you know that ?” he chuckled as you, very cautiously, fix it once again

“I will if needed.”

“Was it needed all the time for the past half and hour ?” he asked in a smirk, tilting his head to the side

you blush at his comment and pout. “Maybe not…”

he doesn’t mind tho, you’re sweet and you love him sm you can’t help it

he feels the same, don’t you worry

hiori

casual date but he’s always making sure he looks cute for his pretty s/o

you two leave when the time is still clear and warm yet knowing that’s a windy day

by the time you arrive at your destination, a cute cat café that opens recently, your hair is a mess and you can’t help but whine

he’s quick to help you out, brushing his fingers through it to ease it before his own hair – not that it moved much

yet you brushed your fingers through his as well, giggling when you’re done and him thanking you, not knowing it wasn’t needed at all

his hair is so soft, you can’t help but push it away gently or hold it before a strand falls in his mouth while he’s eating.

“What’s up today ?”

“Nothing, I just don’t want you to eat your hair !”

yuki

you attend an official thing, like regarding commercials he worked in with some brand

he’s : on fleek, hair perfectly done, makeup on top, he looks handsome and that’s your man ? Damn

you have to be serious the whole, contain yourself, smile a lot but you really can’t help yourself, from time to time, to make sure that his outfit and hairstyle stay perfect

that’s your job right ?

It’s like the ninth time your hand keeps a stand of hair out of his sight, or to make sure it stays put together, it makes him giggle.

“Done ?” he asked in a whisper in your ear, his smile so easy to imagine on his face.

“What ? It’s in your face. I’m helping out.”

“You’re not. You’re clingy,” he pecked your temple. “but it’s fine.”

yes, he knows you just can’t keep your hand for yourself but he still finds it cute and endearing

[ginnsbaker]

My Sundown

Summary: You’ve been a Hydra agent for as long as you can remember, when Wanda Maximoff and her brother, Pietro, volunteers for Hydra's human experiments.

Word count: 10K+ | Tags: Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader | Warnings: Only mentions of smut. Hurt/comfort. Reader is a little older than Wanda. Some angst. | A/N: I missed writing for Wanda, and have always wanted to write canon-ish oneshots for the MCU character. Main Masterlist

-

When they first bring her in, she looks like she's been through hell—eyes hollow, skin pale, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. Her hands tremble, not from fear, but from the sheer, unbridled power flowing through her veins. The room seems to shrink under the weight of it, as if even the walls are aware of what she’s capable of. The other recruits are scared and jittery, but she’s different. Her brother too—both rough around the edges, like two sides of the same scarred coin.

“Where did they round up these rats now?” you mutter to Lev, who’s standing dutifully beside you—the only person you've let close enough to be called a friend in all your years with Hydra.

“Sokovian volunteers,” he corrects you, eyes fixed straight ahead, mirroring your own unblinking focus on the twins. Maybe he feels the strange energy coming off them too, or maybe it’s just the routine numbness that sets in after years of blindly following orders.

You nod slightly, though the term volunteer feels like a cruel joke. No one truly volunteers for this. 

“Agent.” 

Dr. List’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts, dreary and impersonal. He calls everyone that way, as if you're just another tool, interchangeable and anonymous. It’s an intentional tactic—strip away the names, and you strip any sense of humanity.  Without a name, you’re not a person; you’re just a weapon at their disposal.

But you know he means you.

You step forward. “Sir,” you reply, maintaining a ramrod straight posture, your eyes fixed on a spot just beside his perpetually scowling face. It seems all villains share that same dour expression, but if this woman—this girl—makes it through the experiments and officially joins the ranks, she might just break the mold, looking more like an angel than a monster. You quickly shake off the thought, stifling a grimace at the odd turn your thoughts have taken.

When you risk a quick glance at her, you catch a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips, as if she knows exactly what you were just thinking.

“You’re to oversee Wanda Maximoff’s progress,” Dr. List continues without sparing you a second glance. “Ensure she complies. If she doesn’t…” He lets the threat hang, but you don't need him to spell it out. You know what Hydra does to those who don't meet expectations.

“And the boy?” you ask, genuinely curious about the other twin.

Dr. List gives you a sharp look, like he suspects something. Questions are frowned upon here, but ever since you laid eyes on Wanda, a persistent tingling has crept up the back of your neck.

To put it bluntly, she unnerves you, and you'd much prefer to deal with her brother.

“Strucker decided to…take a more hands-on approach with him,” Dr. List says.

“Understood, sir,” you reply crisply, reaffirming your commitment to your orders. You steal another glance at Wanda, only to feel a rush of heat when you realize she’s been watching you the entire time.

-

Wanda looks even more formidable once she’s showered and changed into fresh clothes. You can’t decide if it’s because the sinister gleam in her eyes remains untouched or because the grime and hardships of life on the streets have been washed away, revealing a haunting beauty beneath the dirt. Clean, she’s striking—but that beauty only makes her more dangerous. You’ve tried to delay any direct interaction with her, but this morning, Dr. List visited to follow up on the initial assessment, leaving you no more time to postpone. After a week of stalling, you’re out of excuses, and there’s a lot of ground to cover.

As she steps out of the small bathroom, her damp hair clings to her shoulders, softening her otherwise sharp features. The moment she becomes aware of your presence, her gaze locks onto you, and she begins to comb the wet tendrils back with her slender fingers. Your hand tightens around your keycard involuntarily as you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that Wanda is just like any other volunteer who entered the organization and never left its walls to see the light of day. Besides, you’re armed, and Wanda is not. It’s ridiculous to be this on edge around someone who's at a disadvantage.

“You,” Wanda murmurs, her accent rolling off her tongue like a slow, winding river.

“Shall we begin?” you ask, keeping your tone even and detached. You can’t afford to let her see how much she frighte—affects you.

Wanda ignores your request. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying you with a keenness that makes your skin prickle. You meet her stare, determined not to show any cracks, even though your heart's hammering away.

Finally, she nods—a small, almost imperceptible movement. 

You clear your throat and motion towards the small cot given to them as beds. “Please, have a seat,” you say.

This time, Wanda complies without a word. 

You glance around the room, searching for a seat, and silently berate yourself for not arranging one beforehand. It’s a small oversight, but it makes you feel foolish. With no other option, you settle against the farthest wall, opposite her, and lean against it, though it doesn’t make you feel any more grounded than you did a second ago.

In your hand is a file detailing everything Hydra knows about her, which isn’t much. You open it with a practiced ease, flipping through the pages, but you’re aptly aware of her eyes on you, watching your every move.

“Wanda Maximoff,” you start. “The procedures you're about to undergo are highly experimental. Hydra won't be held responsible for any injuries, no matter if they're permanent or temporary.”

Including death. But you are prohibited from disclosing this to avoid causing panic or stress among the subjects.

Wanda says nothing, her expression unreadable, but you can sense she’s lingering on a thought. Not sure what it is, you go on, falling back on the lines you've memorized these last few months.

“These procedures will enhance your natural abilities, giving you powers beyond what you may or may not currently possess. However, there are risks involved. Do you understand the nature of these risks?”

Wanda nods again. It’s the same answer you’ve received from countless other volunteers, most of whom had no idea what they were truly signing up for. But there’s something different about her, something in the way she holds herself that tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting into—and she’s not afraid.

“There will be a series of physical and psychological evaluations. We will push you to your breaking point and beyond. It is crucial that you cooperate fully. Resistance will only make the process more difficult, both for you and for us.”

You scan her face for any sign of fear or hesitation, but she's a blank slate. It’s as if she’s made peace with whatever fate awaits her here. That bothers you more than you’d care to admit.

“We will also be conducting interviews throughout the process,” you continue. “These will assess your mental state, your thoughts, your fears. Everything you say will be documented, and nothing will be private.”

Wanda's eyes narrow a touch, the first sign of any emotion since she sat down. It’s subtle, but you notice it. Maybe the thought of her mind being picked apart like a lab specimen is getting to her more than the threat of physical harm. Or it could be something else entirely.

“We’ll begin the physical tests tomorrow,” you say, closing the file and hugging it to your chest. “For now, you should rest and eat as much as you like. Your room is monitored constantly. If you need anything, just ask, though your movement around the facility will be restricted.”

The mask of indifference slips back into place. Wanda leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows in a display of casual ease. 

“Do you have any questions?” you ask, mostly because you have to, not because you really want to know. You figure she won't ask anything—most are too scared or too defeated to speak up. 

But Wanda Maximoff isn't most people.

“Why do you do this?”

You can’t help it—a faint smile begins to creep across your face at her question. Most volunteers, when they ask anything at all, are fixated on their own impending ordeal, too scared of what's coming. 

But Wanda isn't asking about herself; she's asking about you. It feels like forever since anyone showed that kind of interest.

Pausing at the doorway, you turn your head just enough for her to see the profile of your face. 

“I do what I'm told,” you say, dodging the deeper question she posed—the real why behind your actions. The truth is, you stopped asking why a long time ago. Reasons tend to blur into excuses when moral lines are crossed in an organization you once trusted.

You're already tapping your keycard against the scanner when Wanda speaks again.

“Will doing what you're told bring them back?”

Her question spins you around so fast it's almost like whiplash. How did Wanda know about that? Was it just a wild guess meant to throw you off? Whatever it was, it worked.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t even remember the last time you even thought about them. You've never shared this with anyone—not even Lev. Only a handful of Hydra figures were ever privy to your past.

Wanda couldn't possibly know. Unless—

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda says, her tone dismissive as she curls into a fetal position, turning her back to you.

If your theory holds, Wanda might be the key Hydra has been searching for—the one who can unlock the powers of the scepter that have eluded so many others. Her apparent ability to read minds could be the very breakthrough Dr. List has been waiting for. 

Finding yourself hesitating to report this discovery surprises you. It’s almost ironic how your conscience decides to kick in now, just when Hydra's goal seems tantalizingly close with the acquisition of the twins. You know what Hydra would do if they realized just how special she is, and the thought of them twisting her into something monstrous is something you can’t even begin to imagine.

-

In the days that follow, you keep quiet about your suspicions regarding Wanda’s innate abilities. You tell yourself that Dr. List will probably uncover them through his experiments soon enough. It’s definitely not because you're worried about what they might do if they decide to fast-track her program.

Yes, you’re just staying out of it, certainly not because you want to protect her.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

-

Your next face-to-face with Wanda comes a week later.

Though you have merely been observing her through a two-way mirror, you've been plagued by sleepless nights since your last meeting, and not even the strongest sedatives at your disposal have helped. Thoughts of her well-being nag at you, despite Hydra's strict rules limiting interaction between volunteers and handlers to prevent any emotional attachments. Such attachments have formed before, and Hydra has always dealt with them ruthlessly.

When you enter her room, she's in the same position as before—curled up on her cot, making herself appear small and almost childlike. She looks up as the door closes behind you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet recognition. 

As you step closer, the hollowness of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and her pale complexion are unmistakable. The word weathered hardly does justice to the toll her first week has taken. You know exactly what she’s been through. The tests here aren’t just tests—they’re torture, meant to break people down, body and mind. Even with her powers and confidence, Wanda shows the same signs of strain. She's slight, frail, and clearly, she's had as rough a time as anyone else here.

This time, you come prepared with a metal chair and a freshly prepared tea set next to it, and take a seat across from her.

“How are you holding up?” you ask, although the answer seems painfully obvious.

Wanda shrugs, barely moving, as if the effort to appear okay is too much for her. But then she surprises you.

“How long until Hydra enhances my powers?”

You weren’t expecting that. After everything she’s been through, she’s asking for more? You thought she’d be wary, maybe even broken by now. But the question says otherwise. She’s been through hell, and she’s still pushing forward, demanding more. Is she courting death?

“You seem in a hurry,” you say, hiding your worry behind a soft chuckle. 

Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t come here to wait around. If they want to use me, they need to make me stronger.”

Use me.

How disconcerting. She’s asking for more—more pain, more trials. As if everything she’s endured isn’t enough, as if she needs it to become something greater. It’s reckless and foolish, to say the least.

“We’re moving as fast as we can—”

“Move faster.”

“Wanda,” you say quietly. “What you’re asking for... it could break you.”

“I’m already broken,” she declares, cold and matter-of-fact. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s only when you notice the disgust in her eyes that you realize you’ve been looking at her with pity. Wanda is about to snap back, likely to tell you she doesn’t need your sympathy, when her expression shifts abruptly to one of curiosity.

She tilts her head, studying you—or maybe, with the mirth in her eye, it’s more like she’s mocking you. 

“You look at me like that again, and I’ll ask you a question,” Wanda says, her voice low, almost a whisper.

You stiffen, uncertain of what's coming next, but before you can say anything, she continues.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you, abrupt and a bit too loud—almost like you're trying to convince both yourself and Wanda how absurd she’s being. But as the laughter dies down, you feel your face heat up, your cheeks flushing a telltale red that you can't hide.

“No,” you say, your gaze dropping to the floor as you shake your head. You clasp your hands behind your back, one finger nervously picking at a cuticle. “This isn’t what this is about.”

Wanda smirks slightly, her lips twitching, amused by your discomfort. “Isn't it?” 

For a split second, you start to doubt everything. Did you really want to sleep with her? It's been ages since you've even considered intimacy with anyone—maybe too long. Life here doesn't leave space for that kind of thinking, and even if it did, the situation wouldn't allow it. Your heart's been shattered so often you're sure there's nothing left to give—especially not to someone you've only known for a week.

Wait—love?

This is, at best, lust—nothing more.

“No,” you repeat with more conviction.

Wanda’s smirk fades into a slow, knowing smile. “Fine. Just know the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

A proposition. It’s not the first time you’ve received one, but this offer sticks with you longer than you’d like. Wanda’s already spent too much time in your thoughts, and you’re desperate to shake her off and get back to the task at hand. But she makes it maddeningly hard to do so.

Without looking at her, you clear your throat and begin the routine interview. You refuse to focus on the fact that she’s just openly considered a physical encounter with you—and you’re definitely not considering it in return. 

“Have you noticed any unusual side effects since the last session? Headaches, nausea, dizziness?” you ask, skipping the pleasantries.

“No,” she says dryly. “No headaches. No nausea. No dizziness.”

You jot down her answers, ignoring her evident disinterest in the proceedings.

“Any changes in your sleep pattern?” you continue.

“No.”

“Any unusual pain or discomfort?” you ask, forcing yourself to meet her gaze, but her focus is on the rings on her fingers. The prisoners—volunteers, you correct yourself—aren't supposed to keep any personal items. It baffles you how she managed to hold on to those cheap pieces of metal and silver.

It takes Wanda a moment to respond. “Just the usual soreness.”

You suspect it's more than just soreness. She’s probably downplaying the pain, so you make a note beside her answer.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye on that. Any changes in your mood? Irritability, anxiety, anything like that?”

Wanda shrugs. “Depends on the company, I suppose.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Noted. We’ll stick with the same regimen for now. Any concerns or questions about the next phase?”

“What happened to them?” Wanda asks, steering the interview off course.

Annoyance flares up as she probes again, prying into your business. “Don’t you already know?” you snap, your patience wearing thin.

But Wanda doesn’t even blink. She isn’t scared, and that just irks you even more. She should be, if she knew what you’ve done to others who’ve pushed your buttons. You’ve never hesitated to throw your weight around with those who make your job harder.

“Sometimes what really happened and how we remember it are two entirely different stories,” she says, taking a deep breath before she continues. “Our mind protects us from the truth. It obscures what’s real, and what’s not becomes all we remember.”

You're stone-still, your mind drifting back to the past Wanda keeps prodding at. You don't even have a picture of your family anymore. Their voices are gone from your memory, and you're barely holding onto their faces. It used to tear you apart, thinking about them, but now there's just emptiness. You realize Wanda can’t rattle you—she has no leverage because there’s nothing left inside you to disrupt.

You’ve got nothing.

“Y/N?” Wanda presses, her features tightening with concern. 

You consider throwing her blunt words right back at her, but you hold off. Instead, you set the clipboard down on the counter with a soft clack. Turning to the medical cart, you grab a tray of needles and tools, then bring it over to her bed. Wanda's eyes widen slightly, and she scoots back as you sit down on the edge of the mattress. It’s satisfying to finally see her react with something other than that usual smug, unshakable attitude. You pick up a syringe, fill it with a bright yellow liquid from an unmarked bottle, and swipe a cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the top.

“What’s that?” Wanda asks evenly, though you can detect traces of doubt in it that suggest she’s trying to put up a brave front. 

“Supplements.”

Wanda raises a skeptical brow. 

You lift the syringe slightly, letting it catch the light so she can see exactly what you’re holding.

“May I?” you gesture toward her arm.

Wanda eyes you warily, then gives a quick nod.

With her consent, you scoot closer until your knees almost touch. You gently roll up the sleeve of her scrubs, exposing her arm. This close, you can see the goosebumps on her skin and feel the slight tremors running through her. You hadn't noticed before, but she's shivering—not from the cold, but probably from a fever.

Instinctively, you press your palm against her forehead. Wanda flinches but doesn’t pull away. Slowly, she settles into your touch and lets out a small sigh.

“You're hot,” you blurt out, and then quickly realize the unintended double entendre. Fortunately, Wanda lets it pass without comment. You retract your hand and hold the syringe up to her arm, poised but something stops you.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda prompts impatiently.

You're thinking of straying from the usual protocol, knowing the yellow meds might worsen Wanda's condition, especially with her fever spiking. Deciding against it, you put the syringe down and grab another bottle off the cart, this one filled with a clear liquid.

“Change of plans,” you murmur, prepping the new syringe. You nod at her for her arm, and she shifts closer, making it easier for you. When you depress the plunger, it's quick—so quick that Wanda barely feels the needle's prick.

You pull out the needle and press a small bandage onto the spot. “All done,” you announce.

Wanda massages her arm, feeling no real pain at the injection site. “T-Thanks,” she murmurs softly.

You acknowledge her gratitude with a nod and start collecting your notebook and tools. As you rise to leave, Wanda's hand shoots out, her fingers wrapping around your wrist urgently. You turn, meeting her striking, green eyes.

“I’m sorry about your family,” she murmurs quietly. Her words solidify your suspicion: she came to Hydra with powers already in tow. Mind reading or memory extraction would be invaluable to Hydra, and now, with even more power at your fingertips, you find yourself hesitating to use it.

If Dr. List catches wind of your hesitations, the reprisals will be brutal.

You glance down pointedly at where she's holding your hand, but Wanda doesn’t let go.

“It was a long time ago,” you whisper.

“Time doesn't really heal that kind of loss,” she says, still holding onto you.

“No, but you learn to live with it,” you reply, feeling the truth of your own words.

Wanda's hold slackens but remains. You feel awkward standing there, yet something holds you back from pulling away. You hadn't realized until now how starved you were for such a simple, human connection.

“I lost my parents the same way,” she shares.

“I'm sorry,” you say, and you really mean it. You can't read Wanda like she seems to read you, but in this brief moment, with the walls down, you decide to ask, “Is that why you came to us? To avenge your parents?”

Wanda's grip loosens completely, and she lets go of your wrist. You rub the spot where her fingers were, still feeling the warmth she left behind.

“‘Avenge’,” she spits out. She draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close. “I hate that word. Pietro and I, we're here to stop them. I wish… I wish they’d just leave Sokovia alone. They won’t leave because we can’t fight back.”

Your own past with Hydra comes to mind as she speaks. Back then, you joined because you were out of options. No country to fight for, no people to call yours. It strikes you how different Wanda's motivations are—rooted in something far more personal and noble. She deserves more than what Hydra can offer. 

Wanda looks at you, waiting for an answer. When you don't say anything, she pushes, “Do you think we made the right decision coming here?”

You're all too aware of Hydra’s real agenda. They're not about peace. They're here to extend their control, to bend the world around their so-called divine mission. 

“Sometimes, you don't know if it’s the right choice until it's too late to change it,” you say, knowing it’s not much of an answer. It's just the bitter truth you've come to know. It's all you can offer Wanda.

“Can you do me a favor, Y/N? Will you look after Pietro?”

The same way you’ve been looking out for me, Wanda thinks to herself, relieved that there’s only one telepath in the room.

“No promises,” you say.

Wanda gives a slight nod and starts to withdraw again. She settles back down on the cot, turning away from you, the conversation clearly over.

-

Lev sneaks into your room just before midnight, the door giving a soft creak as it swings open. Though friends, you typically keep to your own spaces. You blink sleepily at him, fighting to sit up and shake off the grogginess.

“Dr. List decided to skip ahead,” Lev says in a rush, closing the door with a gentle click. “He’s moved forward with exposing the twins to the scepter.”

“When?” You're wide awake now, sitting bolt upright in bed.

Lev’s eyes dart to the small window in your room before returning to you, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “An hour ago.”

That can’t be good. It’s far sooner than anyone had anticipated. Dr. List’s decision to advance the timeline without further testing could have unpredictable consequences. You swing your legs off the bed, your brain ticking through the possible scenarios.

“What’s the status now? How did Wan—the twins react?” you ask, grabbing your jacket and shoes and throwing them on without taking your eyes off Lev.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They rushed them to the Observation Chamber right after the exposure. Everything’s been kept under wraps.”

You pace a few steps, mulling over your next move. Exposure to the scepter has been lethal for everyone. Even with Wanda's unique abilities, there’s no guarantee she’ll pull through when others haven't.

“We need more information. Can you get access to the observation logs?”

Lev nods, though his expression shows his apprehension. “I’ll try. But security has been tighter since the exposure.”

You catch the anxious twist of his mouth at the idea of sneaking around, and choose to spare him the risk. His relief is palpable when you tell him, “I'll handle it myself.”

He sighs in relief. “Be careful…”

Only a select few can get into the Observation Chamber, and your badge isn’t on that list. You're going to need something stronger than just caution.

-

You slip your underwear back on, feeling Laura’s eyes tracing the contours of your body. 

After Lev left, you headed straight for her. Laura Brown, the Hydra director's daughter, hadn't seen you in almost a year, but the nature of your previous encounters left little doubt she'd be open to reconnecting.

Laura reclines on the bed, a sheet loosely draped around her, smirking as she watches you.  “I knew you'd come back eventually,” she purrs, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

You straighten up, deliberately avoiding her eyes as you button your shirt. “I need a favor, Laura.” 

She leans back against the headboard, the sheet falling to her waist and revealing her bare chest. “This sounds serious.”

“I need to get into the Observation Chamber. Tonight,” you say. You despise asking her—or anyone, really—for favors, but you need to see Wanda. It's imperative.

Laura's eyebrows go up, her smile growing. “Direct and desperate. What's in it for me?”

“What do you want?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

She thinks it over, then answers, “Keep me company tonight, no strings attached. Just like the old days.”

“Done.”

Laura claps her hands, clearly pleased, and tosses you the badge from the bedside table. 

You pick it up, feeling a bit degraded, like you're picking up coins someone's thrown your way. “I'll be right back,” you promise.

-

The guards give you weird looks as you show up at the Observation Chamber. They had clear orders: only Dr. List or Baron Strucker can go in. But dropping the director’s daughter’s name does the trick. You flash her badge and they let you pass, no more questions asked.

The hallway is pitch-black. This place had been sleeping until now, woken up by the fact that Pietro and Wanda Maximoff hadn’t died like the others who met the scepter. Clearly labeled doors mark the new, grim function of the space.

You think about heading straight to Wanda's room, but you remember her earlier request and decide to check on Pietro first.

The soft beeping of monitors greets you as soon as you step inside his room. He's in rough shape, alive but barely hanging on. You quickly check the chart posted next to the door—it shows low blood pressure and a high dosage of Epinephrine administered, with a note that his chances of survival stand at only 57% as of 11:30 PM.

He looks much thinner and more worn than the last time you saw him, his condition evidently worse. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones. As you move closer, you notice his body trembling, a sheen of sweat covering him despite the room's chill.

Quickly, you pull the extra covers from beneath his bed and wrap them around him, trying to stabilize his shivering. Then, you snag a water bottle from a nearby stand, helping him take slow, measured sips. 

Pietro looks at you, his eyes filled with confusion and pain, struggling to form the words. “Who are you?”

“Just someone who made your sister a promise,” you say, scooping up some water in your palm and gently drizzling it over his head. Pietro sighs in relief. “Get some rest now, and try not to die.”

His eyes flutter shut in seconds, his breath smoothing out as sleep claims him. You linger just a moment to make sure he's really out, then hurry off towards Wanda's room. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear pulsing through you. Pietro was in rough shape; how bad might Wanda be? You cling to a shred of hope that she's holding up better.

The air stays heavy as you enter Wanda’s quarters. You tread lightly, making sure not to disturb her sleep, and check the medical chart by her bed. Unlike Pietro’s dire prognosis, Wanda's stats are steady, but still troubling. Her breaths are regular, without the distressing shivers that torment her brother.

What strikes you is how normal, how peacefully she's sleeping, despite her recent exposure to Loki’s scepter. 

Relieved to see her condition isn’t more severe, you end up at the foot of her bed. There isn’t much to do after confirming she’s stable, and you know you should head back to Laura. But leaving Wanda’s side proves difficult once you're there. Almost immediately, your mind floods with ideas on how to get her out of Hydra’s clutches. If they fully realized her potential, it wouldn't just be dangerous for her—it'd be catastrophic for anyone in their path. Internally, you start plotting escape routes and thinking about who might be willing to help.

It’s strange to think how you went from one of Hydra’s most devoted agents to scheming against them.

Lost in your plans, you're jolted back to the present when you feel a gentle nudge against your thigh. Wanda's foot is pressing against you. She's awake. You look up to find her eyes open, wary and searching.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice raspy from lack of use. “What—what happened?”

You subtly shift on the bed, making sure her toes aren't touching you anymore. You're not sure when you became so acutely aware of Wanda’s proximity, or of the points where your bodies meet.

“What do you remember before all this?” you ask.

She rubs her forehead, straining to recall. “There was a room... a stone emerging from the scepter. Bright lights… then nothing.”

You nod, already knowing half of what Wanda just told you. This is the first time anyone has lived to tell about their experience with the scepter, and you were hoping for more insights into how it unleashes its power. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about trying it yourself, wondering if you could resist its effects. Being Hydra, curiosity about power was a constant temptation.

“You weren't supposed to be exposed to the scepter yet,” you admit quietly. “Dr. List sped things up, maybe because he suspected—”

“Pietro,” she cuts in, her thoughts finally catching up. “Was he exposed to it too?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, clouded with worry. “Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” you say. “I just saw him before coming here. He's stable, but it’s precarious.”

Wanda’s face crumples as soon as the words leave your lips. Before you can react, she throws her arms around you, her face buried in your shoulder. You freeze for a moment, uncertain how to respond. It’s been so long since you’ve held someone like this, since you’ve allowed yourself to care enough to even consider it. But then you feel it—tears, warm and wet against your neck. She’s crying.

After a moment, you hesitantly wrap your arms around her, holding her as she trembles against you. You can feel her fear, her desperation. It cuts through your defenses, the ones you’ve built so carefully over the years.

You tighten your hold on her, offering what little comfort you can, but inside, you’re battling your own fear. You can’t afford to care about her this much—not here, not now. But as you hold her, feeling every shake of her body, you know it’s already too late.

Wanda's sobs slowly subside, and you pull back slightly, intent on offering some kind of reassurance despite how foreign it feels to you. You reach up, brushing away her tears with your thumb, trying to find the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, as your hand lingers on her cheek, she pins you with a quiet stare. Before you realize what’s happening, Wanda leans in and presses her lips softly against yours.

The kiss is brief, just a fraction of a second, but it leaves you utterly breathless. She pulls back almost immediately, watching you, waiting to see how you’ll react. For a heartbeat, you're stunned, but then something ignites inside you, something you’ve been holding back without even recognizing it. 

Acting on pure impulse, you reach up, grasp the back of her neck, and pull her in for another kiss. In an instant, you take control effortlessly, letting the animalistic and Hydra part of you come to the forefront. Your thumb presses roughly against her chin, coaxing her mouth open, and you slide your tongue in, staking your claim. Wanda responds with a gasp, her hands clutching at your shoulders, but you’re too far gone to think about anything except the taste of her, the way her body molds against yours.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss further, your other hand sliding down to grip her waist, pulling her closer still. The feel of her, the heat of her skin under your fingers, it’s intoxicating, and you can’t get enough. You've never allowed yourself to want someone this much. Just as you think you can't hold back any longer, Wanda's hand captures yours and guides it under her shirt. You're startled to find out she's wearing nothing underneath when your knuckles brush against her hardened nipple. That unexpected discovery is what compels you to pull back.

Wanda's lips leave yours with a wet sound, and she begins kissing down your jaw to your neck.

“Wanda, wait—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” she says. Her breath is hot against your skin, and you feel her tongue trace a line up to your pulse point, leaving a fiery trail that makes you shiver. “You can claim your reward, you can have me.”

Her words snap you out of the haze, that single word—reward—ringing in your ears like a warning bell. You quickly place your hands on her shoulders, pushing her back gently but firmly.

Wanda blinks, confusion and hurt flashing in her eyes as she looks up at you. “What’s wrong?” She knows she’s attractive and has already glimpsed your desire for her during your visits, reading it in your thoughts. It’s why she finds your rejection so absurd—frustrating, even, given her openness.

“I'm not here for that,” you say, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

“Then why are you here?”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, unaccustomed to openly discussing your feelings. “I came to see how you're doing after... after the scepter.”

“I'm fine,” she answers flatly.

You nod, still feeling the residual heat of her closeness. “Do you feel any different?” you ask, partly out of concern but mostly to shift the conversation elsewhere.

“I'm just tired,” Wanda says, closing her eyes and running a hand through her tousled dark hair. “Can we do this tomorrow?” She sounds a bit let down, assuming you're here just for a routine check—looking for any new powers or changes—as if she had hoped for something more personal.

“I'm sorry,” you quickly say. “I’m not here on any official orders. In fact, I shouldn't even be here.”

This revelation softens her look, her eyes narrowing slightly with renewed interest.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I'm working on getting you and Pietro out of here. It's not set yet, but—”

“Out of here?” Wanda cuts in, her eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement. “Why would I want to leave?” 

“You got what you came for, right? The power of the scepter? Now you can leave. Hydra isn’t what you think,” you explain, trying to make her see the danger.

“Look who's acting all self-righteous all of a sudden. You've been here for years, and I've seen you do things,” she retorts sharply.

“Stop looking into my mind,” you snap, irritated by her knack for sifting through your thoughts without permission and using your past against you. Just because she can doesn’t mean she should.

“You’re saying I’m wrong?” she sneers.

You shake your head. “Look, I’m just trying to help—”

“If you really want to help, just do your job.”

Her words hit you harder than any physical blow could. You knew better than to let someone get this close, to allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. But there’s no one to blame here but yourself. Wanda didn't even have to do much to earn your solicitude; it was your own doing, your own need to make things right that led you here. 

Hydra’s training kicks in like second nature, and you shut down the emotions before they can show, your face hardening into a mask.

“Alright, Wanda. I'll do just that.”

-

It’s easier the second time you’re with Laura that night.

After Wanda's dismissal, you find Laura’s body to be the comfort you need. You lose yourself in her, the way she responds to every touch, every move you make. Pushing everything else from your mind, you focus solely on her, making her come again and again until she’s too bone-tired to do anything but black out beside you.

After it's over, you slip out of her bed, leaving her to sleep off the night’s weariness, and return to your room. You don't think about Wanda. Not even once.

In the following days, Wanda's recovery is swift—too swift for your level of clearance. Dr. List decides she’s beyond your oversight and assigns her to a higher clearance team. You’re left dealing with new recruits, volunteers who are eager yet naïve, none of whom survive the brutal exposure to the scepter. Each failure hardens you a little more, cements the necessity of detachment. 

But even with countless deaths on their hands, Hydra doesn't back down. If anything, they’re more driven now, hungry for more power, spurred on by the success of the twins. Pietro develops superhuman speed, a skill Hydra quickly puts to use by dispatching him to enemy territories for intel. Wanda’s abilities become more varied, showing signs of what could be categorized as psionic powers. She demonstrates capabilities that suggest telekinesis, manipulating objects without touching them, and telepathy—which she employs at her whim. 

Sometimes you wonder if she ever peeks into your mind anymore. But then, with the kind of power she wields, why would she even bother with what you're thinking? You're not special. Not even your badge, which doesn't get you into sections of the base without currying favor with Laura Brown first.

The Sokovian base is sprawling, and encounters with either of the Maximoff twins are rare but unavoidable. Pietro remembers your visit that night. Now and then, he nods at you politely. Wanda, on the other hand, acts as if you don’t exist. If you pass her in the hallways, she looks through you as if you're invisible. So, you make it a point to stay out of her way, blending into the dull walls and shadows as much as you can.

This detachment suits you in a way. It allows you to focus on your duties, on surviving one day at a time in an environment where the stakes are always high and the consequences often lethal.

It leaves you with nothing to lose, because there's no one left to lose.

-

Weeks pass quietly until rumors start floating around that Wanda's been seeing someone inside the complex. It’s hard to call it dating, really, since concepts like love and trust struggle to take root in a place as bleak as this. It’s probably just two people keeping each other company through the colder nights. Still, you can’t shake off how much this bothers you. 

But it's not surprising. The twins' popularity has only grown, especially since, months later, no one else has matched their extraordinary feat of surviving an Infinity Stone—a term you picked up only after Hydra discovered what was really behind Loki's scepter.

Sometimes, you find yourself observing Wanda from afar, trying to figure out if there’s any substance to the rumors. Who makes her laugh? Who does she choose to sit with at meals? The more you notice your own scrutiny, the more you recognize a feeling of jealousy stirring within you, an emotion that’s prevalent among your peers but not in this regard. You're bewildered and annoyed by your own reaction—why should who Wanda spends time with matter to you? Whatever she does, whoever she fucks—it's none of your business.

You hate this feeling, but you combat it by heading to Laura’s room every night, as if she’s the cure you need to keep yourself in check.

-

“They’ll betray us someday,” Lev murmurs as you both amble through the dense woods, taking a rare break from the base for a smoke. He breathes out slowly, watching the smoke curl upwards. You don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about the twins.

“No sooner than Hydra will throw us under the bus when the Avengers show up,” you reply, stepping around a fallen branch. “We’re all expendable. You know that, right?”

Lev takes a deep drag, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “Yeah, I know,” he says at last, releasing a plume of smoke. There’s something in his eyes, a look that tells you he’s not saying all he could about the twins.

You eye him suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Lev glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he's deciding how much to share. After a moment, he nods.

“Okay, I wasn't planning on telling you this yet, but I've been handed a special assignment—the Maximoff Contingency Plan,” he reveals.

You scoff at him. “You’re the contingency plan?” 

“No, not just me,” Lev chuckles darkly as he tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. “I'm involved, but it's more than that. We're working on a weapon, one that borrows from the tech of the Infinity Stone.”

The seriousness of what he's saying sinks in. Leveraging the power of an Infinity Stone means they're not messing around.

“And what's this weapon supposed to do?” you ask, not sure if you want to hear the answer.

Lev’s expression darkens. “You know what weapons are supposed to do,” he says tersely, turning to head back. “Let’s go.”

Hydra does not tolerate treachery. Even the mildest punishment is a swift death—a quick end, but an end all the same.

-

It’s only a matter of time before the Avengers find the Sokovian Base. Tensions had been mounting and Hydra's movements had become increasingly aggressive, drawing unwanted attention. When it all goes down, you’re in your room, scrambling to suit up and arm yourself with pistols—not to confront the Avengers, who are essentially gods, but to fight for your way out.

As the base descends into turmoil, you hear that Wanda and Pietro are attempting to escape. Hydra has a ruthless protocol for such situations: eliminate the entire unit to prevent any leaks. It's cleaner to destroy and rebuild than to let loose ends compromise the organization. Knowing about the contingency plan to eliminate the twins, you grab your radio and contact Lev, asking where he is.

“You’re just in time. I need backup. I've got Wanda Maximoff in my sights, waiting for the right moment to take her down,” he radios back.

“On it, I’m with you,” you reply, feeling the sweat bead on your forehead as you move toward his location. When you get there, you find Lev, poised and ready, his eyes fixed on the target through the scope of his rifle. You scan the surroundings, looking for hazards until you spot Wanda among the debris. Iron Man's missiles have turned the area into a deadly maze of flying rocks. From her fingertips, streams of red magic swirl, skillfully steering the massive boulders away from crushing both Hydra agents and civilians.

Wanda isn’t trying to escape—she’s helping fend them off. Seeing her save these lives, something inside you breaks. Lev has his rifle aimed at her, ready to pull the trigger while she's busy playing the hero. The possible outcomes flash through your mind: Wanda dead or imprisoned by the Avengers. The thought is unbearable. You've spent months pretending you didn't care, but now, faced with the reality of losing her, you realize all you want is for her to live, to be free—something you've long given up for yourself.

You're about to dissuade Lev, to argue her worth, her potential, anything to stall, when an explosion nearby startles Wanda. She turns, momentarily distracted, and Lev's finger tightens on the trigger, ready to end it all.

But you're faster.

He collapses with a shocked gasp, the life leaving his eyes as he hits the ground. The noise of his body falling draws Wanda’s attention. She turns just in time to see what you've done—for her. Her eyes, wide and questioning, boring into yours.

Why did you save me? They seem to ask you, those green orbs that have hunted you ever since you looked into them. There's no time for lengthy explanations—not that you have a solid one anyway. But with each passing second, the chance of escaping undetected by these so-called superheroes dwindles.

“You need to leave, now!” you yell at her, but she doesn't budge. Instead, she looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time with something other than disdain. It’s the same look she gave you the night the scepter awakened her powers. It’s a look that tells you that maybe she’s been pretending too, these past few months.

You’re about to sprint toward her, to drag her to safety if you have to, when a blur of motion sweeps her away. Pietro appears out of nowhere, whisking them both out of the base before the Avengers close in. 

For a second, you're left standing there, surrounded by the wreckage and the friend you just betrayed and killed. There's no time to grieve, no time to second-guess leaving his body behind—it's pure instinct that forces you to move quickly. You head towards an exit known only to the most important figures of the organization, a piece of information you picked up from Laura. She wouldn’t have given it away if you weren’t frequently sleeping together, those personal liaisons caused by trying to forget Wanda.  

It’s strange, in a way, how you both just ended up saving each other.

-

Several weeks after the Avengers demolish the Sokovian base, Wanda finds you at a small cabin you own on the outskirts of Novi Grad. The modest structure sits on a 2-acre plot near the woods—a spot you picked up when your stint in Sokovia stretched past thirteen months. You never really planned on settling here; you thought you’d be moved to another location and sell this land at a profit eventually. But life, it seems, had other plans.

You’re chopping wood beside the cabin when you feel her presence. Dropping the axe, you straighten up and spot her at the edge of the clearing. Your eyes quickly sweep her surroundings for any sign of Pietro, but it appears she has come alone.

“Why did you do it?” she asks once she's close enough. You take a few moments to take her in, hardly believing she's actually here, and touched by the thought that she sought you out. You've missed her presence, even though the last few months have only found you both inhabiting the same compound, breathing the same air but never speaking. 

Sometimes, lying in bed at night, you wonder why you can’t shake Wanda from your thoughts. You’ve even entertained the idea that she might have hexed you, that her magic has somehow ensnared your mind and… maybe your heart. It seems like the only logical explanation, because since the day you met, Wanda has never really left your mind.

“I did what I thought was right,” you finally answer, tucking your hands inside your pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

“He was your friend,” Wanda points out softly. 

Your lips curl into a strained smile; of course, she’d know. She knows things about you that you'd never voice out loud. Wanda’s ability to read minds makes hiding anything impossible. Does she understand how deeply you care for her? She must. Wanda has always seen right through you, so why does she need to ask?

“Did you ever think about me after that night?” she asks out of nowhere. The night the Infinity Stone changed everything, when you were closer to her than you’d ever been before.

You're taken aback by her directness. This, too, she probably knows the answer to because you've thought of little else. 

“Everyday,” you say.

That night, you invite her to your home, the first person ever to share the space you once believed would always be just yours. Your living room is snug, with a three-seater couch and a medium-sized TV mounted on the wall. There’s also a fireplace that lights up the space with an amber glow as you hand Wanda a cup of hot chocolate.

You and Wanda find yourselves chatting about lighter topics. She shares her favorite shows from childhood, and you're surprised to learn she’s a big fan of American sitcoms. You enjoyed them too when you were younger, but not to the extent that you'd watch entire seasons over and over like Wanda did. Your preference leaned more toward books, gobbling up Agatha Christie novels when you were younger.

While you're in the middle of sharing a particularly funny memory from one of those old sitcom episodes, Wanda suddenly leans in and kisses you. Though your first instinct is to dive back into the kiss, you pull back instead. The last time you were this close, things escalated quickly before they crashed and burned.

“Are you sure?” you ask, searching her eyes for an answer. Learning from past mistakes, you want to make sure it's what she really wants.

She nods, her eyes steady and invitingly dark. “I’m sure.”

You close the distance between you, kissing her to your heart’s content. Before long, clothes are discarded, and you move from the couch to the bed, leisurely exploring each other, discovering how to bring one another to new heights of pleasure. 

As you lie next to her afterward, breathless and tangled in the sheets, you realize there’s no way to pretend anymore—you care too much to go back.

-

The quiet doesn’t last long. 

Tony Stark’s experiment goes awry, giving rise to Ultron—a global threat with ambitions that soon become clear. It seeks to bring about what he perceives as peace, by any means necessary. And just when you thought you and Wanda might have found some peace, she tells you she’s joining Ultron.

“It’s too dangerous,” you tell her. The twins and a robot against the entire Avengers team? The numbers alone put the odds against them. “We can stay here, help the people around us, and actually make a real difference.”

She shakes her head, her jaw set. “You don’t get it,” she argues. “You never will. You’re not…”

Special. Go ahead, Wanda, say it. Say what you really think of me.

“...you don’t have powers. You don’t know what it’s like to be able to change things and then just stand by, powerless.”

You were bracing for it, but it hurts all the same.

“So what am I then, Wanda? Just a bystander? Someone not worth listening to because I don't have powers?”

“I’m saying I have to do this,” Wanda mutters solemnly. “I’m the only one who can do this.”

You can see in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. You’re still racking up your brain for something that might make a difference but she speaks again.

“I’m doing this for Sokovia,” she says quietly. “For everyone who's suffered because of Stark.”

You say nothing. Her fierce loyalty is one of the things you adore about her.

Wanda steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch your face, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ll come back,” she promises. “When this is over, I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, resigned to the reality that you must let her go. “I’ll be here,” you say, your voice thick with regret that you can’t do more to protect her, to make sure she’s safe. “Waiting for you, right here.”

-

Pietro Maximoff dies riddled with bullet wounds—over a dozen of them. You learn the details of his death through a tabloid, days after witnessing Novi Grad being torn from the ground. 

A week later, Wanda comes back to you, just as she promised, but she’s not the same. The light in her eyes is gone, replaced by a ghostly void. It’s a look you know all too well, the same one you’ve seen staring back at you in the mirror for years.

A loss of purpose.

In the days that follow, you try to restore some normalcy, but nothing feels right. You cook meals she barely touches, sit beside her during long stretches of silence, and listen when she occasionally finds the strength to talk. It's tough, seeing her struggle, but you stay by her side, hoping things will begin to heal.

But they don’t.

Every day, you see it—the guilt, the pain, the loss. She tries to find reasons to keep going, but nothing seems to hold. And as much as you want to be the one to help her, to pull her out of this darkness, you know you're not enough. Not this time.

Wanda is adrift, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t anchor her to this life you’re trying to build. She’s lost her brother, her home, and whatever sense of justice she thought she could achieve by joining Ultron. And you—you’ve been running from your past for so long, and you’re simply tired of it.

You start thinking about what’s best for her, about what she needs to move on and find a new purpose. Deep down, you recognize that maybe the best way for her to truly heal is if you step aside.

-

Like Wanda, you don’t trust Stark. So, with the skills you’ve honed during your time with Hydra, you manage to find a way to contact Steve Rogers instead.

The conversation happens one afternoon, over a phone call. You tell him everything—your past with Hydra, the things you’ve done, and why you’re ready to turn yourself in. He listens without interrupting, letting you confess everything. You mention that Wanda's with you, and make it clear this isn't about trying to reclaim some lost sense of patriotism. You're doing it for her.

“You did the right thing by coming to me,” Steve says when you finish. “Wanda has so much potential. She deserves a chance to become who she’s meant to be.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice dropping to a whisper. You’ve known it all along, perhaps better than anyone. It’s why you’re doing this, even though it feels like tearing yourself apart.

Over the course of the conversation, you and Steve work out an agreement. You’ll serve a reduced sentence in exchange for all the intel you have on the remaining Hydra heads still out there. You’ll act as an informant, helping to bring them to an end, once and for all. And maybe, after you’ve paid your dues, there’ll be a chance for you to live something close to a normal life. When the call ends, you're washed over with a feeling of real freedom, despite knowing it might cost you Wanda all over again.

Later that night, you find Wanda in the kitchen, stirring a pot and humming a tune you don't recognize, looking more alive than she has in weeks. Seeing her like this is bittersweet; she’s here, but soon, you might not be.

She notices you and gives a small, relieved smile. “You’re back,” she says.

“Yeah, I had a craving for this specific brand of red wine…” You say, tossing out a casual lie since you did swing by the grocery store, and errands are a regular part of your routine.

“Red wine?” Wanda perks up. “Perfect, I’m just about done with dinner. It should pair nicely.”

The kitchen smells foreign but amazing, and you can't help but compliment her. “It smells incredible in here,” you say as you start setting the table. 

Wanda smiles softly as she turns down the stove and grabs a bowl to serve. You set out two wine glasses and place them on the table.

You pour a generous amount of red wine into each glass and watch as Wanda carries the meal over. 

“Thanks for dinner,” you say with genuine appreciation.

“Try it and tell me what you think,” she urges, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she watches you with anticipation.

You take a bite, the flavors unique and perfectly blended. Looking up, you see her watching you, eager for your reaction.

“Well?” she asks impatiently.

You laugh, then wipe the corners of your mouth with your thumb. “Don't you already know?” you tease, hinting at her telepathic abilities.

Wanda pretends to be offended, crossing her arms. “I haven’t read your mind in a long time.”

You can’t help but be a little skeptical of her claim. “Since when?”

Wanda blinks, her gaze veering away as she hesitates, clearly not eager to revisit the memory. 

You give her a gentle nudge, mimicking her earlier prodding “Well?”

Wanda turns to face you, her bottom lip pushed out slightly in a pout. “Since I saw you were sleeping with the director’s daughter.”

Saw? Did she see everything I did with Laura? The thought that Wanda witnessed it all like a scene playing out in front of her makes your stomach twist. You blush, mortified. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” you mumble, looking away.

Wanda shakes her head, trying to dispel her lingering jealousy. “I shouldn't have been peering into your head that much to begin with,” she says softly.

Your ears catch on a particular phrase. “‘That much’?” 

It’s Wanda’s turn to blush, her cheeks flushing deeper as she quickly downs the rest of her wine and then holds out her glass for a refill. Deciding to show some mercy, you pour her another glass without prying further. The conversation stalls into an awkward silence until you finally decide to break it by giving your verdict on the dinner.

“By the way, this is delicious,” you say, adding another serving to your plate.

Wanda's face lights up, her smile stretching so wide that she looks almost like a giddy child. But then, she is young. You can’t help but imagine how she'll fit in with them. Steve, in particular, seems like he’d be good for her. Even though you don't know him well, that one phone call was enough to get a sense of his character and leadership. He seems like the kind of guy who'd really look out for Wanda, in ways you can't.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Wanda suddenly asks.

Your smile falls a little, but you manage to keep it there. You wish she could read your mind now, that she could understand the choices you’ve made today better than you could ever explain them. You’re not abandoning her—you’re setting her free from this life. You've done too many unspeakable things to ever truly deserve a quiet life with her. Eventually, your past will catch up to you, and the opportunity for Wanda to do something good might slip away if she’s still tied to you. You wish she could see how much you care for her, how much she’s changed you. Because of her, you’ve felt the desire to be good again, to be human again. To open yourself not just to grief, but also to love.

You wish—

“Maybe we can visit that lake you mentioned? I've spent my whole life in Sokovia but never really left Novi Grad,” Wanda suggests.

“Rain check?” you say, trying your best to sound like tomorrow isn’t goodbye. Steve wanted to move quickly, and you’ll be expecting him and a small squad tomorrow, no later than noon. “I’m thinking I might just stay in, catch up on some reading.”

Wanda cocks her head, a puzzled look on her face. You’ve been the one pushing her to get out of the cabin more, so your answer isn’t what she’s expecting. But she likes the idea. She just wants to spend time with you. The hole Pietro left in her heart is only bearable when she’s with you.

“Okay,” she mumbles, starting to clear the dishes. You place a hand over hers, silently telling her you’ll take care of it later. Leaning in, you plant a soft kiss on her lips.

“You want to go to bed early?” you whisper quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She looks up at you, a playful gasp escaping her lips. 

“Just to sleep,” you add quickly. I just want to hold you all night, one last time.

“I might not be sleepy right off the bat, maybe if you tire me out—”

“Naughty,” you chuckle softly, giving her nose a gentle tap.

“You love it.”

“I—” Love you. You want to say it, but you don’t want to make it harder for you both when the time comes.

Without another word, you grab her hand, holding on to this moment, to her, for as long as you can.

[cursingtoji]

as you see the pool of blood beneath you getting larger by the second you surrender.

at least there was no students with you. good…

you reach for your phone in your pocket that is thankfully intact, and call his number ringing until it fell on the voicemail.

“satoru, thank god you didn’t answer. i wouldn’t know what to say if you did… listen, i’m running out of time here, i should’ve known they were too strong for me” a drop of water falls on your forehead, “ah it’s raining, i wish i was in our dorm watching bad horror films with geto, shoko, nanami and haibara…”

as soon as gojo finishes with the curse and sees your voicemail he smiles, wondering what kind of fake emergency you got yourself into that needed a call instead of text.

a strawberry cake? the new volume of your favorite manga? he puts the phone in his ear and his heart gets cold as he listens to your voice.

“…i’ll tell him you said hi… i’m sorry, satoru” the call doesn’t drop but there’s no more sounds until the time for the voicemail runs out.

there’s buzz in his ear while he forces ijichi to tell him your location, after some desperate calls he gives it to gojo that immediately transports himself there. he’s in the air amongst the rain clouds looking around trying to find something, anything.

then he sees it, a very dimmed source of cursed energy.

he’s there, stepping on all the blood, mud and water, then kneeling on it to grab your cold body and take it to the only person he knows that can fix it.

yet there’s not much that can be done except hooking you into some machine and hope for the best.

the years go by, shoko says the chances are minimal, yet he keeps visiting. he pays all the bills, money is no problem, even if he didn’t inherited a fortune he wouldn’t mind going a few days without proper food if that meant you stayed alive, even if unconscious.

“nanami is back, it took me so long so convince him and you know what was the final straw? a baker! yeah! listen to this…” he tells you the latest news in his life as he puts the bouquet in the vase by the opened window where the cherry blossom drops a pink petal inside your room.

“…his name is yuuta okkotsu, the curse is called rikka, i think we are related. me and yuuta, not me and rikka…” he puts some water in the vase right by the summer sunlight.

“megumi is having some troubles, but i think itadori and kugisaki will do him good, they remind me of…” orange leaves fall from the trees outside.

then one day he gets a call.

[uhohdad]

(18+) WARNING: HEAVY NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

Loser!König x Reader - Spiking Your Drink

loser!könig can hardly find it in him to feel bad about it. You’ve been teasing him for months, inviting him to devour you with his greedy stare, showing off a body that begs for groping.

loser!könig fixes you a drink after a particularly rough day, his cock twitching at the needy groan you make before airing your thanks. He hopes the extra lime masks the bitter taste that threatens to tip you off, relaxing once you take your first sip without complaint. You’re too good to me, König.

loser!könig’s cock pulses in excitement when he catches your muscles loosening, your eyelids lulling, your body melting further into the couch. Each rise and fall of your chest is drawn-out, the very act of breathing sapping too much of your energy.

loser!könig’s breaths turn shallow at the thick, drowsy slur in your words. When a fragile hand extends in his direction, he knows that you’re too weak to put up the fight that would have been futile regardless. ‘Kön? Don’ feel s’good.’

loser!könig’s movements are gentle, his reassurance cooing as he crawls overtop of you. Calloused hands wrap around yours, guiding the back of your hand to his lips. ‘It’s okay, schatzi. Rest now.’

loser!könig is already grinding himself against your front when you nod, oblivious to his intentions and the aching, leaking cock rutting against you. You nuzzle your cheek further into the couch cushion, pretty eyes fluttering shut.

loser!könig stutters his moans through a particularly drawn-out stint of grinds against you, ripping away with a whine when his cock threatens to stain the fabric of his underwear, the sight of you sprawled out and begging to be ruined too enticing. His knuckles brush against your skin as he lifts your shirt to your underarms, heaving breaths at the sight of your plush tits. Your pants are next, fingers slipping into both of your waistbands and peeling them off you, exposing your pretty little cunt to him.

loser!könig lets out a choke at the sight, nudging open your thighs so he can drool over your spread cunt. He’s fantasized about what you taste like since the moment he met you - he doesn’t hesitate to swipe his hungry tongue across the entirely of your slit, eyes rolling and a groan muffled into your cunt. He uses you for practice, inexperienced tongue picking up a sloppy rhythm. You taste so good, schatzi.

loser!könig cock throbs in his pants when you let out a meek sigh in rest, the slightest twitch in your limbs. The grip he has on your plush thighs tightens, moaning at your sweet taste. His stubble scrapes against your lips as he slobbers over you, a messy, relentless tongue that cannot be satiated lapping over your clit.

loser!könig’s arms nearly give out, doubling over with a strangled cry on his lips as he glides his cock over your spit-stained cunt. Tears well in his eyes, lining himself up, cunt spread and pliant while he works his tip into you. He’s never felt something this good - so warm and tight around his thick cock.

loser!könig sputters as he sinks into you, ignoring the way you shift in your rest, brows creasing ever so slightly. His cock pulses at the barely audible squeak that slips from your pretty lips.

loser!könig can’t hold himself back anymore, burying himself into you, hips slamming against your plush thighs. His moans are choppy and unrestrained as he ravages you with his cock, addicted to the way your tits bounce with each jolt of his powerful thrusts.

loser!könig doesn’t let up when your eyes flutter open, lips barely moving when you mutter unintelligibly. He grabs your jaw when you stir, tilting your head in his direction. ‘Look at me, schatzi. Want to see those pretty eyes.’

loser!könig bites his lip at the hazy look in your eye, staring at him like he was your dream, your fantasy. He shivers, a moan caught in his throat when your weak, delicate hand finds his chest, fingertips tracing down his strong core as you fade out again, pretty eyes disappearing behind lulled eyelids.

loser!könig’s unrelenting thrusts waver through his premature finish, tears steaming down his cheeks and huffed moans spilling from his lips. He’s sure to leave bruises under the crushing grip on your hips when every one of his muscles tense, burying his generous, pent-up finish deep into your cunt.

loser!könig can’t hold himself up anymore, collapsing on top of your weary body. His hardened hands grope your perfect tits once he’s found his breath, nuzzling his nose into your silky skin, hungrily nursing on you. Coating you in spit, flicking his tongue over your nipple while wandering fingers fidget with the other.

loser!könig fucks you each time you bring his cock to attention, bullying himself into your obedient cunt until you’re drooling his finish, until he’s been entirely drained, until his cheeks are puffy and stained with tears of oversensitivity.

loser!könig feels so guilty and ashamed after, he punishes himself to make it up to you by cleaning up the mess he made of your cunt with his tongue :(

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[guksfairy]

word count: 1k

notes: JK is 22, OC is 21, Tsuki is Jungkook’s sister, secret relationship, mentions of a nsfw Polaroid, I love them 💕 (not proof read yet!)

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Best Friend’s Older Brother JK who happened to always be around when you come over to hang out with his sister, Tsuki, even though he had a job and was an active final year university student

Best Friend’s Older Brother JK who would keep a constant eye on you two so the second Tsuki would step out of a room he’d make his way to you and grab your waist before kissing you with all his might telling you how much he misses and needs you

Best Friend’s Older Brother JK who knows your whereabouts 24/7 and consistently confuses Tsuki when he’s aware where you’re at but she doesn’t

“Ugh Y/N left her work jacket here. I’m gonna go to her place before she goes in,” Tsuki, grabbing her keys, making her way to the front door is stopped when her brother answers, “She’s already working,” nonchalantly while cutting up some fruit he craved.

Tsuki stood frozen with her hand on the door knob before slowly turning back to face Jungkook with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

With a subtle panic Jungkook quickly fixes his composure and replies, “Uh I ran into her earlier and she told me she was called in to cover someone’s last hour,” avoiding eye contact he clears his throat hoping it’s enough for his sister to not ask him anything else.

“Okay well regardless I’m still gonna take it to her and probably grab a bite to eat. You want anything?” Jungkook shakes his head waiting for the second Tsuki walks out the door to run to his phone and text you.

Koo 💕: baby my sister is on her way to your work

Koo 💕: just take off my sweater before she gets there sweetheart

Best Friend’s Older Brother JK who lies to his entire family before going on their annual family vacation that he was feeling a little under the weather in order for his parents and sister to leave him home alone. His parents and Tsuki reluctantly leaving him alone with little worry. Tsuki texting you the day of.

Tsuki my baby🤍: hey babe you think you can go check in on Jk later today? He’s not feeling the hottest 😕

Your phone pings moving your attention from your boyfriends’ lips to your screen. Reading the text makes you giggle peaking your sweet Jungkook’s attention as he reads the screen. If only his sister knew the second his family’s car was out of view he had already called you to come over with a duffel bag full of clothes enough for 4 days and 3 nights.

Best Friend’s Older Brother JK who carries a Polaroid he took of you in quite the intimate moment. You laying on his bed on your back, his cock clearly deep in you with your face showing nothing but pleasure.

“Pleaseee I just want an energy drink!” Tsuki begging Jungkook for the nth time to buy her a drink. She didn’t have the best sleep the night before due to staying up all night trying to finish a paper she put off until the last minute. Her brother refusing to because “energy drinks aren’t good for you”.

“I’ll buy. I’m craving some gummy bears,” you’re heard from the back seat as Jungkook parks the car in front of the store.

“Really?” Tsuki’a face lighting up with joy before her brother takes out his wallet handing it to you.

“It’s fine. Here,” his sister staring awkwardly at his hand extended to you instead of his own blood relative before snatching it making him panic.

“Give it back,” his tone was supposed to be stern but his sister unbuckles her seatbelt before leaving the car with the promise of grabbing your desired snack as well.

“Are you trying to be obvious baby?” you giggle hitting his shoulder lightly.

“Sweetheart I suggest you chase after Tsuki right now and grab my wallet,”

“What? Why? She’s just gonna get snacks,”

“Your Polaroid is in there,”

“The one you took of us at our picnic date?” already in a slight panic you get ready to catch up to your friend.

“No, the one where I’m fucking you raw,” he says it like it’s almost nothing before laughing when you whine his name and get out of the car as fast as you could to get your boyfriend’s wallet out of his sister’s grip.

Best Friend’s Older Brother JK who pokes the inside of his cheek when his sister tries to talk you into a date with a guy from her graphic design class.

“Oh he’s so dreamy! Besides you need some,” she stirs the pancake mix she’s preparing for her best friend and brother.

Her brother, with his eyes on his phone screen, trying to block out his sister’s intention of setting up his girlfriend with another guy. Clearly not being able to when he slams him phone on the table placing all his attention to your conversation.

“Why don’t you date him then?” Jungkook says before you could even answer her previous suggestion.

“No. Seongmin is cute but he’d be way better with Y/N. I mean he did ask for your name last week when you walked me to class,” she smiles and winks at you before turning to the stove ready to make the delicious breakfast.

“He did?” your response made Jungkook look at you clearly reading why do you care?

“He did! Oh Y/N you’re so getting a boyfriend,” your friends excitement was cute but your boyfriend who had a pout on his cute face made you melt.

“I don’t think I need one,” getting up from your chair you give a quiet kiss to Jungkook’s temple and make your way to help Tsuki.

Jungkook’s cheek a shade of pink while his pout disappears and is replaced with a cheeky smile.

[cozage]

Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law, and Ace with fem S/O with healing water powers. The catch is that whenever she uses those powers, she feels pain from the wounds she’s healing. And this isn’t a Devil Fruit ability. It’s sorta like water bending from Avatar.

A/N: I really debated on how to lay this one out, but I chose to have them find out about her power. If anyone wants a head canon follow up on how they act now that they know, send me an ask :) I maybe made this a bit too long, but those soft moments with each of these boys are my WEAKNESS. (Law may seem a little OOC but I truly believe that man gets tunnel vision when he sees you in pain)

Characters: F! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace

Cw: blood, pain, injuries, angst, all those fun things. Sanji’s contains slight spoilers for WCI

Total word count: 6.3k

The Pain of Healing

Zoro

Word count: 1.2k

“It’s only five more minutes until my Haki returns.” Luffy says between pants, trying to catch his breath. 

“Then I have five minutes to help you. Sit down.” 

Luffy collapsed onto the ground at your command, and you examined his body as he slept. It didn’t look good. His body was riddled with scrapes, scratches, bruises, and he was bleeding out from his side. Several minor injuries could be more painful than large ones, but Luffy had a mix of both. The best thing to do would be to focus on the large ones first, and if you have energy left, fix the small stuff as well. 

You guided water out of your flask and started with the hole in his side. You were used to the pain that came with healing by now, but it still made you flinch every time you started. You had to grind your teeth together to keep from crying out, not wanting to wake Luffy. He needed rest, and you didn’t want him to see the repercussions of your decision to help heal him anyway. 

After five minutes, you’ve taken all of the major injuries away from his body, and you managed to take a few small ones away from him as well. You wipe the tears from your eyes before you shake him awake. 

“It’s time, Luffy. Wake up.” You put on the biggest fake smile you can muster before his eyes flick open. 

“Aw man, that was the best nap in my entire life! I feel amazing!” You stay seated as he stands up, your body too riddled with pain to move. 

“Go get them, Captain!” It hurts to even speak, but Luffy’s already up stretching, too hyped up to notice your exhaustion.

“Thanks for whatever you did to make me feel so great! Leave the rest to me!” Luffy calls back, bounding off to finish the fight. 

Once he’s out of sight, you fold your head into your hands and weep. The pain was immeasurable, and every time you helped Luffy recover, you don’t understand how he’s still alive. You sit there for a long time, crying until there are no tears left. And then you hear cheers from the village nearby, signifying Luffy has won and your work paid off. Knowing that you helped him win makes you feel a little better, and you need to see everyone again. 

You stand up, ready to go meet the rest of the crew, but your body seems to disagree with your movement. Your legs shake, and when you go to take a step, you can feel your body collapsing, falling to the ground. You brace for the impact of your worn body against the solid ground, too tired to do anything else.

It doesn’t come, though. Someone catches you as you stumble forward. Strong arms wrap around your back and your legs, scooping you up and pressing you into his bare chest. Zoro. 

“Easy.” His expression is stone as he stares at you, but you can see worry underneath. “You gonna tell me what the hell you just did to Luffy?” 

You avert your eyes from his gaze, running the tip of your finger along the scar on his chest. “I healed him.”

You can feel his body tense with your words. “That didn’t look like healing to me. And since when do you have a Devil fruit power anyway?”

You bite your lip nervously. Nobody had caught you healing someone before. It wasn’t something you flaunted, or even something you told people about. “It’s not a devil fruit power.”

“Woman, if you don’t tell me-” he breaks off mid sentence, and you look around for any sign of danger. But there’s nobody around besides the two of you. You risk a glance up at him, and you see his face is pained as he stares down at you with a form of understanding. “You took his pain from him, didn’t you?”

Your mouth falls open from shock. You’re not sure how Zoro was able to guess something so accurate after seeing your power one time. You nod, confirming his suspicions. “He’s got an incredibly high threshold for pain tolerance.” 

“How are you still alive?” Zoro shakes you a little when he asks the question, which causes you to groan in pain. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be more gentle. Do you want to sit? Stand?”

The thought of being upright makes you dizzy. “Can you just keep holding me for now?”

He nods, and returns to questioning you about your mysterious power instead. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yeah.” It hurt to talk honestly, but you didn’t want to tell Zoro that. 

“How often have you been doing this?”

“Only like three or four times for Luffy, I think.” You're certain it’s been more than that, but you can’t tell Zoro that right now. 

“Three or four times?? For Luffy?” You can feel him trying to figure out the meaning behind your cryptic words. 

“There’s been a few other people I’ve done it for too.”

“Have you done it for me?” He's scowling at you, like he already knows the answer you’re going to give and he's waiting to scold you for it. 

“Maybe once or twice,” you lie, and you feel your cheeks burning. He squints at you, and you know you’ve been caught in the lie. But he says nothing, he just readjusts you in his arms to hold you closer. 

He had been walking for a few minutes, and you had almost fallen asleep. He had managed to keep you mostly still while he walked through the destroyed city, and you were too tired to care if he was lost or not. “It’s a neat power,” he finally comments. “You gonna tell me more about it? Or do I need to keep asking questions?”

“Can I tell you later?” You mumble into his chest. Between the safety of Zoro’s arms, the warmth of the sun on your face, and the exhaustion that’s set in from all that pain, it's hard for you to stay conscious. 

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and you struggle to stay awake while you wait for an answer. He was never one for mindless chit chat, but you could tell that something was on his mind, so you decide to indulge him.

“It’s not a devil fruit. I was born with it,” You start, and you feel a heavy weight lift off your shoulders with those few words.  You’re so relieved that you can finally tell someone about your secret now. “I was never supposed to let anyone see it being used. If the World Government knew…” You trail off, thinking of how the Navy would turn you into a weapon. You shutter at the thought, and continue on in your explanation. 

“The power isn’t perfect, though. I feel the pain of whoever or whatever I heal. It’s not permanent, but if it’s too much for my body to handle at the moment, I might die. I’m really not sure, I’ve never tried to heal a fatal wound before.”

Zoro is looking off into the distance with a faraway look in his eye. “Just like Kuma.”

“Who?”

“Back on Thriller Bark we met a Marine named Kuma,” Zoro begins to explain, and you focus all your energy into listening to him. “He took all of Luffy’s pain and told me if we wanted to save Luffy, I had to take his pain upon myself. It was just after his big battle with the warlord Moria, and the pain…” he trailed off, and you knew he was reliving the moment in his mind. 

“Does he know about your sacrifice?” 

Your question brings him back to reality, and he looks down at you. He chuckles at your question, and bends over to kiss your forehead. “Does he know about yours?”

Sanji

Some light spoilers for WCI arc

Word Count: 1.2k

You didn’t realize that your ability was keeping Sanji up at night. 

Anytime he had a cut, or a burn, or any other kind of injury, you waited for him to doze off before you pulled out some water and healed his hands. The injuries were never serious, and after a few times, you barely noticed the pain. 

You didn’t mind, and you knew how much your boyfriend valued his hands. It was your silent act of love to him, something you wanted to give him but could never tell him about. One morning after you healed a bad burn, you found him sitting up in bed, staring at his hands. 

“Is something wrong, Sanji dear?”

The cook was examining his hands thoroughly, flipping them over again and again. “I could’ve sworn I had a burn here yesterday.”

Your cheeks tinted at the thought of being found out. “Oh, well maybe you just have superhuman healing powers!” You laugh it off, trying your best to act natural. 

“Yeah, maybe…” You could tell something was bothering him, but he didn't say anything further. 

You caught him staring at his hands throughout the day, as if he was waiting for a bomb to explode. At dinner you noticed a particularly bad cut on the topside of his hand - a cut he must’ve gotten while chopping vegetables - and you made a note to heal it that night. 

He stayed awake later than usual that night, and he seemed more wound up with anxiety than normal. You peppered his face with a few kisses, trying to get him to relax some. 

“Sanji, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He sighed, pulling you into his chest and laying down to finally get some sleep. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He fell asleep quickly with you pressed into him. His slow, even breaths signified he was finally unconscious, and you pulled out some water to cover his wound. It stung you a bit as his flesh stitched back together, and you let out a low hiss in pain, and you froze as Sanji stirred slightly in his sleep. This wound was deeper than his normal cuts and burns; he must’ve been really distracted when he hurt himself. He wasn’t usually so careless around knives, but you knew whatever was bothering him would be revealed when he was ready to talk to you about it.  

With his wound healed and Sanji’s breath returning to normal, you curled back into place against him, and fell deep into sleep.

You woke to a string of curses falling out of Sanji’s mouth, his body tight and tense against yours. 

“Hm? Sanji?” You rub the sleep from your eyes and open them to find him staring at his hands again. “Sanji, what’s wrong?”

“That’s impossible,” he mumbled, speaking mostly to himself. He looks panicked, staring down at the place where his cut was yesterday. “That’s not humanly possible.”

You feign innocence as you have in the past, but you can’t ignore the nervous look in his eyes. “What is it, Ji?”

“I had a cut here yesterday. It was deep.” His breathing quickened, and you could see that he was scared for some reason. “It couldn’t have healed overnight. It’s not…It can’t be…”

“I’m sure it’s just-”

“You don’t understand.” He cuts you off mid-sentence, something he’s never done before, and it takes you aback. He gets out of bed abruptly, his eyes never leaving his hand.

“Sanji?”

“I need to go. I need to get out of here.” He’s pacing the room now, his stress overflowing into the space between you. 

“Go where? Sanji, calm down. Talk to me-”

“I can’t be here! I can’t endanger you! Or anyone else, for that matter!” His face is contorted with such pain you’ve never seen before. You don’t know what’s going on with your boyfriend, but his reaction to such a small cut is starting to scare you.

You jump out of bed and stride over to him. When you reach him, you clasp his face between your hands, forcing his eyes away from his hands and up to your eyes. His eyes are wide with pure fear, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. You can feel his body shaking as you hold him. 

“Sanji.” You push down your own fear and speak to him in a soothing tone, trying to bring him back to you. “Talk to me.”

“I’m a monster, Y/N.” Tears fill his eyes, threatening to spill out as he speaks. “If my body is regenerating like this…I’m a threat to you all.”

“You’re not,” You whisper. “You’re not a monster, Sanji.” You stand on your tiptoes to try and kiss the space between his eyes, but he pulls away from you.

“You don’t know.” He backs away from you, fear returning to his eyes again. “I am a monster. And now that I’m-”

It’s your turn to cut him off now. “I healed you, Sanji.”

His brows furled in confusion, but his eyes looked less panicked now. “Wha..?”

“I have this power,” you explain. You walk back to the bedside table, gathering some water from a cup and suspending it in the air. “I can heal people with water. I’ve been healing your small injuries for a while now. I wanted to make your life easier, I swear. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I just…I wanted to help.”

You see him relax the more you explain your powers, which was not the reaction you were expecting. He watches you move the water through the air, and tears finally flow from his eyes. 

“Y/N-chan,” he sobs, running over to you, embracing you in a hug. He’s holding you tight, smothering you into his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you hide it?”

Your face burns against him, embarrassed that you had kept it from him for so long. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, and I knew you wouldn’t want me hurting myself for you, but-”

“Hang on.” He pulls back from you, peering down at your face with a frown of concern. “You’re being hurt?”

“Just when I heal people,” you rush to explain, seeing his frown deepen. “I just feel the pain of the injuries I’m healing, it’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he corrects, staring at you disapprovingly. “Promise me you won’t do it anymore.”

“Sanji-”

“Promise, Y/N.”

“No! Let me do this for you!” You’re pouting now, but you know Sanji won’t cave on this matter. You know he can’t let you hurt yourself at his expense. 

“I appreciate that you want to help,” he says sternly. You can hear the love in his voice as he speaks, and you know you’ll have to agree to his request.  “But there are other ways for you to help me without hurting yourself. Please-”

“Fine. Promise.” You give him a fake pout, but when he pulls you back into his chest and holds you tightly, you melt into him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ji? You seemed scared earlier.”

“I’m fine, really.” He rests his chin on the top of your head, drawing in a long breath before he says more. “I just thought my past was coming back to haunt me again, that’s all.”

You all stand there for a long while, just enjoying eachothers closeness. You only break apart when you hear Luffy screaming for breakfast, and you give him one last kiss on each of his hands before you let him go. 

Luffy

Word Count: 1.1k

“Stay still, idiot.” You held Luffy down, looking at his wound in his foot. 

“I can’t! It hurrrtttssss!” 

“That’s what you get for wearing sandals in the jungle!” You could tell from the way the stick speared through his foot, Luffy wouldn’t be able to walk easily, and you still had another half mile before you made it back to the ship. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to heal people while they were conscious, but this was Luffy. He was the love of your life, and the Strawhats were your only family. If you couldn’t trust them, you deserved to be locked up anyway. 

You sighed, pulling water out of your flask in soft, flowing movements. Luffy was still writhing in pain on the ground, overdramatic in his reaction to his current impalement. It was possible that you might be able to heal him without him even realizing it. 

You surrounded his foot with an orb of water, and imagined the wound being stitched together, just like your mother had taught you. You saw his rubbery skin begin to mend together, and braced yourself for what came next. 

Your grip on Luffy’s ankle tightened when the pain came. It was sharp and fast, and it took the breath out of your lungs. You squeezed your eyes shut, but kept your focus on the wound and the pain that came with it. 

“Wooooahhhh!” You could hear Luffy’s sigh of amazement, and you knew he had caught you healing his wound. “That’s so cool! The hole is just closing up!!”

You didn’t speak, afraid that your voice would betray you. The last thing you wanted Luffy to know was that you were in pain because of the healing process. You could hear him freaking out about how cool it was that his injury was healing before his own eyes, but you did your best to ignore him and focus on the healing process. You kept your eyes closed the entire time, using the level of pain to guide how much longer you had to fix his injury. Finally, the pain dulled, and then disappeared. You dropped his foot and opened your eyes again, trying to ignore the lingering effects that your body was dealing with. 

Luffy was examining his foot closely, looking at it from all angles to see if there was any damage. He stood up, putting all of his weight back on his foot, and jumped up and down a few times. 

“It’s like brand new!” He shouted with glee. He came over to you and wrapped you in a hug. “You’re the best, Y/N!”

--

Over the next few weeks, Luffy offered up your services to others throughout the ship. You knew that Luffy was incapable of keeping secrets, and you had never explicitly asked him to keep that information to himself. You never minded healing your family though, and the injuries were always minor. Luffy sent Ussop to you when he got a burn on his hand, and Franky when he got a bad cut on his face. Chopper sent Zoro when he had a sprained wrist. It wasn’t until Nami came to you with a nasty cut on her shoulder that the secret of your healing was revealed. 

You smiled when she asked, and pulled water out to start the healing process. You coated the wound in a bubble of water, and clenched your jaw to prepare for the worst. 

You were aware of Nami’s eyes watching you. Everyone else watched their own wound magically heal, but her eyes remained on your face, watching for any signs of discomfort on your end. You had a feeling that she was suspicious of your powers already. She had been the most interested member of the crew from the start, asking about the stipulations and origins of your power from the moment she had found out about it. 

You kept your eyes on the gash, trying your best to mentally steel yourself for the pain that would come. You knew it wouldn’t be easy to hide the pain, but you were determined to make it look natural. When the feeling of pain ripped through your shoulder to match her wound, you gritted your teeth and kept your smile, but you could feel your muscles involuntarily twitch. 

If Nami noticed, she said nothing. When you finished, you looked back up at her and let out a shaky breath, smiling. She eyed you suspiciously, but thanked you politely and left you alone. Once the door swung shut, you collapsed back onto the couch you were on, desperately needing a nap after that performance. 

--

Luffy was awoken by a smack on the head. 

“What?” He asked groggily. “Are we at the next island?”

“Are you some kind of sadist,” the tangerine-haired girl scolded, shaking her finger at him. “Or are you just a moron?”

“What are you talking about, Nami?”

Nami rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, staring daggers down at Luffy. “Y/N’s power.”

Luffy rubbed his head, wondering if you could fix headaches. “What about it?”

“She feels pain when she heals people, you idiot. She probably feels whatever pain she’s healing.”

Luffy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that she just healed my shoulder. And she was in some serious pain while she was doing it. She hides it well, but I could tell she was hurting.”

Luffy bit his lip, trying to think back to when you had healed him in the forest. But he had been so amazed at watching his own wound heal, he hadn’t noticed your reaction while you were doing it. 

“She seemed kind of tired after mine, but that’s it. I felt great though, so I carried her back to the ship!”

“So you are just a moron!” Nami punched him again. “No more free healing! Stop taking advantage of her!”

--

You woke up from your nap to rubber arms wrapped around you and Luffy’s round eyes staring at you intensely.

“Good morning,” you groan, trying to pull away from him to stretch. 

He let you go enough to stretch out, but kept a tight grip on you. “Does it hurt?”

You freeze mid-stretch, silently cursing Nami for her hyper awareness. “It just makes me tired.”

“You’re lying.” He knows you so well. You move your fingers up to his hair, twirling his locks around your index finger.

“Yeah,” you sigh the word out. You’re painfully aware of his gaze, transfixed on your face.

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Luffy, it’s not that bad.” Your eyes move back to his finally, and you can see the hurt and confusion that is held within them. “And I like doing what I can to help my family.”

He nods, accepting that answer, and snuggles up into your chest, holding you tightly against him. You let him lay there for a while, twirling his soft strands of hair around in your fingers. There are few quiet moments between you and Luffy, and you cherish every moment you can get like this.

“Nami said no more free healings, by the way.”

You laugh and give his forehead a quick kiss. “Guess I’ll have to charge you double.”

Law

Word Count: 1.2k

“Fuck.”

Law’s breath was ragged as you pressed into his stomach wound. Blood coated your hands as you tried to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t seem to be working very well. 

“I just need to...” Law coughed, and you could see red staining his lips. A small blue orb began to form in his palm, but it flickered out quickly. He was too weak to use his devil fruit powers.

“Fuck.” You repeated. There was only one thing you could do now. It meant exposing your secret and showing your captain your biggest weakness, but you’d do anything to save him. 

You pulled away from his wound, and let your hands guide water from your flask, maneuvering it through the air. “Don’t freak out,” you say, and you cover the wound in water. You let it sit for a moment, and then begin imagining the wound healing. 

It started as a dull, throbbing pain in your stomach. You began to think you were getting used to the pain, but then it began to grow, turning sharp and stabbing. You flinched at the sudden change in pain, but held your focus. 

Law watched you work for a few moments with wide eyes, unsure what was happening or what he could do. You wanted to scream from the pain that was growing rapidly, but you held your tongue, hoping he didn’t notice your facial expressions contorting into pain. Tears filled your eyes, and you finally felt Law move into action, his hand gripping around your wrists. 

“Stop,” he demanded, trying to push your arms away from his wound. You ignore his demand, keeping your arms locked against him, continuing the healing process at your expense. 

“Stop! Y/N-ya, Stop it!” His voice rose in pitch, and you could tell he sensed your pain. His efforts to push you away are getting stronger, proof that his energy is returning to him. You feel relieved in the fact that he is healing, even if it is exhausting you in the process. 

He finally succeeds in pushing you off him, and you fall backwards to the ground and lay there, dazed and stunned from your work. He quickly straddles you and pins your arms to the ground to ensure you’ve fully stopped whatever you had started doing to him. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Law stares down at you, angry and scared of what you’ve done. 

You know his rage is out of fear, and you give him a small smile, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You okay now?”

He stares at you, baffled at your question. He has energy now, and his wound in his stomach is almost completely healed. He knows it’s due to you, but he doesn’t know how you’ve managed to heal him so quickly. Fear. Betrayal. Anger. So many emotions run through him all at once. He has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to start. 

He tightens his grip around your wrists, keeping you pinned down. “Explain.”

“It’s a power I was born with,” you say, closing your heavy eyes. “I can heal other people’s injuries through water.”

Law watches you carefully, certain that you’re hiding something. He squeezes your wrists tighter until you finally open your eyes again, looking anywhere but at him. 

You can’t make eye contact with him or you know you’ll tell him everything. You can’t afford for him to know your secret, it was bad enough that he knew this much. 

“You were in pain.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

You squirm from underneath him, trying to get free, but his grip doesn’t let up. He’s determined to get to the bottom of what you just did. He needs to protect you. He needs to keep you safe from all harm, even if that means protecting you from yourself. 

“Let go.” You say, still trying to get free. His grip is starting to become painful, and you try to pull your arms away from him again. “You’re hurting me, Law. Let go.”

His eyes stare down at you, unmoving from his current position. The more you squirm, the tighter his grip gets, and you know he won’t let go until he has an answer. “Y/n-ya, why were you in pain?”

“It’s a side effect!” You cry out in frustration, finally giving in. You suspect he knew the moment he saw it. “I feel the person’s pain as I heal them.”

In his shock, Law’s hands loosen their grip, and you finally pull free from him. You try to turn away from him, but he’s still sitting on your stomach, and you don’t have enough energy to push him off. You rub at your wrists, trying to get the sting from his grip out of your body.

Law is frozen, staring down at you with wide eyes. He grits his teeth, watching you massage your wrists. “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for your hands again, more gentle this time. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

You let him grab one of your hands, and he begins massaging your wrists gently, whispering apologies to you. You close your eyes and try to forget that you’ve broken your number one rule about your power: telling other people. You focus on his wrist massage for a while, his own way to apologize for his outburst.

“Y/n-ya?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you save me?”

You sigh, opening your eyes again. This time, you meet his gold eyes, radiant against the sunlight. “You never want anyone to save you, Captain.”

“It’s my job as a ca-”

“I saved you because I love you, you idiot.”

You can see Law’s eyes twitch in surprise; his hands freeze against your wrist. 

“You don’t get to decide what sacrifices I make for you,” you continue. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do to save you. That’s my decision. You’ve made many sacrifices for me, some extremely painful ones. Remember the incident at Low Sand Creek?”

Law doesn’t respond, but he slowly starts to massage your wrists again, which you take as a sign to keep talking. 

“I don’t get to criticize your decisions on sacrifice. And you don’t get to criticize mine either. I love you, and I know you love me. Do I want you to risk your life for me? No. But that’s just something I have to live with. And so do you. Okay?”

Your captain says nothing, and you can tell he’s sulking over your lecture. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have to do this with him. Law was one of the smartest people you knew, but relationships weren’t really his strong suit. It resulted in you having to do a lot of explaining and voicing your needs.

“Law, do you understand?” You insist, needing to stand your ground. He had a tendency of not responding when he didn’t agree with something.  

He huffs out an irritated breath. “Okay.”

You scrunch your face at him, shooting him a semi-fake glare. 

“I understand, okay?!”

You twisted your hand to intertwine with his, and grabbed his other hand with your free one so that both of his hands were now holding each of yours. You locked eyes with him, and you could see there was something else there, something that was bothering him. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if he were working up the courage to admit whatever he was feeling. His eyes moved away from your gaze and focused on one of his hands instead, still intertwined with yours. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice comes out slightly choked, and you realize that you had forgotten to explain the most important part to him. 

Your cheeks redden, embarrassed at your oversight. His eyes snapped back to yours, and now it was your turn to avoid eye contact.  

“It’s… I was told to never tell anyone about it. Or let someone else see it.”

You can feel him staring at you, his eyes willing you to look at him, but you refuse. He waits patiently, and you know he’s asking you a silent question: Don’t you trust me?

“I trust you, I just…” Neither you or Law had really talked about your past much. You preferred to live for the now, for the future. The past was just too painful to think about. “People died protecting that secret. I didn’t want to add more names to that list.”

Law gave a dark chuckle at your response. “And after all that preaching about not deciding who gets to make sacrifices.”

Now it’s your turn to sulk. “That is not-“

He cuts you off, pulling you up to meet him, and his lips collide with yours. 

He pulls back briefly, basking in your beauty. “No more secrets. Promise?”

“Promise.” 

Ace

Word Count: 1.5k

Ace wasn’t used to being hit, and when someone made contact with him, it hurt. He grimaced as he limped from battle, blood dripping down his leg from the giant puncture wound in his thigh. You had your arm around him, helping him run, but his injury was slowing you both down, and the enemy was closing in quickly.

“Sit,” you commanded. “Let me help.”

“I just need to get back to Marco, he can help.” His breathing was labored, and you knew he was expending too much energy just speaking to you. 

“I can heal too.” You helped him sit down, and you could feel his eyes staring at you, trying to understand your cryptic words. You chose to ignore him for now, and examined the wound. It was deep, but manageable. You braced yourself, and summoned some water out of your flask, covered his wound, and focused on stitching it back together. 

Pain ripped through you, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself focused. It wasn’t the worst pain you had felt, but the wound was deeper than you had initially thought, and you could feel your muscles tearing apart, just like Ace’s had when he was cut. You knew that it was just a phantom pain, no actual bodily harm was being done to you, but it was still pain nonetheless. 

You could feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, but you refused to stop until the job was done. You watched his muscle stitch back together, and when it was finally completely healed, you sat back and closed your eyes, exhausted and riddled with aches. 

When you opened your eyes again, you could see Ace in front of you, you could feel him shaking you violently. He was screaming something, but you couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying over the loud ringing in your ears. Slowly, your hearing returned, and you realized he was screaming your name. 

“Ace.” Your words were slow. You were still trying to come out of the fog of pain that always came with healing. “Stop shaking me.”

He finally stopped, but his hands were still tightly gripping your shoulders. He was staring at you in terror, fear spread across his face. 

“What were you doing?” His voice was loud and piercing, causing you to flinch. “How did you…What do…Where did…” He struggled to find the right words, and you stared at him with still-glazed eyes while he tried to form a sentence. You were struggling to refocus after the pain, and were thankful that Ace was tongue-tied for the moment. 

Ace took a breath, finally able to form a sentence. “I didn’t know you had a devil fruit power.”

“I don’t.” Normally you let people believe whatever they wanted in order to guard your secret, but this was Ace. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone. “It’s just an ability I was born with. I can heal people with water.”

Ace’s facial expressions had always been easy to read. Even in your dazed state, you watched as his concern turned to shock and then to confusion. You waited for the inevitable question to come, and it did. “If you’ve had this power, why haven’t you used it more often?” 

“I…” you hesitate. You didn’t want to tell him the weakness of your ability. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because you did. You knew that if Ace discovered the trade off of your powers, he would never want you to suffer for him or anyone else. 

You had told Marco about your power when you joined the crew, and the doctor had forbid you using your ability except in dire circumstances. Marco trusted you to make judgment calls on what you could handle, but you didn’t think Ace would feel the same way. 

You could hear the enemy's battle cries getting closer, and you take the opportunity to avoid the question. “Let’s go. We need to get back to the ship.”

Ace stands, and you follow to do the same. You take a bit longer to get to your feet, still light-headed from the trade off of healing Ace. His attention has shifted to the enemy pursuing you now, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice your sluggish movements. 

Ace’s fist becomes engulfed with flames, and he stands between the enemy and you. “Go back to the ship, I’ll hold them off.” 

“Idiot! That’s what got us here in the first place!” 

“Yeah,” He smirked back at you like the devilish fiend you knew he was. “But this time I won’t lose.”

You can feel your knees start to go weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from exhaustion or from the man in front of you. You hate to leave him, but you know you’ll only be a liability in this fight. With Ace’s energy replenished and the ability to fight in an open space, he’d finish off the enemy easily now. 

“You better not die.” Your words hang in the air, and you take off towards the Moby Dick. 

As soon as you got aboard the ship, you went straight to your room. You didn’t bother giving a report. Ace would do that when he returned. Sleep was what you needed now. 

—

You woke with arms wrapped around you tightly, and the warm body of Portgas D. Ace pressed against your back. You weren’t sure how long you had slept, but there was no longer any light coming in through the porthole in your room. You shifted, trying to get out of Ace’s grasp without waking up, but his strong arms tightened against you when you moved, keeping you close to him. 

For a long while you laid in the silence, unsure if Ace was asleep or awake. He wasn’t snoring like he normally did when he was asleep and he refused to let you move away from his grasp, but his breaths were even and he didn’t speak to you. You didn’t mind the quiet, your body was still exhausted from the fighting and the pain of healing today, and Ace’s warmth was almost therapeutic against your tired body.

“Your healing…” Ace's voice finally breaks the silence, making you tense from surprise. His voice was low and quiet in your ear. “It hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and you know that he’s figured it out. Whether he solved it on his own or if Marco told him, it didn’t matter now. You’ve always been a bad liar, and you could never bring yourself to lie to Ace anyway.

He squeezed you tighter, pulling you closer to him. There was another long pause, and you let him hold you while he processed everything. 

“How bad is it?” His voice is level, but you can hear it beginning to grow thick with tears. 

“It depends on what I heal. I just feel the pain of the injury.”

His forehead presses into the crook of your neck, and his breath becomes shallow and ragged. You can feel his emotions coursing through him, and all you want to do is comfort him. You squirm, trying to flip over so you see his face while you talk, but his iron tight grip refuses to let you move. 

“Ace,” you speak gently, your hands pulling at his arms, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn over onto your other side. You’re laying face to face with him now, but his eyes are squeezed shut. His freckled cheeks are wet with tears, and your heart constricts seeing his sadness. 

You press your forehead against his, and use your free hand to brush some of his hair away from his face. You continue softly sweeping your fingers through his hair, soothing him as you speak. “It’s not so bad, Ace. But that's why I don’t use it very often.”

His eyes are still closed, but you feel his hands ball into fists against your back, gathering the fabric of your shirt in them.

“Why did you use it to save me then?” His voice comes out more of a demand than a question. It’s harsh, and you know he’s angry. Maybe at you, maybe at himself, probably both. His question makes you freeze, your fingers still entangled in his strands of hair. 

You feel a slight prick of irritation at his question. You pull your head back and tilt his face up to look you in the eyes, but they’re still tightly shut. “Look at me,” you demand, your tone matching his from a moment ago. You feel him stiffen slightly at the intensity of your words, but his dark eyes open to meet your own. 

Your hands find his cheeks, cupping his face, and you press your forehead back into his. Your eyes never leave his, and you can feel his grip against your back finally start to soften as he focuses on you instead of what you’ve done. 

“I did it.” You pause for a moment, still staring at him. God, he was so stupid. You swipe your thumb across his freckles, wiping the tears from his sad, sweet eyes. “Because you deserve to be saved.”

[jackiepackiee]

𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝓁𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓇

𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇! 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓎𝒶

𝒲/ 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

GN! Reader expect for Tengens part

𝒮𝒶𝓃𝑒𝓂𝒾 𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓏𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓌𝒶 - 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Contrary to a lot of headcanons I’ve seen, Sanemi would be happy about this

Obviously not outwardly smiling and laughing, but a reserved and peaceful relief

He wants the best for his younger, and now only, brother

And he wishes for nothing more than his happiness and has always hoped for a lover for him to make happy

Family that Genya could have that wouldn’t leave or be tainted like he was

Kind and loving

Now… he wasn’t expecting this lover to be a fellow demon slayer

Especially another Hashira

Sanemi and you, before all of this, get along fine

He respects the other hashira, and obviously sees your strength and drive

But he’s not overly kind, he’s just himself and standoffish

When he does find out about this however, don’t expect a huge reaction

Because he doesn’t know how to react

It’s most likely that you wouldn’t tell him outwardly, and Genya doesn’t speak much with him

Whatever the situation may be, he looks at the two of you for a second

Genya, having grown up with him, recognizes the look in his eyes

It’s the look he’d have with their mother and younger siblings

Yet much fainter now

Sanemi is protective, and this new fire is to cradle you two with your feelings

He wants the best for his brother, and you’re perfect for him

Kind, incredibly powerful, and strong willed

Another person to look out for Genya while able to give him the affection Sanemi fails to deliver

For the sake of happiness, let’s say Sanemi and Genya speak more

Sanemi tells Genya to not be an idiot and treat you right

Before a date he’ll sometimes silently approach Genya and fix his little arrangement of flowers with a huff

“Make sure they put them in water…”

As for your relationship with Sanemi

It’s more like you two are enemies and comrades at the same time

You’re upset at his harsh behavior, talking back at him when he berates anyone

but also willing to die for Genya just like he is

Although he’ll make sure that never happens

Unbeknownst to you, you’re now on his protection radar too

How can Genya be at his best without you?

Lucky you! Dating Genya and getting his scary brother as your new bodyguard

𝒢𝒾𝓎ū 𝒯𝑜𝓂𝒾𝑜𝓀𝒶 - 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Giyuu is, like most things, indifferent

He’s happy for you, and happy that you could find love

It’s admirable how you find time to balance work and a more domestic life

But… he’s him

And won’t pay it too much mind

Not wanting to get into your business

To add a little more to this, let’s make a scenario!

You and Giyu are on a mission

And on this mission you’ve been instructed to assist at a small village

Multiple lower rank slayers have gone missing

Sooooo, you both make the journey

Only to find out Genya is a victim to a lower moon

Along with a bunch of other lower ranks of course

You and Giyu make quick work of the smaller demons, but the lower moon obviously poses a challenge

It’s relatively normal until he sees the demon go directly for Genya

It had read your feelings and went for your most important emotional connection

Just before the sharp nails reached Genya, Giyu severed the hand off

He wasn’t sure what made his body move on its own, but seeing you happily embracing your boyfriend after the battle was enough to pull a small smile onto Giyu’s face

Willing to do anything to assist his fellow hashira

𝒦𝓎ō𝒿𝓊𝓇ō 𝑅𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑜𝓀𝓊 - 𝐹𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Despite being only slightly older than you and Genya, Rengoku acts like a big brother

Laughing (in his way, not a mocking way) while patting Genya’s back

Genya of course blushes and acts like it’s something to ignore

Rengokus enthusiastic response makes him embarrassed!

Now this man is probably one of the first to know (because Mitsuri gossiped to him and his brother over lunch)

And while his energy is over the top, he won’t share the secret

He’s a smart man, and very in tune with emotions

So he knows that it can’t be easy for you

Demons are enough of an issue, no more pressure trying to keep a secret as big as a relationship

Now he loves to talk just as much as he loves to listen

You’re like a little sibling and he’ll listen to all your rants

“The way he wore his hair today. It curled up after the rain and..!”

He won’t judge you for your blushing while recounting the events

Instead he’ll try his best to make that situation happen again

Genya happens to have his hair like that everyday now?

It’s because Rengoku told him that leaving his hair the way it is after air drying is healthy!

(He totally lied, he just knows you think it’s cutest right after it dries)

And Genya believes him, always taking the advice

Which leads to cuter and kinder Genya and more often occasions of you swooning

𝒯𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓃 𝒰𝓏𝓊𝒾 - 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Oh boy…

You’re both in for a ride

Tengen is probably also one of the first people to know

The man has three wives, he knows what it looks like when two idiot teens are in love

Especially when one of them is you who’s never been distracted from training expect when Genya is with you

And with Genya who seems to train even harder to not only impress Sanemi but now you too

Speaking of his wives, they’re probably the reason you know they Tengen found out

It was some “secret flashy plan”

It was early in you and Genyas relationship

And Suma, Hina, and Makio suddenly snuck up on you and stanched you away into the sound hashita estate

They gave you a makeover

Makio and Suma picked out a pretty outfit while Hina gently did your hair and a little bit of makeup

The entire time you four all gossiped, which ended up in your blushing while blabbering about Genya and your early stages of dating

Genya… he wasn’t so lucky

Tengen stole him away and was on his “make over” duty

Not that Genya and Tengen are bad in their respective rights, it’s just…

Genya is a hard around the edges boy and Tengen is Tengen

But he eventually cracked and gave him some serious advice that wasn’t just “I have three wives, I’m a ladies man”

All while helping him find an outfit that isn’t his uniform

“Girls… they’re less complicated than you think. And that one, she’s in for the hell of it. So you have to treat her nice, and she’ll do the same. You’re both good kids, you’ll be fine.”

This all leads to you looking like an angel by your makeover and him blushing furiously

And… Tengens plan may have just set up the date when you two had your first kiss!

𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑜𝒷𝓊 𝒦𝑜𝒸𝒽ō - 𝐼𝓃𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Shinbou is very intelligent

She knows patterns and human behavior

And she’s familiar with Genya after his demon consumption

So it’s very obvious to her what’s going on

Especially after he’s the first to visit you and visa versa

She remembers the day she really found out though… wasn’t a good one

Genya had eaten demon flesh again, even if instructed by everyone to stop

Gyomei said it was immoral, Sanemi said it was stupid, and Shinbou said it was unhealthy

But you, you hated it the most

Seeing him become something he’s not

You loved him, not a demon

And hated the danger it proved

So when this night came, hell broke loose

He had eaten demon and transformed for the night

It’s just that you saw him right before sunrise

And we’re unsure if he had transformed back into a human before the sun

Leading you to leave the battlefield, covered in bruises and pushing past every slayer who tried to speak to you

When you met Shinbou, you started crying

Genuine tears one only cried after the loss of their life

Being herself, she hugged you

And tried to help by inquiring your emotions

“G-Genya! Sniffle Is he here? He was still a demon minutes before sunrise.”

She understands and ushers you someplace

Genya is fast asleep, making a cute face as if he was dreaming

You never outwardly told her, but she’ll never forget the fear at the thought of losing him, and the relief in your eyes and you feel to the ground in tears at his survival

𝑀𝓊𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓇ō 𝒯𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓉ō - 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓇

Unbothered king

Now he’s friends with Genya but both are rather reserved people

Not the type to share much about their lives and feelings

Let’s pretend this is after his memory is restored

Muichiro is a good kid, and your friend as well

But is pretty unaware of romance and honesty not that interested

Not that he won’t listen

You could talk him ear off about anything and he’d hum in acknowledgment

He just doesn’t have much input

You three do hang out together sometimes

If you’re more extroverted it works well

You pull them along to do fun things

You three really getting to act your age and mess around

If you’re more introverted this is one of the chillest groups ever

When Genya is around people he trusts (his lover and friend who are both Hashira) he never yells or acts over the top

He’s actually rather quiet just like Muichiro, especially when in his presence

The one real involvement of Mui in romance is Genya asking if the flowers he picked are good and Mui nodding even though he knows absolutely nothing about gift giving or flowers

𝑀𝒾𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓇𝒾 𝒦𝒶𝓃𝓇𝑜𝒿𝒾 - 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Either your best dream or worst nightmare

She is more enthusiastic about this relationship than you are!

Expect weekly letters inquiring your dating status

Have you had your first kiss?

He held you hand?

You had a sleepover?!?

And the second she sees you she’s bouncing in excitement

Pulling you to the nearest place to sit and interrogating you

For being the love hashira, she’s pretty clueless

She always wants to know every cute detail

“You kissed his cheek? The scar or the other side? Did he blush? He always blushes around you!”

This is what I mean by dream or nightmare

Either you get embarrassed about the question or love the gossip about your lover

She’s the more supportive, giving you amazing date ideas

Even if most of them have to do with eating

She’s the first to know about your first kiss and this girl wants the WHOLE story

She definitely tells Obanai too (if you’re okay with it)

She doesn’t talk to Genya much though :(

Especially since the first and only time she tried to ask about your relationship his face lit up bright red and he seemed to freeze

“All I did was ask about your relationship and he didn’t respond! The conversation was fine before that!”

But he is never surprised when he gets a visit from her crow with a letter of all your new favorite foods, places, and items

She’s an excellent gift giver and wants to help him

As if he didn’t already know all of that, he genuinely appreciates the effort

This girl is your biggest fan!

𝒢𝓎ō𝓂𝑒𝒾 𝐻𝒾𝓂𝑒𝒿𝒾𝓂𝒶 - 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Gyomei knew first

He���s a wise older man and a observant mentor

And while you may be off most of the time, Genya is always training under him

And he doesn’t fail to notice Genya always hitting that much harder whenever you are gone on a long mission

I’m saying this man knew Genya had a crush before Genya knew that himself

And he was moved, brought to tears and not paying attention to Genyas huffs of embarrassment

Genya would never yell at him of course

Gyomei is a smart man

And with that he knows a lot about kids (he considers you both kids)

So he’s well aware of your dancing around your feelings

And that upsets him

Your time on this earth is very likely to be short as demon slayers, so you both shouldn’t be wasting it

That is why, as the oldest hashira, he gets some plans in motion

Why are you suddenly on more missions with Genya?

Why do you both end up at the same wisteria house?

Why is it that you both happen to have the same days off?

Gyomei Himejima is why baby

He wants what’s best for the people under his care, even you can take care of yourself

And if he has to put in some forced proximity? So be it

𝐼𝑔𝓊𝓇𝑜 𝒪𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒾 - 𝒮𝑒𝓇𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Obanai does care

Not some bullshit of him being uninterested with other people’s lives

He sees you as a child (you’re obviously around Genya’s age) and knows that only so many things could make a child in the demon slayer corps happy

He knows neither of you have had good lives

If you had, you wouldn’t be in this damn job

That being said, with how withdrawn he is you’d probably think he didn’t even know you and Genya were an item

But he’s observant

And cares for his fellow hashira just like everyone else

He won’t have much to do with anything

But best believe he listens to both Sanemi complain and Mitsuri babble about you two

Sanemi is trying to seem tough

[mistiell]

Let me put my Lips to Something

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Summary: After learning about his aversion to touch, you tone down the physical affection. Spencer finds himself missing your touch, and after weeks of yearning, he’s had enough. He decides it’s time to fix this.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, it gets pretty steamy towards the end but nothing graphic so I don't think this needs age restricting lmao

A/N: Part 2 to “I’m Starvin’, Darlin’”. The feedback on the last part motivated me to finish this in like, a single sitting lmao. Hope y’all enjoy! :)

P.S. My requests are open so if you wanna send something in for Spence, I'll do my best to get to it quickly!

Part 1 - Current - Part 3

Spencer hadn’t realised how much he wanted — how much he needed — your touch until you stopped. Where there was once that warm, tingly anticipation whenever he made you laugh, there‘s now a strange absence left in its wake. Where there used to have been a bump or a squeeze, there are awkward smiles and nervous glances. Like a line of dialogue without end quotations, left to hang in the balance while the author considers what should be said next.

It’s killing him.

He’s come to realise that this want extends beyond the bounds of anything that could ever be considered platonic. He wants more than your touch. He wants you.

He craves you, finds himself remembering the way your arms felt around him the last time you hugged him. Finds himself fantasising about how it would feel to be the one to take you in his arms. How it would feel to be the one to hold you; to cradle your face between his palms and lose himself in your kiss; to let go of his inhibitions and drown himself in the depths of your affections.

He wants your time and energy. He wants your attention and praise. He wants to be the one to make you smile and laugh so hard your stomach hurts. He wants to be yours, and he wants everyone to know it.

It’s only been three weeks since that night at the bar, but even so, he feels like if he doesn’t figure out how to tell you how he feels, he might very well lose his mind. You’re right across from him all day, five days a week. It’s torture. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, but at this point, he’s well beyond caring.

The problem is, how on earth is he supposed to go about confessing to you? He’s never been suave or charismatic. He’s awkward and dorky and breaks a sweat every time anyone even remotely attractive looks his way. He’s never felt this intensely about anyone before, never desired anyone this way before. Sometimes, late at night when he’s finally tucked himself into bed, he attempts to calculate the probability of you ever wanting him in the way he wants you.

In his pessimistic mind, that number is despairingly low.

“Spence?” He startles at the sound of your voice, snapping his head up to look at you.

You’ve worn a different lipstick today. It’s a little darker than your usual colour, a rather glossy, rosier shade of mauve. He thinks he’s seen it somewhere before, and the name pops up from somewhere in his memory.

“Rum raisin.” He mumbles, staring intently at your lips and wondering briefly if it would transfer if he kissed you.

“What?” You cock your head at him with an amused sort of confusion.

He blinks once before clearly his throat, “Oh, um, your lipstick.”

You raise your hand so your fingertips hover over your bottom lip as you smile at him, “How’d you know?”

“I saw it in a drugstore once.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Your memory never ceases to amaze me, Spence.”

His heart swells as he smiles sheepishly, “Thanks.”

You hum before gesturing to two big boxes of files that are sitting on your desk, “Could you help me run these down to records?”

“Oh, yeah.” He’s quick to cross the short distance to your desk and purposely picks the heavier of the two boxes.

The trip down to records is a rather tedious one as of today. The elevator is out of order so you have to take the stairs from the sixth floor to the third.

“Do you like rain?” You ask, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re looking out water speckled windows at the stormy street below.

“Yeah.” He leaves out the part that the possibility of power outages and the darkness that accompanies them unnerves him greatly.

You turn your head to smile at him as you reach the records room, “Me too.”

He opens the door for you before you have the chance and lets you go in first, letting the door shut behind him. He follows you into the room, weaving between shelves and stepping over boxes that have yet to find their places. He watches you skim over the yellowed labels, your lips twitching as you read them off in your head.

You find the spot you’re looking for and make a sound of satisfaction before bending at the waist to slide the box into place, your skirt sliding a little further up to press against the plush flesh of the backs of your thighs. His gaze wanders up the length of your body and stops at your chest. From this angle, he’s able to see the curve of your breast and he swallows hard. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head, feeling ashamed for ogling you like that.

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he sees the lights flicker and when he opens them, he finds he’s not able to see much more than when he had them closed.

Shit.

“Damnit, the power’s out.” You curse, taking the box from him and slotting it in next to the other.

He takes a deep breath. The dark isn’t as frightening with you there in front of him, but that familiar anxiety pricks his chest and settles heavy in his gut.

“Spence?”

He wonders when the emergency lights will come on. Maybe they’re already on in the hall. He feels along the wall and shuffles back over to the door. When he tries the knob, he finds it locked. Now he’s panicking a little.

Well, maybe a lot.

There’s a clap of thunder outside that’s so powerful that he feels it in his chest and he jumps, breath catching in his chest as he screws his eyes shut as if it’ll make a difference.

“Spence?” You call again softly, “Are you okay?

“Y-Yeah.” He stutters.

“You don’t like storms?”

He shakes his head before realising you can’t see him, “No, not really.”

“Me neither.” You whisper, and he hears the shuffling of your clothes as you shift your weight between your feet and huff a breathy puff of nervous laughter, “I don’t like the dark either.”

“Me neither.” He echoes, wetting his lips briefly as he considers how to comfort you despite how anxious he is himself.

Carefully, tentatively, he reaches for you in the dark and takes your hand, just barely brushing his thumb over your knuckles. Your skin is soft and warm, and he attempts to find your face in the dark as he murmurs ever so softly, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You reply just as softly, squeezing his hand.

It’s a little unsettling not being able to see you. He can hear you breathing, and having your hand in his feels so nice, but he wants you closer.

“Can I…” He trails off, but tugs at your hand so you’ll step a little closer. He swallows his nerves, “Can I distract you?”

It’s a lame excuse, but it’s all he can come up with on the spot.

“Distract me how?” He can hear the smile in your voice and it encourages his steadily growing confidence.

He pulls you closer, and you step further into his space. He places a hand on your waist, and you don’t recoil. In fact, you come a little closer and set a hand on his chest. You slide it along the length of his shoulder and up the back of his neck to thread your fingers in the hairs at the base of his skull and he shudders, lips parting to sigh softly. Your thumb settles just behind his ear and strokes the skin there tenderly and he can’t stop himself from leaning down to gently bump your nose with his, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to tell him you don’t want this.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask so innocently, breath fanning over his lips in a steady rhythm as his eyelids flutter shut.

“Please.” He breathes, leaning in to meet you halfway.

Your lips meet his timidly and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a second where you pull back to let him breathe, let him get used to the feeling. His eyes open a sliver, just enough to make out the edges of you in the dark as his brain catches up with his body. And then the shock passes.

And he devours you.

The hand that was on your waist comes up to cradle your cheek as he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip in a silent request. You grant it, opening up to him to let him roll his tongue against yours. You stand on your tiptoes and lean further into him, returning the kiss with a fervour he wasn’t expecting but welcomes happily. He can taste your lipstick and is pleasantly surprised to find it tastes a little like vanilla.

There’s a push and pull of tongues and teeth and soft little sighs as he dares to slip his hands down and pull you flush against him by your hips, revelling in the breathy moan that slips from your throat and meets his mouth. He pulls away only to kiss sloppily at the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, smiling against your skin when you gasp and tug at his hair. Mouthing at your skin, he searches until you whine and shudder after he drags his teeth over a particular spot and focuses his attention there.

He sucks a nice bruise into the spot, some primal part of him driving him to mark you up and claim you as his while he has you here. He bites a little too hard and you hiss, making him pull back and search for your face in the dark.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Mm-mm.” You hum before immediately capturing his lips again, slipping your tongue into his mouth and swallowing the moan that escapes him.

He guides you by your hips until he has you pressed against the door, sliding a hand down the length of your thigh before slipping it up past the hem of your skirt to grab greedily at your flesh. He hikes your leg up by his hip and you hook your knee around it to pull him impossibly close.

His touch is tender even as he practically swallows you whole, thumb stroking the side of your thigh where your skirt has ridden up. He rolls his hips up against your experimentally and you whine, urging him to do it again. This is what he’s wanted — craved — for so long. You’re warm and soft in ways that his imagination could have never replicated. He’s dizzy, drunk on your kiss, on your touch, on you.

He’s attached himself to your neck again — the other side this time — when the lights flicker on, startling you both into looking up at the ceiling.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of your combined laboured breathing, and when he looks back at you, he finds your face flushed and your lipstick smudged. You look back at him and he notices your pupils are blown wide as you suddenly smile and start giggling.

“What?” He chuckles, letting go of your thigh so that you can stand on your own two feet again.

“Rum raisin looks good on you, doctor.” You laugh, thumbing the remnants of your kisses off of his bottom lip.

He kisses you once again, smiling against your lips.

You tug him back and laugh again, “You’re making it worse!”

He does it again, and again, and then peppers kisses over the side of your neck until you’re giggling something awful and have to scrunch your shoulder to your ear to keep him from tickling you.

“Spencer!” You squeak as quietly as you can and he pulls away laughing.

Your giggles die down, and then you’re both left in a silence that isn’t awkward, but isn’t quite comfortable either. He has to say something, but what?

“Hey, would you, um,” You start, glancing down at his lips and biting at yours nervously, “Would you like to go out with me sometime? Just us?”

He blinks, wanting to pinch himself to make sure this is actually happening, “Like, a date?”

You nod. He blinks again before practically beaming at you.

“Yeah.” He nods, attempting to correct the smudged edge of your lipstick with his thumb, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Saturday? Five o’ clock? We can do whatever you want.”

He nods again, “Sounds good.”

“Good.” You smile, leaning up to kiss him, your touch so saccharine and gentle that his legs feel like jello beneath him.

The doorknob jiggles suddenly and he instinctively reaches to help you button up your blouse a little more while you fiddle with the collar until it covers the rather obvious hickey on your neck.

“Hey, are you two still in there?” Derek calls from the other side as you attempt to help Spencer fix his hair to no avail.

“Uh, yeah!” He calls, clearing his throat after his voice cracks up an octave, “We accidentally locked ourselves in.”

“Here.” You bend to slide the key under the door, and this time, he stares unabashedly, “That’s the key.”

The knob jiggles a little more before the door opens, and when it does, Derek eyes the two of you suspiciously, “You guys okay?” He locks eyes with Spencer and smirks, “You seem a little winded.”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You smile, hastily walking out, “The boxes were just heavy. Plus, we had to walk all the way down here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Derek says, though it’s clear he isn't convinced. When you get a little further ahead of them, he claps Spencer on the back with a bright grin, “About time, loverboy!”

“Shut up.” Spencer shoots back, though he can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face.

This is not how he expected his confession to go, but — as he watches you walk down the hall a little ways ahead of him with a renewed pep in your step and your hair a little dishevelled — he is so glad it went the way it did.

———————————————————————

Edit: I had a couple people request a part 3 (Possibly smutty, but we shall see), and I'm curious about whether or not y'all would want that? Just let me know in the replies/reblogs. :)

Update: Part 3 is posted and linked at the top of this post :)

Taglist:

@louderfortheback @theblaxkbird @marimorena06 @special-forces7 @lolilkkk

[adverbally]

Conversations with Dead People

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Ghosts” | wc: 1,159 | rated: T | cw: past major character death, brief passive suicidal ideation | tags: grief, not a fix-it, Eddie is Dead | title from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode that inspired this fic (season 7, episode 7)

This takes place in an AU where Steve and Eddie have been together since shortly after the events of season 3. The events of season 4 happen as they do in canon.

———

He’s not really a ghost, Eleven had explained. It’s more like residual psychic energy that Eddie left behind when he died. An echo, lingering, a telepathic reverberation of his soul or brain waves or whatever made him Eddie. Him, but not. It’s a distinction that Steve can’t seem to make, not when he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of his living room in front of El, waiting for her to make contact.

“Eddie?” Steve asks tentatively. “Are you there?”

El is quiet behind her blindfold for a moment. “He says, ‘Hey, Stevie.’”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting but shock forces a laugh out of him, too loud and a little wet. “Hey, Eds.” He hasn’t said those words in months but it still feels natural, like a reflex. “I miss you.”

“He misses you too. He sounds sad but he’s smiling,” El reports matter of factly.

“You can see him?” Somehow this might be the thing that breaks Steve, the longing and the fear of seeing him again twisting in his gut. “Is he– does he look–”

“He looks normal. Not hurt. But he says you look like shit.”

Eddie can see him, Eddie is okay, Eddie is trying to joke around to make him feel better, Eddie is so close but out of reach and… Steve’s face crumples.

He can’t do this. Why is he doing this? Hope and despair are warring in a sticky lump in his throat, choking him until he can’t speak. He’s wasting his chance to talk to Eddie again. He doesn’t want to talk to him, he wants to feel him, cold hands and strong arms and sharp teeth and soft lips. He wants him back. He wants to be with him.

“‘Don’t cry, baby.’” The words are soft and clunky coming from El’s mouth but Steve knows exactly how Eddie must sound on the other side.

The sob he was suppressing rips its way out of him. “I miss you,” he says again, stupidly, but he can’t think of anything else. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like they can stem the flood of tears now that they have begun. “I miss you so much.”

The static on the radio is the only response for long seconds before El says, “He’s crying now. He says he’s sorry. Not sorry he did it but sorry it turned out like this.”

Steve shakes his head. Any real anger he felt toward Eddie had been short lived, but the reminder stings. “You had to be a hero, huh?”

“‘It was worth it to keep you safe.’”

He tries not to think too hard about how much he wishes he could’ve switched places with Eddie. Eddie wouldn’t have let him, of course, stubborn as he is. Was. Is? Steve clears his throat before asking, “Are you… okay?”

It’s a stupid question. How can Eddie be okay? What could Steve do about it anyway? Thankfully Eddie seems to understand what he was trying to ask.

“‘I’m still dead, sweetheart,’” Eddie-El says, almost apologetically. “‘But I’m okay. I’m not in pain, I’m safe. It’s not like being in the Upside Down. It’s peaceful.’”

“Okay. That’s good,” Steve says, almost to himself.

El tilts her head like she’s listening. “He says he watches out for you.”

God, what must Eddie have seen over the past three months? How many nights had Steve sobbed himself to sleep, clutching Eddie’s pillow and trying to memorize its fading scent? How often had Steve put on a brave face to comfort Dustin and reassure him that Eddie’s death wasn’t his fault? How many times had Steve gone to visit Wayne, both of them sitting at the kitchen table while they cried into their cups of coffee and silently mourned the way that the trailer seemed so damn empty without Eddie there to fill it?

“‘Are you okay?’” El asks on Eddie’s behalf.

“We’re just trying to keep it together. It’s…” Steve wipes his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. It was Eddie’s hoodie, actually, but Steve kept stealing it. It’s soft and it smells good! You’re never getting it back! he had laughed. Now it smells more like Steve than Eddie and he couldn’t give it back even if he wanted to. “It’s really fucking hard without you.”

“‘You’re always looking out for everyone else. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?’” The inflection of it sounds like goodbye, like all those mornings of Eddie gearing up to head back to the trailer before Wayne noticed, like Steve begging for just one more kiss before Eddie left.

But there’s something final in it this time that makes panic surge in Steve’s chest.

“Nonono, don’t go, you can’t– you just got here, you can’t just leave,” he babbles, wishing Eddie had a physical presence he could hold on to. The logical part of Steve’s mind knew that this was only temporary, that any echo will eventually fade, but he hadn’t realized it would be so soon.

“‘I wish I could stay.’” El sounds so sad when she speaks for him.

Steve presses his hands to his mouth, tries to hold in the terrible sound of his grief until Eddie isn’t there to hear it anymore. He takes a deep breath and tries to keep his voice level despite the tears streaming down his face. “Will I see you again?”

“‘Hopefully not for a long, long time.’”

He thinks of the past three months, thinks of going through that three more times to make a year, then all of that over and over for as many years as he has left… It sounds like pure torture.

“‘Promise me,’” Eddie-El insists.

“I promise.” Steve’s voice breaks, but he tries to crack a smile when he remembers Eddie can see him. “Stay out of trouble?”

Even before El says, “He laughed at that,” Steve is picturing Eddie’s head tossed back with the force of his guffaw, his dark eyes glimmering with amusement. It settles something in him.

“I love you,” Steve says, snotty and shaky but as solemn as a wedding vow.

The radio stutters then, sounding like it’s flipping through frequencies on its own. When the jumble of static and indistinct speech stops, Steve hears Eddie’s voice, loud and clear, for the first time since March.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” he announces. Soft and warm like spending a lazy morning in bed. Bright and smiley like adoring someone in a way that can’t be hidden. Exhilarated and awed like collapsing together in a sweaty, spent heap. Bittersweet like a kiss goodnight, like a little white lie, like a promise that has to be broken.

Steve feels that voice surrounding him, crashing over and through him. He shuts his eyes and hugs himself, tries to hold himself together, until the radio shuts itself off.

Then, in the echoing silence of his living room, Steve lets himself fall to pieces.

[onysfavreader]

Random hc of being Ony's hyperfemblack!wife

You getting spoiled way to much but Ony who doesn't mind because his girl deserves the universe and more

Ony who can never have enough pictures and videos of you on his phone because he is quick to show you off at any chance you recording little maintenance vlogs for your photo shoots together

Ony who just loves you so much and never want to not see you smile

Ony being the only one to help you handle your emotions and make you feel better because he knows you can't help but be so emotional "Shh baby tell me what's wrong" "What happened ma why you look so upset"

Picks you up if you try to walk away from him when you're upset

Ony letting you decorate bc you're helping each other create your dream lives and that included giving you your dream pinterest house and closet lmao

You being the only one who gets to see Ony's soft side after you spent forever trying to get through to him like he put you through the worst when you first started talking but now he makes up for it every day and you brag about it to yourself because it took you forever to get him to that point

You not being any better in the beginning of your relationship those half assed ‘situationships’ could never prepare you for your relationship with Ony your the reason ony’s patience and trust for you is as high as it is

You two giving golden retriever and black cat energy Ony doesn’t look like he likes anyone and doesn’t but is the sweetest ever once you really get to know him especially to you and you looking the sweetest on the outside but you’re are worse then people think Ony is

Ony supporting you through everything and you doing the same even if you don't know exactly what he's doing you trust him

You walking around wrapped in a robe or one of many blankets almost everyday bc your always cold until Ony caught on buying you hoodies and jackets in his size just to see how cute you look when they cover so much more of your body than his

Ony giving you all the hugs kisses and praises he can because he knows you fiend off his attention and will throw the worst fits when you don't get it

You holding onys two fingers instead of his hand bc he's so big

Ony who lifts double your weight on a bad day this and just picks you up and you love it until he pisses you off "Put my ass down now" you shout trying to push him away "Why you not talking to me ma what's wrong" "Boy fuck you" "We gotta work on the mouth of yours" "Ony put me down" You laughed as he carried you to your bedroom “Don’t laugh now” “Baby I’m sorry” “I don’t want to hear none of that ma”

You absolutely loving Ony and the life you've built together

You're only piece of gold jewelry is an anklet with an 'o' charm and you refuse to take off even after he offered to get it in silver

Buying Ony just as many if not more flowers then he buys you

Ony and you having two dogs that are your babies. Ony's being some big 'scary' dog like a black pit bull that absolutely adores you and your a cute little brown toy poodle that Ony tries not to trip over bc they follow him almost as much as you follow him

You and Ony would have different "rooms" that would be your own space yours would be in the attic and he would have his in the basement but you two would still have your bed room

Ony never letting you know what he does for work but he keeps you safe and happy so you push your suspensions aside

You and Ony being the cutest together like your head over heels for him and he completely adores you

You being onys entire world and universe sun and all with the brightest smile on your pretty face and biggest heart

You both having to learn to love but know you want to be with each other for the rest of your lives so you push through the rough patches

Ony cooks and you bake

Ony doing the bathroom, dish, taking out the trash, fixing things, lawn work, bills, bugs, ect

You organizing, decorates, takes care of the dogs, cleans laundry, houses maintenance, groceries, ect

You and Ony who spoil each other rotten and love it

You doing Ony's hair and it's just a cute moment between you two every few weeks one of you will set up the bathroom before going to get the other then you'll sit on the sink with him in front of you most off the time it's quiet as Ony watches you concentrate

You rarely buying Ony gifts because you're always making something for him

You never being able to get enough of Ony

You have the prettiest garden with flowers herbs and fruits that you somehow managed to scared the dogs away from and plug!Ony will some times ask for help when growing his weed

- smut

Definitely the daddy dom of your my dreams he can be the sweetest softest dom ever or the scariest brat tamer but a pleasure dom either way

You almost being apillow princess bc Ony loves being the one to make you cum just by using you but you knowing how to suck it off the bone and neither of you can resist having him down your throat

You being a sweetheart but when you aren’t you can get a horrible attitude and smart mouth only Ony can handle because he knows how to keep your mouth full

Ony can't help but come inside of you so he pays for your birth control

Ony's 's so big and strong and so so big especially compared to you and you love it just the thought turns you on like just looking up at him while you standing next to him maybe holding his fingers and all you can do is squeeze your legs together

Ony fucking you in his hoodies

His voice is music to your ears but His praise will make you're eyes roll back and brain go dumb every time "Fuck you're so good baby just like that" "There you go ma"

You calling him daddy bc what is an Ony

Being each other's biggest eaters

Ony will pick you up and carry you away to your bedroom when he needs you and when you need him you’ll wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist or you’ll straddle his lap until he eventually gets it

You are definitely kinker then ony hands down and has to teach him things like

You liking soft intimate sex and Ony who fucks you so hard you go dumb almost every time And somehow he always knows which one you need