#Okay Bones apology accepted

[sskk-manifesto]

Shin Soukoku from Animage Magazine 2023 September issue

[elytrafemme]

every single fictional character i like should split and have mood swings like me. "ohhhhh but it's not canotical" "ohh they have good control over their emotions and stable views on the world" i don't fucking care. i see cq in his fake desert i see klavier's control dialogue i see dahlia and her serial murders and komaeda and the gun literally fuck with me right now. we need to stop being cowards about our fictional character headcanons i think everyone should kill people always because i can't

[reidmotif]

Relax, I've Got You

Summary: Reader isn't the best at handling stress, and her roommate Spencer, notices. Luckily, he has quite a few salacious ideas on how he could make her feel better.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: friends-with-benefits situation, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), mentions of anxiety/symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 2.7 k

Masterlist

You were never good at handling stress. 

You were well aware of this facet of your psyche– the way tensity would often wind around your limbs, snaking into the very depths of your bones until you were entirely drained and devoid of peace, a shell of the person you were accustomed to being. 

You had dealt with this complication on your own for the most part. You’d come home after a long day, and attempt to find yourself again through chamomile tea, lavender mists, and a warm blanket. 

Of course, there were days where even these measures could not suffice in curing your weariness. 

That’s where Spencer Reid came in. 

He’d only been your roommate at first. With the economy going as it was, it was simply more practical to find one, rather than renting alone. He’d responded to an ad you’d put up, and you accepted. The process was easy, honestly. You had no qualms about sharing your living space with another person, and even found the arrangement enjoyable at times. Spencer was well-mannered, never missed rent, and wasn’t even at home most of the time. When he was, he was quiet. Sweet. 

Through time, you found yourself becoming friends with the man. The conversation was light and easy, and in a rare turn of events, you started to open up to him. Even more surprisingly, he returned the favor, adding to the understanding that was fast growing between the two of you. It seemed only natural, since both of you were made naturally vulnerable by the circumstances of your situation. You’d come to your apartment, drop the mask of the day, and see that Spencer was already there, becoming an extension of the solace you found at home. Soon enough, the comfort of your couch was simply synonymous to him as well. 

It didn’t take long for Spencer to notice the anxieties that would plague you when a deadline came about, or when you simply fixated on an issue for too long. The way your bedroom light wouldn’t shut until 4 AM, or how you’d pace in the kitchen, so wired that your body denied you the rest you so desperately needed. He noticed the dark circles, the occasional irritability (followed by an apology, of course), the headaches, everything. Which is why he thought nothing of it to suggest some remedies for your troubles over breakfast one day. 

“Caffeine can actually increase stress, if you weren’t aware.” He says, eyeing your second cup of coffee that morning. “There’s actually a large amount of data that indicates you should limit caffeine intake, especially if you’re already anxious.” 

You narrow your eyes, furrowing your brows slightly. “Says who?” You retort, not quite ready to give up your chosen beverage. 

“The NIH, Penn State, the AMA-” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I got it.” You interrupt, knowing you’d started a losing battle the moment you’d questioned him.  “I’ll try to cut down on it.” 

He grins, satisfied with how the interaction had played out. You, on the other hand, started to drift farther away from your current setting. You swallow, putting down your coffee cup before rubbing your eyes, a soft sigh escaping you. 

“Something wrong?” Spencer asks, cautiously, his voice soft. 

You tsk, shaking your head and shrugging a bit at your own dilemma. “It's just.. I’m already so tired. I’m exhausted and the day’s barely begun.” You pause, unable to articulate just how fatigued you were.  “It’s like I can already feel the mid-afternoon headache I’m going to get later, and it hasn’t even started yet.” You hate the way you sound, longing for the day you could fully relax for even a fraction of a second. 

“You’d probably be a lot less tired if you slept a little more.” Spencer suggests, and you shoot him a death glare. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snap. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy. It’s just-” You groan, stopping yourself as the quick realization dawns on you that you’ve misdirected your frustrations. There’s a wave of shame rising up almost immediately, heating your cheeks up in regret. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer. Sorry. That’s unfair of me. I know you’re just looking out for me.” You murmur, taking a deep breath to calm your senses. 

“Hey, don’t worry.” He says, his voice low and compassionate. “I get it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.” 

You nod, closing your eyes as you continue to breathe. He continues to speak, his voice remaining warmhearted. 

“There are actually quite a few ways to alleviate stress. Some experts recommend meditation, exercise and yoga. I wouldn’t mind doing those with you, if you were interested.” He offers, as he continues to ramble, lost in his own explanation in the hopes of being of service to you. “Some experts even name sex as a useful stress reliever, due to the endorphins and oxytocin released after completion.” 

You give a fruitless laugh. “Jesus, I wish. I don’t have the time to try and find someone willing to do that for me.” 

Spencer goes quiet, and you finally open your eyes. You’re met with his stare, trained on your form, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“What?” You ask, upon returning his gaze. 

He clears his throat, shaking his head, as if he was ridding himself of a passing thought. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I hope you do find something that works for you though. I hate seeing you like this.” 

You soften at his concern. “Thanks, Spencer.” You say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll end up taking on.. Yoga? That seems doable, right?” 

He smiles. “Yoga. Right.” 

The days pass on, until you find yourself in a similar scenario you’ve been in one too many times. You’re pacing the kitchen, a small clock reading that it was currently 2 AM. You couldn’t even really decipher the source of tonight’s anxiety– all you know is you feel it, and you feel it deeply. 

That’s when a voice breaks through the darkness, halting your movements altogether. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Spencer’s soft, slightly deeper voice. 

“Oh, yeah.” You call out, despite the growing tightness in your chest. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.” 

He shakes his head, scratching his head as he makes his way towards you. “It’s nothing.” He reassures. “I needed to pee anyway. What’s going on with you?” He inquires, gently. 

You rub at your chest, biting your lip. “The usual.” 

“Work?” He asks, softly. 

You purse your lips. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just really anxious.” 

His expression softens. A beat of silence passes between the two of you. 

“I’m- um. I’m willing to help.” He stammers out, suddenly seeming much more nervous than he was a moment ago. 

You give a dejected smile. “That’s sweet, Spencer, but I dunno. I think I have to deal with this on my own.” 

“No, I mean. I can help. I’m willing to help. To do that for you. I’m your friend. I want to help.” He restates, his voice a little urgent. 

“Willing to do what?” You ask, wholly confused with where he was going with this. 

He takes a breath. “Sex. Or, an orgasm, at least. You said no one you knew would be willing to help you like that. I am. If you want.” He blurts out. 

You stand there, momentarily shocked into silence. You’re suddenly able to recall the conversation you’d had, just a few days prior, and realize what he was trying to say.  Here you were, in your kitchen, with your friend- your roommate, and he was selflessly offering himself to you. For sex. For de-stressing sex.  He sounded so earnest, despite the obvious lewdness of his offer, and the juxtaposition made your head spin. 

“I..” You start, your voice caught in your throat. 

“You don’t have to feel compelled to say yes. I’m just offering. I want to help you.” He interjects, his voice still carrying that unselfishness you’d known from the very beginning. 

“I.. no. I mean, yes. I want to say yes.” You find yourself admitting after a moment. “But.. are you sure? It’s.. I mean, it’s sex, Spencer.” You whisper. 

“I’m aware.” He says, matching your softer tone. “I’m okay with that. Are you?” 

You take a breath. Looking up at him, you take in his slightly tousled hair illuminated by the soft moonlight that drifted in through your apartment windows. His white sleep shirt was crumpled, and even in the darkness that enveloped you, you could decipher the kindness in his eyes, his mere presence bringing a shade of ease into you as you spoke to him. 

“Yes.” You murmur out, the words flowing out with no hesitation. “I’m okay with that.” 

“Can I kiss you?” He says, gently, and your nod of affirmation is almost immediate. 

He steps closer and cups your cheek, before pressing his lips against yours gently. It’s a sweeter kiss, something that, despite never saying out loud, you would have expected from him. His mouth moves languidly against yours, before pulling away, slightly out of breath. 

“Kissing actually helps to reduce cortisol.” He murmurs. “It indirectly lowers stress as a result. Is it working?” 

And true to his words, you realized that the tightness in your chest had faded somewhat, no longer blaring with the intensity you had just felt a few minutes prior. An entirely new feeling settled within you- an ache, a need for this man and what he brought to you. 

“Yeah. It’s working.” You mumble out. 

As if he could read your mind, Spencer gently takes your hand. “Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” He murmurs, already leading you to his spot of preference. 

He gently guides you to sit on the couch, quickly finding your lips once again to exchange some soft kisses along the way. His hands drift up and down your back, fingertips light and tender. His every touch speaks to something more, to an unspoken dedication that you’d never felt before until this moment.

To something that maybe extended beyond the original purpose of your rendezvous. “Is this alright?” He asks, his tone hushed and reverent. 

You nod, almost in a trance. He was so gentle, so reassuring. He was exactly what you needed. 

His lips find yours again and you respond eagerly, letting your hands tangle into the mess of brown hair that sat atop his head. He let out a small groan as your fingers slightly tugged on the strands, sending a thrill through you. 

He starts to trail the kisses down your neck, seeking out more sensitive spots that could bring you into a further state of rest and repose.  Everything about you spurred him on, it seemed. He paid attention to every noise, every movement– his ultimate goal seeming to hinge on your pleasure throughout this. 

Of course, you respond accordingly to the dedication, a soft gasp or whimper escaping you when he would mouth at the perfect spot, which would only cause him to increase his actions tenfold, leading to even more response on your end. 

The perfect feedback loop driving you to pliancy and ecstasy all at once.

His lips begin to drift down, and you realize he’s settling in between your legs now, hands on the waistband of your sleep clothes, urging you to lie down completely, which you do. 

“Gonna take these off now.” He whispers, looking up at you between your legs. 

“Please.” You respond, waiting with bated breath. 

He manages to pull down the last barrier between you two, before being met with the mess he’d created. His lips parted as his fingers trailed lightly over your wet slit, your arousal evident on his finger as he marveled on the effect he could have on you. 

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, as if his eyes are set upon something precious, something worthy of worship. And in a way, isn’t that exactly what he’d set out to do the moment he’d placed his face between your thighs? 

He loops his arms around your thighs, before slowly allowing his tongue to dart out, delicately, tracing the wetness of your pussy. A moan slips out of you, low and needy, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving in, devouring your cunt like a man starved. 

“Spencer.” You gasp out. You say his name like prayer, like he is god-given, because in this moment, he is. 

His tongue traces your clit in circles, before directly placing his lips over the swollen bud, applying some light suction. The tenderness in the action, the way his eyes flit upto yours, watching your gaze for the utmost reassurance that he was doing right by you, only hurdle you closer and closer to your pleasurable end. 

It’s almost as if you’re floating, your back arching as his face stubbornly stays buried in your cunt, lapping at your wetness insistently. He wants your release just as bad as you do, and it’s clear he’ll do anything for the sweetness that comes with you falling apart in his arms. 

“Oh god.” You moan out- how is it possible to feel so airy, and yet so present all at once? To feel every movement of Spencer’s warm, wet tongue lavishing your clit, and still be somewhere else entirely- a new height of pleasure you had sorely needed all along. 

One of his hands leaves the iron-grip it had your thighs in, letting his fingers drift towards your entrance. He slips the digits in, slowly pumping into you, only adding to the overwhelming rapture you found yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, and you find yourself writhing against him. 

“Spencer- oh god. Please, please.” You babble out, legs starting to tense with the beginnings of your orgasm. 

He only pulls away enough to murmur softly. “That’s it.” His fingers continue their steady pace into you, his grip on your thigh keeping you planted to the mattress. “I got you, love. Come for me.”

With nothing else to say, he resumes eating you out, and the combination of his fingers and mouth finally barrels you towards your orgasm, shuddering as it rips through you, as your every sense is clouded- with this, with him. 

It’s only until you’ve ridden out the entirety of your orgasm that he pulls away. Sitting upright, he leans forward to caress your jaw, taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flushed appearance your face had taken on in the throes of gratification. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, softly. 

“Entirely.” You whisper back, almost in awe. Not only at how well it worked, but how adoringly he stared at you, it being enough to stop your heart in your chest. Did he always look like this? How did you never notice? 

“Can I return the favor?” You implore, already beginning to get up, but Spencer pushes you back down lightly, shaking his head. 

“You’re tired.” He says, as if his word was fact, despite these being your feelings that were being spoken about. “Right now, the oxytocin coursing through your body is priming you perfectly for sleep, and God knows you need it.” He chuckles out.

You realize that he’s right, and for the first time, you feel the fatigue that comes naturally with sleep, as opposed to the restless nights you’d been dealing with. You still feel disappointed though, feeling a sting of rejection as you’re unable to touch him back. Still, your tiredness is undeniable, and so you nod. 

He gets up, finding a blanket to lay on top of you, before kneeling beside your face. He looks at you with subtle veneration, before letting his lips brush against your forehead. 

“I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if that’s alright.” He murmurs. “When you’re rested.” 

Your smile is immediate. “Deal.” You whisper out. 

He looks at you for another beat, before letting his knuckles brush against your cheek, slowly retreating to his bedroom, as to let you get the rest you so desperately needed. 

You close your eyes, amazed by the tranquility that came with Spencer. How simple intimacy came with him, as if that’s how it should’ve been all along. 

You know you’ll ponder on this fact in greater detail later on, but for now, you relished in serenity of the afterglow. 

“Spencer Reid.” You think. “What divine comfort you are.” 

HOOOLY SHIT. how long has it been since i uploaded? a long time? i think. hahahaha. in between traveling, [redacted life updates], and even more, i just wasn't very inspired to write. i hope this speaks to some of you, and i hope it was enjoyable to read. as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs are so so so deeply appreciated. feedback as well! thank you so so so much for reading regardless, i am eternally grateful for any and all support <3 (oh also haha. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins friends with benefits challenge! check it out.)

[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. 

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Nikto’s Commandments

Content: Mentions of Past Torture/Injury, Declarations of Love, Codependency, Protective Behavior

Nikto is familiar with torture. So, so intimately familiar with it. When he knew nothing else, he knew pain. He knew flayed skin and cracked bone and burnt flesh. He knew screams tangled up in chipped teeth and pulpy tongue. Agony became a filter through which all the world’s color bled.

He didn’t know how sweet torture could be.

He didn’t know he could crave the blade of a kind word. That he could relish the bone-deep ache of a gentle touch. He longs to be drowned in your soap and burned on your skin, wishes every brush would scar as badly as acid. Somehow, he remains intact.

You are a torture he could languish in for eternity. Would gladly be hung with a braid of your hair.

But you, blessed thing, don’t even realize what you do to him. The exquisite suffering that’s remaking him. Or maybe if you do, you’re too merciful to take it from him.

“Nikto…” you croon. You’re flushed and giggly, all but in his lap. “Is this three or four?”

“Four.” He’s been counting, but he won’t stop you from having more.

You wanted to go out with the rest of the KorTac team you two have been sent with. Ever generous, you asked if he’d rather stay in, but Nikto just nudged you out the door and sunk into your shadow like always.

“One more?” you ask.

He grunts in agreement. If you wanted to stay out till sunrise, he would escort you over sunbeams.

Aksel stands to get the next round and you cuddle in against Nikto’s side again. Don’t seem to mind the Kevlar under his shirt, or the knife pressed against your thigh.

“You sure you don’t want to play another round?” Roze goads, smirking, as she shuffles the deck.

You grin, wide and pretty and so blindingly happy. “You just want to cheat me at cards.”

“I could never with your guard dog on duty,” she purrs.

You scrunch your nose this time. “He’s not.”

“A guard dog or on duty?”

“Either! Both!”

Nikto clicks his tongue and slides your half-finished water closer. You agreeably accept the distraction, dutifully sipping another quarter of it under his watchful gaze.

“I am just teasing,” Roze soothes when you set the glass down again. “Nikto just takes care of you. It is good.”

You hum, apparently pleased with her roundabout apology. “It is good.”

You thank Aksel as he sets another glass in front of you, wiping at the side with an already-soggy napkin.

“Courtesy of a man at the bar,” he adds, winking and pointing.

Nikto whips around instantly, makes cold, deadly eye contact with a normal weak unbroken stupid man at the bar. He shifts when he realizes that it’s not your attention he’s getting and awkwardly turns away.

“It’s not drugged, right?” you ask. When Nikto turns back, there’s a frown on your face. He clenches the hand farthest from you, creak of leather lost in the noisy bar.

“No, I kept a close eye,” Aksel assures. “He just tossed some cash down to ‘pay,’ that’s all.”

You snort, shrug. “Whatever.”

Nikto settles again as you continue watching the card game, seemingly content just to be in the company of others. You sip at your last drink of the night, cheering Aksel on as the underdog of the table. Nikto tucks you close and counts cards.

It’s not long before you make an uncomfortable noise and pat at Nikto’s thigh. “Restroom, please!”

He slides out of the booth and silently helps you after him, a shriveled but mending part of him endeared by the wobbly way you cling.

“Okay I think I’ve got it from here,” you assure him, patting his arm.

“You want company?” Roze asks, frowning.

“Only if you need to go too,” you reply, “but it’s right there. I’ll be okay.”

She hums and pushes another few peanuts into the center of the table with the rest of the “pot”. Nikto hesitates, but you point out the door, clearly within eyesight.

“It’ll only be a minute,” you promise, stretching up on your toes to kiss his cheek over the mask. You toddle off before he can do more than freeze.

The whole team is snickering, grinning, or shooting him knowing looks when he haltingly turns back. If he wouldn’t take their hands for it, he’s sure at least one of them would be patting him on the back. But they know better than to try to make conversation, especially without you present, and return to their game. (He thinks this is what you would call “social interaction” and it’s tolerable, for now.)

Nikto counts exactly sixty seconds before turning to watch the hallway to the bathroom. Just in time to see the man that bought you the drink stand and saunter that way. He doesn’t enter the men’s bathroom, only hovers at the edge of the hallway. Waiting.

Nikto stands and crosses the bar with a speed usually reserved for those who don’t know they’re dead yet.

The man sees him coming, wavers between pride and the smart choice. Survival instinct wins out to make the smart choice and he slinks off before Nikto is even within arm’s reach. Not a word is exchanged.

Thirteen seconds later, you stroll from the restroom and instantly catch sight of him.

“Miss me?” you tease, coming right to him.

He hums because you’ll realize he’s being honest if he says yes. But you’re a little too tipsy to do more than grab his hand as he leads you back to the table. Seem amused as he ushers you back into your safe spot in the interior.

Another blissful half hour passes before you lean into him, big eyes peering up through your lashes.

“Ready to go home?” you ask in slow, imperfect Russian.

He’s hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol and his head swims like he’s drunk. You make a surprised noise as he grabs your cheeks in one massive hand, gives a little squeeze.

“Again.”

You blink, a little cross-eyed from how he leans in. “Ready to go home?” you repeat, only slightly less stuttering this time.

It’s obscene how quickly he fills out his pants.

“Yes,” he responds in kind. Your eyes light up.

He tosses some money on the table to cover your drinks and then maneuvers you out. You happily follow along, fingers curled in the edge of his glove.

He bundles you into the separate car you insisted the two of you take, knowing he’s not one for socializing or public. Only goes to the driver’s side once you’re comfortable and buckled in.

“You have been learning Russian,” he asks. It comes out flat, but you know him well enough to just sense the inflection in his voice.

“A little bit,” you admit, beaming. “I’m not good at it. I haven’t had a lot of time to learn.”

He shakes his head. Where did you find the time? And how did he not notice sooner?

“Say something,” he commands, too fascinated to remember who he’s speaking to.

“Ummmmm oh! I love you, Nikto!”

You squeal as he hits the breaks and jerks the wheel, taking the car to the side of the road. Parks there and twists to look at you.

“Say again.”

“I love you, Nikto.”

He narrows his eyes. Leans in. “Do you know what you are saying?”

You must not. How could you of all blessed creatures say something so—

“Yes.” You tilt your head, brows furrowing. “Unless I’m pronouncing it wrong?”

“You are not.”

You are but not so badly that he doesn’t understand - on a surface level at least. He can’t fathom those words coming from your mouth. Directed at him.

His hands convulse on the steering wheel. Wanting to reach for you but unsure why. What he’ll do. He’d never hurt you, that’s the furthest thing from his mind, but he doesn’t trust himself with you either. Not right now.

And then you say something else.

A handful of sounds. A name he hasn’t heard in years. A name he barely remembers but jerks him like a leash. What he was before Nikto.

“I love you,” you repeat once more in English. “Didn’t you know that?”

On his best day words are difficult. Right now, he can’t fathom what combination of syllables would explain to you the jumbled chaos in his head.

That you can’t love him, because he is a Thing of blood and bone and agony. That even if you could love him, he would be undeserving of it. Your voice rings in his head, church bells for a broken soul.

“No,” is all he rasps out.

You make a sad face. He feels like the lowest scum.

Then you’re scrambling out of your seatbelt, out of your seat. Climbing over the center console and into his lap. He doesn’t even feel it when your knee clips his ribs or the toe of your shoe hits his thigh. It’s nothing compared to the warm lapful of you he’s got peering down at him now.

“You know how I always remind you that you’re a person?” you ask.

He hesitates, then jerks his head in a nod. You mirror him, face so serious.

“Well you’re not just a person, you’re my person,” you explain. As if it’s so simple as spelling it out. “And I love you.”

“I do not…”

You wait for him to finish, but he can’t. He just squeezes his hands into helpless fists, unable to let himself touch you.

“Don’t what?” you murmur softly. “Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t love me back? I don’t care. I don’t love you to get something in return. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.”

You gently tug the topmost layer of his face coverings aside, drop a kiss to the tiniest sliver of skin visible beneath his eye.

“You’re my person and I’m your person,” you finish.

“Is that… what love is?” his voice is barely more than a scraped whisper. What little he remembers of people who used the word “love” towards him in the past made it seem like the blackest curse.

“That’s what our love is,” you answer easily. “Or can be, I suppose. You’re not required to feel the same way.”

He doesn’t think he does; what he feels for you is beyond that. Beyond, he suspects, what you might even have a word for.

“Again.”

Your face breaks out into a huge smile, lighting up the dark interior of the car.

“I love you, Nikto.” You press your palm to his heart and breathe softly in awe when you feel how his heart trips over itself for you. “Will you teach me to say it right?”

He leans his head back against the seat to take in the whole of you. Warm and comfortable and unafraid. Safe. (His…)

“Da. Repeat after me.”

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Masterlist

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — and ignite your bones | carlos sainz and multi

Description: Trying to find love after your ex-fiancee told you that his mistress makes him happier. How hard could it be?

part three of it was all yellow

Pairing: actress!singer!reader/multi (undecided), actress!singer!reader/carlos sainz (past).

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

The bitter taste remained in your throat - vomit threatened to puke out of your esophagus. There were three billion people in the world, yet Carlos' sister decided to invite his new girlfriend to the party. It was greedy to expect them to shun the new, in favor of the old.

You take a sip of your wine.

The Sainz Family never accepted you as part of them. To them, your family wasn't as prestigious as it came from relatively new fame. To them, your father was just a country bumpkin that was lucky to make it big in Hollywood. They always spoke Spanish around you.

They never bothered to warm their hearts to someone as 'cold' as you. Of course, your other ex-boyfriend was also Spanish and you could translate the few words that they said.

That was when you realized that the family didn't like you...at all. They thought that you were strange despite your gentle disposition.

They ignored you.

And like a knife was getting twisted inside of you, they welcomed Because with open arms.

"Are you okay?" Pom stood in front of me. "- I feel quite left out, what ever is happening over there." she chuckled, pointing at the group of friends laughing and speaking in another language. "Its been a long time since I've been around them. I know how you feel." you smiled.

"I'm sorry for intruding but, Carlos was your ex-boyfriend, right?" she narrowed her eyes, watching as your ex-lover paraded Pablo around the boat - showing everyone his son. "Yes," you answered, throwing your attention back to the ocean waters.

"- and that woman is his new girlfriend?" she vaguely stared at the other woman and you nodded. "Holy mackerel." she scoffed.

Pom Klementieff sat beside you.

"I think he downgraded." she whispered, you knew that it was the alcohol speaking in her behalf. "You're only saying that because you want to be my friend." you teased and she shrugged.

"I'm sorry, I say things sometimes and they're not appropriate." she apologized, earning a small chuckle from you.

She could be a good friend.

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Thankfully lunch rolled around quickly. There weren't many things that you could chatter about after four hours of chatting. Pom looked seasick and you were exhausted with all of the cleaning.

Pablo was being stubborn, he didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"Pabs, just try it once." you pleaded, knowing better than to force food down a toddler's mouth. "No." he stubbornly answered. He inherited his father's stubbornness.

"You like the broccoli that Nana makes, this one is made by your other Nana." you explained, seeing that there was no difference between the broccoli made here then the broccoli at home.

"No." he responded pushing the spoon away.

Carlos, sensing the tension quickly made his way to the chair beside his son. He placed a guiding hand on his back. "Is there something else that you want to eat?" he inquired and Pablo shook his head.

"I want to go home." the boy replied, jumping down from his seat and sprinting towards you - burying his face on your chest.

"We'll be in our hotel room, soon. Once we land in Mallorca, we'll grab ice cream." you promised. "- but you have to eat something first." you added and only then did the young boy relent.

Carlos' eyes narrowed watching as the both of you ate. It was funny to think about the different outcomes of life, maybe, if he didn't fuck it all up and decided to stay - this would happen in a daily basis. He'd have a quiet life where all he worried about was food, children and what movies you'd watch on his days off.

He could've had a quiet life.

He didn't want a quiet life back then. He wanted to be taken off the ground by a hurricane. But like a rabbit hiding under a car in fear of the lights, he is ran over by fate and dead before he could think twice.

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yn.ln: one last night in this lovely boat. @pomklementieff @lovelyemilia @krumbasis @lordemusic

also @lewishamilton thank you for watching sprinkles while we're away.

liked by lewishamilton and 723,923 others

>comments

thatonegirl: ohh she's not posting @because.official HAHAHA

deftonesmusic92: Leaving out Because is so funny 😭

danielricciardo: See you in Mallorca!

maxverstappen: Have fun ❤️

lewishamilton: No problem, as long as you watch Coco and Roscoe next time. 🙂

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Because takes a deep breath, feeling his arms wrap around her waist. At night, she thinks about his son and his baby mommy. She looks at your face sometimes, the curve of your nose, the distance of your eyes, your quirky personality - all parts of you that were better than all the parts of hers.

When Carlos chose her instead of you, she found love. She thought that something about her must be unique. But then she sees the way he looks at you and finds that respect diminishing.

Love should belong to herself, but why is she reaching for the horizon looking for love that comes from him?

Most of all, she doesn't understand why Carlos chose her.

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yn.ln: Happy birthday Blanca!! Thank you for inviting Pablo and I. We had tons of fun, wishing for more birthdays to come. ❤️ te amo @blancasainzvasquez

liked by maxverstappen and 91,238 others

>comments

ynworld: happy bday!!

emymei: The cutest duo

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because.official: Happy 27th Blancs! here is the family picture that i took of yous ❤️ please enjoy your day. @blancasainzvasquez

liked by carlossainz55 and 82,329 others

>comments

ilvermonhyhigh: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLANCA SAINZ!

blancasainzvasquez: Aww post the one with you in the pic. Thank you for the birthday greeting Brezzie ❤️

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lewishamilton posted to his story.

caption: mallorca/happy birthday pablo

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rileykeough posted to her story.

caption: Thanks for the pic birthday boy!! I love you so much

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carlossainz55 posted to his story.

caption: Happy birthday P! Double birthday celebration.

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maxverstappen: Happy birthday pobla pablo 🦖 I held you when you were baby and now you're so big. I wish that you grow big and strong. Have a happy happy birthday 🥳

liked by yn.ln and 1,283,093 others

>comments

victoriaverstappen: Happy birthday baby dino!

yn.ln: thank u sm uncle maxie !!

maxverstappenworld: MAN WHY YOU POSTING PABLO LIKE UR THE FATHER 😭

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danielricciardo posted to his story.

caption: Happiest birthday to the future racecar driver!!

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[kissitbttr]

your mafia!toji fic got me thinking so hard abt him😭😭 he’s deffo the type to just buy you sm stuff as an apology but when you don’t forgive him and sleep in a different bedroom mf will come into the room on his knees and beg for you to come to sleep 😩😩 imagine still saying no and him just flipping you onto his shoulders and carrying you to bed 🤭

oh you are absolutely correct!

|

“darling” toji softly calls you, letting out a tired sigh. “i said i was sorry. what am i supposed to do?”

“die” she replies nonchalantly, shoulders shrugging before grabbing a pillow and your favorite blanket off the bed,

he snickers, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow. “now, now that would be over dramatic don’t you think? won’t you miss me?”

he almost pisses his pants when she throws him a glare,

“okay. no jokes. got it” he put his hands up in surrender, feeling absolutely terrified at his baby being mad and speaking less than two words to him,

if anyone ever finds out that the most feared and notorious man in the city being tamed by his woman, he would never hear the end of it,

but she is scary. can you blame him?

toji looks over at the designer shoes and bags he just purchased a few hours ago, tucked neatly in the corner. untouched by her.

guess the apology gifts aren’t working,

“i didn’t know that she was coming, i haven’t even talked to her in years! never planned to anyway, you know i only got my eyes for my girl, right?”

she tries so hard not to roll her eyes,

toji had a meeting with one of the cartels at the club earlier that night. and of course, she always goes. it’s where he can always keep an eye on her and refuses to leave her at home all alone because he can’t risk that. also, because she’s his good luck charm. whenever she’s around, deals always goes well,

tonight was an exception though,

all was well until a certain person decided to crash. his old fling. one before he met his precious girlfriend. the red haired thought that it would be fun to press her fake ass tits against toji,

y/n was shocked to say at least. she didn’t say anything but her face spoke thousand words. toji could see that. throwing daggers at the bitch, corner of her lips quirk into a form of disgust.

and the worst part was? toji didn’t do anything about it! can you believe that asshole?!

something about being absolutely unprofessional if he was ever to push her off and it ticked y/n to the fucking bone so she decided to ignore him the rest of the night,

toji feels defeated when she chooses not to respond, simply just taking her stuff. he crouches lightly to look at her pretty face clearly. “baby… can you please look at me? I can’t stand seeing you mad. i’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”

if it was any circumstances, sure she would melt and jump in his arms. but tonight is different. how could he?

she looks up at him and whisper “fuck. you” before turning around angrily and walk out of the door to go sleep on the guest room,

toji groans, the heel of his palms pressing against his eyes. she has always been so stubborn. too fucking stubborn. exactly why he had to get rejected seven times before she accepted his date.

what? he needed to get humbled, so she gave him that.

he contemplate for a while whether or not he should let her be or not. then he chooses the latter. it would probably be best if he let her cool off some steam for a while, he doesn’t want to do any more damage or make her feel more annoyed by his presence,

bet. not even ten minutes later, he feels like losing his mind without her here.

“fuck this shit” he mutters, getting up from the bed. rubbing his face furiously before stomping towards the other side of the room,

he walks in without knocking, ready to say what he needs to say again. yet he stops. heart clenching at the sight of his girl curled up in bed, back facing him.

“love?” he slowly walks over to her laying figure,

“go away” she speaks. now in a softer tone

“please” he begs, walking around the bed and catching a glimpse of her playing with her pink manicured hands. “sweetheart. I’m sorry” he repeats, going down to her eye level before letting his hand moves to rest on her bare thigh. he’s internally relieved when she doesn’t push him off,

he sighs when she’s not looking at him, seemingly only focused on the nails that she had gotten done a week ago.

“i should’ve pushed her off. shouldn’t let her touch me like that. hell, i shouldn’t even let her breathe near me. i know that” he realizes his mistake. “i didn’t even think about what my girl needed. i was being a horrible boyfriend”

no answer,

he sighs again, refusing to look away from her pretty eyes,

“baby—“

“i heard you the first time. leave. and close the door”

toji is taken aback. fuck. she really is mad at him.

“you don’t mean that”

“uhm, yes i do” she retorts in an obvious tone, sassily raising her eyebrow before scooting a bit further from him. she doesn’t realize this but it makes his heart break,

“princess, i swear-“

“go call that girl back to keep you company. let that fucking bitch sleep by your side” she mutters, looking at the tv instead of him,

he can’t take this anymore,

“you know what? that’s it” toji had enough, he will not be sleeping alone and neither will she. standing up on his feet, his hands reach out to circle around her ankles before tugging her body towards him causing her to yelp,

“toji! what the fuck are you doing-oh!” her voice gets cut off the moment he pulls her body up like she weighs nothing. throwing her over his shoulder. “put me down!” her fists start to hitting his back—as if they’re actually hurting him— legs swinging back and forth

“nope” he answers, keeping a firm grip around her waist before swatting her ass, locking the guest room behind him and walking back to their shared one. “you’re driving me crazy, woman—not saying that i hate it, but i’m pretty fucking beat tonight and we are going to sleep together. so stop fighting me”

she huffs, admitting defeat and letting him carry to the bed. “fuck you, toji”

he smirks at that. “oh i will, baby”

[nyctoaerah]

Hi queen aerah! I'm a follower from quotev and i really love your works especially divine punishment 🩷🫶🏻 i was hoping to request something, if you accept ofcourse, if you do then could you please do a yandere suguru one?🥰

𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Nanako and Mimiko asks you the reason as to why you’re wearing a blindfold, and what they found out chilled them to the bone, as they realized the truth about your blindness.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere stuff, Medical description of stuff, Manipulation, Drugging, Forced Blindness (Lmao)

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Suguru Geto x Oblivious! Blind! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I do not support or approve of any of the behaviors and actions depicted in this story. The content is intended solely for entertainment purposes. Hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Kinda mid ig? Not rlly satisfied abt this. I'll do the other reqs next once i get the motivation to write<3

Masterlist

You softly hummed a tune while sitting on the plush mattress, feeling Nanako gently brush your hair.   Mimiko was lounging on your lap as she stared at the ceiling.

“Your hair is so soft mama.. like silk”

Nanako said, admiration tinging in her voice at the softness of your hair, showering you with compliments as she held the right section in her hand and the left in her left hand, leaving the middle section loose. 

Despite having no vision, you could feel her lips curling into a smile and it made a small smile to appear on your lip.

“Thank you, Nanako.” You said softly.

The bond between you, Nanako, and Mimiko had grown strong over time, as they were practically adopted by Suguru, your husband, and raised as his own.  Despite Nanako and Mimiko’s bratty tendencies, they showed genuine kindness and affection towards you.

Nanako, in particular, often displayed a more bratty attitude, while Mimiko seemed content to follow her lead like her loyal minion. It was reminiscent of the classic dynamic between a popular girl and her devoted sidekick.

However, despite that, you loved them too, and treats them as your own daughters.

“Mama, can I ask you something?”

Nanako’s sudden inquiry cut through the air, her eyes searching for affirmation as she sucked in a deep breath and stole a fleeting glance at Mimiko. Without breaking eye contact with you, she searched your expression for any signs of discomfort, to know if you are comfortable with her asking you questions.

“Hm? Ofcourse,” You replied.

Curiosity danced in your mind as you could feel Nanako’s hesitant demeanor. Even without sight, the slight hastening of her heartbeat was a sign of her nerves. Sensory perception was your gift, something that helped you a lot, because you don’t really have a vision.

“Well...” Nanako trailed off, unsure of how to start.

“Don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

You gently reached out, your fingers seeking hers, your lips parted when you felt the texture beneath your touch felt different—It wasn’t Nanako's hand you held, but Mimiko’s.

“...wait, your hands feels different.. wait no, these are mimiko’s”

The sudden awareness painted your cheeks with a blush of embarrassment, a mix of confusion and awkwardness mingling in your expression.

As the realization dawned on you, Nanako's suppressed laughter bubbled forth, a ghost of a smile gracing Mimiko's features. A reassuring squeeze of your hand conveyed understanding and acceptance. “It's okay,” Mimiko's silent gesture seemed to say.

Apologizing sheepishly for your mistake, you couldn't deny the lingering embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, hoping to dissipate the awkwardness that hung between you.

“Didn’t see that, sorry girls.” You chuckled.

“Mama, stop with the blind jokes.” Nanako deadpanned, watching you rub the taut muscles on the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Right..”

“Um, right... What was it you were going to ask, Nanako?” You quickly shifted the conversation, eager to move past the momentary misstep.

“Well...”

Nanako hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat, her gaze fixed on you as her fingers gently ran through your hair.

“Why do you always wear a blindfold?”

The room fell silent, the weight of her question hanging in the air. 

Confusion clouded your expression as you searched for the right words to respond. The idea of why you wear the blindfold had never crossed your mind, as it was just a part of your daily routine. After all, you were blind, and the blindfold didn't make much of a difference in your world of darkness. All you knew was that Suguru had made it clear that it should never be removed—and you had no desire to provoke him.

Nanako could sense your discomfort as she observed your tense body language. Worried that she may have touched a nerve, she inquired tentatively, “Are you okay mama? You seemed agitated...”

“Nanako...” Mimiko began, her own brows knitting in concern. “That’s quite a sensitive question, don't you think?” She spoke softly, trying to redirect the conversation. 

Realizing her misstep, Nanako quickly shook her head and apologized, burying her face in the crook of your neck, her features partially obscured by your hair. “Ah.. I’m sorry mama! I didn’t realized that i was being insensitive...”

“It's okay,” you reassured her awkwardly, letting out a nervous chuckle as you cleared your throat.

“You’re not mad?” She asked, her voice soft and vulnerable as she pulled away from you, her eyes wide and pleading. Her puppy eyes looked up at you, brimming with an innocence that would have probably tugged at your heartstrings—only if you could see it.

“Hm..? ‘course not, don’t worry," you assured her, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“‘S fine, really,” you said, your tone calm and reassuring.

“Ah.. right, about your previous question...Well, the reason I wear the blindfold is because Suguru told me to.”

“Huh..? Why would Geto-sama want you to wear a blindfold?”

Nanako’s perplexed tone cut through the air like a sharp blade, her confusion palpable. In her mind, she had painted Suguru as one who adored gazing into one’s eyes, the windows to one’s soul. But now, she couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind concealing them, especially when blindness couldn’t erase the existence of your eyes.

“I... Don’t know...” you trailed off as the room fell into an uneasy silence.

The silence was eventually shattered by Mimiko’s voice, breaking through the tension.

“Geto-sama says that you have the prettiest eyes that he has ever seen.” she chimed in, her gaze flitting between you and Nanako. A subtle shift in her posture saw her abandoning her spot on your lap, choosing instead to perch on the plush mattress.

“Huh? Geto-sama saw mama’s eyes?” Nanako asked, looking flabbergasted.

“Nanako, He’s her husband.” Mimiko reminded her twin sister.

“Right...”

“But then.. if he likes your eyes so much, why would he want you to hide them?” Mimiko’s words cut through the haze of confusion.

Your brows drew together, shoulders slightly slouching.

“I suppose that remains a mystery,” you finally replied, your voice laced with a tinge of curiosity and apprehension.

Mimiko and Nanako studied you curiously, wondering what your eyes truly looked like. Were they as beautiful as Suguru had described? However, they had never been permitted to remove your blindfold, and they weren’t the type to disobey Suguru. Despite their bratty tendencies, they were obedient. 

But then, What secrets actually lay behind that blindfold? They were tempted to take a look, Yet, the girls remained restrained by their loyalty to Suguru, reluctance staining their disobedient thoughts. 

“Perhaps he prefers it that way?” you mused, resting your head on your palms and propping your elbow on your thigh.

“I’m not really sure, if i’m gonna be honest.. he just likes it that way i guess.”

“I can’t even remember how I lost my vision too.”

You had no recollection of how you lost your sight, as your memories seemed to have vanished without a trace. All you knew was that Suguru was your husband, and he claimed that you had lost your memories due to your immune system attacking your eyes. 

According to him, your immune system had somehow identified your eyes as a threat, leading to inflammation and damage that resulted in your blindness. He insisted that there was a scientific basis for this too, as the immune system would attack the eye once it recognized its existence.  

And ofcourse, as the dumb little thing you are, you Believed him.

“Mama, are you okay?” Mimiko’s concerned voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, drawing your attention. 

You compose yourself, managing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you reassure her softly.

Nanako’s eyes are searching, her worry palpable. “Are you sure?” she presses gently.

You can’t help but be touched by their concern, feeling a warmth blossoming in your chest. Meeting their gazes, you offer another smile.

“I promise, my loves, I truly am okay,” you say, a hint of laughter in your voice as you reach out to embrace them both. 

A surge of gratitude sweeps over you as you hold them close, basking in their presence.

“Having you two by my side and a husband who supports me tirelessly every day, I couldn’t ask for more,” you whisper.

“Life is tough, but atleast i have you all.”

Dumb little you was so oblivious and didn’t knew that suguru was the reason why your life was tough.

If only you had been aware that he was the mastermind behind all of this. He orchestrated the entire scheme that led to your memory loss and deceived you into believing he was your husband. It was also because of him that you lost your sight, although you were too dumb to realize it at the time. 

Suguru was deeply enamored with you and the two of you were once in a romantic relationship. However, when you decided to break up with him, his feelings of love turned into obsession. He resorted to disturbing and dangerous tactics to make sure you stayed with him—Such as manipulating and drugging you, all in the name of his overwhelming love for you as he was unable to bear the thought of losing you.  

It may have been your mistake to allow him into your life, however. Perhaps if you had declined Satoru’s invitation to hang out with him and Suguru, you would have never crossed paths with him. Maybe if you had refused to give Suguru your number or declined the love letters he presented, things would be different.

You wouldn’t be in this situation.

After embracing the girls tightly, you gently released them and affectionately patted their heads. Your expression brightened as you spoke,

“I’ll just show you how they look like to satisfy your curiosity, ‘kay?”

Nanako and Mimiko both eagerly nodded in agreement.  

“I bet they’re really pretty just as Geto-Sama says!” Nanako says and Mimiko nods in agreement.

“.. Suguru shouldn’t mind, at least I hope not,” you muttered under your breath.

With a deliberate motion, you gently lifted the blindfold with a slender finger, allowing just a sliver of sight for Mimiko and Nanako to catch a glimpse of your eyes. The room grew eerily silent as the two girls eagerly leaned in, their gazes fixed upon your mysterious orbs.

However, what they beheld was beyond their wildest imaginations, shattering their preconceived notions. Their eyes widened in disbelief, their pupils constricting in shock as a chilling wave of fear washed over them. Their jaws slackened.

Your eyes were tightly sewn together by a thick black thread infused with cursed energy. The thread was so tightly wound, and your eyelids were merged together, giving the appearance of eyes belonging to a puppet with carefully stitched features.

That was when they realized that you weren’t actually blind.

Nanako’s throat constricted as a strangled gasp clawed at her lips, her heart hammering violently against her ribcage. Mimiko’s body tensed, a tremor coursing through her frame as her eyes widened in sheer horror.

Suguru’s presence seemed to loom unnoticed until that moment, as he loitered casually by the door, propped against the wall with a nonchalant air, his head cocked to one side, observing them with a detached interest.

He was just there the whole moment you three were talking, completely silent and just watching.

A shiver ran down the two girl’s spines as their gazes collided. Suguru’s lips curled up in a knowing smirk, his ice-cold eyes staring at them as he brought a finger to his own lips as he mouths something.

“Can you keep a secret?”

[fanfiction4sooya]

Pretty Pet (Sana x F!Reader)

Had fun writing this one! Hope you guys enjoy as much as me 💖💖💖

tw: mean stepmom sana, dog leash, pet names, fingering, fisting, oral sex, nipple play, mentions of breeding, cheating, stepcest!, squirting, etc.

You hated her . Oh, you despised Minatozaki Sana with your whole being. That vile, evil woman.

"She took my necklace dad, I know it!" You told your father for the tenth time already, glaring at her. "She knows I only take it off to swim, that's when she took it from me!" Your eyes were full of tears, but you wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing them fall.

"It's enough!" Your dad's voice echoed trough the walls of the mansion, startling you. "Don't say those things about your stepmother, she doesn't deserve this" He shouted and she held his shoulder to calm him down.

"Please, don't shout at her" She said, softly. "She is stressed about college, it's okay" Her voice was like honey, but her eyes had this mockery in them. "I'll help her find it ok?" She said and his eyes softened. "When we find it, she'll apologize and everything will be ok, don't worry" He backed down.

"Okay, darling" He turned to her. "Please, excuse my daughter's behavior" He kissed her knuckles and all you could do was watch as that snake hugged your dad. "Her deceased mother gave her that, she is just desperate" She shook her head, letting him go and taking both of your hands on hers. You almost pushed her, but you knew it would only add fuel to your father's anger.

"We'll find it together, don't worry baby" Her condescending tone made you recoil in disgust.

You kept searching, turning the house upside down and she "helped". Of course you knew she took it but you still hoped for it to be somewhere else.

On the third day of searching your dad had to leave for an emergency work trip, advising you that he wouldn't tolerate any sign of trouble between you and his new wife. You just accepted your fate, realizing that you would do anything to have your necklace back. Even if that meant set her up.

"Sana" You knocked on her office's door, she was staring at a book. Her eyes darted to you, a smile appearing on her pink lips.

"yes, baby" She said, lowering the book and going to meet you halfway, her frame quite taller than yours.

"I know you took my necklace..." You told her, staring at those eyes you hated. "Look, I won't tell anything to my dad but please, please give it back" You tearfully said. She pouted, taking your hand.

"I never took your necklace, baby" She smiled. "Please, understand this" Her eyes went to your hand, taking your phone and stopping the recording. "Do you really think I am that stupid, pet?" She whispered on your ear, angering you even more. "I was about to make a deal, but you had to piss me off..." She passed you, sitting on the leather couch of her office and crossing her legs.

"No, please" You pleaded kneeling in front of her, clutching her jeans as a tear dropped from your right eye. "I'll do anything, give you anything Sana, please" You told her, touching her knee with your forehead in order to hide your tears.

"Oh..." She cooed, petting your head. "Anything? Really?" You nodded, looking up at her sly smile, sniffling a little. She lifted your face by the chin, squeezing a bit to bring your face close to hers. She analysed your soft features from your forehead, cheek bones, eyes, everything. "Alright then" She breathed out, letting your face go. "Meet me at my room tonight"

Her face was serious, scarily so. You nodded.

🌸

You realized none of the housekeepers were at home, so it was just the two of you. The realization sent chills down your spine, the thought of Sana hurting you made you anxious. The door was half open and you could see her back turned to you as she was sat in front of her dressing table. Her eyes averted to your figure standing there through the mirror.

"Come inside" She said, looking down to her lap. You did so, a little bit lost at why you were there. She stared at you again, still not turning around, you could see her pupils were blown, her eyes staring at you as if you were her prey. "Will you really do anything I want?" She said, getting up and walking towards you.

"Yes" You said, your voice a bit shaken. She took your answer in, nodding.

"You are going to undress now" Your eyes widened a bit, trying to process what she had just said. "What? You are going to protest now?" She said, cocking an eyebrow.

"I..." You looked down to your feet, heat rising to your cheeks.

"If you don't want to, it's okay then" She traced one slender finger on your shoulder, over your pijama top. "I'll throw that pretty little necklace away" You opened your mouth to protest, frowning at her, but the way she looked at you felt like she was ready to really throw it away so you just shut it.

Looking down, you slowly pulled your top over your head, your breasts on full display for her view; doing the same to your shorts, you stood there only on your white cotton panties.

"Look up, puppy" Her voice sounded strained, out of breath. You were finally realizing what she wanted, that white lingerie under her robe was the last hint. "I told you to look up" She said firmly and you finally did. "That's better..." She stepped forward, putting something around your neck.

A pink dog collar and a leash.

"Sana..." You held her wrist, your heart thumping on your chest . "What you are doing to my father is wrong" You gulped, trying to reason with her.

"You are still thinking about him?" Her breath fanned over your face, heat rising from her body to yours. You shivered when her breasts touched yours so she would talk on your ear. "Just remember that your daddy chose to believe me over you, pet" She cocked her head to the side, taking in your scent. "He took my side, not yours" She smiled, staring at your lips. "You want your necklace back, I'll give it back..." Her voice sounded poisonous now. "But you have to be a good puppy for me" She pulled the leash down hard and you whimpered, clasping your hand over your lips when realization hit.

"I'm sorry"

Why were you apologizing for? Whimpering? Feeling aroused when the woman you clearly hated was basically fucking you with her eyes? Are you sorry for what you were about to do with your father? You were taken from your own mind when her laugh hit your ears.

"Don't apologize" She said, pulling down again. You wanted to scream, run away. But you really wanted your necklace back and her gaze made you freeze on the spot. "Take off your panties, puppy" She sat down on the bed behind her, her feet still touching the ground.

Slowly you did as she told, covering yourself. Her eyes danced around your naked body, they had this certain amused glint; perverted, scary, shaming... arousing.

"You have no idea what I felt when I saw you for the first time, puppy" She said, tossing her head back to take a deep breath. Her gaze came back even darker. "I fucked myself over and over for days just thinking about this very moment" She tossed her robe aside, now her fit body was only in that white lingerie set.

"You are crazy" You said, earning a hard pull of the leash.

"Don't talk to me like that" Her demeanor changed. Suddenly she got rough, serious. "On your knees, now" You did as she told, shivering. "See? You are a good pup, after all" She leaned forward.

Taking off her lingerie she sat back down, fully exposed to you now with her legs crossed. Your eyes lingered on hers, a silent battle as you tried hard to fight the thought of her naked body making you feel anything other than disgust.

She opened her legs and you closed your eyes, turning your head down as a deep blush covered your cheeks.

"Don't" She said, pulling on the leash and making you lose balance. "Don't close your eyes. Watch me" Her voice felt like a wake up call, an alluring alarm.

You opened your eyes, gulping when she presented her dripping cunt to you, her fingers spreading her pussy lips for your eyes only. You didn't wanted to, but were one hundred percent sure she knew how you were feeling. Your breathing was shallower, your pupils a lot more wide than before.

"Come here puppy, make me feel good" She said circling her hard clit with her middle finger, licking her lips. You couldn't move, millions of thoughts going through your mind as she pulled the leash.

You were literally facing her cunt from above, the smell of her arousal made your head spin. Sinful, delightful. With a little resistance, you put your tongue out, looking at her face as your tongue finally made shy contact with her dripping core. She moaned loudly and you closed your eyes tasting that strange, yet delicious taste.

You felt her getting restless above you, her eyes trained on your pretty face as you kitten licked her clit. Pulling your face closer to her cunt by the leash, she panted.

"You'll have to work hard for your necklace puppy" She told you. "Whether I give it back or not will depend on how well you serve me" She shivered when you whined against her pussy. If you had to work hard you would.

With a flick of your tongue on her clit you realized how Sana was aroused by anything you did, she literally just wanted to sodomize you, just make you bend to her wishes; so you literally just started to sloppily make out with her pussy. Your nose brushed against her clit as your tongue swirled around her slit, pressing your whole face against it.

"Good girl" She rolled her eyes, trapping you there with her thighs. It felt hot and so arousing the fact that she would literally take anything you gave her, even if you had no experience in it. You shivered, your own pussy dripping with how well she praised you. "That's it puppy, keep kissing my pussy" She pulled the leash so hard you were suffocating but you didn't wanna stop. "I'm gonna cum on your face puppy, keep your tongue there" Her eyebrows were knit together, her angelic features softening as her cum gushed on your tongue, dripping down to your chin and breasts.

You kept slurping, closing your eyes as you felt your own pussy clench hard, completely deafening you. It was as if her orgasm had triggered yours and you started to shake violently, moaning against Sana's core. You kept shaking with your face deeply buried on her wet cunt, her surprised eyes completely blown with how she stared at you.

"Did you just came untouched, puppy?" She pulled your leash, lifting you to face her. Embarrassed, you whined closing your eyes. "No no, don't feel embarrassed" She squeaked, kneeling in front of you to shove her tongue in your throat. "That is the hottest thing I'v ever seen, fuck"

Her kiss felt sinful, deep. Maybe the sin was to cheat on your father with his daughter, but at that very moment the sin was that she hadn't done it before. Her tongue danced against yours, moving freely and both of you moaned when she held your face with both hands to suck on your tongue.

You were at her mercy, your body shaking from the orgasm and how she touched you. You were literally just passive, letting Sana do whatever she pleased.

"Sana..." you moaned when her boobs pressed against yours, brushing up and down. Your eyes locked with hers for a moment, then her beautiful jaw slid against yours as she grazed your faces like a cat demanding affection.

"Pretty little pup" She closed her eyes, your tits pressing against hers felt crazy arousing. "I wish I could breed you" She whispered on your ear, her hands caressing on your torso to stop on your pussy, her fingers pressing over your engorged clit. "I would impregnate you baby, make you forever mine" She was talking nonsense by now, you thought.

But she was serious, damn right she was. If Sana had a natural cock she would breed you over and over, let you dripping with her cum so you would have to carry her baby, her possessiveness growing when she thought about it.

"I would fuck you so full, puppy" she kissed you again, your pussy throbbing against her fingers. She pressed the tip of two of them on your slit and you screamed, struggling to hold back. Your arms circled her neck, bringing her frame back to touch yours.

You were so wet the sound coming from your pussy embarrassingly loud. Your hips moved against her fingers, your mind only thought about one thing.

"Mommy, mommy!" Your eyes were doe and teary, making her shiver.

"Oh my fucking god" She rolled her eyes upon hearing that. Time stopped for her to hear you again. Her fingers slammed back into your puffy pussy, now she pressed three fingers. "Mommy please oh fuck" you cried out, feeling that desperate hunger for your orgasm.

She felt so good against you that you wanted to cry. The two of you wanted the same thing, to merge together in one body.

Sana pulled your hand to her mouth, spitting on it, then caressing her own wet cunt with it.

"Fist me" she told you, still roughly fucking your cunt. You gasped, feeling goosebumps on your scalp; that thought felt sinful and unreal.

"I'm - it's gonna hurt" You moaned when she curled her fingers up on your g-spot.

"Do it puppy, don't worry" she guided your hand, both of you looking down at her slit.

Slowly, she stretched her own pussy with your fingers, four at a time. Your eyes widened and hers closed slightly, you sitting in front of each other gave full view for the other. She guided your thumb to her hole as well, pulsing when you pushed it in by yourself. She closed her eyes, her movements stopping.

"Mommy" you whined, scared that was hurting her. That didn't feel real, something you thought it only happened in porn. You gulped, drooling at the sight of her cunt fully stretched for you. She started to hump up, moving her hips against your first.

"Look what you do to me" She moaned, back to roughly fucking you. She kissed you, her tongue everywhere on your face. Sloppy. Fuck. "I'm so full puppy, fucking hell" She said as you started to move your fist without her bucking her hips.

It was rough and raw and oh, so wet.

"Mommy I'm cumming" You cried out, biting her lips with strange force when her thumb went to your clit.

"Come for me puppy, my baby" She kept her eyes wide open when she felt you clench of her three fingers, creaming on them. Her gaze well trained on your beautiful face as you contorted in pleasure. "Fuck fuck fuck" she screamed, squirting again when your fist reached deep into her.

Both of you stopped, shaking too much to do anything more than pant on each other's lips. She took her fingers off of your pussy and you gasped.

"I had never done this..." you managed to tell her. "three fingers felt good... too much" you whined and she pulled your fist from inside of her as well. Her fingers on your mouth and she licked your fist clean, moaning upon tasting herself.

"Next time..." She kissed your neck, hugging you against her. "Next time I'll make you take way more than three fingers puppy" She caressed your hair, not caring for how wet both of you were. She kissed your cheek. "Now you are mine, ok?" She told you. "Only mine" She whispered.

"my necklace..." you whined and she smiled.

"I was going to give it back puppy, I don't wanna make you cry" She pulled your sore body from the floor to her and your dad's bed. "Mommy just wanted your attention, okay?" she pulled the covers above your body, spooning you. "I'll give it back, don't worry"

You nodded, body light as a feather. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to relax on Sana's arms.

"Mommy what about my dad?" You asked her, almost drifting off to sleep. She sighed.

"If we want to keep doing this, you'll have to keep quiet puppy" She told you. "Wanna know a secret?" she whispered.

"Yes, please" Your voice sounded small, sleepy.

"I married him for you" Her voice sounded sweet, sweet enough for you to ignore the obvious red flag on that statement.

You smiled, Sana knew how to mess with your head.

-🌸

The other day when you woke up, you weren't wearing the collar anymore; instead, you felt your mom's necklace around your neck and Sana's body possessively holding you close, completely asleep.

When your dad came home he felt the happiest man alive with his two favorite girls getting along so well.

You even started calling Sana "mommy".

[amoreva]

GHOST IN THE WIND

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pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: after a rough turnout of the quest assigned to you, you began to see your ex-boyfriend as the poison slowly kills you.

warnings: angst, post luke betrayal, poisoning, mentions of effects of poison

a/n: so sorry, was taking a slight break on requests for this fic and the fic series that is in the works. I promise i will answer the requests at some point.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

“Medic!” The door to the medical cabin slammed open. The door knob made a hole in wooden walls at Annabeth’s strength. “Will…”

She rasped out, carrying your dead weight. Your breath coming in short bursts as if your lungs couldn’t hold any more air. Veins darkened to the color of night, crawling up your flesh like a parasite itching to take over the host.

“Oh my gods…” Will Solace, head counselor of Apollo Cabin, gasped and helped you onto one of the uncomfortable cots.

You were mumbling nonsense as black liquid dribbled out of your mouth. Will called out your name, desperately trying to grab your attention. Annabeth was standing over you, concerned.

“Oh gods! Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!” The other Apollo kid on duty piped up, scrambling to find the ambrosia. It was scary how you looked.

It was like something from the Underworld took hold of your body. There was a puncture wound on your abdomen, which was the probable entrance for the poison.

“Hey, hey—stay conscious for me, okay?” Will spoke as your vision began to get cloudy. He can see you withering away and demanded for information.

“Will…” You managed to croak out. Your friend looked at you with worry, to see the brightest camper succumb to an unknown illness was…bone-chilling.

“Don’t sleep—just don’t black out.” Will muttered as you tasted your favorite fruits as ambrosia slid down your throat easily. “Please…I don’t know if you’ll wake up—”

You were out like a light. The ambrosia combating the poison overwhelmed your body. It was too much for your mind to even find a sliver of energy to try and stay conscious.

Your name was shouted, but sleep pulled you away from the medical cabin and throwing you into a different scene.

It was dark, like you were walking in an empty void. “Judgement.”, you think. You must’ve died and was waiting to get judged on whether you can enter Elysium or not.

What a shitty death. Dying from poison, it wasn’t hero worthy nor significant to a war. Just death to some ghastly poison that you were careless to figuring out what it was.

But…it’s not Judgement. It’s not because you see him. He’s walking around in clothes you last remember him in. Orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, khaki pants and sneakers. The beads on his necklace moving each time he walked.

You know he isn’t dead. He Iris-messaged you yesterday to apologize for his betrayal. He can’t be dead. You wouldn’t have it.

“Luke!” You tried to call out, but no sound is made from your mouth. It terrified you. You tried to scream your lover’s (ex-lover’s) name again as you saw claws wrap around Luke from the ground and drag him in.

You tried to scream his name again, running to him, but your legs felt like sludge. He stared at you indifferently, accepting his reality—maybe…maybe just maybe you could save him if you run fast enough.

He slipped between your fingers. His chocolate curls disappearing into the floor of whatever abyss you’re in. You let out a silent, dry sob. If…if you had just noticed sooner…you could’ve saved him.

The same hands wrap around your limbs, tugging you down into the floor. Crying out for help, your heart tightened as if someone had a grip on it—squeezing ever last bit of life out. A sharp pull engulfed you into the void.

You gasped deeply. Body launching forward as you grabbed at your chest. You expected the familiar wood floors of the medical cabin or even Will’s warm smile, but…you were on Half-Blood Hill.

Soft, calloused hands were gently placed in your spine. It doesn’t take an Athena kid to figure out who it was.

“You alright?” His deep warm tone filled your head making yourself dizzy. For moment…you allowed yourself to believe he was here, truly.

“Yeah.” You spoke, surprised to hear your voice again. What happened before becoming less and less memorable as you turned to look at Luke.

“You can tell me, y’know? What’s bothering you.” Luke reassured and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

A familiar smile graces your lips, allowing yourself to relax, you lean up against his chest. “I know.” You mumbled as his toned arms wrap around you. “I just…miss you.”

“Miss me? I’m hardly ever away from you.” Luke playfully teased.

The breeze blew against the two of you causing Luke to squeeze you a little tighter. You always claimed he was a human body heater.

Everything dropped. Faded in an all too quick manner before you could even scream for Luke. He was ripped away from you—but you were supposed to be in his arms.

“Hey! She’s up!” Someone called out.

You mind felt fuzzy. Mumbles, moans and groans tumbled out of your lips. You felt like you were outta your own skin—you jerked. Uncomfortable with this sudden irritation.

Annabeth yelped. The sudden reaction from you almost hit her in the face. Another groan of discomfort and pain escaped. Accompanied by it was another struggle to get whatever was out of your body.

To you, it felt like you were shifting a little to get comfortable. In reality, your body was violently twitching and reacting you hit a few Apollo kids. The veins darker than before, your skin paler than usual. What did this poison do?

“Get her—restrain…I—” Will demanded, worried you’d end up hurting yourself.

You screamed as something grabbed you, someone grabbed you. Your brain could only register it as danger and hurt and agony and—

“Stop it—!” You begged. Your voice sounded demented, as if it was the poison talking.

Black liquid oozed out of your mouth as you begged for whatever to stop. Ambrosia was forced down your throat. Lights were too bright. The panic was defeating.

You fell.

But you felt no pain.

It was “Judgement” again. The endless void surrounding the distinct figure, you. “There you are…” Luke grinned once he spotted you. Your legs carrying you to the Hermes’ counselor before you could think of the action.

The void morphed into the familiar forest used to play Capture the Flag. Luke laced his hand with yours. “S’just up ahead.” He tugged you along.

Once more, you let yourself relax like this was the reality that fate has set and not one where Luke betrayed Camp, betrayed Percy, betrayed Annabeth, betrayed…you.

“Where are you taking me?” You laughed. A bright smile on your face as you maneuvered through the forest.

Slipping through the trees and branches, Luke brings you to the dock. The water washing up on the small beach.

A small cliche red and white checkered blanket laid out across the wooden dock, masking the potential splinters. There was chips and two soda cans on the blanket and six roses bunched up to make it look like a bouquet.

“Oh Luke…” Any confusion or anger evaporated when you saw the scene.

He smiled, smiled that charming grin and pulled you to sit down on the blanket. “Used up the rest of my money for the snacks and to bargain with a Demeter kid for these.”

He held up the six roses. The petals a delicate red, soft as a baby’s bum. They smelled nice. He went through all this effort for you?

“Luke…” You repeat in the same tone and took the roses from his hand. You noticed the thorns were cut off and a couple of band aids were around his fingers.

A show of his effort to rid the thorns so you didn’t prick your fingers.

“This…this is all wonderful.” You said, albeit a bit breathless. The roses, the snacks, the blanket—all the thought put into this date. It made you forget you were dreaming. You should’ve known…this was too good to be true.

But you stayed oblivious and in denial, tackling your (ex) boyfriend in a grateful hug. Luke laughed and wrapped your arm around your waist.

Yet, your subconscious pulled you from the happy moment. An uncomfortable feeling itching to tear your guts and organs to shreds. It was as if your own organs and nerves did not belong there—like they were in the wrong body. A warbled scream left your throat. Hands desperate to claw at your flesh.

You wanted it to stop—you would do anything to get this feeling to stop. Your heart breaking. To be ripped away from Luke again and again. In both subconscious and reality was cruel.

Your veins now tendrils crawling up your face, stopping just a little above your eyebrows.

“Hey, hey—breathe!” Someone comforted. You couldn’t recognize their face. It was like as if your sense of familiarity disappeared, triggering your fight or flight (mostly fight) response.

“Will—the antidote?!” A girl called out. Her voice somewhat familiar.

You struggled against binds. You wanted to run far, far away and stop this pain. The pain in your body, the pain in your mind…the agonizing ache in your heart.

“Luke—” The name left your lips desperate for any sort of answer to what was happening.

A small pinch.

Fire. White hot pain sprouting in your body. Burning your insides out. Another cry for help. Another scream of desperation. His name leaving your mouth. It hurt—it hurt all too much. Both the burning in your body and the reality of him being gone. Truly, gone.

“Luke! Please…please—help!”

Overwhelmed, you were sucked back into the dream. This time on a cabin bed. It was unclear on whose cabin you two were in. Luke had his arms around your waist, head on your stomach. The pain fleeting, but lingering.

The stars shined brights whilst the moonlight blessed you two. It was peaceful, almost…dare you say—normal. No gods, no goddesses, no prophecies, no quests, no betrayal, no hurt. Nothing.

You found yourself humming, running your fingers through his curls, and feeling your eyes close with fatigue.

“Falling asleep there, sweetheart?” You could feel his smile against your skin. He pressed a kiss to the flesh nearest to his lips.

“Mhm…” Your body flared up due to a burn—but there was no fire in the cabin. You stayed put. “I—I could spend all of eternity with you.”

“I could spend all of my time in Elysium with you.” Luke mumbled and turned his head to look up at you.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then his hands, so he was close to you. Lips connected like hands clasping for prayer. It was soft, yet it spoke a lot of words that he could not get out.

“I love you. Never forget that, okay?” Luke whispered against your lips.

His beaded necklace hovering over you. You placed your arms around his neck slowly and kissed him again. Never wanting the moment to stop.

Even then, you never had the courage to say those three simple words to Luke. Realizing this might be the last time you see him, dream or not. It made you sad he never heard it from you.

Maybe this will make up for it?

“I love you—I love you. I love you.” You repeated. Your voice shaky, holding back tears. This wasn’t real and you know it’s not real—but…you missed Luke. You missed him so much that it hurts. You didn’t believe he would betray Camp Half-Blood and you without Kronos’ manipulation.

“Hey…” Luke cupped your face and kissed your forehead. He grabbed your arms to sit up. It wasn’t good to cry laying down. “Don’t tear up. Everything will be okay, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you—?”

“I’m sorry, but you have the wake up.” Luke sighed and pressed his forehead with yours.

“Wait—“

“You have to wake up.” Luke grasped your hands. He held you as if this was the last time.

“What?”

“I love you very much and—and I’m so sorry for leaving you there—“

“Luke—wait!”

Your eyes shot up to be met with wooden walls of the medical cabin. Will and Annabeth shot up, ready to take necessary precautions. A dry sob left your mouth.

“Hey…” Will spoke softly.

You sat up, tears cascading down your face. You started to helplessly wipe them. You could feel his touch lingering. His hands grasping yours. Will pulled you into a soft hug when he deducted the poison was out of your system.

The mind is cruel, the poison was cruel. Fate was cruel, life was cruel.

You missed him.

You buried into Will as if it was him. Will and Annabeth thought you were crying because of the overwhelming feelings of what happened when you were poisoned.

You missed him.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[hanchette]

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( wind breaker characters )

a/n: i want suzuri to cook for me

consist of : fluff, gender neutral reader, established relationship — soft moments

𝐒𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐇𝐄𝐈, you're seated at the back of suzuri's workplace, one that you've called your own with how much you frequent here to visit your boyfriend. he's just as dedicated to his job as you've known him since.

known to never half-assing anything when he can do his best to do it.

and that's why you're here now, suzuri had done his best cooking a meal, one that is wrapped up in a container that he has bought for the two of you—one that he had prepared meticulously with despite his rather clumsy fingers.

"ow." he reacted, although his tone was too flat for you to discern whether he really felt that anyway. nevertheless, you murmured an apology. "sorry."

suzuri kept quiet, allowing you to map the little wounds littered all over his hands as you bandage them with the little ones that possess cute prints.

"i am always worrying you, aren't i?" suzuri breathes out, eyes trained on your hand as you help him patch up.

"you do." you admit, ever since you've met him, ever so self less and kind—so much that he forgets about himself until tsubaki and nakamura found him where he change, albeit slowly.

suzuri breathes through his nose, as soon as you placed the final bandage on his finger, suzuri allows his body to slump forward, his forehead pressing on your hand like he is bowing towards you.

"i promise to do better so you won't then." he mouths against the back of our hand, warm breath fanning your skin as you look down at the man whom dedicated his life towards you.

"how so?" you asked, eyes crinkling at the sides as you look at him—trailing the way his man bun looks good on him.

and his words came in sincerely, "i will practice hard to cook you a perfect meal and try to take care of myself better.. and yet.." he pauses, sucking in a breath, "and yet, at the same time, i don't want to."

your mouth parts, about to ask until he continues, "because I'll miss you patching me up like this."

you shake your head, finding his words silly. feeling how his lithe fingers, wider than your own but the roughness like holding a jagged rock tells about how much his life has been. searching for a place he can safely call home. and though the guys were his family, you were a semblance of what home is.

"shuhei," you call his name, lovingly, tenderly, and suzuri lifts his head, "i will always be with you, don't worry, i will patch you up whenever you need to, take care of you, and continue to love you."

with a smile, suzuri allow a breath of defeat, of course, you'll always be with him. he takes a hold of your hand, kissing the end of your ring finger, a smile etched on his lips.

"okay." was what he could only say.

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐀, "what are you?" now, in this same moment, takiishi holds your face in both hands, squishing your cheeks together, owlish eyes staring you down.

"y/n." you offer.

you're seated on his lap, as he had pulled you in when you were walking pass him, takiishi stayed silent, perhaps he did not accepted your answer, merely, staring you down with an intriguing look in his gaze.

he couldn't understand, how his heart would always ache when you're around, how his eyes would always be glued to your every move or how when you're not around, he would crave your presence besides him. and though it is a feeling that always leave him feeling bad about everything, the constant pinning needles that kinks his cold heart or the gnawing in his bones, takiishi would never forsaken this feeling.

endo had told him one time—that takiishi finds you intriguing.

takiishi continues to stare, remembering the moment he had sent endo on an errand to check on you, eager ear listening attentively to any updates on your situation.

you make him feel worse, but at the same time good.

"no." he finally answers, "you, what are you." he repeats his question.

just earlier, you were nothing but a babbling mess towards him, his fist propping his head up as he looks at the view. you're sitting on a terrace of an abandoned house that's situated at roof, a place he found—more like endo did.

topics and topics spewing from your lips until you find yourself laughing and giggling at your own story. which prompted to takiishi to shift his attention to you. bored, dull look placed on you as his free hand brushes your cheek gently. and now, you find yourself in this situation.

and now you're stuck looking at him, you couldn't place a word in, what is he asking of you? what he wants of needs to hear? ahh.. but you know him well enough now, enough to stay by his side.

"your s/o." you answer, watching as his dull gaze only seemingly soften, the stiff look in his eyes relaxing ever so slightly that it has your mind going blank, focus on the very little details that makes takiishi.. him.

you don't understand, somehow, why and how he feels so foreign right now. that nonchalant look still present but he's too- he's not the usual. it's weird, but at the same time, endearing.

"right." he nod once, his free hand going back, thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

you're not sure if it was the right answer, but it's enough, it seems, when his eyes stray from your to look at the view, not dull, but softer now.

𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔, "hehe, i am so happy you came to me for help." he smiles, stupidly pretty that your heart couldn't help but swoon. he's so beautiful.

"how could i not? you are the right person to come to." you tilt your head, tsubaki giggles in response, dragging the chair in front of you as you straighten in your seat, watching his fingers take a napkin from the stand to wipe your face.

"that's why i am happy."

tsubaki then preps your face, from the soft bristles that glides along your face to the little sponges that press against your skin. "you're so pretty, y/n-chan." he compliments you, watching the color from the brush dust your eyelids.

"thank you.." you croaked out, honestly, you still can't believe you managed to date someone like tsubaki—someone so kind, sweet, and tantalizingly soft when it comes to the matters of the heart. "but you're more pretty than me tsubaki-chan."

you can hear small giggles from his lips, maybe you were making a weird expression? ahhh whatever, at least you made him laugh.

"really now?" his eyes crinkle in delight, "that's odd, why do i find you the most beautiful then?" he pressed a sweet peck on the tip of your nose.

perhaps you would need make up anymore, tsubaki muses, watching the way your eyes go wide and feel the warmness creeping in your face with his hand. "hm? y/n-chan is feeling shy in me now?" he teases, pinching your cheek.

"i suppose you won't need a blush now, am i right? then, the only thing that's missing is your lipstick."

before you could reply, tsubaki shows you his collection of lipsticks, from gloss, matte to tints with various colours, allowing you to choose whatever you want.

until you settle on one that you like.

tsubaki giggles, head tilting slightly, and his long hair following the gesture in a flawless motion.

"close your eyes and pucker your lips." he instructs you, you raised a brow, why would you need to close your eyes if he's applying it to your lips?

and it seems like your face is an open book, your beloved immediately responding, "c'mon, it's a surprise."

and so you did.

your senses heightening with the loss of your eye sight, hearing the cap of the lipstick open and waiting for it to be pressed on your lips.

what you thought would be cold and hard was instead, warm and soft.

familiar that it has you closing your eyes shut, thinking that it is merely an imagination you are feeling, until you feel tsubaki's hand wrap around the side of your neck, his thumb angling your head.

and you feel the pressure deepen.

it wasn't until soon that you feel him parting, your lips chasing what was on them, eyes fluttering open to look at tsubaki—his usual meticulously put on lipstick smudged, and the color is similar to the one you just picked earlier.

"ahh, i messed up on putting it on you, maybe we should try again?"

𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎, he closes his eyes, feeling the way your fingers rake through his hair, these are one of the beautiful moments in his life—and though yamato endo lives for the thrill and the chase he use to do, he also lives here in this moment, in your arms. the two of you usually sleeping in this particular time of the day.

"hey, let's do something fun." he hums, thoughts pushing each other like a train without a brake.

"define fun."

"maybe we should invite takiishi." endo hums, opening one eye to see you looking at him, sporting a scrunched face at the call of his friend's name. "no way." watching you flat out disagree made endo pout, for someone infamous for his fighting skills and terrifying actions, he acts like a kicked puppy towards you in the span of your relationship with him.

"takiishi and fun is fun, ya know?" endo offers, trying to change your mind as he shifts in place from your arms to lay his chin on your chest, eyes still trained on you with intent.

you pursed your lips, squinting at your boyfriend who merely chuckles at the sight of your expression, though takiishi is a good companion—in a way, you don't like how endo always sports an injury after coaxing him for something.

"kidding." endo jokes, kissing your collarbone before nipping at the skin below it, "a' know ya' don't like that, hehe."

his eyes are crescent in shape as he grins at you from below, sneaky and naughty fingers trailing from your side to under your shirt. "endo."

"yeah?"

"stop that."

your words will always be his command, endo sighs, taking off his hand from you only to lift himself up so he can see you face to face. "you're no fun." he murmurs, lowering himself to plant kisses on your lips.

and though no matter how calloused his hands are, how dry his lips is, and how rough he is. endo is gentle.

gentle with the way he never gives you too much of his lips, hovering, small little pecks to keep you chasing but never waiting. "but a' like ya'." he mouths through your lips, hand coming to guide your nape.

"endo.."

and endo, he's a relentless. "ya want me to stop?" his words are soft, never a whisper at that point, it wasn't to ask a question, but asking for your permission.

you nod, eyes fluttering as you watch him grin at you. "kay.." he agrees, pressing his forehead against yours.

there are moment that you just can't believe, how soft he could be. he's danger all around, sharp along the edges and one wrong move, you'll have to lay there bleeding and crying. but that never happens, with endo, you feel safe, you feel stupidly safe.

and like a drug instilled in your system, your fingers, smaller than his—softer than what his could ever be, trace the inks that line his skin, the way the drawings seem to come to life at every twitch of his muscle amazes your eyes, and yet, you favorite would be the infinity on his neck.

"stay like this for a few." endo breathes, closing his eyes and plopping his heavy body on yours like a heavy blanket.

"i thought you wanted fun?" you question, lips tilting as you watch him.

"later." he replies.

he only says that, because he wants to feel more of your touch, soothing the ache in his soul and guiding him to a paradise he calls you. "for now, i want this." he muffled out through the soft pillows.

[svearehnn]

black violets and baby's breath | modern!azriel x bridesmaid!reader

summary: feyre and rhys are finally getting married! the tension between you and azriel is palpable.

a/n: part two will be coming soon! once i get my essay done lmao. i hope you enjoy! (i didn’t edit this apologies)

Cobalt blue hugged your form in a silky sheen, falling just above your white ankle heels. You let out a shuttering breath as you smoothed the fabric down, fiddling with the sparkling jewelry that adorned your ears, wrists, and neck. 

You were nervous. Feyre was getting married, your best friend. It was so thrilling to be apart of her wedding party, but you couldn’t help the racing of your heart at the thought of being escorted down the aisle by none other than Azriel, your long term crush and childhood friend. You eyed yourself in the mirror. It was obvious that you looked stunning–cobalt was your color, and a polished look seemed to compliment your angelic fae-like features.

However, you couldn’t find it within yourself to step out of the room. You chuckled sardonically to yourself, fluffing your hair, reapplying your lip gloss, doing anything to delay your inevitable exit. You weren’t even the bride, yet it felt as though you had pre-wedding jitters.

A knock sounded on the door, and you closed your eyes. One deep breath in, out through your mouth, and you opened the oak door. Mor stood on the other side, her brown eyes dazzling.

“You ready?” She squealed, excitement palpable in her buzzing form. You nodded hesitantly and took her hand. She squeezed it, a comforting gesture that helped soothe your rampant nerves.

“It’ll be okay. Az is going to think you’re beautiful. I mean, he always does, but goddamn do you look like a goddess right now.” That forced a giggle from your throat, prompting a smile to form on Mor’s striking features.

“There’s that gorgeous smile! Now come on.” Your blonde friend dragged you down the stairs, causing you to stumble in your heels. Once you got to the wooden staircase, you descended hand in hand. Nerves encased your soul, bees buzzing and stinging in your stomach. 

Yet, once you rounded the curve of the stairs and your eyes locked on Azriel’s hazel ones, all the nerves seemed to fade away. His eyes widened, brows raising, lips turning upward in an imperceptible smile that only you could catch. You bowed your head, cheeks aflame as you continued your decline. 

Mor had disappeared, arms wrapped around Emerie, leaving you alone with the railing gripped between bone white fingertips. Azriel outstretched his hand and you took it gingerly, letting him guide you down the last few steps and onto the natural wooden floors of Feyre and Rhys’ River House.

The two of you stood like that for a moment, no words exchanged, just drinking each other in. Azriel wore a black tux, a cobalt tie adorning his neck, accentuating the tattoos that peeked through the black collar of his shirt. His ears held their signature silver hoops and secondary studs, his fingers adorned with bands of silver and stone. He had slicked back his dark hair and it looked nice, yet all you wanted to do was muss it up to its usual messy demeanor.

Azriel spoke first, licking his lips and smacking them before he spoke. “You look…wow. Just phenomenal, Little Star.” He hummed, appreciation coating his tone. He raised your hand, twirling you around in a slow circle, eyeing the slit that went up to your hip and the low V that showed off your collarbones. The blush that filled your features warmed your skin to a feverish glow from his compliments.

“You look wonderful yourself, Azriel.” You murmured, looking him up and down slowly, drinking in every aspect, every detail of the godly male in front of you. He smirked, biceps flexing ever so slightly beneath the fabric of his tux. He held out the crook of his arm as the music began to filter in through the hallway, signaling the start of the ceremony.

“Are you ready, my beautiful bridesmaid?” You accepted his arm gratefully, unusually quiet within this newfound adoration that he was throwing at you.

“Lead the way, my handsome groomsman.” You replied, swallowing thickly. His arm was rock hard beneath your touch, an obvious indication of his and Cassian’s daily gym ventures.

The two of you walked arm in arm to the french doors that lead to the backyard wedding that Feyre and the rest of the wedding party had set up beautifully.

Cassian and Nesta led the line, the oldest Archeron dressed in a stunning dark red dress that matched Cassian’s tie. Then came Elain and Lucian in sparkling gold akin to the setting sun. Mor and Emerie followed, adorned in midnight purple. Behind them trailed Amren and Varian in their signature North Sea blue.

At the strike of the piano, Azriel gave you a small smile and stepped forward, leading you through the glass doors. The sun was blinding, but even through your squinted eyes you could see the flower arch at the alter filled with calla lilies and black violets, baby’s breath dotted in between. You and Azriel floated on a walkway of white peony petals, eyes hardly leaving each other’s, unable to stop drinking each other in.

It was as if a tension had electrified the air between the two of you the second he had set his sights on you when you meandered down the staircase. Your heart was a doldrum in your chest, begging to break through your ribs, taut and strained. As if Azriel could sense your trepidation, he squeezed your arm in a comforting touch.

He leaned down, breath against your ear, the smell of cedar encompassing your senses. “Breathe, Little Star.” You did as told, lungs expanding, nerves unfolding into the atmosphere and disappearing on the wind. Azriel’s thumb traced patterns into the skin of your forearm, soothing you further.

Your eyes left his, landing on Rhys at the altar. His eyes were alight, a slight smirk on his lips. He glanced between you and Azriel with a raised brow. A blush rose on your cheeks. His smirk widened, shoulders peacocking as though he knew he was right. Which, he usually was, you thought. You wouldn’t dwell on it–at least, not now. It was Feyre’s day, not yours.

The song came to an end as you and Azriel reached the dais, parting to reach your respected positions with you on the left and him on the right. As you turned, he grabbed your hand, extending your arm and bringing it up to press a kiss to the soft skin. Without another word he turned, leaving you stunned. Mor had to pull you to her side, her excitement palpable.

“Oh my gods!” She exclaimed, but you hardly heard her as the music started back up and the doors opened. Feyre stepped out, her black dress sparkling in the sun. Sheer fabric covered her arms and her her chest, flowing down into an intrinsic pattern of swirls similar to that of hers and Rhys’ tattoos. It was skin tight down to her knees, the skirt billowing out below, covering her black heels. She looked exquisite. It was impossible for you to take your eyes off of her, and if you were able to look around, you would notice that it was the same for everyone else.

When she reached the altar, Rhys took her hands, helping her up the marble steps with tears lining his waterline. They lined yours, as well.

Gwyn stood behind the couple, hands clasped in front of her, a smile etched onto her face. Words flowed out of her lips, Feyre and Rhys repeating every syllable as salty water flowed freely down their cheeks until the final I do.

Rhys dipped his wife in a passionate kiss, oblivious to the ovation happening around them from their closest friends. When they rose, Feyre raised her bouquet in the air, pride hanging heavy around her, a glow emanating from her skin.

Everyone rose in unison as if in prayer.

“To the new Mrs. and Mr. Carynthian!” Mor called out next to you, her voice carrying through the garden. Voices echoed after her, singing reverants to the newlyweds. As she walked back down the aisle, hand in hand with Rhys, bouquet in hand, everyone cheered as they passed. They congregated behind them, tears flowing, applause echoing through the space as if it were an ancient cathedral. 

Feyre stopped before she entered the house. She turned towards everyone, a grin plastered on her lips, a wink highlighting her stormy eyes. She threw her bouquet high up in the air. Hands reached up toward the Mother, itching to be the one to catch the bundle of violets. 

They fell gingerly into your waiting palms as if there was some kind of divine interference. You blinked slowly, locking eyes with Feyre. They sparked with mischief before her and Rhys disappeared behind the French doors. 

Your heart pulled taut again as you fiddled with the black petals, their touch akin to a feather within your fingertips. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the shadow towering over you until a hand landed on your chin, tilting your head so your eyes met Azriel’s. 

“How was that for a ceremony?” He asked, breathless, eyes wide, pupils dilated. You swallowed, chest fluttering.

“It was beautiful.” Your voice came out within less than a whisper. He smiled, one only reserved for you, as he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear. His hand stayed there for a moment before pulling back, as if he were debating about running his fingers along the length of your cheek.

“You caught the bouquet, too.” You glanced down at the flowers in question, their fragrant smell filtering through your lungs every time you inhaled. 

“I did. I don’t know why the universe gave it to me though, I’m not even close to getting married.” The words fell out of your mouth haphazardly before you could stop them. Azriel chuckled, hands shoved into his pockets, tensing within the linen slacks.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” Heat rose from your neck to your cheeks. You hadn’t, honestly. The only person you could dream of marrying was him, yet you knew that was far fetched. Even with the energy buzzing around the two of you, the idea would fade within a week. It was just the presence of a wedding, you thought. Nothing would change. Azriel’s hazel eyes were intense, gazing directly into your soul for what seemed like eternity until Mor bumped your arm.

“Come on! We have to get ready for the reception.” You smiled at him as Mor dragged you away by the arm, your eyes never leaving his even as you disappeared behind the same doors that Feyre did. As you and your blonde friend climbed the same steps you had descended only an hour ago, the thought of marrying Azriel swirled through your mind like a tornado, wreaking havoc on any other thought that was there. Maybe it was possible. Maybe Azriel was interested in you. Only time would tell, and maybe, at the reception, the tension between the two of you would lift and reveal the secrets that were hidden beneath hardened hearts.

tags: @kayjaywrites

[junedenim]

when you're so pretty and i'm so shy

when banging into somebody only leads to more banging

warnings: fluffy smut, fingering, eating, and the regular shmegular

word count: 3k

The first time Alex talks to you, he breaks your nose. You had known each other nearly your whole life but you lived on opposite sides of town and ran in different groups. The closest you ever came was when he sat two seats over from you in English and you passed a note to him once. Then, in physical education, during a rousing game of basketball, he crashes into you. You aren't even playing the game. 

You're standing on the sidelines, talking with Gemma, and paying little attention. Lost in gossip and the drama of Gemma's rivalry with Daphne Pritchett when the blur of Alex runs right smack into you. You hear the crack. You reach up and blood is pouring out. Your heart is pounding and your face is red but mostly you're too embarrassed to look up and make eye contact with anyone.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Are you okay? I'm sorry," Alex profoundly says. 

"Yeah," you mutter, even if it isn't true. You look up slowly at him.

"Shit," he whispers.

You panic and grab your nose. You wince in pain. "Is it bad? Am I missing a tooth or something?"

He shakes his head. "You're just...your nose...it's bleeding a little." A lot. There's a puddle on the floor and you can taste it, all metallic in your mouth.

"You broke her fucking nose!" Gemma shouts.

You cringe and curve your shoulders over. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry." He's all meek and he has his hand on your shoulder trying to soothe. You or him, you aren't sure? "I'll take you to the nurse. Right? You good to stand?"

You nod and gradually stand up with his help. Your teacher hands you a pile of tissues that you hold close to your face groaning in pain. Alex's hand is on your back trying to guide you the best he can.

"I'm sorry. I just...I wasn't looking. I was an idiot and, and—I don't know."

"Not perceiving?"

"Yeah, that." It's brought a smile to his face and that makes you feel better. You don't want him to hurt too. He's always been a sweet guy.

*

"It's broken."

"Fuck," Alex mutters. 

*

In the following days, with a piece of tape secured on the bridge of your nose and a bruise giving you an undereye coating, you catch Alex's eyes on you throughout the day. They're always filled with concern, desperate for forgiveness even though he won't accept it.

"You're fine," you reassure him in the hallway on the way to the cafeteria. "It was an accident. Besides, it's my new excuse to get a nose job."

"At least let me buy you lunch." You nod and walk together for the first time since your bloody walk to the nurse. "Is it healing alright?"

You shrug. "I think so. I can't really tell. Bruises mean healing."

His hands are stuffed in his trouser's pockets. He's slumped over and somber-eyed. "Sorry about all of that."

You laugh at his constant apologies. "It's fine. I swear. I like bruises. That sounds like I'm a freak."

"Kind of."

You gasp and turn to look at him with a cheeky grin and dirty Reeboks, the only personality to his school uniform. "Hey! You're the inflictor. You're in my debt. You're lucky I'm not suing you. I meant it in an I-Got-Into-A-Fight kind of way."

Alex chuckled. "Are you the type to get into a fistfight?"

"I think I'm more likely than you. You couldn't hurt a fly."

"I hurt you."

You toot. "It's fine. You upped my street cred. Anyone who knows what happened feels sympathy for me and for those who don't I can say things like 'Oh, you should see the other guy.'"

"Okay, then should we continue this routine and I break your leg next time?"

"No, I think I'm good on broken bones but maybe you'll allow me a punch at you."

He toys with you, "Threatening violence? I should tell on you."

You tell him through giggles, "I'd kick your ass if you do."

After he pays for your lunch, he walks you to your lunch table like a poor stray dog. You should start calling him Sandy in the vein of Annie's shaggy orphaned dog. "Thanks, Al."

"My pleasure." He gives a crooked smile. "Oh, and don't get a nose job."

Unsure of what he's said, you question, "Huh?"

"Back there you said..." he points his thumb behind him then shrugs. "Anyway, I like your nose."

You furrow your brows. "Thanks?"

He's blushing and it makes your cheeks flush and you feel like he's attacking you with his cuteness. Like he's a cute drug you're overdosing on. You want to crush him up in between your teeth and digest him completely. (Maybe you've taken too many painkillers). 

"You're pretty. That's all."

You smile back at him, overwhelmed by his flirtatious shyness. "Well, thanks." He turns to walk away but you stop him with "Do you want to sit with us?"

"I don't want to intrude and I've got me friends." He points over to a table in the back corner filled with rowdy boys tossing food at one another.

You shake your head. "You owe me."

"So, I'm gonna be in your debt forever."

You think, tapping your finger on your chin. "Hmm, well, at least for the rest of the year."

He chuckles and sits down beside you. You do have lunch together for the rest of the year but by Day 3 your table and his table mesh and suddenly you're intertwined.

*

The swelling is gone in a week, the bruises are gone after two weeks, the fracture healed in four weeks, and Alex and you date after 5 weeks. You think he first kissed you a week after your doctor told you it was healed for fear that his nose would hit yours and somehow dislodge its position again.

He has a guitar in the corner of his room that you tease him into strumming for you. He looks embarrassed the whole time and it makes it even more charming. He tells you his secret ambitions and you encourage the way his mind moves. It's the perfect Hollywood teen romance.

One evening, you fall onto his bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and your mouth opens under his. Your skin sears as you spread your legs wider to make room for his body. You feel mindless. You move against each other a little while making out. Uncertain shifts and searching grinds, friction, fervency. You've never done this before, what you're about to do, unlike him. You like him being more experienced. It makes you feel as if he's your guidepost.

Your kisses are all tongue, broken by moans and desperate gasps. Your nails dig into his back and you try to stifle the sounds forced from your mouth. He turns his focus onto your neck, licking and sucking, bruising you like a peach. "Let it out."

It's erotic and troubling how much you throb. “I—I want—”

“You want what?”

You roll your hips up against him for real, starting to shake when you feel how hard he is beneath his jeans, and his grip tightens on you like that’s too much for him. You do it again, moaning some more but as loud as you want this time, and find a rhythm. “Fuck,” he rasps, “I’m—fuck. Don’t do that, baby.”

He stops you by the hips. You grunt, “Why not?”

"'Cause if you do I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans."

You force yourself to meet his eyes and hold his gaze as you push your skirt down, before grabbing his hands so they’re pulling your panties and tights down together. He finishes the job when they get to your thighs, and you're suddenly aware that you're wearing nothing down there.

His attention drifts low. His expression takes on weight, and he whispers, “God,” almost like a 'Thank you.' It dissipates any insecurity. He spreads your legs a little wider and then trails his hand down from your knee to your center, stopping just an inch and then moving it back down again. He does it a few more times, and it’s torture. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yes,” you manage, throaty and raw. “Please, do it.”

He grins at that and keeps teasing you, but then gets close again, and this time he doesn’t go back down. Instead, he strokes you, just a brush of a thing, not even inside of you and you're still gasping. Fuck, fuck. “Alex," you manage as some strangulated thing.

“I know,” he whispers, keeps stroking, all infuriatingly slow. "You’re so good.”

When he slips a finger in it’s done carefully, but it has you gasping. You're hit with it: you're really doing this right now. You're in his bed and he’s fingering you. The thought alone is enough to make you lose it.

“Let me know if it hurts,” he says.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t. I—more, I want more—”

A second finger and your back arches. It feels like you're on fire when he finds your clit. The first brush has you whimpering, somehow overstimulated with just that ghost of a touch. He makes it worse by pumping his fingers in and out at just the right angle. He keeps stopping too, building pressure, and the third time you grab his hand to make him keep going. His fingers stroke a spot that has you crying out, and so he keeps going right there, and you hold his wrist, gasping and wanting what you can feel building so bad that you nearly scream.

He won’t give it to you, instead leaning down to kiss you again, smiling through it like maybe he’s enjoying the tease. You bite his lower lip in revenge and he laughs. “Feel good?” he asks.

You can only nod. He smooths your hair back and keeps going, keeps doing both; affectionate strokes and intimate ones with intent, the angle precise and the movements deliberate. When you come, his pace quickens a little and that feels so perfect, and your head falls back, and for a second everything just kind of whites out. Your legs shake and his thumb ghosts your temple. You blink and manage to utter, “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes, head tilted, fond. Alex kisses your cheek once, twice, three times. “You liked it?”

There’s a tiny bit of anxiety in his voice, which is ridiculous. “I loved it,” you correct.

His responding grin is like a spark to kindling. He says, “Me too.” When he sucks his fingers clean you get a burning fire inside you that you've never felt before. Your lips part. 

Your breathing is shaky as you inhale. “Can we…?”

His forehead falls against yours. “I don’t have, uh—”

“Rubbers?” You ask, coming back to yourself a little now. “That’s okay, I do.”

Alex leans back. “Do you, now?”

“Shut up,” you say, face on fire as you sit up. You find your backpack on the floor and part of this feels ridiculous that you're doing this after school before his parents come home but it feels like the most romantic thing you'll ever get the chance to experience. That first love feeling. “Here.”

Alex takes them with a, “Huh,” and an infuriating grin. It falls a little as he looks back up at you, and his eyes are so brown and comforting. “You really want to? You’re sure?”

You nod. “I wanna.”

The fear is just an underscore to the want, which overpowers everything else. You're safe with him and he’s beautiful and you think if you don't sleep with him right now, tonight, you'll explode or something.

Alex kisses your cheek and then rips open the wrapper with his teeth. You sit on the bed with your knees drawn up to your chest. “We don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“No, I know,” you say, your school cardigan falling off your shoulder. You tuck your hair behind your ears, a nervous habit. “I know that I just want it to be...”

“Perfect?”

“Not perfect." You shake your head, “Good? I don’t wanna look back on this and think about how I was cold the whole time, or how I was insecure, or—”

“Don’t be insecure.”

You give him a dry look. “Yeah, okay, I fixed that problem.”

Alex gets you on your back and nuzzles your nose with his. “I’m just saying I think you’re beautiful.”

Your face scrunches up. “Liar.”

His jaw drops with exaggerated affront. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just trying to butter me up.”

He snorts and glances down. “Pretty sure I already did that.”

“Oh my God, you gonna hang that over my head forever,” you say, all laughing as you wriggle underneath him, and you wrestle like kids for a minute, and then you're just kissing. The rest of the world falls away. It’s just you and him in this bed, and the way you fit underneath him, and the sounds you make when he presses into you. 

He pulls your top off and you can barely breathe before you come back together. He wants to see all of you so fucking badly, wants to touch every square inch of your body, wants to find every freckle and map out the distance between them like a cartographer with kisses.

You yank his shirt over his head and then sort of still, running your hands down the length of his abdomen memorizing it like your flashcards. Then you kiss him with complete need. Your arms wind around his neck and he wraps his around your body, hands searching for the clasp of your bra. He undoes it and leans back to pull it off slowly, eyes on you until it’s gone, and then his gaze falls to your chest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, ragged, you're so— there isn’t even a word. Divine is the only thing that comes close to his mind. He starts kissing and doesn’t intend to stop, insatiably craving your taste. He sucks your skin to bruise, on your collarbone and sternum, right above your heart. He can hear it pounding, an erratic busting beat. He brushes his lips over your left nipple, kissing it softly and feeling it perk, hardening in his mouth as he plays his tongue over it. You start to tug on his hair and he's obsessed with the feeling.

“Alex,” you beg, “please, please—”

He’s listening, but he doesn’t respond. Just moves lower and lower still, running his open mouth down your stomach and only stopping when he’s settled between your legs. Alex eats you out slowly, stroking your thighs and squeezing your hips while you moan and whimper and gasp various words of the ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ variety. He decides that he fucking loves this, it’s his favorite thing on the planet maybe, and he can’t help grinning while he does it. 

When he starts to move back up you try to push him down. “No, no, I’m not done—”

Alex laughs. “I know that, knobhead. Just wait." He knows he’s infuriating you but that’s on purpose too. He fucking loves it when you get all wound up like this. He strips and puts the condom on as quickly as he can manage, and you watch all fascinated, cheeks flushed when you catch sight of his dick. You're sort of sitting up now, so he tugs you back down with a murmured, “Come here.”

He slides in and being inside of you feels ritualistic. You're so warm, and you wrap your body around him as you start to move together. You hide your face in the crook of his neck and he cradles you, wants you to feel so safe, and relishes in every sound you make. Alex pulls your leg over his hip for a deeper angle and your head falls back. “Oh, fuck, yes,” you whine.

He stays right there and fucks you so good and so raw he feels sweat start to bead on his back because he’s been waiting for this for so long and if it doesn’t last for at least a few minutes he might as well die. You're so goddamn pretty under him too, with gentle curves and soft skin as you moan. He does too, can’t help it, doesn’t wanna, just wants to feel this and never forget it.

Your back arches when you come. You grasp at the headboard and cry out and so he lets himself too. You pile on top of one another like that heap in which you first spoke. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

You let out a weak noise. Alex turns to you, your faces less than an inch apart. You're all flushed and dazed and he loves it. He bumps his nose against you. “You alright there?”

“Shhh,” you say, with an ineffectual whack to his arm. “I’m...”

He grins. “Me too.”

You nod. You turn onto your side and so he pulls you into him, gathering you up to hold. He pulls the blanket over your bodies as goosebumps rise on your arms. You burrow against him gladly. “Mmm. Warm.”

Alex hums. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” he urges, watching your eyelids flutter shut.

You snort. “So I take it you’re a total girl after sex, huh?”

Alex shrugs. “I was just trying to save you the bladder infection, but I guess I’ll just fuck off.”

That has you scurrying out of his arms with an, “Oh, shit,” and his eyes follow your body shamelessly as you leave him.

*

Later, when you're all dressed and pretending to do homework, you shamelessly ask him, "When can we do that again?"

He looks up all shaggy. He's dressed in his home clothes with a T-shirt and jeans. You're stuck in your school's uniform skirt but with his old sweatshirt overtop, all cutesy in a way that has him biting on the eraser of his pencil. "Oh, no, I've created a sex addict."

You toss your pencil at him, making him chuckle as he catches it. "You seemed to enjoy it just as much as me."

He has a cheeky smirk and looks deeply at you. Then, suddenly, he turns serious, clasping his hands with one another and sitting up straight. "I could pencil you in for Saturday," he says as he flips through his desk calendar.

"Shut up or I'm withholding the goods."

"Exhortation now?"

"I can be one and done. I fear you'd crumble without seeing me naked again. I'm trying to spare pain."

You're so cute it makes everything in him a desperate, clingy spirit and he's not sure how he's going to be able to let you go back home after today. You're so far away, curled up on his bed while he's over at his desk. What is he doing over at his desk?

So, he stands up, walks over, and kisses you.

*

a/n: it's a quick, sweet fic. plenty of other things cooking...thanks!

[elryuse]

i came here from wattpad 🙌🙌 i love your writings, idk if you're still accepting request but if you are , i would like to request a drunk winter x male reader fluff, just a short one will do. just a spark from watching a lot of drunk scenes from kdramas, like the one in my demon lol. im sorry if this is a burden but cant wait to hear from you soon!

Drunk Call

Winter X Make Reader

Fluffy fluff fluff

Exhaustion gnawed at my bones, a familiar ache that had become a constant companion these past few weeks. Practice sessions for our upcoming comeback were brutal, the pressure to deliver another hit song gnawing at my confidence. To top it all off, a nasty rumor about me had surfaced online, and the hateful comments felt like a punch to the gut.

Curled up on the dorm couch, I scrolled through the endless stream of negativity, tears blurring my vision. Frustration bubbled over, a silent scream trapped in my throat. "This is stupid," I mumbled, shoving my phone onto the coffee table.

Loneliness, a suffocating weight, settled in my chest. I craved a familiar voice, someone who wouldn't judge, someone who knew the real Winter, not the one fabricated for the cameras. With a sigh, I reached for my phone, my finger hovering over your name. You were more than just my manager; you were my rock, my confidante, the one person who saw through the facade.

Hitting call, I waited with bated breath, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The first ring felt like an eternity, the second a cruel joke. Just as I was about to give up, your voice, warm and soothing, filled the silence.

"Hey Winter, everything alright?" Your voice, laced with concern, sent a wave of relief washing over me. "Y/n," I croaked, my voice thick with emotion. The dam broke then, the frustration, the loneliness, spilling out in a torrent of words. I ranted about the comeback, the rumors, the relentless pressure, the tears blurring my vision all the while.

You listened patiently, your voice a calming balm on my raging emotions. You didn't offer empty platitudes or dismiss my feelings. Instead, you encouraged me to vent, to let it all out. By the time I finished, my voice hoarse and tears drying on my cheeks, a comfortable silence settled between us.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," you said finally, your voice firm but laced with tenderness. The promise sent a warmth blooming in my chest. Just knowing you were on your way chased away the suffocating loneliness.

Twenty minutes later, the soft knock on the door had me scrambling to my feet. Wiping away any lingering tears, I opened the door to find you standing there, a concerned frown creasing your forehead. The sight of you, your worried gaze softening at the sight of me, was a balm to my soul.

"Hey," you said gently, your hand reaching out to cup my cheek. The touch, warm and familiar, grounded me. Without a word, I stepped aside, ushering you into the dorm room.

The state of the room must have been a giveaway. The empty soju bottles on the coffee table, the discarded tissues, and the general air of disarray spoke volumes. You cast a quick glance at the empty bottles, a knowing look in your eyes. "Rough night, huh?" you asked softly.

I nodded, unable to meet your gaze. Shame washed over me, a childish need to apologize for my weakness. But before I could voice my insecurities, you pulled me into a hug. Your embrace was a safe haven, the familiar scent of your cologne a soothing comfort.

"It's okay to not be okay, Winter," you murmured against my hair. "You don't have to be strong all the time." Those words, simple yet profound, shattered the dam of my remaining defenses. Tears welled up again, hot and silent, as I clung to you.

You held me close, whispering words of comfort until my sobs subsided into sniffles. When I finally pulled away, you brushed a stray tear from my cheek, your thumb gently wiping away the moisture. "How about we forget about practice tomorrow?" You suggested, yoir voice laced with concern.

My eyes widened in surprise. "But the comeback…" I began to protest, but you cut me off with a gentle smile. "The comeback can wait," you said firmly. "Right now, you need rest."

There was no arguing with the determined glint in your eyes. With a sigh of surrender, I nodded. You helped me change into my pajamas, the simple act of putting on comfy clothes a small comfort in itself.

Tucking me into bed, you fluffed the pillows and adjusted the covers with a meticulousness that made me smile. "Get some sleep, Winter," you whispered, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on my forehead. "I'll be here in the morning."

As I drifted off to sleep, the weight on my chest had lifted considerably. The knowledge that I wasn't alone, that you were there to catch me when I fell, filled me with a warmth that chased away the lingering shadows of The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting the room in soft stripes of gold. A gentle ache in my head and a dry throat were the only reminders of the previous night's emotional rollercoaster. Yawning, I stretched luxuriously in bed, a small smile playing on my lips.

The faint smell of coffee and something warm and savory drifted towards me. Sitting up, I found a tray on the bedside table laden with a bowl of steaming porridge, a glass of water, and a small cup of coffee with a cartoon bear latte art. My heart warmed.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you said from the doorway, a playful smile on your face. You looked a little sleep-deprived yourself, dark circles under your eyes, but a tenderness lingered in your gaze.

"You didn't have to stay the night," I said, touched by your gesture.

"Well, how could I leave you here alone after last night?" you countered, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, who else would make sure the most important member of AESPA gets a decent breakfast?

I blushed, unable to deny the truth in your words. You carefully helped me sit up, placing pillows behind my back as I took a sip of the warm porridge. The coffee, creamy and sweet, hit the spot just right.

"Feeling better?" you asked, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

"A lot better, thanks to you," I mumbled, stealing a glance at you. The concern in your eyes morphed into something softer, making my cheeks flush again.

"Don't worry about practice today," you reassured me. "We already informed the others you're taking a break." Relief washed over me. The thought of facing the dance studio right now was daunting.

"So, what do you want to do today?" you asked, your voice gentle. I thought for a moment. The idea of staying cooped up in the dorm room wasn't appealing.

"Maybe we could take a walk in the park?" I suggested. "Just the two of us, away from everything".

Your smile widened, genuine and bright. "Sounds like a perfect plan, Winter."

The park was a welcome change of scenery. The crisp autumn air invigorated my senses, and the vibrant foliage painted the landscape in hues of gold and crimson. Walking hand-in-hand with you, the tension from the past few weeks seemed to melt away.

We talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories and dreams, laughing at silly jokes. You even indulged my sudden craving for street tteokbokki, the spicy rice cakes adding a delicious warmth to the cool air.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows on the park's path, we found ourselves sitting on a bench overlooking a small lake. The tranquility of the scene mirrored the newfound peace within me.

"Thank you, Y/n," I said, leaning against your shoulder.

"For what?" you asked, your voice soft.

"For everything," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "For being there when I needed you most, for believing in me, for being my rock."

You turned to face me, your gaze filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Winter," you murmured, your voice husky, "you are strong, talented, and beautiful. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise."

And then, before I could respond, you leaned in, your lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both soft and passionate. It was a kiss filled with the unspoken words of our affection, a promise of a love that transcended the boundaries of fan and manager, idol and boyfriend.

As we pulled apart, breathless and smiling, I knew that no matter what challenges awaited me, I wouldn't face them alone. I had you by my side, my confidant, my best friend, and most importantly, my love.

The End

[legomonkiefics]

Hello! I saw requests are open (maybe I lagged if they aren't and I'm sorry if they did have a nice day!) But if the requests Are open then may I ask for Wukong and Macaque x female reader hc's?

The reader us a really worried person so she always asks for when her monkeys are gonna come back about the time, place, who they are with. Not cause of insicurity, but more for concern as she knows demons could be after them and kidnapp them or something. But sometimes the boys forget the time or come back like 1-2 hours later and then the reader is like clingy and is scolding them with a concerned tone and also saying that she called many times if the monkeys had their phones on.

I'd like to see their reaction, how'd they act, how'd they calm the reader down, how they'd react afterwards and more! If you are not gonna write this it's alright I hope you have the greatest of days and I am sorry for wasting your time.

🌙💜 Anxiously Waiting — Macaque and Wukong x Fem Reader HCs 🧡👑

Genres: Romance, Mild Hurt/Comfort || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🌙👑୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹

- The first few times it happens, Macaque is pretty defensive. He's never responded well to being scolded, and that includes when he just gets home. After having the situation explained to him though, he starts to calm down. He still has a habit of coming back at odd hours of the night for a while, but he slowly adjusts it to being back within a certain time frame

- Macaque won't admit it, but he understands the concern. Especially after the period of time where he was forced to work for Lady Bone Demon. He remembers how he felt back then, never knowing when her or her lackey were gonna show up again. So even if he may complain or grip initially, he still takes the time to make adjustments for you

- Now that he's used to it, he'll be more reassuring when you're anxious about his late arrivals. He explains to you where he was, talks you through your worries and lets you check him over to be certain he's okay. He allows you to cling as much as you want when he's back

- He makes sure to send you some sort of message or warning if he thinks something is gonna be keeping him extra late. Aside from that, he's really not the best with phones since he's been so detached from mortal inventions his whole life, but he made sure to memorize the call and text function for you. He uses his keen hearing to make sure he doesn't miss a notification and can always respond

- Macaque does try to offer you some techniques he knows to reduce anxiety to try and help you be a little more accommodated when he and Wukong aren't around. Things like scents (candles, incense, etc), meditation, or even just leaving some small trinket behind for you to hold on to in the meantime

- Wukong, on the other hand, admittedly understands the worry right off the bat. He knows he's led a very dangerous life, and he's still learning to accept that there are people relying on him and looking out for him again

- He feels bad about you being so worried, but he at first downplays it by accident with his laid-back attitude. He ends up feeling really guilty every time he messes up, and how his attempts at joking around like usual don't seem like they're helping

- After leveling with you and communicating everything, Wukong tries his best to be as attentive as possible. He knows things like the training he does for MK and helping stop end of the world threats usually keep him very busy, but he texts you much more frequently about how things are going

- That being said though, being so busy means he might miss a few messages. And when he comes home late, he allows you to vent out your concerns without any interruption. Afterwards, he reassures you on how everything was okay, apologizes profusely for forgetting, and offers to do anything you want to relax now that he's back

- Wukong tries to help ease your concerns with pictures. Once he's got his hands on a phone, he'll begin using it to take a bunch of pictures of where he is and who he's with. You get a lot of ones with MK that are either blurry cause he's in the middle of training or posing along with Monkey King. He especially makes sure to take pictures if he and Macaque are in the same area so you know where both of them are

- Both Wukong and Macaque make sure to spend as much time with you as possible when they're home to try and make it easier. Macaque does it in more subtle ways, calmly hovering around you or offering a snarky comment every once in a while. Wukong is more obvious, making sure to have physical contact with you in some way and trying to actively participate in whatever you're doing

- When one has to go out but the other stays, the one that's still home tries his best to keep you grounded and comfortable. He amps up the affection too in an attempt to make you feel better, and also sends reminders to the one that's out to keep you updated

- If they know they're both about to leave for a while, they have conversations with you about it the earliest that they can. They use their own methods (Macaque being calming and Wukong being comforting) to ease you into the idea. Once they are out, they do their usual methods to keep you updated and stick to you like glue when they get back

[munsonsmixtapes]

Breakup

Eddie Diaz x fem!reader

summary: Eddie knows you have a boyfriend, but he’s going to do everything in his power to get you to break up with him

Very heavily inspired by “Breakup” by Ashton Irwin

This take place during the beginning of season two

Eddie speaks a little bit of Spanish and I used a translator, so I apologize if any of it is inaccurate!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (please don’t do this) fingering, miscommunication, emotional cheating

Eddie was the first to admit that he always wanted what he couldn't have. When he was a kid, it always seemed like the other kids had the cooler toys and clothes and Eddie always felt jealous of them. Even as an adult, there were still things that he wanted that belonged to other people. He just never though that one of those things would have been a person.

The second Eddie laid eyes on you, he knew he was a goner. You flashed that million dollar smile at him at the park when you first met and he swore that his knees were going to give out and he clutched onto the jungle gym that was next to him for support.

The first time you saw each other was at the park when his son, Christopher had fallen off one of the swings and you had rushed to help him up, and when Eddie had gotten there, you had already taken care of it by patching the boy up with a bandaid.

Of course, people were always nice to his son, but you took care of him with such gentleness that it warmed Eddie’s heart. He had to know the name of the woman who single-handedly saved his son from potentially breaking a bone.

As a way to thank you, he invited you and your niece who you had been watching for the day out for ice cream and you both gratefully accepted. You, wanting to get to know the pretty stranger and Caroline just wanting ice cream.

“So, Eddie, what do you do?” You asked him as you both stood in line, waiting for your turn.

“I’m a firefighter.” You didn’t like the images flashing in your brain at his words. Of him showing up at your door in uniform, assuring you that he’d put out the fire and you both knew exactly what he was referring to. And you’d press your lips to his, pulling him inside with the intention of having your way with him.

“Wow, that’s really amazing. You save lives for a living.”

“I mean, technically yes. And what do you do?” He asked, pulling you out of your thoughts and you didn’t know why you were suddenly paranoid that he could read your mind. Your thoughts were perfectly safe there and you could think any dirty thing about him and he’d never know.

“I’m a teacher.” That made a lot of sense in Eddie’s mind and the idea of seeing you with your class was an adorable thought.

“Oh, what grade?”

“Kindergarten.” Eddie thought seemed like the perfect job for you despite only knowing you for about an hour. Just by seeing you take care of Christopher, he could tell that you were a natural with children.

“I can see that,” he nodded in response as you both shuffled forward as you got closest to the register.

“What do you mean?” You wanted to know exactly what he had meant by that.

“Just, the way you were so quick to help Christopher. It makes sense that your career would be based around children.” That warmed your heart hearing those words. You had wanted to be a teacher even when you were a small child and hard worked hard to get exactly where you were. So whenever anyone had complimented you in that area, it showed you that you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

“Well, thank you.”

You both ordered your ice cream and Eddie had insisted on paying for yours even though you tried to tell him that you could pay for your own.

The four of you sat at a table by the door and you watched your niece joke around with Christopher and it warmed your heart since you knew that it was always hard for her to make friends. And Christopher was a sweet boy so you knew that they would make the best of friends, hoping that her mother would be okay with them having a playdate. Because you wanted Claire to have a friend and totally not because you wanted an excuse to see Eddie again.

Once everyone was done with their ice cream, the two of you headed to your vehicles after having exchanging numbers with the sole intention of setting up the playdate and neither of you were debating asking the other to meet up again without the children. Totally not.

The second time you ran into Eddie was at the gym. He had just so happened to be lifting weights in the area that was right across from you, giving you the perfect view of him doing some bicep curls. Whether he was doing it to impress your or not, you didn't know. He was, but he would have told you that he wasn't.

You couldn’t help yourself. Before you could stop it, you were turning off the treadmill and making your way over to him. It was as if you were magnets that were always being pulled towards each other and you hardly minded.

"Hey," you greeted and Eddie was so close to dropping one of the weights on his foot at the sound of your voice, but he caught it in just the knick of time.

"Oh, hi," he said, turning around to face you, placing the weights back on the shelf so he wouldn't risk any injuries. There was no telling what would have happened as long as you were around.

"I didn't know you were a member here," you said as you leaned on the rack and Eddie had to stop himself from letting his eyes rake over your sweaty body, finding himself wanting to lick up every last drop.

"Just joined the other day," he smiled. "Guess it's fate," he gave you a wink and you felt like he was purposely trying to fluster you.

"Guess so," you winked back. "Well, I'll let you get back to your workout. It was nice seeing you again, Eddie." You turned to leave, but Eddie couldn’t let you go so soon.

“Wait!” He called after you and you turned around. “Do you think you could spot me?” He asked, nodding his head towards the bench that had the large weight with the plates on each end and you nodded enthusiastically, willing to do almost anything as an excuse to be around him for longer.

“Sure,” you responded and followed him to the bench. Eddie laid down on it and grabbed hold of the weight, lifting it off of the thing holding it.

He pulled it to his chest and lifted it up and down and you had no trouble watching him, seeing his biceps that were shining in sweat flex making you feel wet between your legs. Making your cheeks go hot. You really couldn’t be thinking that way about him, you really couldn’t. Not when you had a boyfriend.

But you just liked that someone was actually paying attention to you. That for once someone was treating you the way you deserved. And you weren’t going to do anything with Eddie, you just liked that he was nice to you. What was the harm in making a friend?

Eddie turned his head to look at you just for a split second, but he got distracted by you getting down on your knees to tie your shoe. It gave him a perfect opportunity to look at your cleavage that had been caused by your sports bra pushing your tits up.

His distraction caused him to lean a little to the right to get a better look and he ended up almost falling off of the bench, but you were quick to catch him and push him back onto the bench with no problem.

“Oh my god are you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” he nodded.

“What happened?” There was no way in hell he was telling you the truth.

“I don’t know, I just lost the grip of it, but I’m good, I promise.”

“Why don’t we put this up?” You asked and the two of you put the weight back where he belonged and you helped him his feet.

“I-I think I should probably go,” he jerked his thumb towards the exit. He had to get out of there before he hurt himself, or worse, someone else. He couldn’t imagine having his coworkers coming to respond to a call because he couldn’t keep his hormones in check.

“I agree. Get some rest. I’ll see you around, Eddie.”

“Yeah, see you,” he gave you a little wave. God, he was so far gone and didn’t even notice.

With that, you turned on your heel and headed back over to your treadmill and Eddie watched you as you bent down to grab your water bottle, giving him a great view of your ass. The ass that he wanted to grab, giving it a tight squeeze as you let out a yelp.

The third time you ran into each other at the grocery store, Eddie was convinced that it was fate. He saw you in the produce section looking at the containers of strawberries, turning them every which way to make sure that they were all good.

Eddie had every intention of asking you out in that moment, but you turned behind you and waved someone over. A man approached you and you showed him the strawberries and he took them before smiling down at you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

You had a boyfriend. You had a boyfriend and had let Eddie shamelessly flirt with you without even a mention of the man you were in a relationship with. He had been convinced that there was something between the two of you, but clearly there wasn’t.

He backed away so you wouldn’t see him, but couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the man with your lips attached. He backed up so much as he ran into a table that had been stacked with oranges, causing them all to fall to the floor in an avalanche, taking Eddie with it.

You and the man with you turned to see what the cause of the loud crash was and you rushed over, only to see Eddie lying amongst the oranges, groaning in pain.

“Eddie!” You called out and rushed over to him. “Honey, help me get him to his feet.” Both you and your boyfriend helped Eddie to his feet and the man felt like it was his own personal hell.

"Are you okay, man?" Your boyfriend asked as he gave Eddie's back a pat.

"I'm good," Eddie nodded. "I'm good." He was feeling a little lightheaded, but he just needed to get out of there as soon as possible. You looked at his face for any sign of discomfort, but all he could do was look back and forth between you and the man, wondering why you hadn't told him about the guy.

Was it because you were ashamed of him, knowing that he couldn't please you the way that Eddie definitely could? Or was it just because you really didn't owe Eddie anything because all you had been was friendly?

"Well, I'm glad," you smiled. "Oh, Eddie, this is my boyfriend, Mark." You grabbed onto the man's arm and Eddie felt his blood boil. What the fuck kind of name was Mark? And he wasn't even attractive. Okay, maybe he was. Maybe a little too much to the point where Eddie was questioning things about himself.

Mark had dark brown almost black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. The exact opposite of Eddie in every way looks wise and he didn't like just how beautiful he thought the man was.

Eddie put his hand out for Mark to shake, but Mark just stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Oh, so you hadn't introduced the two of them because Mark was an asshole. Now Eddie understood and he didn't think he could fault you for that.

Mark just stared at Eddie with a glare and wondered how you knew the guy. You hadn't mentioned an Eddie and he had met all the teachers at your school at all of the events he had gone to with you, so he definitely wasn't a coworker. And Mark couldn't have cared less that you were friend with men, he just didn't like that you had kept Eddie a secret from him.

"Nice to meet you," Eddie smiled awkwardly as Mark just stood there, not saying a damn word. Eddie then glanced at you and you nudged Mark as if to tell him to say something but he didn't. He had never behaved that way and you wondered what was causing to not want to speak to your friend and you had every intention of calling him out for it as soon as the two of you were alone.

“I know you,” Mark pointed at him. “You’re a firefighter, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well, isn’t that cute?” Yeah, this guy was definitely an ass and Eddie was a few seconds from putting him in his place.

“Excuse me?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was going to say he was a hero or anything, but he didn’t think his job was “cute” by any means. It was hard work and every single day, people’s lives were at stake and he did his best to help save them.

“Running around helping people with their little issues, it’s cute.”

“Little issues?” You asked before Eddie could speak. “Eddie responds to emergencies. He saves lives everyday.”

“And so do I.” Sure, what Mark did certainly wasn’t an easy job, but how was that in any way comparable to being a firefighter? They were two very different things.

“You’re a personal trainer.” Eddie loved seeing you stand up for him, but he almost felt like he shouldn’t have been listening to your argument.

“Exactly.”

"Well, Eddie, we should probably go. It was nice running into you and I hope that fall didn't hurt you too bad."

"Well, thank you and it was nice running into you too." You grabbed Mark by the arm and pulled him back over to your cart. Eddie knew he should have left, but he couldn't help but watch the two of you argue in hushed tones.

You couldn't believe that he had embarrassed you like that in front of Eddie of all people. The two of you had gotten friendly and now he wasn't going to want to talk to you anymore because your boyfriend was a jerk to him. Just your fucking luck.

You rested your hands on the cart and took a deep breath as you felt Mark stand behind you, resting his hands on your waist as he leaned down and pressed his lips to your temple. You turned around in his arms and and pushed his hands off of you as you glared at him.

"What the fuck was that about?" You whispered and Mark only rolled his eyes.

“I just didn’t want to shake his hand. What’s the big deal?” You moved to the handles of the cart and turned it to head towards the check out even though you hadn’t finished your shopping. You just wanted to get out of there and take Mark home so you didn’t have to see his face for a while.

“You didn’t just not shake his hand, Mark,” you corrected him. “You insulted him to his face. You embarrassed him.”

“Whatever, y/n. You seemed quick to stand up for him too.”

You pulled your cart over to the self check out and began scanning your items, shaking your head at the man next to you. Your relationship was already fizzling out and you were beginning to think that the whole situation was the final nail in the coffin.

Mark was as sweet as could be when you met him but as time went on, he had let the city take over his personality and he had turned into nothing but an LA man, suddenly becoming very obsessed with his health and getting spray tans whenever he could, which there wasn’t anything necessarily wrong with either of those things, but it seemed like those were only two things he ever wanted to talk about.

And now he was just like every other LA douchebag and the urge to breakup with him was strong and if he was going to treat your friends like garbage, then maybe it was best if things just ended.

“You know what?” You asked as you finishing paying and all of your groceries were in the cart.

“What?” He spit, turning to face you and the fact that he was angry was starting to piss you off.

“Maybe it would be best if we just didn’t see each other anymore.” Maybe the grocery store wasn’t the best place to break up with someone, but you just had to rip the band aid off already.

“Baby, no,” he whined and you were all for a man being all pathetic for you, but not in that way. He was behaving like one of your students.

“Yes,” you nodded. “It was a long time coming and you know it. You don’t want to be with me anymore. I see the way you look at other women, Mark. That’s not the way you look at me anymore. So, I’m gonna go.”

“Fine,” he scoffed. “Why don’t you catch a ride with your little side piece?” Side piece? You hadn’t done anything with Eddie except be friendly. If Mark interpreted it any other way, that was on him. If anything, he was the one who was most likely cheating.

“Maybe I will.” You grabbed your cart and stomped out of the store to see Eddie getting into his truck. You raced towards him and parked your cart behind his truck so he couldn’t leave. He shut the door to make his way towards you and the sun shining down on your face gave him a perfect view of the anger on your face.

You felt like you should have been crying because of your breakup, but all you were was mad. You were so angry at Mark for treating Eddie the way he did and for brushing it off like he didn’t do anything wrong. You were mad at yourself for staying with him for so long when he had treated you like nothing but garbage. You had put up with that shit the entire six months of your relationship, but now you were free.

“Don’t ask why, but do you think you could drive me home?” You asked and Eddie nodded furiously. He was afraid that he’d find a way to give you the moon if you had asked for it. He was always so down bad for you that he didn’t know how to be around you without telling you how he felt.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.” He helped you put your groceries in the spot behind the front bench then helped you get in on your side before heading to his own.

He started up the truck and you felt the need to apologize to him for what Mark had said about his career. What he did was admirable and you felt like he needed to know that. To know just how important his job was.

“I’m sorry for what he said,” you apologized and Eddie just shook his head.

“No need to be sorry. You weren’t the one who said it. And you stuck up for me. That means more to me than an apology.” He turned to you with a smile before turning back to the road. “Now where do you live?”

You gave him your address and you two spent the car ride talking about everything and nothing like old friends, your now ex boyfriend completely forgotten for your potential new one if you played your cards right.

Eddie was nothing like Mark. He was sweet and kind and funny and he actually cared for you. Something that Mark hadn’t done in a long time. Just in the three times you had talked to Eddie, he actually seemed interested in what you had to say and he didn’t pull his phone out of his pocket to scroll through it as if you hadn’t even mattered.

Eddie’s truck pulled into your driveway, but you couldn’t say goodbye. Not yet. Not when you both were having such a good time. It was a nice day and you felt like the both of you should have enjoyed it. So, you both got out of the truck and you pulled him down the path to the lake that was behind your house.

Eddie blindly followed you like a lost puppy and didn’t even care where he was going as long as it was with you. You could have been pulling him to a spot where you were going to kill him and he hardly minded. As long as he was with you, he didn’t care about a damn thing.

You pulled him to a lake and continued to walk until you go to the short dock that led to where the water was just the right height for swimming. He looked around and wondered why you had taken him there when you had groceries to put away, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.

“Where are we?” Eddie asked and you turned around to face him with a roll of your eyes.

“It’s a lake, Eddie. People usually ride boats around on it or they swim. And I thought that we could swim.” You pulled him towards you and he moved to you just like a magnet. You brought your lips to his ear and he swore he was going to cum right there.

“Without our clothes.” Your voice was so sexy that it was unfair. He wanted you whisper the most dirty things to him and he hated that he couldn’t partake in any of that with you because you had a boyfriend. Or at least, he thought you did.

“Break up with him,” he replied, his voice sounding so whiny, so desperate and it was doing wonders for your imagination. He sounded so pathetic and you felt yourself getting wet as you heard it.

“I already did,” you responded before wrapping your arms around his neck while his went to your waist. You pressed your lips to and he was quick to respond to it, slotting his between yours together perfectly.

He began to back you up, not knowing where he was going, but feeling the need to move. You were getting close to the edge of the dock, but neither of you were paying attention until it was too late.

The edge of the dock was slippery from the water and your shoe slid against it, causing you to fall backwards. Eddie reached for your hand in an attempt to save you, but it only made you take him with you as you both plunged into the water.

You both surface pretty quickly and Eddie reached for you, wrapping his arms around you once again as you both laughed at how ridiculous the whole situation was, knowing that you probably should have gotten out, but you stayed there, wrapped up in each other as the sun slowly dried off your upper halves.

“We should probably get out,” he told you. “It’s not good to wear wet clothes for too long.”

“Well, lucky for you I know a place where we don’t need clothes at all,” you started moving towards the shore and Eddie was eating up every single word. He was beginning to think that maybe you were a better flirt than he was.

“And where’s that?” He knew exactly what you were referring to, but just wanted to hear you say it.

“The shower.” The words sounded even hotter coming from your mouth that he had imagined.

“How’s the water pressure?” It wasn’t like you were going to do much showering anyway, but Eddie still felt like he should have asked.

“Really good.”

“I think I should see for myself.”

“Me too. Now c’mon, Diaz," you grabbed onto his hands and pulled him along.

You both got to the shore and practically ran to your house in a hurry, nothing but giggles escaping your lips as you did so. Your wet shoes had slowed you down so it had gotten to the point where Eddie had picked you up in one swift motion and carried you the rest of the way.

You both took off your shoes and Eddie carried you up the stairs to your bathroom and you had assured him that your roommate was going to be gone all day so you could make as much noise as you wanted. Not that her being there would have stopped him anyway. He had dreamed about this for weeks and nothing could have stopped him from living out his fantasy.

Eddie set you down on the floor and you opened the shower door to turn on the water and let the door close as the water heated up. You grabbed him by the shirt and pressed your lips to his in a messy kiss. It was all teeth and tongues, but it wasn’t like you cared. You just needed his lips on you in anyway you could get them.

Eddie brought his hands up to your jaw and tilted your head back for more access and he opened your mouth up by pulling your chin down with his thumbs. He slid his tongue into your mouth and swirled it around your own as your hands slid up the front of his shirt, making contact with his chest. You pushed the shirt up onto his shoulders and he pulled away just long enough for you to take it off before his lips were on yours again.

His hands slid underneath your sweatshirt with every intention to take off your bra, only to find that you weren’t wearing one. He slid your sweatshirt off and your tits were just as perfect as he thought they would be.

“Jodidamente hermosa,” he sighed and you had no idea what he was saying, but loved the way it sounded in his accent.

“What does that mean?” You asked and he just chuckled, pulling you in for another bruising kiss.

“Fucking beautiful,” he replied against your lips and you decided that you needed him right then.

“Tell me more,” you commanded as your hands went to undo his belt. His lips captured yours as he went to unbutton your jeans as he was getting more desperate to be inside you.

“Quítate la ropa,” he said, his voice authoritative and raspy. You had absolutely no clue what he was telling you to do, but you were desperate to listen to him. He brought his lips to your ear for the translation and you thought you were going to melt right there.

“Take your clothes off,” he whispered as you heard your pants unzip and you were quick to take them off before removing your underwear as well.

As soon as Eddie got his own pants off, you opened the shower door and pulled him inside before he pulled the door, closing you both in. The shower was small, but neither of you minded one bit. It only gave you an excuse to be that much closer.

Eddie pressed his lips to yours once more in a rough kiss and you wrapped your arms around his neck while his went to your waist as he pushed you against the wall. He grabbed onto your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist as he slammed his dick into you, causing you to let out a loud moan that was music to his ears.

He thrusted in and out as fast as he could go and you were afraid that you were already coming undone even though you had just gotten things started. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, but that only encouraged him to go harder.

“So fucking tight,” he said. “Guess your boyfriend didn’t take care of you like he should have, huh?” He asked and you just moaned in response.

“No,” you shook your head and Eddie gave you a devilish grin.

“Don’t worry mí amor, that’s my job now.” His hands gripped your waist and he pounded into you the hardest and fastest he could go while simultaneously trying to fit all of himself inside you even though that wasn’t an easy feat.

“Oh, Eddie,” you moaned and he loved the way his name sounded so filth falling from your lips. Almost as if it was a dirty word.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice sounding even more raspy. “Taking me so well and you look so fucking pretty on my cock.”

“I feel pretty,” you responded with a moan and decided that sex was always supposed to feel like that and you had gaslit yourself into thinking otherwise because Mark was so bad at it.

He was a horrible partner in that area especially because he was always so selfish. He’d do whatever he wanted and didn’t even seem to care so you just got good at faking it. But with Eddie, you didn’t have to fake anything.

Your fingers were digging into Eddie’s shoulder so hard that you were convinced you were going to draw blood as he continued to fuck into you, making you feel like you never had before. He was so good at knowing exactly what you liked without even having to ask. And him praising you was driving you wild, making you feel special even though you were sure he said that to all of the women he slept with.

You could feel your vision go hazy as you reached your orgasm and you let out a loud moan as your back arched in absolute pleasure. At that, Eddie began to slow his pumps and he pulled out of you as you collapsed against him.

“C’mon, mí amor, you can’t go dumb on me yet,” he let out laugh and pulled your head away from his shoulder so you would look at him. “How about we take a break and I clean you up, hm?”

"No," you whined, grabbing onto him. "Need you right now," you told him.

"As long as you're sure," Eddie looked at you and you bit your lip as you nodded and all he could think about was the all the ways he could scandalize you. His fingers trailed down your front until they found your cunt. He shoved them inside you and began to pump them in and out of you as you moaned loudly. You turned your back to him so he hand more access and pressed it to his front as your head fell back onto his shoulder.

Eddie watched you come undone from his touch and felt like he was going to cum himself. The sounds you were making and the looks on your face were so hot that he was having trouble controlling himself. He pumped in and out as fast as he could and it was obvious that you were close. Your back arched as you reached your second orgasm and Eddie pulled his fingers out of you before turning you around to face him, pressing his lips to your in a bruising kiss.

Your hands moved to his hair as he deepened the kiss, reaching behind you to turn the water off. You both exited the shower with your lips still attached and you only pulled away to grab a towel for the each of you and you both quickly dried off before he followed you to your bedroom.

You gave him your biggest t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts and told him to get comfortable while you threw your wet clothes into the washer. Eddie threw himself onto your bed and let out a contented sigh that not only had he finally hooked up with you, but that you had invited him to stay instead of kicking him out afterwards.

He turned on the tv as you entered the room, looking like something straight out of his dreams in your over-sized t-shirt. You got into the bed next to him and he took the opportunity to lay on your chest, feeling his eyes get heavy as he snuggled into you.

You carded your hands through his hair and felt your heart warm as you watched Eddie drift off to sleep, feeling lucky to have found a man like him. You had hoped that your hook up hadn't been a one off and that you could do it again, after he wined and dined you, of course. And Eddie had every intention of doing just that.