#quicksilver x gn reader

[fun-k-board]

Hi, may I request a headcanons of The Brotherhood(Quicksilver, Blob and Toad) whose crush is gn reader? How would they act?

The Brotherhood (X-Men: Evolution) X gender neutral crush

Note(s) : Sorry it took so long, I was struggling to figure out how to write for them (⁠*⁠・⁠～⁠・⁠*⁠) I think I got it right though?

Pietro Maximoff / Quicksilver

'Hey! Over here, nooo, not there, silly! Here!'

Oh he's so annoying (affectionate)

Pietro's main goal is to make you think about him wherever you are, that means bugging you constantly.

Assuming you're in the same school, he's constantly switching out your homework with blank pieces of paper, drawing messages in your books, speeding over to poke you in class knowing you can't do anything about it, etc.

It only gets worse if you're an X-Man.

During missions if you're against each other he's constantly going after you, it's gotten him in trouble with Mystique more times than he can count because he refuses to acknowledge the main purpose of the mission, instead, he only wants to annoy you.

Sometimes it's just pushing you over then zooming away, other times he constantly taunts you while running so fast you can't catch him or tell where he's going next, whatever it is, he makes sure it's enough of a bother that you start to get frustrated.

If you're in the brotherhood he can at least get missions done but you know he's bothering you the entire time, you basically end up doing all the work.

Is he flirty? Absolutely.

Expect his arm around your shoulders or waist while he talks on and on so fast you can't even catch what he's saying, but when he does slow down he's all 'You're the only one for me.' 'I love your shirt, is it new?' 'Your eyes are so beautiful, I could stare at them for hours.'

Lance and Todd are throwing up in the background.

Wanda wants to punch her brother into a separate dimension.

Fred's just chilling.

Think of him like Lance with Kitty but more focused on teasing you rather than being completely smitten, don't get him wrong, he loves you and he'd probably even make you a sandwich if you asked, but he'll be an asshole about it.

'Oh, come on, that's so much effort! Can't you just do it yourself?' but before you can answer he zooms off to do what you asked of him. 'here, I guess.' he huffs, a grin on his face as he hands you the item you requested.

Frederick J. Dukes / The Blob

'Do I have to stay with them..?'

Fred is under the assumption that it's impossible for you to like him back after what happened with Jean, of course he was pushy and unfair with her, but she also rejected him and all of the X-Men despise him. So, he doesn't exactly have many options when it comes to friendship, let alone dating, besides the Brotherhood.

Then comes you.

Whether you're an X-Man, member of the Brotherhood, Morlock, perhaps just a fellow mutant, or a human, student at school, he'll truly never believe that he has a chance.

While before he was fairly obsessive and pushy with his crushes, with you he's silent and very awkward, even if you're nice to him he expects backlash if he ever confesses.

If you're a member of the brotherhood his awkwardness is slightly less explainable and far more noticeable, you're his teammate, you spend almost all day together, yet he can hardly look at you and loudly complains when he's paired with you or left alone with you. It probably makes you feel like he hates you.

He's very embarrassed if you confront him about it.

Awkward, he stumbles over his words and is breathing a little heavy as he does so, trying his best to explain that he doesn't hate you, he's just. Well. You see.

It's a similar situation if you attend his school, human or mutant, he's very sweet to you and tends to avoid messing with you. Fred usually quiets down when you get near, almost shutting down in a way. The others tease him for it all the time.

He'll most likely try to avoid you, maybe Lance, Pietro and Todd will push him to interact with you just to 'stop him from bugging them about it', they totally just want to help him out, and it ends with him always running away in embarrassment or assuming, if you're quiet or not that reactive, that you hate him.

If you're paired in a school project, Fred will absolutely just skip school, he doesn't care, he skips class regularly anyway, no Pietro, it's not to avoid you, he's just too cool for class.

If you're an X-Man, it's very different.

Fred is under the assumption you both share a mutual hate for each other, you're enemies after all! The tightness in his chest that he's feeling is totally just violent urges, that's it, that's all, it's not the want to hold your hand, hold you, tell jokes and make you laugh, no, no, that's not it at all!

He tends to target you to try and avoid his feelings quicker, he hates hurting you, but throwing you away from him, physically, makes sure he won't get distracted by you.

Fred ends up crying in his room when he goes home because he's afraid he hurt you.

Heck, even the other members of the brotherhood just want him to get with you already. Lance is especially eager because he won't be the only one being made fun of for dating an X-Man.

Eventually it does spill somehow and I'd imagine he would try to run away from you, maybe you catch up or explain to him later on, whichever one, he'll get very happy when you confirm you share feelings for him. He practically fixates on you so hard that you're the only thing he talks about.

Todd Tolansky / Toad

'Hey, how it's goin', beautiful?'

He proceeds to fall down on his face.

Todd is a bit of a creep, constantly following you around and showing off his nonexistent muscles, telling the most unfunny jokes and pulling pranks on people in an attempt to impress you.

He doesn't smell nice, he's been told this his entire life, that he's slimy, disgusting, every insulting name under the sun. As such, he decides to at least try and take a shower more often for you, to make you less likely to avoid him, of course!

Todd has a big grin on his face every time he talks to you, bouncing off his feet like he's just won the lottery. He's also very, very flirty, just not that good at flirting.

His pick up lines are very 'the immediate Google search results for pick up lines.' type of cheesy, very stereotypical and eye rolling.

If you're an X-Man, member of the Brotherhood, human, mutant, etc, it doesn't matter much to him, he treats you the exact same. The only real difference is how much time he spends around you.

In the brotherhood he does try to avoid flirting in front of the guys to avoid embarrassment or teasing, but surprisingly he does ask for a lot of advice regularly. It usually never goes well, Lance and Pietro tend to just give very wrong or confusing tips and Fred doesn't really have any to give in the first place.

If you're an X-Man he tries to impress you by fighting your teammates, usually he loses, but sometimes he does win! He'll pose and ask if he's just the coolest guy or what. Todd doesn't like fighting you but he will, because unfortunately Mystique is absolutely terrifying and he doesn't want to face her wrath.

In school he likes to ask for your help, constantly bugging you about how he just desperately needs your assistance to study for this test coming up, which to be fair he does. But, if you agree to help him, he doesn't actually try. He just flirts with you the entire time.

His crush is obvious, incredibly so, even the most clueless of individuals would know he loves you because he says it directly every single day. He doesn't exactly need to 'confess' per say, all you really need to do is accept his flirting or flirt back, maybe ask him out yourself.

[dominos-palast]

Consider Reblogging if you liked it

Pillow replacement

Fandom: XMen

Pairing:   Peter Maximoff x gn!reader

Characters mentioned: Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Professor X

Used Pronouns: (they/them)

Warnings: none

A/N: In this story, reader is a psychic. They came from an isolated place and joined the school (here academy for some reason) not too long ago. They can use for example Telekinesis.

P.S.: This was written with a platonic relationship in mind, but you are free to perceive it however you like.

P.S.S.: This happens after the events of Apocalypse (2016) (Scott and Jean are teenagers and Quicksilver decided to stay at Xavier’s School)

Summary: Reader can’t sleep without hugging something. When the other kids use all the pillows to create a fortress of pillows in the academy, reader has to improvise. Word Count: 4k

Weiterlesen

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Collar/Leash Kink with Peter Maximoff

A/N: okay I’m gonna be honest, this did not start out including puppy play. Um. Yeah. This is the fic. Enjoy. It has plot

READ THE WARNINGS FIRST!!!! DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE!!!!

Written for a gn!Reader

Link to masterlist here

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

CW: mentions of collaring/wearing a collar; sexual collaring; kink exploration; undernegotiated kink (?); explicit sexual content; smut; humping the floor; mild puppy play; mild pet play; hand jobs; begging; cum eating; mentions of quick recovery times; Peter is an eager boy

1006 words

“You ever thought about wearing a dog collar?”

You’re pretty used to Peter’s random thoughts by now, but this one catches your attention. “Huh?”

“A collar and leash?” He looks at you, thoughts moving a mile per minute behind his eyes. “I dunno. I think it’d be cool. Like a sex thing.”

You’re struggling to follow his line of thought but you nod. “You saw it in a magazine, didn’t you?”

He shrugs. Grins unapologetically. “Maybe. Just think about it. Maybe not for you. But one of those chunky ones with the spikes. I bet it’d make me look fierce.”

You blink and consider the idea. It’s not… a bad thought, all things considered. In fact, you actually kinda like it. Peter, all collared up. Finally unable to run away.

It’s actually a kind of… fun thought.

Then he changes the subject and you file the thought away for later.

You don’t think about it again until a few months later. It’s his birthday, and you desperately need a gift for him. He’s hard to please, given that he just steals anything he wants.

You’re passing the pet section of the store when you pause. After a moment, you turn down the aisle. You stop at the collars and peruse for a while. You can’t get one too small, but you don’t want one that’s too plain.

Eventually you decide on a nice pale blue one. It matches his eyes and is on the thicker side. Plus the buckle’s made of metal. Hard to undo easily.

You buy the accompanying leash and force a laugh when the cashier asks about your dog. You tell her it’s for a friend’s dog and hasten out of the store. No point in making the situation more awkward.

You wrap up the gift and set it in your bag. You’ll give it to him after the party, once everyone’s gone. He’ll love it. You’re pretty sure. Pretty sure. Somewhat sure. You’re… sure…?

Peter loves it.

Loves isn’t really the right word. He opens your present and immediately starts to vibrate. He ping-pongs around the room for a moment before settling back down with the biggest grin on his face. “You bought me a collar.”

You grin back, unable to help the bubble of affection in your chest. You’ve never seen him so excited before. It’s infectious and you love it.

“You said you wanted one.”

He immediately starts to put it on, but fumbles with the metal buckle. You help him, snapping the collar into place. It fits nicely around his neck. Not snug, but secure all the same. It looks good on him.

You attach the leash and scoot back, playfully giving it a tug. You don’t mean anything by it; it’s just a silly action. But his reaction makes you reconsider.

He moves automatically, following the pull of the leash. His eyes are a little wide, his pupils dilated. “Do that again.”

You tug on the leash, a little harder this time. Pulling him to you. He comes easily, shifting to his hands and knees. You’re not looking, but you can see the tent in his pants.

“Again,” he whispers breathlessly. You reach out and tangle your fingers in his hair. Scratching at his scalp the way you would a dog’s head. He moans at the action, melting into your lap.

It takes you a moment, but eventually you smirk. Peter’s always been submissive, but not like this. Usually, he’s running his mouth a mile per minute. Right now, he’s quiet, pressing into your touch like a puppy.

“That’s a good boy,” you murmur. “Doing so good for me.”

He whimpers, a shiver running through him. His legs shift, spreading a little wider as he starts to lightly rut against the floor.

You grin. “You like that? You like when I call you a good boy?”

He moans your name, pressing his face into your lap. “Please…”

“Please, what, puppy?” Maybe you’re pushing it a little far, but he seems to like it. If the way he’s practically humping the ground is any indication.

“I need you,” he mumbles, nuzzling his face into your stomach.

“Need what? Use your words.” You feel hot all over. Just watching Peter get so desperate has you aching.

“I need you… Please… Just—“ He groans, panting a little. “Touch me…?”

You tug on his leash again, pulling him up. He shuffles closer, shifting to settle in your lap. Your hands rest on his thighs, letting the leash fall free.

There’s a damp spot on the front of his sweats. He whimpers as you palm his dick, hips jerking up into your touch. You can almost feel the way his dick must be throbbing. You’ve never seen him this needy before.

You pull out his cock, the hard length slick with precum. You give him an experimental stroke and he chokes out a moan. His head lolls back, his hips thrusting up against your hand.

“Please please please,” he babbles. “Please, I wanna cum so bad!”

“Puppy wants to cum?” You murmur, giving his dick several long slow strokes. You’re only teasing him a little, but his breath hitches in a tell-tale way. He’s close to tears over this.

“Yes!” He gasps, a whimper spilling from him. “Please let me cum!”

You finally take pity. Speeding up your strokes and tightening your fist just the way he likes it. He cries out, arching as he cums. Hot ropes of white painting your fist and dripping to the floor.

He collapses into you, breathing hard. You give him a moment to recover before lifting your hand to his mouth. “Lick.”

He whimpers softly but obeys, licking his cum from your hand. A shiver runs through him, his cock giving a jerky little twitch.

You grin. You weren’t planning on this ending to the night, but you’re sure going to take advantage of it. If there’s anything Peter excels at, it’s having a short recovery time. And you fully intend to have fun with that.

[pretty-little-mind33]

fluff ✿ angst ✮ hurt & comfort ✷ smut (nsfm) ♥︎

main masterlist

~ REQUESTS OPEN ~

most popular - THE JOKER AND THE QUEEN ✷✿ - You've always hated Pietro for his player tendencies—turns out he's never hated you at all.

author's favorite - coming soon!

latest work - SANTA DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO ✿ - You and Pietro spend Christmas together.

~ BLURB MASTERLIST ~

~ KINKTOBER 2024 ~

~ HEADCANONS ~

fem!reader being in a relationship with him

nsfw alphabet ♥︎

fem!reader pulling on his tie

~ FICS ~

KARMA ✷✿ - You hate Pietro for how he treats you, or at least you do until you're stuck in an elevator with him.

SANTA DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO ✿ - You and Pietro spend Christmas together.

[yes-divine-ruler]

Morning Head - Peter Maximoff

cw: waking Peter up w a blowjob

Taglist/ @v-love @evanpetersfav @demxnicprxncess @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud @laynna-mcknight @humdrumexistence @simp4petermaximoff @sultrysullen @evan4ever @paujmr @jangsuzchap

Peter slept so peacefully beside you, his arm tucked up under his head of silver hair, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, even, soft breaths passing through his parted lips. You propped your cheek up on your hand, your elbow bent, just to watch him. Before a devious plan crosses your mind.

Gazing down at the blanket as it drapes across his hips, you noticed the obvious tent in the front of his boxers. The sight alone had the heat rise to your cheeks and a soft groan escape your lips. It was already past your usual wake up time, and it wouldn’t hurt to give Peter a little push.

You reposition yourself between his open legs without waking him, and peel the blanket from his body. Your mouth begins to water just at the thought of the pre cum that was sure to glisten from the tip of his cock. You wondered if he was dreaming of you.

Beginning to pull down his boxers next, you stopped just as his cock sprung out and hit his stomach in a way that made your heart flip. Nestling comfortably between his thighs, you lick your lips in preparation for your next move.

You bring your head down to his tip, and test him by licking a stripe up his length. When he doesn’t stir, you take the entire tip in your mouth and begin to hum as the salty taste coats your tongue.

He grumbles, but his eyes stay shut. You continue your movements, wrapping a hand around the base and inching more of him into your mouth. You begin to bob your head, taking half of him at a time, making sure to slick his entire length in your saliva. It trickles down to your fingers, and gives you the lubrication you need to slide your hand up and down in coordination with your lips.

Peter lets out a raspy moan, his hips buckling up softly to meet your hungry mouth. You come up for air, and sink back down on him, removing your hand for a moment to fit as much of his cock as you can in your mouth.

Not taking your eyes off his face, you notice the way it screws in pleasure in his half awoken state, and soon his eyes slowly open. His lips curl into a smile, and a soft, but hoarse, chuckle leaves his lips.

“What are you doing down there?” He mumbles, not without tangling his fingers in your hair as you kitten lick his tip.

You flutter your lashes at him without a word, and dip back down to take him again entirely in your mouth. He groans louder this time, his head falling back to meet the pillow, and his grip on your hair grows tighter.

Your hand wraps back around his length as you continue to pleasure him, getting more aroused by the second as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good baby,” he moans, pushing your head down to swallow his dick whole. You gag at the sudden action, but close your eyes and savour the feeling of his swollen head as it nudges the back of your throat.

Your actions speed up, and with your hand following close behind your lips, you feel the muscles in Peter’s thighs contract. You can tell he’s close, so you remove your mouth from him entirely, and just use your hand to finish him off. It slides seamlessly over his length with the help of your spit, the squelch of its wetness circling the room.

“Oh shit- fuck- I’m cumming,” Peter groans, looking down at you as you stick your tongue out against his tip in preparation for his load.

With the final buckle of his hips, he releases all over your tongue, some of it spurting up onto your cheek. You moan softly as he undoes under your touch, riding his orgasm out in the palm of your hand. You swallow everything you can, and wipe the rest with the back of your hand.

Moving to straddle his thighs, you kitten lick the back of your hand for the rest of his release, and admire the fucked out expression on his face. He pants, with his eyes closed momentarily, before they open again to stare into yours. You grind up against him with a wiggle of your hips and he sucks in a deep breath at the sensitivity.

His hands plant themselves on your hips to hold you still, and he lets out another chuckle.

“Did you like that?” You ask innocently, leaning over and hovering your red and swollen lips over his. He nods, capturing your lips in a swift kiss.

“I can definitely get used to waking up like that.”

[arkhamknightz]

DELICATE

summary: after an ongoing online scandal, you come out with a new album. during an interview, you talk about your inspo :)

warnings: this fic is an excuse to write this fic again that i made for joe since i wrote it months ago and for evan instead with reputation since i think its one of the best albums ever made! link to actual genius article for everyone :)

GENUIS!

“Three years after the release of their 2014 album, and following several public spats with celebrities, Y/N Y/L/N aims to clear their name and inaccurate public image on Reputation. At a fan event that took place in June 2018, Y/L/N described the record as a story of “finding love throughout all the noise,” referring to how the album transitions from discussing her persona to falling in love with American actor Evan Peters.”

*VIDEO STARTS*

“Is this thing on?” you looked at the camera crew and laughed as they held up a thumbs up. ���Hi! Im Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here with Genius and I’m here to talk about my new album, reputation.” you smiled at the camera. Evan, sitting alongside the crew, read out the cards they had handed him. “So, how many tracks are on the album?” he asked. “Well, theres fifteen tracks” “Can you list them out for us?” he smiled warmly.

“The album starts off with Ready For It, End Game featuring Ed Sheeran and Future, I Did Something Bad, Don’t Blame Me, Delicate, Look What You Made Me Do, So It Goes, Gorgeous, King Of My Heart, Dancing With Our Hands Tied, Dress, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Call It What You Want, and the album ends with New Years Day.” Evan softly smiled, reading off the next card. “Is there anything you can tell us about each track?”

You laughed softly, “So, Ready for it is pretty much just diving into what the rest of the albums gonna be like, referencing past songs, kinda lightly digging into the whole situations thats been happening for a while.” you quickly moved onto the next track.

“End Game is just about my reputation and how this effected my outside relationships. I did something bad is pretty much about the same thing, but its a more direct approach.” You took a glance over at Evan, a small smile painted across his face as you carefully explained each track.

"Delicate is about my current relationship, as is Don't Blame Me, I'd definitely say it's one of my more vulnerable tracks." You smiled at Evan, who was already smiling as you started explaining. "My reputation wasn't the best when we first met, which obviously lead to me questioning a lot of it at the start. I didn't think someone could love me in the way he does after everything was going down, it felt like the whole internet was against me but he loved me for who I am and not who I was painted out to be."

As you finished going through each track Evan's smile only grew wider. "What's your favourite track off the album?" You clapped excitedly before speaking. "That's a really hard one but right now I'd have to say either New Year's Day or Dress, both songs are special in terms of relationships." "Do you have a favorite lyric from them?"

You nodded, "For Dress I'd have to say the bridge-" You watched as Evan looked down and smiled before looking back up at you. "Because it really touches on another vulnerable thought I had for a long time. He saw the best in me in my worst time. And for New Years Day probably the bridge as-well for the same reason.

Evan carried on the interview, you wandered questions about the album before closing off. "Well, I'm Y/N Y/L/N and this was my genius interview! Make sure to listen to Reputation on all platforms." You waved at the camera with a small smile on your face before they cut.

You stood up from your chair as the crew around you started speaking. You walked over to Evan who had put the cards down and opened his arms for you to walk into. You wrapped your arms around him as he gently kissed your forehead. "So I'm your muse hmm?" You let out a laugh and nodded before gently kissing him letting out a soft 'mmhm' You looked at him before slightly tearing up. "Thank you for loving me" He smiled softly before tightening his grip on your waist, "I'll love you for the rest of my life."

A/N: hi friends! I decided to finish this because after hearing delicate live and seeing this in my drafts I needed to finish this so badly.. live laugh love taylor swift!

[dinogoofymutated]

Jealousy headcannons! Multi/GN!Reader - Cable, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Quicksilver. Ok I know this wasn't on the schedule butttt Yeahhhh. Cable is going to have an extended version of his fic, and I might do the same for the others but no promises! Also I know that Cable's written half is literally just the snippet I shared with some minor edits but bear with me please his stuff is in the works!!! TWs: Jelousy. Barfights. No violence on Reader but men are creepy. Mentions of sex work. Cable and gambit make public spectacles it's just what they do. The return of wolverine and the X-men Pietro bc I love him

Cable

Look, any man who comes over to flirt with you after you walk in with a legit wall of muscle has to be either stupid or blind.

Cable is by no means a very jealous man. He's not gonna care if a man (or woman) approaches you and starts up a conversation. He might get a little frustrated if they start flirting with you, but he trusts you. He knows you can take care of yourself and he doesn't want you to feel like he's got you on a leash.

But when someone is being persistent, not taking no for an answer, and hell, putting their hands on you? He doesn't take it too well. He's more of an overprotective type when it comes to his flavor of jealousy.

    “That beer for me, Beautiful?” The voice of a stranger cuts through your thoughts, and to be honest, you don’t even think he’s talking to you until you realize how close to you he is. He’s sat on the barstool next to you, leaning towards you like he can’t quite catch his balance. You make a face at him, nonchalantly moving Cable’s beer closer.

    “Last time I checked it wasn’t.” You say curtly. The man has a smile hiding behind his pout as he leans a little closer to you, oblivious to the way you casually recoil from him.

    “Oh c'mon, don’t play hard to get. I’m chill!” You can tell this guy is most definitely drunk, and you find yourself trying not to roll your eyes at him. If only he knew what kind of trouble he was in.

    “Sure you are. But believe me, my Husband is not.” You tell him. You're not married, but to be honest, you knew this guy wasn't going to leave you be if you left him with some vague label. Didn't matter anyway, however, the stranger laughs in your face, and his breath smells like alcohol and cheap cigarettes, a nasty combo that repulses you. You point back at the corner booth where the cable was sitting just a few minutes before, hoping that he’d at least back off at the sight of the six-foot hunk of muscle you call a lover. Unfortunately, He doesn't. 

    “What Husband?” The man says mockingly, and when you look at the booth you find yourself pointing at an empty seat. The sight lights a small flicker of anxiety in you, and your face falls as the man sets a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. It’s not there for long before the weight suddenly disappears. You snap your head around, feeling relief when you see the man’s wrist caught in Cable’s literal iron-clad grip. 

    “This Husband.” Cable grunts.

    All of the blood drains from the stranger’s face in an instant, but it doesn’t take long for the attitude to come back. He tries to yank his arm out of Cable’s grip, but Cable’s arm doesn’t move an inch. To be honest, the sight kinda made you blush a little. Sure, you had seen Cable’s strength many times, but this… well. This was different. The guy starts to yank a little more aggressively, and all Cable has to do is clench his hand for the asshole to yelp and give up. You set a placating hand on his shoulder, and Cable glances back at you. His gaze softens, and he sighs before letting the guy go.

    “What’s your problem, man?” The stranger spits as he holds his bruised wrist. You had already gathered your things and were getting ready to get the hell outta dodge, giving Cable’s shoulder a hard pat as you desperately tried to keep him from getting in a barfight. Cable ignores the guy, walking close behind you as you start to walk away.

    “ -s’ an ugly bitch, anyway.” The stranger mumbles under his breath, but not nearly as quiet as he should’ve. Cable stops in his tracks, wheels around, and slugs the guy with his left arm. There's a sickening crunch and the bar goes silent as the drunken stranger is violently knocked from his seat. Your first instinct is to scold Cable, but the guy had it coming anyway. You look around, and with every eye in the bar squarely on you and Cable, you decide you’ve definitely stayed past your welcome.

Gambit

Gambit is probably the most jealous man in this lineup. Again, He will get fidgety and somewhat aggressive when someone approaches you and begins to flirt, but he trusts you. He doesn't want you to think he doesn't, and as a result, he tends to grit his teeth and bite his tongue to keep himself in check.

There's definitely a very, very thin line in between "I don't want to be overbearing" Remy and "This guy needs to take the fucking hint" Remy.

He's mostly fine with drunk bastards, He thinks they're funny, and as long as they're not bothering you for the most part he'll keep the aggression to a minimum. -But the one thing he absolutely cannot stand is snobby pricks who think they can steal you from him because he's a "swamp rat."

"It's a shame to see such a lovely creature like you standing here all alone." You try not to roll your eyes at the man that approaches you. You and Remy were supposed to have a nice, romantic night out. It was your anniversary, and Remy had told you that he wanted to pull out all the stops for this one. Unfortunately, fate wasn't on either of your sides today. The X-men needed Gambit, and you told him that the plans can wait for another time. Remy, in a very gambit fashion, told you to dress up anyway and he bet he would meet you there. Definitely a rather High-stakes gamble, but you loved him, so you said you'd hold him to it.

Unfortunately for you, it looked like the restaurant was hosting an event at the bar for what looked like a rather stuffy- sorry, High-end law firm. You had been content with waiting for Remy, even if the waitress clearly looked convinced he was standing you up. You had ordered something to drink while you waited, and caught the wrong kind of attention during your trip to the bar.

"I'm not alone, I'm waiting for someone." You say, flashing him an annoyed smile. He smiles back in a smartass kind of way, flashing you his Rolex as he pushes up his glasses. Great. He thinks you're a sugar baby- or maybe a sex worker. Either way, you really wished he was anywhere but here.

"Right. I'll be honest with you, I know you've been waiting here for what- and hour now? Hour and a half? Any guy that leaves you here for that long is not worth your time, sweetheart." You cringe at the nickname, but he clearly can't seem to tell. At this point, you start debating your options. You could run to the bathroom, but there weren't any windows you could crawl out of and he could wait at the door for you to come out. You could try to leave, but you didn't want Remy to think that you left him hanging. It's probably best if you stay and wait for him, but man was this guy getting on your nerves.

"Again, I'm waiting on someone. I'm choosing to wait on him, and frankly, I'm not interested in you." You say bluntly, getting more and more aggravated. The man only smirks at you.

"You're certainly a fiesty one. Don't worry, I like it when they play hard to get." He sends you wink that makes you want to sock him, and to be honest, you start to think about it. The bell at the door of the restaurant dings, and you glance over, face breaking out in a smile at the sight of the man you had been waiting on.

Remy was still in his x-men suit, obviously having come fresh from the fight. He's got some dirt on his face, and his hair is a little messier than normal, but you had never been so happy to see him.

"Well, don't you clean up well." You joke as Remy walks to your table. He chuckles, barely sparing the other man a side-eye before picking up your hand to kiss it.

"Sorry, Chère. Originally, I planned on changin', but I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you here for another moment." Remy's fond gaze turns into a bit of a glare when he finally looks over at the gobsmacked man across the table from you. "I see you've made a new friend?" You roll your eyes at that, shaking your head. Remy gets the message.

There's a gasp from the other patrons of the restaurant, as the sound the contact made was rather loud. There's already a red mark forming on the mans face as you take Remy by the hand and begin to lead him out of the restaurant. Remy is looking at you like he'd fallen in love with you all over again.

"You've been waiting all this time for some Cajun freak?" The man blurts out, finally having found his words.

"Watch it, Mon ami." Remy's shoulders tense as he snarls at the prick. You stand up, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze before you walk in front of the man. The side of his mouth slightly upturns as you do so, right before you slap the everloving shit out of him.

"I know you really wanted for us to eat here, honey, but to be honest? I like your cooking better anyway."

Nightcrawler

Kurt? Jealous???

Absolutely. He absolutely gets jealous. Kurt is much more of a "cat" kind of jealous than a Guard Dog kind of jealous though. He's not going to do anything crazy like punch anyone, but he's gonna brush up against you, slide his tail around your waist, hold your hand. He wants reassurance from you more than he is angered by whoever is flirting with you.

That's not to say he's not angry. He doesn't like the way some people look at you like a piece of meat instead of the intelligent, beautiful person you are, and he's not afraid to call people out on it.

Kurt knew that the guy you were talking to right now was only stopping to ask you for directions, but he really didn't like how close to you the guy was. Kurt had gone off to get you something to eat from the street food vendor nearby, telling you to just relax and he would be back soon.

When he returned with food in hand, it was obvious to him what was happening, but he still couldn't help but frown. The man is leaning into your space as he shows you the map in his hands. It's fine. There was obviously nothing really going on, the stranger must have been simply touchy. He then watches as the man sets a hand on the back of your waist to point at a building up ahead, and Kurt's mind quickly changes.

Obviously, you had stepped out of the stranger's reach quickly, uncomfortable with the action, but Kurt still slinked up to your side like a cat, pulling you close with his tail as he hands you your food, resting his newly freed hand behind your back.

"There you are, Meine Liebe. I hope you didn't wait for too long." Kurt says sweetly, giving you a grin. You smile back at him, thanking him for the food. You felt relieved to see him. Sure, the stranger that had been speaking to you seemed to be a nice man, but there was a certain amount of comfort and security Kurt provided when he was near you. Kurt makes a show of leaning in and kissing you on the cheek that makes you giggle. The stranger clears his throat after a quick moment.

"-Sorry if I interrupted your date. I appreciate the directions!" He says quickly, face flushed red from embarresment.

"You're perfectly fine! I hope you're able to find what you're looking for alright." You respond sweetly, waving as the man walks off. Kurt is pouting again when you look at him, tail still wrapped comfortably around you. You can't help but giggle.

"You're so jealous." You laugh. Kurt gives you an innocent look as he brushes off the accusation.

"Whaaat? No. Ich habe dich vermisst. That is all!"

Quicksilver

I'm not even gonna lie the fic half of this is just part of that enemies to lovers hcs that I wrote

anyway!!

Pietro is a very pouty, bratty kind of Jealous.

Like sure he trusts you and all but you actually looked at someone else while they were speaking to you? >:[ Don't look at them. Look at him. Smile at him not them. You're laughing at something they said? Well, he's funnier than them!!

He's just, so pouty over the smallest, pettiest things. He just needs a smooch on the forehead and some reassurance and also possibly cuddles, and he'll be fine. God he's such a brat ILHSM

However, If someone is actually flirting with you or going too far and making you uncomfortable, he will in fact throw hands. Or do his speedster thing and find a way to embarrass them, like pantsing them or planting something embarrassing on them. One time he snatched a guy's cell and called his wife before planting it in the man's pocket so she could hear all the flirting he was doing. Now that was fun.

"So I heard you had dinner with the wolfie guy tonight." The sound of Pietro's voice makes you yelp in surprise. You whirl around to see him leaning against the wall of your room, arms crossed. You scoff, and pick a pillow off of your bed to chuck it at him. He catches it easily.

"His name is Logan, and No. Not really. All we did was happen to sit next to each other at dinner." You turn back around to sit at your vanity, but Pietro is already there, sitting on the stool with the pink pillow tucked into his arms.

"So you did have dinner with him?" He pouts. You roll your eyes at him, holding back a laugh as you shove him off the seat. He looses his balance for less than a second before there's a gust and he's sitting cross-legged on your bed, having tossed the pillow to the side.

"What does it matter to you, anyway? You're not even supposed to be here, Pietro." You tease as you sit down, unable to keep yourself from smiling. You comb through your hair as you ready yourself for bed, still grinning like an idiot as you hear Pietro huff and haw.

"Why shouldn't it matter?" He asks, watching as you complete your routine. "I- I have a reason to care." He stutters out cheeks flushing a light pink that reaches his ears. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing.

"Don't laugh!" Pietro objects, and it sends you into a fit of laughter as you stand back up and flop onto your back on the bed next to him.

"He's not my type anyway." You say. It only takes a second before Pietro is leaning over you, caging you between his arms. There's the ghost of a grin beginning to form on his face, simply at the sight of your own cheesy expression.

"What is your type, then?" He asks, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

"Let's just say I prefer a man who can keep up with me." You say with a wink that may or may not have been the most terribly, corny action you could have done. Pietro doesn't seem to care as his face is split with an equally as corny grin.

Both of you are caught off guard by someone calling your same from the hallway, and then a knock shortly after. You take Pietro's moment of distraction and quickly lean up, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Pietro looks absolutely shocked.

"You better get going." You whisper. He smiles at you, almost in disbelief, and then he's gone, the window left open and the breeze catching on curtains, blowing gently.

[eternalslover]

The last one 😭😭

BEST FRIEND PIETRO HEADCANONS

pairing: bestfriend!pietro x reader (no pronouns)

mentions of: wanda maximoff, steve rogers

warnings: mentions of puking, blackmail

If there’s anything Pietro loves more than himself, is food. The problem comes when he runs out of food, because then he starts stealing yours with his super speed. He literally runs past you and takes the piece of food from your hand right when you’re about to take a bite and eats it in front of you just to annoy you.

Makes everything a competition. 

Wants to play videogames 24/7, and as his best friend, you’re entitled to play with him. Some of his favorite games are Mario Kart, Kirby, and any type of shooter.

Planning pranks to play on the older avengers.

Stealing cap’s shield to play “extreme frisbee”, a game the two of you created.

Getting on his back while he’s zooming to different places (and probably throwing up afterwards lmaooo, especially if he picks you up by surprise)

Ruffling his hair.

Using his super speed to take embarrassing pictures of you — without you noticing — that then he uses to blackmail you 😭

Him putting a mistletoe over your and your crushes head just to embarrass you.

Stealing his oversized hoodies and not giving them back in a while (or ever)

Even if he plays cool most of the time, he actually cares about you a lot and would do anything to protect you. He’s like an older brother to you.

Him inviting you over for sitcom marathons with Wanda.

Lots and lots of inside jokes.

You can always count on each other.

Sitting on his back while he’s doing push-ups (especially if there’s a hot girl near by, he loves to flex his gains 🙄)

[cenittxnadir]

Recommendations (Nightcrawler)

This is a list I made with my favorite works I've read about the best X-Men member: Kurt Wagner ♥️

Includes some HCs, One shots, drabbles, etc.

Ofc I'll be updating <3

X-Men HCs By @lumi077

Jealousy headcannons! Multi/GN!Reader - Cable, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Quicksilver. By @dinogoofymutated

X-Men 97’ Nightcrawler x Reader By @kayesfanfics

Femreader/ nightcrawler By @kayesfanfics

Sfw! Nightcrawler/GN!Reader. Part2 By @dinogoofymutated

What kind of desert do you think Kurt would like? By @blue-devil-of-the-lord

Cute little Bamf By @blue-devil-of-the-lord

Mother Nature By @blue-devil-of-the-lord

Dating Kurt Wagner would include By @maximoffs-girl

Having a family with Kurt Wagner By @maximoffs-girl

Love letter from Kurt By @anxiousnerdwritings

Movie night with the young X-men By @fandom-------queen

Having a child with Kurt would include @boringbxtch

Social System Error By @blue-devil-of-the-lord

And only the stars will know By @blue-devil-of-the-lord

Nightcrawler Smut By @lovelywetdreamer

Yab-Yum By @gentlesinnings-blog

Nachfalter By @gentlesinnings-blog

[banjjakz]

convection currents ; yuuta x GN!reader

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?” God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. “Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.” 

word count: 7.6k

warnings: horizontal hanky panky, obsession, possessive tendencies, unhealthy relationships, codependency, semi graphic descriptions of violence, major character death

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes + reblogs appreciated!

Yuuta wants to like you. 

And he does – like you, that is. He really, really does.

But there have been some moments that give him pause.

Don’t get him wrong! You’re sweet, kind, doting, attentive, and very clearly an anxious bundle of painful self-awareness. He finds comfort in the kindred connection between your loner spirits. Training is made infinitely easier when he steals a glance at the gentle flash of your sweet smile, the soft flutter of your hair in the breeze, the twinkle of your laugh, floating through the air as a windchime’s ephemeral melody serenades the breeze. Everything about you seems to be perfectly enveloped and embedded within his daily reality at Tokyo Tech; natural, easy, right. That is what it feels like, to be at your side. 

The budding affection between the two of you kicks his foolish, stuttering heart into overdrive. How long has it been, since the blood pumping through his veins was motivated by a sensation other than mortal terror? 

You make him want to envision a reality wherein he’s embedded into the fabric of the living, breathing world, rather than continue to occupy his perch as a pariah, perennially scapegoated to the periphery. 

Each sidelong glance thrown your way is accompanied by the erratic twitch of his clammy hands, as he tries and fails to pay attention during one of Gojo’s rambling, nonsensical lectures. The light in his eyes revives when you call his name. Innards undulating in and out of place, he tracks your body’s every movement, your muscles contorting fast as quicksilver during scrimmages, lethal and alluring all at once. 

These are some of the objectively positive aspects of his attraction to you; the things that pull him from his bed in the morning, calling to him like the abyss compels a creature of the night to rise from its coffin.

And then, there are the more…er, complex moments.

“Did you just come back from a mission, Okkotsu-san?”

Like today, for example. Yuuta had just arrived back on campus after a fun afternoon spent with Toge traversing around Tokyo, patronizing various cafes and konbinis. You were lingering at the entrance of the dormitory, back to the front door, effectively coming between him and his bed.

“Ah, no. I was with Inumaki. We were hanging out for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Just in the city…”

“What did you do?”

He stills, uncertain. “Um…that’s…”

“I’m sorry.” Your head ducks in shame, hiding your face from his quizzical glance. “It’s been hard adjusting to student life as a mid-year transfer. I keep up well enough in classes, and on missions, but I don’t think any of the other students like me all that much. Forgive me, Okkotsu-san. To be honest, I’m jealous of how easily you get along with Inumaki-san and Maki-san.” 

Of course. How could he assume anything different?

As a non-lineage sorcerer, you were haphazardly discovered by one of the senior sorcerers on a mission gone south and roped into the jujutsu world without prior knowledge of its existence. From a firsthand perspective, he of all people should be able to understand how isolating that must be.

Kicking himself for his judgemental first reaction, Yuuta forces his skeleton to release the tension it harbors. “No, don’t worry. Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat dinner?”

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

This is how he finds himself alone, with you, in a secluded alcove on the outskirts of campus. The afternoon has matured into a thick, syrupy evening, the sky bruised with a smattering of warm hues. You sit on the grassy bank as a pair, shoulder-to-shoulder, your union celebrated by the rhythmic thrum of the cicadas’ song. 

“Here, take it.” He offers you the last flavored onigiri leftover from his spoils of konbini adventures. 

You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “No, no, no. I’m fine with just a plain one. Please. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Plain is my favorite,” he lies. “I don’t even like yaki.”

“...Then why did you have one in your bag?”

“Haha! That’s a great question! I don’t know!” Beet red, Yuuta scratches the back of his head. 

Out of mercy, and perhaps pity, you graciously accept the yaki onigiri. Munching in companionable quietude ensues for several minutes, as you both watch the sun impale itself on the dark horizon, bleeding out across the sky in dark, inky tones. 

Without sitting face-to-face, it’s easier to speak to you, somehow. The insistent pressure on his chest lifts long enough for some words of actual substance to slip forth. “It’s hard, the first year.”

You remain silent.

“My first year was hell, too. Although that’s probably because I was being haunted.” 

“By who?”

He blinks, your question knocking him off balance. Not by “what,” but by “who” had he been haunted? You’ve always been observant. This is why you’ve survived for so long. 

“Um, it’s a long story… I’ll tell you in full one day. For now, I’ll just say that there was someone very special to me when I was a child… and it was hard for her to let go of me, when push came to shove.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

Although August has yet to conclude, the air around him is significantly chillier than what is characteristic of Tokyo’s late-summer hazy heat. Yuuta shivers, pulling his knees up to his chin. 

“Yeah. But, um, anyways. If you need someone to talk to…to be by your side… I would like to be that person for you.” He utters your name like a prayer, too concentrated on not stuttering to be embarrassed at the earnest tremble in his voice. “I wish I had a confidante when I first got here. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.” 

“A confidante? But didn’t you have your friend?”

Your reply jolts him into looking at you. The expression on your face tells him that you truly mean it as a genuine inquiry. 

“Well, um. I was being haunted…and Rika – er, she didn’t really listen to me. She actually got a little overprotective, I think.” 

“Do you think she was evil?”

“No!” The denial explodes from his mouth before Yuuta can even fully process the nuance of the question posed. “No,” he repeats, at an appropriate volume, this time. “She was clingy, and protective, and possessive, and honestly violent, but she wasn’t evil. I loved her. I think a part of me always will.” 

Love? What is he doing talking to you, alone, at night, about love? How embarrassing. He hadn’t meant to say all that! 

Quickly, he stuffs his mouth with the remainder of his onigiri. No more talking. Just chewing. 

If you are perturbed by his sentimental ramblings, you show no sign of it. If anything, your face remains impassive, serene, undisturbed like the surface of a tranquil pond. 

“You loved her for that, then. Was she haunting you if you were in love?”

After he finishes choking down the final, sticky remnants of his dinner, Yuuta frowns, mulling over your words which are heavy by the virtue of their implication, yet hang and sway in the air as an empty noose dangles from the gallows. 

“...I don’t know.” Yuuta says, at length. “That’s what I was diagnosed with when I came here. And it was hard for me to function, back when Rika was still here. I didn’t have any friends. And people close to me got hurt a lot.” 

“It sounds like she was always trying to protect you… even when you were apart. I only wish one day, I find someone who would have the capacity to care for me like that…”

“You want that?”

“I do.” Not an ounce of hesitation in your firm, forthcoming reply. “I’ve spent my whole life as something worth less than notice or acknowledgement. Always feeling invisible, never having anyone – not even one person – who cared about me. Up until this point, I’ve lived life wanting to die every day.” 

For lack of a better reply, Yuuta simply asks: “What changed?”

“...I met you, Okkotsu-san.”

Oh, wow. 

It’s kind of funny – where other people describe feeling hot, Yuuta has always been chronically, terminally cold. Your words induce a rapidly onsetting deep-freeze which permeates every layer of his skin, every molecule of his bones, every wretched atom of marrow lying dormant inside of him, all of it, every fiber of being rooted to the spot in an indescribable emotion. 

“I–I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” 

That’s wrong. “No, you didn’t! You didn’t, I swear. Just… um, I’m also a person who is lonely, like you described. So I’m not used to, err, being, ah, important. To people? I guess?”

“Oh… I see.”

Clearly, the higher function of critical thought has abandoned him; this is the only explanation for how he reaches to grab your hands, sending the half-eaten yaki onigiri tumbling down to the dark earth beneath your anxiously shifting feet. He squeezes you, tightly, and is delighted in a morose sort of way to find your digits even colder than his. 

“Let’s teach each other. How to be important to someone else.”

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?”

God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. 

“Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.” 

;

Field missions have been a part of his daily life as a sorcerer since the day he arrived at Tokyo Tech. Battle has always been challenging for all the obvious reasons, but never before has Yuuta had to deal with the added hardship of fighting alongside you.

This, of course, is not meant to imply that you aren’t able to hold your own; on the contrary, your physical and cursed prowess has granted you the rank of semi-special grade despite this being your first year enrolled in any kind of formal jujutsu schooling. Your cursed technique is innate to your personality and sensibilities, which helps. But even if that weren’t the case, you would still be one of Tokyo’s top-performing students.

Missions are difficult because, despite all of this being true, Yuuta is powerless to curb the instinct to protect you during fights.

It manifests in small ways, at first: insisting to be paired up with you for assignments, always volunteering to partner up when splitting from the larger group during an investigation– things like this. 

His behavior starts to stray into problematic territory the longer he is allowed to get away with it, unchecked.

“After Ijichi casts the veil, we’ll sweep the building. Inumaki and Yuuta, you two take the upper levels. We’ll do the bottom half,” orders Maki, gesturing between you and herself.

Immediately, Yuuta objects. “No. I’ll do the bottom half. You and Inumaki should go up together.”

“What?”

“I have a phobia of heights,” lies Yuuta, shamelessly. “It will impact my performance.” 

“I have literally never heard you talk about being afraid of heights before.”

“Shake sushi,” agrees Inumaki. 

You remain silent, pupils trembling, bottom lip severed between your teeth in a display of bashfulness reserved only for Yuuta’s blatant favoritism, which he wields frequently, in hopes to catch a even a single glimpse of you just as you appear now. 

“I’m self-conscious about it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you both for understanding.”

“Wait! Okkotsu, we didn’t–”

And with that, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you away with him, sprinting into the abandoned love hotel before Maki or Inumaki can prevent you from absconding. 

The two of you are laughing, tickled as usual at the effects of pissing Maki the hell off. Consequences will rain down in due time, no doubt, but for now, it feels best to bask in each other’s presence. 

Once through the front door, Yuuta halts to an easy jog, guiding you past the cobweb-covered front desk, around the decrepit scraps of the once-ostentatiously decorated lobby, all the way to the far back corner, where a solid, heavy metal door obfuscates the emergency stairway. 

“Oh, it looks jammed… Should we–”

Your stumped musing is cut off by the ricocheting cacophony of Yuuta’s boot violating the door. The metal itself bends and warps, caving in on itself in a hurry to make way for the unstoppable force of the sorcerer’s impassioned blow. He didn’t have to activate any cursed energy.

“Let’s go!” Chirps Yuuta, cheerfully. 

In another context, maybe, it would be appropriate for his pulse to spike, for his hands to clam, for his breath to quicken, at the prospect of being alone with you. However, the reality of the current situation is that Yuuta is dragging you down into some dark, unknown depth, where neither of you will be disturbed. As you descend the concrete flights, visibility is increasingly hard to come by, and this, too, excites Yuuta. He is now forced to rely more heavily upon his other senses, which naturally prioritizes the scent of your sweat; the sound of your rabbit-paced heartbeat; the feeling of the paper-thin skin of your inner wrist; the taste of his own desire. 

The cursed spirit they’re looking for has been wreaking havoc on the surrounding commercial strip, to the point where several businesses have had to draw their shutters in the wake of the love hotel’s primary foreclosure. Evidently, recurring, unresolved muder-suicides did not bode well for business. 

“Um…if we’re supposed to be searching for the curse behind all of the couples’ deaths, shouldn’t we be looking in the bedrooms?”

Your voice echoes, tinny, in the thick, humid air of the emergency stairwell. They haven’t hit the bottom yet. 

“Eh, maybe. This doesn’t feel like that kind of case, though.” 

“Huh? How do you figure?”

Although moving swiftly, at the speed of light, your footfalls make barely a whisper against the aged concrete steps. Still, it’s enough for Yuuta’s hypersensitive ears to pick up on. Deprived of the sight of you, he drinks in the intimation of your existence, greedily. 

“Heat rises,” he says, slowing pace as they approach what can only be the door to the boiler room, which has been left ominously ajar. “Cold sinks.” 

“...Um, I’m not sure I follow.”

Stealthily, he slithers inside the slender crack between frame and the door itself. The angle of its opening doesn’t even waver. He pulls you along with him, replying as he moves, “Crimes of passion carry a kind of hot, frenetic energy. Panic, impulse, instinct – all of those things have lots of, hmm, friction? Like an explosion. Really hot at first, dangerously hot, and then it fizzles out into nothing.”

Unfamiliar pieces of enormous machinery tower in the dark. As much as you are able to while crouching so low to the floor, you take care not to trip over any errant pipes.

“So this isn’t a hot curse?”

“No,” Yuuta confirms. “The curse–” murder-suicides in a love hotel, how on-the-nose could it be? “–is premeditated by nature. Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice.” 

He stops short. You would’ve crashed straight into his shoulder blades if he weren’t painfully cognizant of your whereabouts at all times. He preemptively steadies you on your feet before you can even begin to stumble.

“At some point in this building, someone,” says Yuuta, quietly, as he cautiously eyes the opaque blackness before them, “spent a lot of time thinking about their beloved.” 

“How can you tell?”

“Cold sinks,” Yuuta repeats. 

Violence explodes, seemingly, out of nowhere. The curse attacks all at once, aiming perfectly towards you as though it had been lying in wait, stalking your every move. Yuuta always takes point whenever you pair up together, because he always insists on taking the first hit. It is this presupposition that leaves you wide open, vulnerable for attack from behind. 

“Yuuta!!” You shriek, desperately dodging the grotesque appendages reaching out to you. Your body hits the floor just seconds shy of what would have been a gory fatality. 

When you lift your head to identify the exact form of the curse, you still in uncomprehending terror. 

“...Yuuta?” 

How can this be?

Not even seconds prior, Yuuta had been a whole, living, breathing, intact person, guiding you as solidly as your own personal anchor. Why, then, does he appear to you now as a corpse, brain matter spilling down his temples, bloated limbs belying days of decay, flesh pale and tender and loose around the bone. 

No, no, no. Had you been too late? Had the curse gotten to him first? Are you next?

Despair fills you, overflowing your sensibilities with the intrusive desire to rid the world of your miserable existence. How could you have let him slip through your fingers? How could you be expected to return to any semblance of a life, with Yuuta gone? You don’t deserve a future without Yuuta – you don’t even want to imagine one.

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

Cursed energy welling within you, threatening to tear you apart at the very seams, you are about to implode with all the conviction of an abandoned lover– but a familiar, desperate cry of your name halts your ministrations.

That was Yuuta’s voice calling out to you.

But there he is, lying before you as nothing more than a desecrated body.

Unless…?

Yuuta calls your name again, sharply, this time in a tone adjacent to something scolding. The fear of disappointing Yuuta outweighs all else. It’s enough to snap you back to reality, to clear your clouded faculties and reveal to you the real Yuuta, who stands on guard just a few paces away, living, breathing, sweating, crouching, preparing for action.

“The curse,” he calls, eyes never leaving the thing in front of you. “It’s the curse. Don’t worry, it’s not real. You’re alive.”

“I’m alive?” You parrot incredulously. “That’s your corpse over there!”

“...Huh? My corpse? But I see yours–” He cuts himself off, face going eerily blank. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Close your eyes. Don’t flinch.”

In your defense, you try your best.

Remaining sightless and motionless is difficult as the rest of your senses are inundated with the disgustingly explicit soundtrack of slaughter. The sound of flesh forcibly sliding apart on the edge of Yuuta’s cursed katana is familiar, at this point, but no less gut-wrenching to bear witness to. When he deals the final blow, the evidence sprays all over the front of you, drenching you from head to toe in what should be the curse’s blood.

And yet, the liquid is frigid. Like you’ve been assaulted by the waves of the cruel, immortal sea. 

“You can look now.”

Hesitantly, your eyes flutter open. You’re met with the sight of Yuuta, also covered head to toe in the viscous liquid produced by the corpse’s demise. Now that the exorcism has been completed, the preternatural heaviness is lifted from the building. But still, you struggle to breathe.

“Why didn’t you let me fight?” Something horrible announces itself, crowing from an ugly, dark corner of your mind best kept away from public view. “Was I going to slow you down?”

He sheathes in katana without sparing the gory weapon another glance. The space between your bodies is quickly extinguished, as Yuuta crosses the space in a matter of heartbeats. Blood roars in your ears, drowning out all which does not consist of Yuuta’s fixed gaze, Yuuta’s shaky breath, Yuuta’s pallid, sweaty skin, Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta.

“No.” 

A large, wet palm meets your cheek. The soft squelch should be repulsive. Your stomach flips for entirely unrelated reasons.

“Why do you think all those murder-suicides happened?”

The question catches you off guard, but you answer, nonetheless. “The curse.”

“What do you think the curse made people see, for them to do something like that?”

You want to ask what the hell this line of questioning has to do with anything, with the mounting intensity in his stare, with the firm hand on your face, calloused thumb rubbing miniscule half-crescents into the crux of your jaw where the bone and flesh is pliant and breakable, could crack open like the shell of a creature already cooked alive, prepared to be split open for gluttonous consumption–

And then, rudely, the memory of mere moments prior hits you:

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

“Oh,” you whimper, pathetically. “They see– the curse makes them see, um, someone special to them.”

“Not just ‘special,’” Yuuta corrects. From this close you can see the faint trail of blue-green veins spiderwebbing their way from his eyebags, metastasizing every which-way, just underneath his skin. “What is a curse?”

“The coalescence of negative energy secreted by human non-sorcerers.” You rattle off the elementary answer without second thought. 

“What kind of curse was this?”

The moisture evaporates from your mouth. “A cold one.”

“Why?”

“‘Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice,’” you mimic back. 

Although, your tone doesn’t quite replicate the self-assured way by which Yuuta had originally imparted the information. No, your voice shakes apart, just as disjointed as the rest of your body feels at this moment. 

“What did you see when you looked at the curse?”

He already knows. He wants you to say it. You want to plead for mercy, if only to savor the eroticism of begging for something you know will not be spared for you. 

“I saw you, Yuuta.”

The curse’s blood is bitter and cold, like soured juice, when it is thrust upon your tongue. Yuuta is uncaring of the gore coating the both of you, the time-sensitive nature of this mission assignment, the way your knees sway and buckle as the adrenaline begins to leak from your body, replaced by a new, even more exhilarating sensation.

Opaque darkness still shrouds the boiler room; and yet, it isn’t enough to prevent your souls from recognizing one another. Hands wrestle with buttons, fingers grapple with zippers, teeth gnash into flesh, and the two of you take each other apart not with the reckless abandon of lovers under the duress of a transient liaison; no, you are methodological, thorough, all-consumed by the well-marinated desire that has been fertilizing from the moment you first came into contact with one another. 

Yuuta throws you down to the floor and moves his body at a preternatural speed so that he beats you there, his hand cradling the back of your skull before it can strike the concrete. 

“I saw you too,” he huffs into your mouth. 

“You were d-dead…” The way you struggle to say the word is cute. You’re so fucking cute. God, he’s no better than a fucking curse. 

It’s impossible to curb the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck, eagerly feeding off of the intoxicating effects of your pained, thrilled squeal. “You weren’t,” he murmurs into the abused flesh, pressing a kiss where he’d just gnawed. “You looked close, but you weren’t dead.”

“...Huh…?”

Can you even think right now? Do you understand what he’s saying to you? How could you possibly grasp the implications of what is transpiring, right now, when you’re laid out on the floor, snow-angeling in the blood and guts and gore of a murdered curse, delirious off of a heady combination of lust and adrenaline and fear?

“You were just barely alive. On the edge.” He moans, rocking the hard line of his body into your own. “Do you know what you said to me?”

“Tell me.”

“You asked me to finish the job.” 

Back arching off of the grimy, gritty ground, every fiber of your being reaches out for the fingers that tear at the cloth of your uniform as though it is nothing more than some cheap costuming. “You know what? I knew it wasn’t the real you, when it said that. ‘S not like you.” 

He’s monologuing to himself, it seems. You are far beyond the hope of verbally communicating in anything other than your strained, hoarse whines. 

“You’d never ask me to do that. You’d stay with me until the very end, wouldn’t you?”

Desperately, hopelessly, you nod, your fingernails carving your intentions into the meat of his shoulders. When had his shirt come off? Did you do that? 

Are you the one tearing away the last bits of offending clothing, or is that him? Do you growl in stoked desire as he breaches your entrance, or does that inhuman noise come from the both of you?

When Yuuta is buried inside of you, he feels like he’s finally been laid to rest. There is the warm, comforting embrace often described as death – but instead of an eternal bliss found at the conclusion of his life, Yuuta is able to access this euphoria by burying himself inside of you. You are his headstone, his tomb, his coffin: all of you exists to house the death of all of him, and without him inside of you, you would live on in aimless unfulfillment, anxiously awaiting the day a beautiful boy will come to die under your care and linger with you in eternity. 

You are–warm, hot, burning up, self-immolating beneath his fingers. Every thrust forward threatens to scald his hips on your molten flesh. 

“Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu–” you stutter, body shuddering to life, rising from the ground, seizing and contorting in strange shapes as you struggle and fail to cope with the insurgence of pleasure coursing through you. “Yuu–ta–”

“Promise me.” 

“Wha–”

“Promise me,” he hisses, hands coming to your throat. “Promise you’ll stay. You’re too important to me, I c-can’t lose you too, hnnnnn–”

Promise you, I’ll never leave you, is what you are able to only mouth, breath and voice held captive in his unrelenting grasp. Because you cannot voice it entirely, you pour all the contents of your heart and soul into the sentiment. Fingers rising weakly to clasp onto his, you tighten his grip on your windpipe and take comfort in the drowsy haziness that cradles your consciousness. 

When he comes, he holds you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to crawl off and die somewhere else if he doesn’t keep you right where you are, crushed against, his shivering frame, so tightly bound to him that he can hear your diaphragm contract and expand, over and over and over again, each breath cut short by a wheeze or a sob. 

Through it all, he cradles you. Naked, bruised, and forever scarred from the sight of not-Yuuta’s rotting corpse, you cling to him and release your sorrows into the dark, empty abyss of the boiler room. 

Back and forth, he rocks your body, soothing your nervous system into an illusion of safety. There is no such thing as “safety,” not for jujutsu sorcerers – but together, with limbs intertwined as one, this is the closest you can come to fooling yourselves into hoping, one day, for a safe place. A safe person, even.

“Shhh,” he simpers, thumb swiping your cheek, which is damp from an unholy mixture of cursed blood, sweat, spit, and tears. “We’re together. It’s all okay.”

“T-together…”

“Yeah. Just you and me.” 

;

“You don’t think that’s an issue?”

“I’m not saying there isn’t an issue. But we should tread lightly, here. We don’t know what could happen if we interfere.” 

“If we don’t interfere, the newbie might die.”

“It won’t get to that point. I won’t let it happen. Oi, don’t blow smoke in my face. That’s unladylike.”

“Don’t lecture me on what’s ‘ladylike,’ cocksucker.” 

“Wow! That burns!” 

“Come here, I’ll show you what else burns.”

Lingering outside the door to the infirmary, you shift your weight from foot to foot, unsure of the appropriate course of action to take. Clearly, Gojo and Ieiri are in the middle of a conversation that is not meant to be heard by prying ears – not that you can make heads or tails of what they’re talking about, anyways. 

All you wanted to do was come see Ieri for your weekly check-up, as was customary following the love hotel mission. The adrenaline must have numbed your pain receptors in the moment, because as soon as you’d arrived back on campus, your entire body felt like you’d been through a grinder. 

You were kinda confused, at first, because you didn’t even engage the curse in combat. In due time, of course, you remembered what–or who–had actually bruised your ribs, broken your skin, sprained your joints, left you carrying the contours of his wanting.

Why were they talking about you dying, anyways? Yuuta saved your life. Nothing was going to happen to you as long as he was by your side.

“Hey.”

Jumping out of your skin has started to feel good, kind of. You look forward to Yuuta’s unceremonious greetings as he creeps up on you in silence, futilely waiting for you to detect his concealed presence. 

“H-hi,” you demure. Why are you shy? He’s been so far inside of you he practically fused into your skeleton. Blushing because he caught you unawares is ridiculous. 

“Aren’t you going to go in?”

Wondering how he knows what you’re here for is pointless. Equally as useless is trying to deduce how he was able to figure out your recurring appointment time. He’s Yuuta – it’s natural for him to acquire knowledge about you, as easily as one picks low-hanging fruit from a tree. 

“Umm, I think they’re talking about something.”

He frowns. “About what?”

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you heard? “Ah, I don’t know...”

“Are you sure?”

You remain silent, unsure of how to proceed. Part of you wants to bare your innards at all times, whenever Yuuta is around. It feels natural, like a rabbit’s cowering. On the other hand…

Somehow, the thought of telling Yuuta the truth–yeah, Gojo-sensei and Ieiri-sensei think there’s a chance I might die soon–would not end well for anyone involved. If there was something you truly needed to know, you’re sure your senseis would tell you. 

Right?

“Please trust me,” you whisper, only feeling a little guilty. You’re doing it to protect him. If something dangerous is going to happen to you, Yuuta shouldn’t be involved at all. He must live. You must make sure of it. 

Reluctantly, he acquiesces, although he insists on accompanying you to your check-up that week. Strangely, neither Gojo nor Ieiri seem surprised that he is here with you, and make no effort to question why. Yuuta is allowed to linger at your sides as Ieiri takes your vitals, reviews the status of your various injuries, and even holds your hand when she scans your cursed energy levels. Thankfully, you are on track to make a perfect recovery. 

In fact, not only are you replenishing the strength and ability that had been impaired during the love hotel mission–you are regenerating cursed energy at rates which exceed your natural capacities. 

When Ieiri relays this to you, Gojo, who has been lingering in the infirmary for some unknown reason (you suspect it’s simply to annoy Ieiri with his very presence) speaks up: “Do you know what that means, kid?”

“Um…” You start, nervous. Everyone’s eyes are on you. It feels like you’re under a microscope. “I’m moving up a rank?”

Gojo bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over at the waist. “Wow, what an opportunist! Haha, maybe in the future, if your cursed energy continues to compound exponentially. I’m asking you about the cause. Any idea why you’re suddenly overflowing with power?”

“No.” Your answer is as truthful as it is anxious. 

“Typically, a dramatic increase in output like this only occurs after a Binding Vow. Make any life-or-death promises, recently?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, the way Gojo says it. You can tell because his crow’s feet dip down just far enough away from underneath his blindfold that you can tell whenever he smiles with his eyes. And he is smiling, after he cracks the joke. You’re also able to intuit when he stops smiling, as the depressions on his face smooth out into a careful blankness. You are thirty seconds too late to the punchline. Instead of laughing along, you remain damningly silent, and Yuuta shifts uncomfortably at your side. 

“Okay,” says Gojo, clapping his hands. “Alright.” 

Although you’re fully clothed in your school uniform, it makes you feel chillingly exposed when what feels like all Six of his Eyes bore into the collection of dark marks ringing your neck in a brutal, makeshift collar. Those were not, in fact, the work of a curse. 

Yuuta fidgets with the flimsy paper lining the examination bed. You kick your feet like a child in time out.

“You owe me seven thousand yen,” Shoko deadpans. 

“Hey! Didn’t we say forty-five?”

“Don’t kid around.”

Am I in trouble? The terrified plea swells to the front of your mouth, begging to escape. You force the words to sit, stay, and curdle on your tongue. 

“Can we go now?” Asks Yuuta, uncharacteristically direct. 

Given the odd gravity in the room, you don’t expect Gojo’s easy wave of his hand, dismissing the two of you with a flippant hum. Not having to be told twice, you hightail it out of the infirmary, grateful to be released from the constant invasion of privacy and security that is a prolonged existence within the reach of Gojo’s Six Eyes. 

Finally alone once more, the training grounds are a welcome reprieve for you and Yuuta, who crash into the grass clearing hand-in-hand, heartbeats synced. 

“Did we make a Binding Vow? When we…you know…”

Yuuta’s voice trails off, lamely. 

“What if we did? Would you regret it?”

“Huh? No, of course not! It’s just…well–”

“Well, what?” 

“That’s kind of permanent,” Yuuta whispers, dark pools of obsidian sorrow holding your gaze in its cruel, captivating clutches. “And we don’t know what will happen if it breaks.”

For one second, the rawness of it hits you. Fear washes down your back, prickling your flesh, raising goosebumps, locking your spine rigidly into place. The two of you had certainly made a life-or-death promise, infused with cursed energy and blood and…other…bodily fluids. To inadvertently perform a Binding Vow meant that the sheer intensity behind both of your wills was purely, wholly devoted to the promise. 

Which is why you take a step closer to him, voice steady. “I didn’t make that promise with the intention to break it. Ever.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t…you can’t be sure of that.”

“I am.”

“You won’t be able to guarantee it.”

“I will.” 

Familiarly calloused hands grab your shoulders, jostling you with charged intention. “You don’t get it! My favorite person in the whole world already left me once. If that happens again, I can’t… I don’t know…”

“Yuuta.” You don’t have to lay a finger on him for his entire body to stand at attention, drawing tall and taught, when you call his name. “I will never leave you, even if I die.” 

The ensuing kiss tastes like metal. 

Despite the passionate fervor with which he devours you, his mouth his cold, and his digits even more so as they dig into your cheeks, your throat, your waist, your chest, groping and pulling and kneading your flesh to loosen the rigor mortis that has arrested your willingness. 

“D-don’t, ah, make any m-more marks…” 

Your protest is, at best, unconvincing, the person least of all convinced being yourself, as Yuuta’s teeth and tongue on the tender flesh of your neck make you feel like you’re about to leave your body. “Hnng–Gojos-sensei already knows, I think.”

“Good.” He’s crazed, nipping and slurping at your sensitive soft bits like a man starved. “Let him know. Everyone should know. I shouldn’t even–” he kisses “–have–” he bites “–to say it–” he licks you in between speaking, as though it goes against the grain of his being to part ways with you for more than just a few jagged inhalations. 

The ground hits you hard, reprimanding you for your clumsiness with a firm impact on your backside. Yuuta pursues with haste, hands slamming down on either side of your head, ripping the grass in retribution. 

“Yuuta,” you hiss, hands flying to his dark mop of hair, trying to reel him back – in vain, of course. “We are outside. In the middle of the day. Anyone could walk by!”

“Don’t care.”

His eyes are glazed, half-lidded, pupils blown wide and deeply dark as a gunshot wound, uncaring of your anxiety as he attempts to dive back into you.

“Wait! What if someone sees me?” Now, he rears back. “I don’t want anyone else to see, Yuuta… only you get to see me like this.” 

Even the ants traipsing across the clearing stop dead in their tracks, rendered motionless, silent, at the abrupt onslaught of highly charged cursed energy that washes through every living and non-living thing within a five-mile radius. 

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, your world upends as you are thrown over a wide shoulder clad in spotless, wrinkled white. You’ve always thought it was funny – how Yuuta’s uniform never managed to permanently stain itself with any of the gore he frequently encountered, and yet, there was always a noticeable depression in the seams, ever-lurking, complicating the otherwise flawless expanse, evoking a sense of pity. 

Even when the shirt flies off, abandoned to crumple sadly in the corner of his bedroom, you can’t get its image out of your head. That spotless white. Those gleaming gold buttons dripping in iridescent rivulets down the front of the garment. Only within the intricate designs etched into their surface is one able to glean the barest hint of blood, staining the metal a pale crimson. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it.

But you have always sought out his ugly, twisted parts. Even when he tries to hide. Even when he might duck from them himself. 

That’s okay. 

That’s why he has you. 

When he bites you so hard that the wound draws blood; when his palms squeeze around your windpipe so deftly that you lose vision; when pins down your bruised hips, ignoring their wriggling avoidance; when his unquiet nature makes itself known, eclipsing the carefully bashful performance he puts on for his peers so that he might be liked, or loved, even–that is when you feel most connected to him. That is when your affections burn brightest. 

And during the comedown, as he holds you close and rocks your brutalized body back and forth and back again, you are well aware that it is he himself who he seeks to soothe.

He doesn’t know, you realize, broken out of your post-coital mental haze with a pointed moment of clarity. 

Yuuta has no clue what lurks inside the haunted catacombs of his soul. 

What does it say about you, then, that his naivete only serves to further incense your want, smoldering like an inferno brewing at the base of a pyre, threatening to engulf your sorry corpse in entirety? 

;

As third year trudges on, instruction takes less time in the classroom, or on campus. More frequently, you find yourself out on missions from sun-up to sundown, running around Tokyo-to and even surrounding prefectures. The grades of the curses you go up against only increase with time, and so, to, does your proximity to mortal danger.

Through it all, Yuuta is present. Indignantly so. Despite your rank as a semi-special grade sorcerer, you have yet to embark solo on an assignment. The pair of you are one combative unit, at this point so intertwined in sentiment and instinct that rarely is it necessary to reach for verbal exchange while engaged in battle. It is as though the reserve of cursed energy you draw from is a pool shared between you, a combination of your innate abilities plus an additional overflow, supplied by the Binding Vow you had consummated all those months ago. 

So close are you, now, that Yuuta grows comfortable – confident, even – with your hold on his proverbial leash. These days, he is less neurotic when you inquire as to his whereabouts. Your prying questions provoke within him nothing other than a deep-seated sense of reassurance. He no longer doubts where he stands with you, as he once did when you were still a fresh-faced, mid-year transfer adjusting to life at Tokyo Tech. 

In retrospect, he recognizes that he should never have let his guard down.

It’s his fault, really. Entirely his fault. The extra strength provided by the powerful effects of the Binding Vow deluded him into a false sense of security. 

He shouldn’t have been so careless with your life. He shouldn’t have strayed so far from your side. He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight. He shouldn’t have left you alone, even if it was only for a split second–not even. 

Once again, he has failed to save the most important person in his life. Somehow, losing you is worse than losing Rika. He is no longer a child. He possessed both the skill and ability to save you. 

And yet, he had been absent in your time of need. 

The one time you’d been off on a mission without him. The one and only time. Principle Yaga’s sorry excuse was that the higher-ups found it strange that you, as a semi-special grade, had never completed a solo assignment. Apparently, your rank was being threatened if you refused any longer to display independent capability. 

Well. Now there’s no rank for you to claim, anymore. 

After news of your death reaches him, he roams campus like an aimless specter, as though he is the one who has been robbed of life. 

In a way, he has. Half of his being has perished. He limps, lopsided, dragging the phantom weight of your body with him wherever he goes. 

It takes a while to get used to the absence of your physical, living, breathing manifestation. As a fellow sorcerer, you have been wholly eradicated from the fabric of his reality. 

But as a spirit…?

Death is not enough to break a Binding Vow – this, Yuuta knows better than anyone. He retains his augmented cursed abilities, along with your presence. The two of you join once more in battle, as he summons you to protect and guard him in life as he failed to do for you. Your selfless nature has never been more clearly evident. Not a single call goes unanswered, not a single need of his unmet. 

Is this a haunting?

No, he doesn’t think so.

When the two of you had still been skittish and shy around one another, nothing more than a pair of innocently covetous children, you’d dared him to reflect on his relationship with Rika. What had been translated to him as a haunting, you reimagined as something more corporeal, something genuine, something worthy of gratitude, and love.

This is how he chooses to think of you – the both of you, together, still joined in perfect union. No matter the fact that you will watch him age, change, develop, and eventually die, one day, should he be so lucky. You do not haunt his waking hours. You do not terrorize his dreams.

You love him in a way that transcends the bounds of space and time.

He has not been cursed. Rather, he has been blessed with your unconditional love.

To earn true forgiveness, he must show you his, as well. You must occupy his every waking thought. You will invade his every intention. You are at the forefront of his mind when he rises with the dawn, and the memory of your breath against the shell of his ear whispers to him good night. You dress him. You urge him to sustenance. You machinate his combat. You heal his wounds. You wipe his tears when he sobs, alone, terribly alone, sobbing into his knees after each time the life of a friend meets a senseless, violent conclusion. 

You are still there when he wraps a rough, harried palm around his throbbing arousal, thrusting up into an elusive, now long-gone pleasure. You guide his hands’ journey across the hazardous dips and valleys of his rib cage, the grotesque concave of his stomach, the sharp blades of his hip bones. His skeleton threatens to crawl outside of his flesh. It yearns for something beyond this senseless cycle of bloodshed, grief, and rage.

 Never does he feel closer to salvation than when he is on the precipice of ecstasy, dehydrated, underfed, delirious, heart beating so fast that it limits his vision, his lung capacity. When he occupies this liminal space, it is not the brink of orgasm which he straddles. As he approaches climax, he yearns not for an explosion of wet heat, but for the euphoric embrace of a final ending: your arms around him once more, real, tangible, warm. 

Until then, he will trudge onwards. Miserably alive. Cold inside and out. Numb to physical pain, constantly inundated with the wounds inflicted on his spirit, his sentiments, his soul. 

Solace finds him in the fact that you committed to remain by his side, forever. How could he wallow in total despair when this remains true?

You chose this, after all.

You chose him.

You did. 

Didn’t you?

[suguwu]

RECKONING

In the morning light, things are painfully clear.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

a sequel to aftermath.

pairing: getou suguru x gn!reader

notes: was i ever expecting to finish this sequel? not really. did it possess me this afternoon? yes. so here we are. unbeta'd.

wc: 1.2k

cw: mentions/implications of child abuse.

You make mackerel for breakfast.

It crackles as you lay it in the pan. You watch as the skin starts to sear, and you think of the scorch marks a lightning strike leaves behind.

Suguru is warm next to you, deftly cutting a cucumber into perfect little medallions. The quiet, hollow thud of your sharpest chef’s knife rings in your ears.

(He took it from you with gentle, firm fingers, his big hand wrapping around yours on the handle. The blade flashed in the watery morning light, a quicksilver gleam. 

You could feel his dark eyes on you. Idly, you wondered where he was slotting you in his ever-shifting equation.

He swept his thumb over your skin. The touch was soft. Familiar.

You let go of the knife.)

Suguru pauses mid-cut.

“The girls are awake,” he says, just as you feel his curse—swirling slowly around your guest room, a lazy seaweed drift—stutter to a halt.

“Go,” you say. “I'll finish up here.”

He’s broad against your back as he slips by, and you know that if you turned around, he’d curve around you like the sky, vast and unending. His fingertips ghost over the small of your back, leaving little imprints against your skin, even through your shirt. Then the heat of him is gone; you hear him pad down the hallway.

He leaves the knife. 

For a moment, you stare at it. It's glinting on the cutting board, wet with cucumber seeds. Your fingers twitch.

You flip the mackerel over.

You’re watching the edges blacken when Suguru reaches past you and turns off the burner. He moves the pan to the side. When he pulls back, he catches your chin in one big hand and makes you face him. 

His eyes—night-sky dark and gleaming like starshine—trace over you. He has Nanako balanced on his hip; Mimiko is holding on to his pant leg, her knuckles white. She stares up at you with big eyes. There are bruises scattered over her face like storm clouds, deep and dark. 

Your chest hurts, a bone-deep ache, like your ribs are collapsing in on themselves, an eggshell cage. 

Suguru’s grip tightens on your chin. He looks you over, his gaze flaying, stripping you down to your marrow, an autopsy cut. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he sweeps his thumb over your bottom lip, slow and heavy. 

When he lets go of you, the breath you were holding spills out of you. You watch silently as he puts Nanako down. He kneels in front of both girls to speak to them, but you don’t hear him, not really. The words are beyond your grasp; there’s only the sound of Suguru’s voice, warm and rich, dripping over you like resin. You think of insects caught in sunlit amber, how perfectly they’re preserved in their final moments. 

The girls disappear into the dining area, accompanied by one of Suguru’s more playful curses. It darts around them, hovering nearby and nudging at them when they turn to look back at him. 

There’s something in Suguru’s face each time they turn around; a terrible, tender twist of his lips. 

You turn back to the stove.

Suguru settles at your side. “I think it’s beyond saving,” he says, watching you poke at the mackerel with a chopstick. 

“It’s not.” 

The skin crunches, a few bits of char flaking away. 

He wraps a hand around your wrist. When you glance at him, his dark eyes pierce through you. “Yes,” he says. “It is.”

He watches you. You bite your lip and nod.

The sound of him emptying the pan into the trash makes you wince. Each scrape of the knife echoes, a whining animal noise that makes your bones ache. 

Suguru sets the pan into the sink with a hollow thud.

“I have eggs,” you offer. 

“Tamagoyaki?”

“Yeah.” 

“Sounds good.”

You gather everything you need; Suguru goes back to the cucumbers, the knife singing as it slices through them, its blade slick. You try not to watch, instead staring down into the frothy swirl of eggs.

It’s quiet. 

In the distance, you can hear the girls talking to each other softly, their voices barely over a whisper, all shivering leaves. It makes something in your chest go tight, how quiet they are. 

“You would have taken them too.”

You go still. You don’t look at Suguru.

“Yes,” you say. “I would have.”

He hums; it sounds pleased. You swallow down the bile. 

The two of you don’t speak again.

—

Breakfast is a quiet affair. The girls stare at you from across the kotatsu, where they’re pressed in against Suguru’s sides like little limpets. They flinch when you move, their honey-brown eyes widening. It makes your stomach roil, a storm-struck sea. 

Suguru talks, but you barely hear him. When you have to ask him to repeat himself for the fourth time, he pauses, his dark eyes flickering over you. 

He shoos the girls into your living room, sending yet another curse flitting after them, a little darting fish with too many eyes. 

“Come here,” he says, and you do. 

When you settle next to him, he raises a hand and cups your cheek. You turn into his touch without thinking, your lips pressing against the leylines of his palm. You wonder if his future is written there. 

(You think yours might be.)

He examines you for a moment. Suguru has always been able to flay you down to your marrow, but this time, it feels sharper, a slit into the very heart of you. 

He strokes a thumb over the apple of your cheek, shifting so that he cradles your jaw. Your lips part; you unfurl for him, petal-bodied. He leans in. 

“Don’t,” you murmur.

He pauses.

For a moment, he lingers, his lips almost brushing yours. His breath ghosts hot across your lips; when he breathes in, he takes your air, makes it his own. 

“You’re not coming.”

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not.” 

His fingers tighten on your jaw. You take in a sharp breath and they loosen again, before his hand falls away entirely. 

When you look at him, his face is perfectly blank, a rising new moon fading into the sky. There’s something secret tucked up into the corner of his lips, too faint for you to decipher. 

“Suguru—”

He pushes to his feet gracefully. He gazes down at you, still on your knees before him. Like this, he takes up your entire world, his broad form the earth and the sky alike. He gazes down at you, and for a moment, you don’t know him at all.

He steps around you, heading towards the living room.

Something in you cracks open, a wound of your own making. You swallow down the sob. 

“I’m sorry,” you say to the empty room.

Only silence answers you.

—

Suguru leaves.

Mimiko is cradled against his shoulder, her little body furled in tight against him. You think of early spring blooms, still delicate in the aftermath of winter’s harsh touch. Nanako is pressing close to his leg, her hand engulfed in his steady grip. He’s slowed his pace for her.

You watch them until they disappear. 

Suguru never looks back.

—

“Principal Yaga?” you say into the phone. “I need to make a report.”

[dominos-palast]

Masterlist

Mostly fluff and gn!reader.

Request: R

X-Men

Peter Maximoff

Pillow Replacement (gn!reader)

Kurt Wagner

Lessons on flirting (1/3) (fem!reader) R

Alice in Borderland

Shuntaro Chishiya

Not as useless as I seem (adhd!gn!reader)

Teach me some bad words (gn!reader)

Random Story Ideas

#1 (With trigger warning)

#2 (With trigger warning)

[vizjpmdose]

⋆🖇₊ Roblox with Peter Maximoff !!

⭑.ᐟwarnings: none.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ a/n: another random idea (It's 1am) cuz i want to play roblox with him, i think it's adorable. ☹🙏

Peter Maximoff x gn!reader.

You wanted to spend more time with your boyfriend in a cute but not boring way. You know Peter loves games so much do you decided to try Roblox with him. It's another activity that both of you can enjoy.

Roblox seemed entertaining for someone like Peter, you recommended it to Peter and you want to try it with him.

You explained how Roblox works, you told him about the different games, how you can make new friends from different countries, and how you can customize your character. All of these information caught his interest, he's always up for great games.

In the signing up process to make an account, he was so excited to make his username as 'Quicksilver'

But..

It almost made him faint!

"How?? Who stole that from me??" He gasped out as he zones out while looking at the screen.

100% disappointed indeed.

You couldn't stop your laughter, you just laughed at him while he's zoning out but you feel so bad for your poor baby.

"Aw, don't worry. Let's see if we can make it as your display name." You replied, trying to cheer him up.

As you successfully helped him create an account, you bought/gave him robux to cheer him up even more.

You both had fun as you helped him design his avatar.

You first introduced him to obby games.

At first, he sucked at it. You guys took minutes to get pass every level because he keeps falling. The problem is either his estimations with his jumps or doesn't know how to control his screen or cursor.

But with the right amount of patience and right practice, he finally got the hang of it.

He also found out how to troll in an obby using the fading stairs. The fading stairs will disappear once you stepped on it. You'd go back down the stairs as another player is trying to go up. You'd jump back to the checkpoint before the stairs disappear and the other player wouldn't make it so they'd fall.

You did it to him and he got frustrated again.

"Y/n! Come on!" He groand as he tried to get up the stairs again.

He was glad that he learned that trick from you tho.. He started to do it to other players a lot.

You told him to try the horror games with you.

The fastest game leaver ever when he gets jumpscared.

You guys tried the two player games and he loved it! It made him laugh a lot.

You guys ended up playing Roblox all day, his favorite games are obby games.

"Thank you babe, can't wait to play with you again." He said as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

[pretty-little-mind33]

fluff ✿ angst ✮ hurt & comfort ✷ smut (nsfm) ♥︎

FERNANDO ✿- You don't want to share a bed with Pietro. He wants nothing more than to share one with you.

GIMME! GIMME! GIMME! (A Man After Midnight) ✿ - You and Pietro are just friends, right?

GONNA SING YOU MY LOVE SONG ♥︎ - You and your boyfriend come back from a date and he's desperate to get his hands on you.

WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE ME? ✿ - Pietro almost misses your birthday.

VOULEZ-VOUS ✮ - Nothing is as it seems (feat. James Potter)

[permanentmess]

Can you do a quicksilver x reader where the reader has a twin and quick silver thinks the reader is cheating on him but it’s just the twin? (Gender neutral or male reader pls!!!)

a/n: i wanted to do this idea justice, so i tried my best to make the situation line up so that it would work. i hope you enjoy it, and thank you for your request! i also wanted to use this as writing practice for angsty feelings because i need to get better about showing and not telling

title: seeing double (peter maximoff x twin!gn!reader)

word count: 1015

warnings: obviously beliefs about cheating, angst but a happy ending, hurt/comfort, some pet names (babe/baby), use of the word shit (once), not really proofread, gender neutral reader technically but its pretty vague and pronouns are only used for the twin (unnamed + they/them/their) and peter (he/him)

GIF NOT MINE

~~~

He hasn’t realized he’s shaking until his chest starts to hurt. His head feels fuzzy and he wants to puke. You wouldn’t do that to him, would you? But he can’t fathom what could possibly be happening right now. You, with your lips on another man, your arms wrapped around him. His world feels like it's crashing down around him, with no logical thought in sight. 

Peter can’t help it, he has to clear his head. He can’t think about what this entails, what will happen once he talks to you about this. He runs and runs until he’s found the arcade, burying his sorrows into Galaga.

~~~

Peter was acting…strange to say the least. Well, you’re sure he would be if he was around. He wasn’t the most “normal” person, but that’s what you loved about him. And you knew, after 2 years of being with him, that he was being too weird just by being gone. 

He wasn’t in any usual place he’d be at, or any of his favorite hiding places (that you knew about). You asked your sibling, but they hadn’t seen him either. Not since earlier that day in the hall after he was done teaching. They were with their boyfriend, so only caught a glimpse of the silver-haired boy speeding away.

It wasn’t like him to just up and disappear, even if he was fast enough to do so. In fact, that man couldn’t go more than an hour without bothering you (lovingly) in some way. 

You were about to call out all the stops and have Charles use Cerebro when Peter walks through your bedroom door, looking somber. His hair is unkempt and he’s fidgeting more than usual. 

“Oh my god, Peter, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, what’s going on?” You exclaim as you stand up to meet him. It feels like the words are spilling out of your mouth. 

He closes the door gently. “We should talk.” Your heart drops, but you gesture for him to sit on the edge of your bed, joining him on his right once he sits. You feel a pit in your throat but you try to swallow it down. 

He’s silent and refusing to look at you, and taking shaky breaths in and out. “Hey, what’s going on?” you ask softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but you decide against it. It’s at this moment you wish you had Jean’s powers instead, so you could understand what was going on. 

“Are you cheating on me?”

Your entire body goes cold, muscles tightening. Your mouth is open, but you make no move to hide your shock. “What?” 

“I saw you earlier in the hallway, with some other guy.” Even in a time where you’d think he’d be seething, his voice remains even. It was scary; he was never serious for very long. 

“Babe, I’ve been teaching all morning, and then I went straight from a classroom to back-to-back training sessions. I’ve barely had time to eat.”

“Then who could I have seen?” His voice is uneven and shaking now, like he’s on the verge of tears. “I want to believe there's a good explanation.”

You pause, taking a deep breath to try and bring some reason to your mind. When you finally realize what was happening, you let out a laugh. He finally looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, for a speedster-” you laugh a little more, cutting yourself off, “you sure were slow about this one. Peter, what kind of sibling do I have?” 

“A twi-ohhhh” he closes his eyes, dropping his head into one of his hands. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry baby, I wasn’t even thinking. I was so stressed because my class was acting up and I wasn’t thinking straight.” He’s ranting, now refusing to look at you out of embarrassment. 

“Maximoff, look at me,” you tell him gently, smiling at the confusion. Honestly, there are long stretches of time where you forget about your own sibling, about the lack of similarities, because you never see them. It’s a big and busy school, what can you say? 

He peeks out his eyes from behind his hand, but won’t remove it. You set a hand on his thigh, rubbing gentle circles with your thumb. “Hey, I’m not mad. I’m glad you cleared your head and talked to me about it.” 

When your relationship with Peter first started, he would suppress anything he was upset about, whether it was towards you or not. He’d ignore the issue and jump head-first into any distraction he could find. It took a lot of coaxing to get him to talk about anything bad that happened. 

“You’re not mad?” He asks quietly while removing his hand from his face, grabbing yours with it. His eyes are searching your face intensely, tears filling the rims. Your heart feels like it's beating so loud. It’s a rare occurrence that he’ll cry. 

“No, not at all. I have a twin, shit like this will happen.” 

He looks at you for a moment before he leans in for a gentle kiss and then pulls back. “I didn’t think you’d do that to me by the way. That’s why I was so confused, it didn’t make sense.” 

“I know, baby.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I’d be upset too if I was in that situation.” He rests his head on top of yours and then pulls you both down so that you’re laying on your bed. He’s exhausted suddenly, all of the panic and confusion and hurt crashing and dissipating. 

He shifts so that he’s holding you against his chest and you wrap your arms around him tightly. It’s a long time just laying in silence, and he thinks that you’ve fallen asleep, but when he pulls back slightly he sees you looking up at him. 

“Soooo,” you drag out. “I’ve got the rest of the day off, and you do too. What do you wanna do?” 

“Star Wars marathon?” He grins.

You return the gesture. “Absolutely.”

[eternalslover]

YES OMG I LOVE PIETRO

Could I request Pietro Maximoff X teasing fem!reader + Pietro trying NNN hcss please <33

hii!! love it. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

hc’s/ imagines (18+ minors dni)

pietro maximoff x f reader

484 words

masterlist & taglist

- he is such a tease, the ultimate tease !!!

- mentally gets off on the whole ordeal of it. whether he is the teasing or the one being teased

- teasing is a main part of your relationship/ dynamic but during november is when he has some difficulty, lots of difficulty !!

- usually teasing would lead to making out, making out will lead to foreplay, and foreplay would lead to sex. but during that time he really struggles !!! 

- you'd purposely make it harder for him, "I want you inside me," "I want you in my mouth," "I want to taste you," you'd say everything you know he likes, just to be playfully mean

- he believes in the cause of nnn, but it doesn't mean he doesn't hate it

- the whole time he's thinking of scenarios, which obviously makes it harder for him (he can't help but think of it, he's really dirty-minded) 

- but just because he can't come, doesn't mean you can't

- to make up for the fact that he can't come, he gets his fix by getting you off, either eating you out or fingering you. maybe he uses this time to experiment with toys on you; fucks you with a dildo, or has a vibrator pushed up against you as you make out. he'll probably get really desperate, so this is the best of both worlds

- I feel like he gets really frustrated, and all he wants is to come (and in you) all he wants is to feel the warmth of you melt around him

- he knows he can't have sex with you during the month, as he knows he won't be able to stop himself. but I feel like he gets kinda submissive and begs a little, "please- lemme put it in a little bit- only for a minute, please?" "I promise I won't come, just-"

- but you know him well, so you tell him "no," and that he'll have to wait, then you continue to tease him. flashing him, touching him, stroking, making noises and sounds, whispering things as you know it'll affect him

- he isn't too pleased about it, sometimes he'll have to leave the room as his hard-on would begin to hurt and you’d be making it worse

- but once the clock strikes 12 am on dec 1st, he's in you within seconds (there'd be foreplay up until then, and then he just goes ham) he'd only last a few seconds though

- but the next day, he'll probably go a few rounds to make up for lost time. like a good couple hours (foreplay, oral and sex, but would all be very pleasurable!!) you'd come maybe 5 times, and he'd probably come 2 or 3 times, you'd be completely spent!! like a flat-out straight, sweaty blissful mess 

- my god would you both be sore

- he gives the best aftercare, so he'll make his girl feel all better afterwards

taglist: @ugh09876554444 @astermath @thewinterv @earth-elemental18 @lunnnix @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @randomawesomeperson102 @queerponcho @selfryed