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#she's the definition of girl failure

spideysirens · 3 months

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Magpie redesign for my AU 🐦💎

She's Gotham's SECOND best thief. Even though she has access to high-tech gadgets and cybernetic implants, she still loses to Catwoman, with whom she has an one-sided rivalry

#she's the definition of girl failure #magpie #magpie dc #batman villains #batman rogues #bentoverse #batman au #batman #character redesign #character design #margaret pye

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actuallyjustabiscuit · 2 days

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you know what?

Im tired of all this negative rizz Pomni propaganda! Give me more accidental rizz Pomni. Ragatha hasn’t heard a kind word in so long and Pomni just says the sweetest shit about her off handedly without hesitation. She’s not even trying to flirt, cuz when she does try she overthinks and becomes a mess. But when she’s just being honest it catches Ragatha completely off guard. She’s such a girl failure she doesn’t even know when she’s actually winning.

#Harlequilt #drunkposting #jesterdoll #ragapom #I got drunk while going over my fic and decided to voice my takes #As more episodes come out I think we’ll see more of Pomni being competent so she’ll be labeled as less of a girl failure #But not by much cuz she definitely started that fire in that one teaser

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villainanders · 1 year

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Choosing to read DA2 Justice as a Disco Elysium skill check implanted into Anders’ mind and everything about him makes more sense

#ELLA: Get away from me demon!#Demon? This girl seems terrified of you. What the hell is her problem?#SPIRIT OF JUSTICE: [Failure] Clearly SHE’S a demon! You should definitely kill her.

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soryualeksi · 2 years

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Random sad thing I’ve been thinking about, but really, sometimes it’s the small encounters that fuck you up long-time, and I’ve had this one instance rolling and rolling around in the back of my mind for ages. Like.

Several years ago, I was just slowly realizing and coming to terms with the OBVIOUS fact that I was nd, in my late twenties. And I was talking with some adults and it came to be that I was talking about the ABUSE of neurodivergent kids I’ve personally witnessed in primary school, like, how the TEACHERS would mock, deride, insult, humiliate, and just overall be CRUEL to the kids I now recognize are just. neurodivergent. and weren’t even bothering anyone aside from being “weird and thus annoying”, just kids needing love and support and I wish I could go back because I’m weeping inside for all of them one in particular I’m weeping inside every day for her and I just want to go back and save her, but. I can’t. And I couldn’t. Because I, myself, was like 8. It was not within my power. So.

I was talking about watching teachers haul kids around by their clothes SCREAMING at them because. that kid had been like “I’m a turtle and I’m now going back into my shell” and pulled his head into his sweater.

And then, my big mistake, was saying, “Personally, I mostly got away, because a lot of teachers liked me for being a pretty smart kid.”

And this guy I was talking to? In that moment? Just BARKED at me, like, “You can’t say that about yourself! That’s RUDE!!”

And back then I just. blue-screened.

So since that day, I developed the shitty tendency of being ableist against myself if it comes up, in a useless attempt to appease people. It’s driving me nuts.

ANY kind of autistic communication hiccup? “I’m sorry, I’m very slow / dumb / delayed / lacking a few IQ points.”

BECAUSE I LEARNED THAT EVEN ACCIDENTALLY CALLING MYSELF A SMART KID IS BAD AND GETS A BAD ANGRY REACTION

I wish I didn’t do this, and the worst part is that the initial conversation has taken place along some VERY weirdo academics, all extremely smart and extremely uhm unconventional. So. Chances are, the guy who barked at me? Was nd himself AND internalized the same thing he told me after being abused for long enough himself. But he still scared me and my brain remembers.

I hate playing into ableism as a defence strategy, like, “oh no, neurotypical majority, I would NEVER attempt to crawl upwards from my lowly station to be at the same level as you, no, you see, I’m below you and you can feel PITY for me, isn’t that nice, Pity For The Disabled™ is an emotion you like, right? right? so don’t be violent against me, I can give you the good emotion all day :D”.

Uuuuuuuuugh.

And that’s just that.

/ramble

#autism stuff #neurodivergent stuff #god how i wish i could go back in time to save this one girl i think about her almost every day #you have no idea #just the most abused neglected kid #fetal alcohol syndrome you know #she had no chance against the ableist eugenicist environment and i just. wish i could go back and save her.#i wish i knew how she's doing these days #i couldn't save her even tho i tried my hardest but also i was EIGHT and it was impossible to help her #and i hate myself for not being resiliant enough to stay her friend and in touch in the face of the extreme bullying by adults and kids #i just couldn't be her caretaker it burned me out and i feel like a failure every day #i wish i knew how she's doing now and i have the useless hope that she's fine but she's definitely not #Vivien was her name #ableist violence cw #ableist bullying #ableist bullshit

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ghelgheli · 2 months

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i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

#ask answer #whipping girl #text

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yuwuta · 2 months

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

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

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

pairings. okkotsu/reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Believe that, Itadori.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I asked you why you won’t kiss me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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lecl3rcw · 7 months

Text

JUST LIKE YOU | LECLERC FAMILY

pairings: Charles Leclerc x sister!reader, Arthur Leclerc x sister!reader, Lorenzo Leclerc x sister!reader

warnings: mean words exchanged, threats.

author’s note: part 2 to this, hope everyone enjoys💗

____________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since her and Arthur’s huge fight, despite apologizing the tensions were still high between the two youngest Leclercs, a tension that left everyone wondering what the hell had happened.

“Hey is it just me? Or have Y/N and Arthur been distant from each other?” Lorenzo questioned Charles.

“I’ve noticed that too, almost like they’re avoiding each other” Charles replies thinking of the last time he saw two Interact.

“Y/N has been really focused on her studies, and Arthur’s spending time with Carla, I don’t think there’s anything fishy going on boys” Pascale says washing the last of the dishes.

“I mean yeah I get Y/N but Arthur? He could bring Carla here? It’s not like I don’t bring Alexandra or Lorenzo dosent bring Charlotte? Plus Arthur always used to bring Carla here, so they are definitely avoiding something” Charles says squinting his eyes.

“Maman i agree with Charles, the last time I saw Y/N interact with Arthur was when we were leaving for grocery shopping, and then they stopped” Lorenzo recalls, “Is Arthur home right now?” Charles asks, Pascale nods. The two brothers looked at each other and nodded.

“Arthur, you gotta pick Y/N up from school, we gotta umm go somewhere” Charles says, “I cant, I have to drop Carla off at the airport” Arthur says, lying straight through his teeth. Lorenzo and Charles look at each other. “Ok. Enough is Enough, What the hell happened between you two?” Lorenzo asks raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, me and Y/N are fine” he says nonchalantly, “Carla’s flight dosent leave till tomorrow, she told Maman that herself, so that means you just don’t want to pick Y/N up from school and we wanna know why” Charles says.

“Fine, you wanna know why? Because she makes me feel like a failure, she’s always comparing me to you Charles, and I’m tired of it. That day she crossed the line ok? And we talked it out but I’m still mad about it so that’s why I’m not talking to her” Arthur huffs before grabbing his car keys and leaving.

“That seems really out of character for Y/N, there has to be more to the story” Charles mutters as Lorenzo sighs, “alright I’m going to talk to Y/N then” he says grabbing his keys as well.

Enzo pulls up to Y/N’s school as he spots her talking to a friend of hers, a bright smile adorning her face. As soon as the girl spots her brother, she bids them goodbye.

“Hey Chérie, how was your day?” He asks her, “it was great! How was yours Enzo?” She says, “it was great, but umm listen did you and Arthur get Into a fight when we all were gone” he asks, the girl sighs out.

“We did yes, he didn’t want to take me to Starbucks so I told him Charles would and he took it to heart I guess” she rambled on making sure to not include the part where he called her a failure. “Chérie, you know Arthur dosent like it when you do that, so please apologize and make up” he sighs out, “look Enzo, I apologized I don’t know what else you want me to do?” The Girl says putting her hands on her face.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll figure something out” he says ruffling her hair. The drive home was silent, guilt was over taking her senses as she anxiously fiddled with her fingers. Her intentions weren’t bad but she was starting to realize the impact of her words. She was so hurt when he called her a failure yet she did the same thing.

Tears started streaming down her face, Enzo stops the car immediately, his face turning to hers in concern, “what’s wrong Chérie? Why are you crying” he says, his arm rubbing her shoulder.

“I fucked up Enzo” she says, a sob escaping her mouth. Her hands now covering her face, “I’m sorry” she says as he pulls her into her arms, “Shh don’t cry, what’s going on?” He asks her In the most gentle tone ever, “I compared him to Charles, and then he called me a failure, I was so hurt that I never realized the hurt I probably inflicted on him, I’m such a bad sister Enzo, his whole life people have told him that and I just make a joke out of it.” she mutters out, “Y/N you made a mistake that’s it, what matters is that you realized that what you said was wrong as well” he says, his hand on her head.

“You’re Right, I’ve got to make this right” she sniffles, “do you think we could stop by the store? I have an idea” she says and her brother nods.

When the two get home, Arthur and Charles can be seen having a normal conversation but as soon as the younger brother spots his sister, he gets up to leave only to be stopped by her.

“Tur wait” she says, he sighs out as he sits back down, Charles and Enzo take this as their cue to leave (eavesdrop)

“What Y/N?” He says looking straight at her, She hands him a bag, the bag was filled with all of Arthur’s favorite snacks and drinks. She takes a seat next to him.

“I’m sorry Arthur, what I said was mean and I should’ve realized that, instead of making a joke about it” she says, “No I’m sorry, I’m older than you and I called you a failure, you’re not by the way, you’re smarter than a Charles and I combined” he says pulling the younger girl into his embrace, her eyes start to tear up and she clutches onto him.

“I love you Tur Tur, you’re my favorite person in the world, my best friend and the best big brother I could ask for, you’re not second to Charles, you’re just as good as him, and if anyone ever says otherwise, screw them” she says as she cries into his shoulder, Arthur gives her a soft smile rubbing her back up and down, a smile that she was oblivious too.

“Yeah yeah I love you too, now can you please get off me? You’re kind of choking me” He mutters, “oh sorry” she says pulling away, wiping her nose and eyes. They look at each other and let out a laugh.

“So he’s your favorite now?🤨” a voice Interrupts their laughter.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader

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leaentries · 4 months

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absence and tension | nico hischier

summary: after a frustrating game, nico struggles with dealing with player absences and only knows how to confide in his girl.

warnings: sad nico, almost zero foreplay (sry theyre desperate), unprotected sex, choking, praise, swearing

wc: 1.7k+

a/n: this was requested by my darling, @emaanemaa she is the backbone of this au rn

the captain’s girl masterlist

You knew it would be rough when Nico got home from the game. Stuck at the apartment, you cringed as the final minutes counted down.

A deep sigh left your lips as Nico’s disappointed face flashed on the screen. With the lack of penalties that went uncalled by the blind refs, to the absence of a certain Hughes brother, tonight was definitely not gonna be fun.

You quickly rose from your spot on the couch, tidying up the few stray items that lay aimlessly around the place. You threw a towel in the dryer, anticipating his second shower of the night. Whenever Nico needs to release some extra tension after a game, he always comes home and takes a steaming hot shower. Regardless of the fact he already took one before he left the arena.

You made your way back into the kitchen, perfect timing to the jingle of keys. Nico entered the apartment, missing the normal joy in his stance. He placed his keys on the kitchen table, brows furrowed with frustration. The tension in his muscles was vivid, his movements sharp while he put down his bag. Your heart ached for him, knowing he was probably blaming himself for the Devil's loss.

“How ya doin’, honey?” Your soft tone shot straight through Nico’s resolve.

He should have known he wouldn’t have been able to fool you. He turned to face you, biting his lip in an attempt to keep in his emotions. You tsked slightly at his worn body, walking over to pull him into your arms. Nico slumped against you the second you touched him. His hands gripped your sweatshirt tightly, prohibiting you from pulling away.

He breathed in deeply, taking in your comforting scent. Nico could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders as he clung to you. You felt him bury his face further into the crook of your neck, soaking up every bit of you that he could.

You lost count of how long the two of you remained in that spot, but once he finally pulled away, it felt like a gut punch. Nico’s eyes were bloodshot as exhaustion was etched into to creased lines of his face. He looked so tired, so drained. All you wanted was to be able to take his pain away, to help him ease the weight he carried every time he stepped foot onto the ice.

You brought a hand up, cradling his cheek. The warm, freshly shaved skin was smooth against your palm as Nico nuzzled closer.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” You asked gently, not wanting to risk pushing him over.

Nico nodded, taking a shuddering breath as his hoarse voice left his throat, “It’s just all so much right now. The boys count on me and I can’t help but feel like I’m letting them down. I feel like, like,” He paused, searching for the right words, “Like I’m trying to swim in quicksand.”

Your eyes looked deep into his, empathy written all over your face.

Nico continued, “And now with Jack out, indefinitely for the moment, I just feel like I’ve failed them.” His voice cracked near the end, laced with gloom.

You could have sworn the look in his eyes was enough to make tears spring in your own. “Nico.” His eyes shot up to yours at your stern tone, “You are not a failure. Those boys, your boys, look up to you. They can see what an amazing job you’re doing as their captain. Just because the team is going through a rough patch, does not mean you’re failing them.”

He swallowed harshly, “I know, but Ja-” You cut him off.

“Jack is his own person. He knows that there's risk when playing a fast-paced sport. You just have to learn to adjust, Neeks. Nothing is gonna be perfect, it’s just about what you make out of what you’re given.”

Nico remained silent for a moment, carefully taking in your words. Eventually, a soft, “Thank you,” left his mouth.

“I don’t know how I would do this without you, schatzi.”

A warm smile found home on your face, “Oh please, this is all you, Neeks. I just help when you need me.”

“I always need you, baby.”

Nico licked his lips as your eyes fluttered back to his. The once sorrowful orbs now held something much darker. His eyes became hooded, filled with new desire as his hands, which still rested on your hips, pulled you into his pelvis. It became quite clear what his present motive was, the feeling of his hardening cock pressing into your lower belly.

A low groan escaped his throat as your body provided a pleasurable pressure to his aching hard-on.

“Fuck,” He whispered, “Just like I need you now.”

You whimpered as he slammed his lips to yours, his attitude a stark contrast to what it was when he first arrived home. Apparently, his second shower was not gonna be the main focus tonight.

It was too easy to get lost in Nico’s touch, since the next thing you knew he was quickly leading you to your shared bedroom, all the while never disconnecting your lips. He used your body to shut the door, hand coming up to wrap deliciously around your neck. His fingers slightly dug into the skin above your pulse, applying a little bit of pressure.

With the lack of airflow and the way Nico’s lips ravished yours, your mind became hazy. His tongue worked around, begging for entrance. In your state, you couldn’t deny him. A wanton moan echoed from you, your core throbbing with need.

Nico took the opportunity to shove his tongue deeper, exploring the warm expanse of your mouth. He pulled away, a string of salvia connecting your lips. He wiped it away, taking a step back from you, “Get on the bed, schatzi. Need you so bad,” He rasped.

Not wasting any time, you began to remove your remaining clothing, tossing them elsewhere. Once you were completely bare of any layers, you moved to lay on your back, head hitting the pillows. Nico quickly followed suit, his clothes also finding their new home strewn about the room. He climbed atop you, slipping in between your welcoming thighs.

“So wet f’me, already?” Nico tilted his head as he dipped his thumb into your soaked folds.

You nodded desperately, wanting nothing more than for him to sink his twitching cock in your cunt.

Nico brought his thumb to his mouth, tongue darting out to meet the taste of your arousal. He moaned as it coated his tastebuds, “Always taste so good, baby.” His chest began to heave as you bucked your hips pathetically into his, “But I don’t think I can wait.” His hands gripped your hips, holding them to the mattress.

“Please, Neeks! Need you so bad,” You panted, “Need you now.”

“Yeah? Does my girl need this cock?” You nodded, “Ya think you can take it raw, schatzi?”

“Fuck, yes.” Desperation pooled in your voice as you begged him to fuck you.

Nico didn’t waste another moment, reaching to line his leaking cock with your entrance. His loud moan rang through the room as he sheathed himself fully inside of you.

“Ah, fuck,” He whined, “Always so good to me. So perfect, baby.”

You were at a loss for words as he began to pump himself in and out. Your head fell back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut. Nico leaned over you, arms coming to cage around your head. The cool metal of his chain sent jolts straight to your clit as it brushed over your peaked nipple. His lips captured yours in a slow kiss, displaying how much he loved you.

Your jaw went slack as his hips tilted up, the new angle allowing him to hit the spongey spot inside of you.

“Yes, god, right there, Nico!” You moaned. He drove in harder, hitting that spot repeatedly.

“Wrap your legs around me, baby. Wanna be close to you when we cum.” His hands helped guide your legs to hook around his waist, feet locking together behind his back.

You reached up, nails dragging angry red trails down the hard muscles of his back. The rapid thrusts of his cock sending your body into overdrive. The flame in your stomach began to grow, that familiar knot tightening by the second.

Nico knew you weren’t gonna last much longer, the feeling of your spasming walls helping to coax him to his own climax. He reached a hand down, rubbing harsh circles into your clit. The extra stimulation had you reeling.

“That’s it, schatzi. Come on, be my good girl. Cum f’me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”

His words sent you tumbling over the edge, walls gripping his cock violently. White hot pleasure blinded your senses, eyes rolling back in your head. Your back arched up into Nico’s as you came. Your convulsing form brought Nico over not long after, his head tipped back as he pumped his cum deep inside of your spent pussy.

Nico worked you both through your orgasms, making sure you milked him of every last drop.

After a minute or two, you slowly came back to reality after the mind-numbing fire had extinguished. Nico’s body had collapsed on top of you, his own still gasping in orgasmic aftershock. You slowly stroked his hair as he came down, kissing his head lightly.

He lifted up, a blissful smile resting on his face.

“Hi, pretty boy.” You croaked with a kiss to his nose.

“Hi, baby.” He stared for a second, before leaning to place a soft kiss on your lips. It was brief, but still breathtaking. His doe-eyes bore into your own, filled with emotion.

“Whatcha thinking about, Neeks?”

“Just how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

A blush found its way up your neck and ears, “Neeks!”

He shook his head, “I mean it, schatzi.” He brought your face to meet his once more, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Nico.”

He placed one last sweet peck on your lips before moving up and pulling your body to lay atop his. “Gonna lay here for a minute, wanna hold you.” He hugged you tighter, “Then we’ll go get cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay, Neeks.”

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier smut #njd #nj devils #new jersey devils #leawrites💋

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chelseeebe · 6 months

Text

just wanna (get with you).

okkkk i promise i am not neglecting promise (i am) but i just had to get this out before the thought left my mind. this is just to say nancy wheeler i love you and i’m sorry

18+. smut. steve is an adulterer. but it’s okieee bc it’s hot <3

this is very much richboy!steve, he is very cocky and brash and very much not afraid of it

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

you had prepared to spend thanksgiving break alone in your room, honestly quite happy not to have to go home and deal with your car crash of a family.

that was until stacy had caught wind of your lonely plans and interjected, offering you an invite to her family’s massive home. now, it’d be rude not to accept, right?

you totally weren’t influenced by the fact that her older brother would definitely be there, not at all.

the drive up was a long slog, hours until you ended up in the middle of buttfuck indiana. it’s not somewhere you ever envisioned yourself spending the holidays but she had ensured that it was nice enough. her parents were.. interesting but as you were there, they’d probably at least try to keep up appearances. there wasn’t much else going on but in this tiny town but it gave you a chance to relax and ogle her brother.

their house is huge, like, ridiculously big. much bigger than their small family needed. from what stacy has confided in you, you can gather that her parents are hardly even home. they like to make a big deal about holidays to give the impression of a well put together family but if anything, they’re on the brink of divorce and only holding it together for the fear of being seen as failures.

not that your family are much better, but at least they don’t pretend to like eachother.

steve is up at the door the moment stacy unlocks it, waiting to see which of her sorority friends she’d decided to bring along.

he grins the second he sees you, taking your bag out of your hand and introducing himself before you can even begin to speak. not that you mind.

‘leave her alone, steve,’ stacy warns, rolling her eyes as she begins up the stairs, motioning for you to follow.

‘why don’t you leave me alone? i’m just being a good host, isn’t that right?’ he smiles at you, lugging your bag up the extravagant staircase and toward the room you’ve been assigned.

it’s not as if there’s a lack of them, a multitude of white doors that probably sat empty. it’s incredible how a house could cost so much and yet lack character despite the ample space to decorate.

she shoves him out of the way the second you make it into the room, ‘don’t you have anything better to do?’

‘uh uh,’ he’s smirking now and it’s making your heart feel funny. it’s wrong, totally wrong. but you can’t help it.

when he’d appeared on move in day you’d been star struck, his caramel coloured hair flopping into his eyes and the way his t-shirt clung to his arms had caught you immediately.

you and the rest of the girls in the house, obviously.

‘well go and find something to do you fucking loser,’ pushing him out of the door and slamming it in his face.

you couldn’t exactly tell her that it was fine and actually you preferred if he stayed.. so you grin and give her a fake chuckle, looking around at the room you were to call home for the next week.

‘i’m sorry,’ she sighs, ‘ignore him.. he’s just like that,’ walking over to the pristine bed. it obviously hadn’t been slept in for a while, you don’t doubt that they rarely have guests.

‘it’s okay,’ you smile, exhilarated for what this week will bring.

you don’t see much of the illusive mr. harrington, burrowed away in his office for most of the day with his wife busying around the kitchen, putting on an unnecessarily large spread each day. now you’re not a psychologist but even you can gather that she’s trying to make up for something.

stacy had bundled you into her room under the pretence of studying, both of you sat on her bed with neglected open books. opting to gossip about shit in your house rather than the looming finals.

steve knocks on the door and rushes in without waiting, standing in the doorway with a devilish grin. ‘mom’s drunk again.. you two wanna get out of here before it gets ugly?’ leaning against the doorframe.

he looks extra good today, his grey sweatpants sitting just right. you’re mindful to pull your eyes away when he nears the bed though his eyes never leave you.

‘like what?’ stacy frowns, sitting up and closing the untouched book.

‘i dunno..’ he shrugs, ‘i just don’t wanna be here when he gets back and she’s drunk again,’ fiddling with some trinket on stacy’s shelf.

you can tell that stacy’s not keen on the idea but she doesn’t want to be here for that scene either. you can empathise entirely, which is the exact reason you decided not to go home.

‘okay,’ she turns to you, ‘you okay with that?’

‘yeah.. sounds good,’ smiling at your friend. in your peripheral, you can see steve’s lips twitch into a smirk, cocky bastard.

much to your dismay, the three of you end up bowling. which you wouldn’t usually mind, but the alley was full to the brim with parents and their screaming children, running around the lanes hyped up on copious amounts of sugar.

not to mention the blaring christmas music that was entirely too loud for a tuesday afternoon.

‘you bowl much?’ steve scoots over on the bench, leaning in to whisper of the screeching kids.

‘not really,’ shaking your head innocently, ‘do you?’

‘yeah i’m alright.. i can teach you, if you want?’ ever the opportunist. who were you to deny him that?

‘okay,’ you giggle, blinking up at his chocolate coloured eyes.

it’s pathetic but your knees almost crumble when he walks up behind you, arms coming to envelope yours, large hands perched over yours as stacy tuts and turns away.

‘like this..’ his chest presses against your back, pulling your arm back and letting the ball roll down the lane.

you very nearly groan when he pulls away, hand lingering on your elbow as the pair of you watch the pins knock over. he smiles gently at you without even looking at the pins, he’s already sure he’d won.

‘thanks,’ you nod, keeping your own smile contained as you walk back to the bench, squishing in next to a less than impressed stacy. she’s not stupid but doesn’t dare to say anything and you’re grateful for that at least.

you watch steve take his turn, wondering how much longer you can feign incompetence to get him to touch you.

their house is quiet when you get back. eerily quiet. stacy and steve share a look before heading inside and you already know to prepare for the worst.

mr. harrington is sat facing the blank television, sipping on a small glass of what you presume is whiskey. the fire blazing in front of him, crackling loudly in the otherwise silent house.

‘your mother’s in bed,’ is all he says, refusing to turn around to face his children. he’s a stoic man at the best of times but seemed extra cold tonight. you don’t want to think about what had happened while you were out.

the atmosphere brings you crashing down out of your high, the loud bowling alley seemed like a dream compared to the moody room you stood in. at least your family were entertaining in all their madness. this was just depressing and you don’t have to wonder just why stacy is the way she is now.

steve slinks off upstairs without saying a word and stacy follows, head ducked down. they’ve probably been through this exact routine a hundred times before. you follow along silently, assuming that mr. harrington definitely didn’t want you hanging around downstairs.

before stacy slips away into her room, you grab onto her elbow, pulling her round to face you, ‘my mom drinks too.. i know what it’s like,’ offering some meek words of encouragement. it’s not a lot but you can empathise with the sinking feeling you know she’s feeling.

she gives you a small smile, pulling you in for a quick hug as the shower starts in the bathroom to your left. steve hadn’t hung around, disappearing before you even made it up the stairs.

‘night,’ you mutter before entering your own room.

there had been a tiny part of you that had hoped maybe tonight something would happen but with the scene downstairs and steve’s eagerness to get away, you doubt it.

there’s an almost silent knock at your door, if you were any sleepier, you would’ve missed it.

you know who it is.. what’s waiting on the other side of that door and for a second, you contemplate it. you could very easily turn over and drift off to sleep without ever finding out what could’ve been.. but, you’re not going to do that. not after you’d optimistically worn your best pajamas, dousing yourself in perfume before you had climbed into bed.

sliding out of the bed to open the door quietly and just as you expected, steve is on the other side with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

he doesn’t speak before stepping into the room, shutting the door gently as you stand expectantly before him. your heart is pounding, it’d jump out of your chest if it could.

‘steve,’ you barely whisper, ignoring the growing ache between your thighs. enthralled by the sheer tension in the room, it makes the air heavy, weighing on your shoulders as you practically pant at him.

in one quick move he’s stood in front of you, hands cradling your waist, confidence oozing off of his smile. his hair is still wet, falling onto his face perfectly. it’s almost cruel that someone could look so good so effortlessly.

‘i need you,’ he whispers, his spider-like lashes cascading a shadow over his face in the dull light. he’s so perfect it hurts.

you choose not to reply with words, hastily planting your lips on his, closing the minuscule gap between your bodies as your chest presses to his. you’re walked backwards towards the bed, the excitement is palpable, his hands barely able to contain themselves as they grip and squeeze your flesh.

steve falls backwards onto the bed, pulling you atop of him, clumsily readjusting your knees either side of his hips, gasping into his slack mouth when his grinds upwards, his already erect cock nudging against your core.

pulling your shirt over your head before reconnecting his lips to your jaw, planting hungry kisses to the exposed skin of your neck. this is everything you’ve dreamed of since you arrived, the feel of him desperately moving beneath you becoming entirely too much. you needed him now.

he shimmies his own sweatpants down his thighs, choosing boldly to not wear any underwear. he’s big. his cock springing up against his stomach, gazing down into the space between you, mouth hung open as he works your shorts down with his delicate fingers.

‘what?’ he hushes innocently as if he doesn’t already know. his hand leaves your thigh to wrap around the base of his dick, pumping his fist ever so slowly.

your eyes meet his again, feeling your cheeks flush as the corner of his mouth twitches. if he weren’t so hot, his cockiness would be sickening. but you’re not one to bend to the will of men, brushing off his nerve and instead moving to grip onto his shoulders, positioning yourself above his leaking cock.

‘i know what you sorority girls are like.. you don’t have to- fuck,’ his head rolling back as you lower yourself onto him, gasping quietly at the feeling of fullness that quickly overtakes every other sense.

your fingers clamp around his jaw, pulling his face back up to meet yours, ‘what was that?’ sighing through muffled moans as you begin to rut your hips.

you have him at your mercy, moving your hips antagonistically slow, relishing in the sight of his hooded eyes struggling to stay open, soft pants escaping his lips with every careful movement.

‘ho- shit,’ his fingernails leaving crescent moons into your hips and ass, desperate to cling onto your body in any way he can. guiding your body up and down with the palms of his hands.

‘shh,’ you mutter, connecting your lips to the corner of his mouth in an attempt to quiet his groans. as lavish as this house is, you can bet that it’s not soundproof.

‘you’re so.. fuck- faster baby,’ he whines into your mouth, unappreciative of the calm pace you had set. enjoying the fact that you now held the upper hand, but also acutely aware that the sounds of skin-on-skin are indisputable, paired with his grunts, you’d be caught out in a second.

‘nuhuh,’ shaking your head slightly, face pressed into his sharp jaw, hoping to stifle some of the noises come from your throat.

this is when steve decides he’s had enough, this was his house and if anyone had anything to say then they could. his arm snakes around your waist, holding you in place above him as his legs spread, heels digging into the mattress.

your lips connect once again, in a sloppy kiss that requires minimal effort as his hips begin to thrust up, punching against that soft, spongy spot deep within. and now you’re the one responsible for the too-loud moans, practically screaming into his mouth as his tongue slips into your open mouth. his smirk evident against your lips as his thrusts grow faster.

chasing the same high you can feel growing in the pits of your stomach. you’re not even kissing at this point, lips pressed against the stubble on his cheek as his grip tightens, low grunts rumbling into the minimal space between you with every thrust.

‘oh god,’ you mewl, the all too familiar twist in your gut as his hips begin to stutter, the sound of your bodies connecting was spurring both of you on. not caring about your volume level as you come crashing over the edge.

babbling his name over and over again as you clench around him, shoving your face into his neck as pleasure soars all the way down to your toes, the sensation overwhelming your poor fucked-out brain.

his hands paw at the doughy flesh of your ass, resigning his last bit of energy for his last thrusts, hot spurts of cum paint your walls. steve’s teeth graze against your bare shoulder, suppressing his almighty moan as you collapse into a heap on top of him.

you feel like jelly, unable to lift your head when he pulls out, allowing him to manhandle your body as he shuffles down the bed. you shift slightly, moving to the empty space beside him, reaching down for the blanket, desperate for some modesty despite the explicit scene this room had just witnessed.

that was everything you’d imagined it’d be and more.

‘jesus,’ he sniffs, relaxing into your bed as if he belonged there, ‘anyone ever told you how fucking good you feel?’ his arm reaching out to pull your body into his once more.

‘shut up,’ you mumble, still very much coming back to earth. trying not to get too comfortable with this arrangement but letting your leg slide between his.

his other hand flicks the tiny lamp off, leaving the room in complete darkness. toned arms coming to rest around your waist, chin resting against your head.

‘you can’t sleep in here,’ you warn, though you wouldn’t complain if he did.

‘why not? this is my house, i can sleep wherever i want,’ his fingertips dart around your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

you don’t argue, settling into your comfy position nestled into his side. it’s not long before sleep takes over as his fingers trace silly patterns into your back.

but you’re rudely awoken at stupid o’clock in the morning, the sun barely rising outside of the tiny window. steve’s grumbling, tapping softly on your shoulder.

‘i’ve gotta go,’ he whispers into your hair, pulling the blanket off of his body and onto yours.

you’re barely coherent enough to understand what he’s saying, nodding along absentmindedly as sleep negs to take over again. ever the gentleman, he places a kiss to your forehead before climbing out of bed and rushing out of the room.

he’s gone before you even wake up fully, not registering what had happened until you wake up again, this time at a more appropriate hour.

it’s only then that fear takes over. had you misjudged how loud you were? what if someone had heard? there’s no way they’d turf you out on thanksgiving.. would they?

yet all seems normal when you slink downstairs, joining stacy at the table as she butters toast without a word to be said about your antics. you pray to every being above that you had gone undetected.

‘morning sleepyhead,’ stacy utters, seemingly in a much better mood than the one you left her in last night, ‘sleep well?’

you stare at her for a moment, deciding if the question is loaded or if she’s genuinely interested in how you slept.

‘yeah.. really good, you?’ testing the waters.

‘yeah not bad,’ she smiles, a genuine smile that allows you to release the breath you didn’t know you were even holding.

phew. you were safe.

‘it’s about to get uh.. tense today so, we can just hang out in my room until dinner,’ she nods assuringly. you trust her, not wanting to bare witness to mr. harrington and his cryptic behaviour.

before you can reply, the front door opens and a small brunette walks in with steve trailing closely. behind her, carrying what looks like a suitcase with the most displeased look plastered on his face.

the woman hangs her coat on the hook, flashing a quick wave towards the kitchen where you sat gawping before heading upstairs quickly.

from here, she looked like a cousin or something, someone you hadn’t been told was attending.

she’s pretty, gorgeous eyes and a polite smile that makes you want to smile.

‘who’s that?’ you ask, perplexed at the sight of this stranger who is obviously so comfortable in their home.

‘oh, that’s nancy,’ stacy continues with her toast, not at all bothered by the new arrival.

‘she’s steve’s fiancée.’

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst

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zairene · 6 months

Note

hey girl i loved your dazai relationship headcanons SM, can I please ask for a version with Chuuya? YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY AMAZING.

AS A BOYFRIEND. chuuya nakahara

* ˚ ✦ synopsis: how chuuya nakahara would be like as a significant other.

* ˚ ✦ genre: headcanons !

* ˚ ✦ warnings: spoiler free + a fem reader is also very heavily implied / stated !

* ˚ ✦ author’s note: sure you can ! and ty so much that means a lot <333 i did write as y/n still in the ADA, if you don’t mind !

chuuya nakahara, the hot-headed and impulsive young man who you were interested in when you first met him.

he’s very arrogant when it comes to his abilities and his remarkable skills revolving around the port mafia. he may talk a lot of shit, but he can still definitely beat your ass at any time any day, no doubt. and this personality does NOT come off as pleasing to women, hence his failure in the romance department. so, when he realized that you weren’t immediately disgusted with him after knowing him for such a little time, he already developed some appreciation for you.

with chuuya, there is also a lot of patience with him too—but not in the way you would think. chuuya had a difficult time trusting you. chuuya despises dazai, and it’s very well known, and knowing that you were a part of the armed detective agency and was on dazai’s side put him off. yes, even in their years of rivalry and multiple times of working together, he just doesn’t find himself truly trusting him or you.

it’s not like you weren’t trustworthy or showed signs of being dishonest, he just knew that if he became too vulnerable with you, it would open up an opportunity for you to betray him and he doesn’t do well with betrayal. he knows that it’s not impossible to gain his trust, so he respects you at first, but he keeps his distance.

so yes, you have to chase him, he doesn’t chase you.

think of the trope of, she falls first but he falls harder… sort of.

this started with subtle flirting from you, very subtle to the point where it had him going insane on the fact whether or not you were interested in him. it’s not like he could go to someone with advice so he was seriously stressing himself out over it. there were times even when dazai pointed it out but chuuya would brush it off as dazai trying to poke fun at him.

after you did it multiple times, he finally decided he would reciprocate it because it’s not like he didn’t like you, he was just surprised at the fact HE DID? so, the one time he came back with an even risker line with you, you were shocked. this had you excited because you finally had some type of confirmation that he liked you! now the next step, asking him out.

it was hard catching him in his free time with being the port mafia’s strongest martial artist. he was constantly sent out on missions and meetings. just to your luck, you found him strolling the streets one random day, and that encouraged you to just go up to him knowing this moment would not occur again.

this confession was just you talking and him staring at you with his widened eyes and his lips slightly parted. and when you were done speaking, he could only spit out one thing. “yeah… yeah sure.”

and that started your relationship with him!

i honestly don’t believe it would be filled with arguments, at least not real ones. because the PETTY ARGUMENTS you guys have is an hourly occurrence. no joke. the playful banter between the both of you is amazing, but his competitive spirit can get overwhelming and it causes petty arguments. at this point, you kinda just believe that he likes to hear himself talk.

i feel that the biggest problem you would have in a relationship is his major trust issues. mentioned before, he doesn’t do well with shady or shifty behavior. this doesn’t pair well with situations where you want to have a surprise party for him for his birthday, but he’s under the impression that you’re doing something behind his back that isn’t as innocent as it is.

the product of this is arguments and a lot of breaks between you two. he’s not difficult to talk to, but incredibly difficult to get to, if that makes sense. it would take a lot for him to believe that you’re being truthful. you can sense he takes loyalty very seriously, so after the birthday party incident, you took a mental note that surprises don’t sit well with chuuya and to make sure to not do them again.

other than that, your relationship with him is pretty smooth!

however, he also has his moments where he makes weird comments toward you trying to suggest that you’re “inferior” to him and that you can’t handle yourself. he always feels like he has to protect you or things will go downhill even when you have proved countless amount of times that you were extremely capable.

those times when you have to give him a reality check and bring him back down to earth for a second. his apologies are him bringing you a bouquet and a long talk about how sorry he is why he made those comments and how he would never make them again. you forgave him and he really stood by his word! he always gave you credit when it was due, maybe too much sometimes, but you can tell he was sorry.

other than that, some general things would be that he isn’t a big fan of PDA. he doesn’t hate it but doesn’t prefer it. he wouldn’t mind if you just held his hand or kissed him on the cheek (maybe lips) but would much rather save everything else for in private. he’s all for separating his work life from his relationship with you, especially since both of your workplaces are against each other. he’s very awkward when it comes to intimacy, but once you’re together for a while he likes it, especially getting home after a very rough mission that day.

he likes to act like he hates pet names, even the silly ones you give him, but he likes them. he would never admit that you calling him pookie bear makes his heart happy each time.

overall, chuuya is a pretty good guy who has his moments. he can be painfully unaware of himself and his actions sometimes so you have to handle the liberty of telling him off and putting himself in his place when it’s needed. but don’t worry, he never takes it to heart when he realizes he’s wrong. he loves you and as the relationship goes on, he learns to trust you a little more every day.

(📦) — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS TAGLIST // @4nthonyyliving

(📝) — TAGLIST FORM :: sign to be apart of the taglist!

#✏️ :: — fanfiction !#bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara x y/n #chuuya nakahara x you

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bornonthesavage · 1 year

Text

Steve Harrington was in a rut. That’s all this was. Ever since he’d split with Nancy, everything had seemed to blend together into one dreary day after another. It didn’t help that he was, effectively, alone. Sure, he had a gaggle of middle schoolers who he sometimes drove around or hosted at his big empty house, but it seemed a bit pathetic to call them his friends. Maybe Dustin was. But other than that, he had no one. And as January bled into February, that fact was becoming increasingly depressing.

At school he sat alone, tucked away into a far corner of the cafeteria where he could go easily unnoticed. He sometimes caught sight of Nancy as she walked with Jonathon, probably to go eat in the library or outside. Which sucked. But he was fine. He was. It was just… he needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off it. So far, he’d come up with nothing.

When there weren’t interdimensional beings crawling through the walls, the sad truth was that Hawkins was unbearably boring. Not much in the way of distractions, between the same old people he’d known his whole life and the nonexistent party scene. Well, there were parties. None that he had any interest in attending. Not anymore.

And he’d tried dating. Because despite the fact he was no longer King, he was still Steve Harrington. Plenty of girls were interested in getting the whole experience. Or maybe they just wanted to snag a good-looking rich boy. Either way, it didn’t matter to Steve. The only problem was that not one of the girls he’d gone out with had done anything to ebb this constantly growing boredom. It had only been two months since he’d jumped back into the dating scene, and he’d been on nine separate dates. Every single one was a failure.

So maybe he’d take a break from that. It was probably just too soon. He’d felt ready, but maybe he was wrong. That still did nothing to provide an adequate distraction. He could always try and find new friends. But that begged the question. Where could an eighteen-year-old guy find friends around his age in a school full of dickheads? It was a conundrum.

Steve slipped out of the cafeteria early, eager to get to his locker before the rest of the student population descended upon the halls. Which, maybe avoiding every other person within his age group seemed counterintuitive. But he’d met most of them, and for the most part, he had no interest in being friends with any of them. Maybe he could branch out. Look into some of the social circles he’d yet to dip his toe into. The drama kids didn’t seem too bad. Maybe a little dramatic, but that was the point. Or hell, even some of the band kids seemed kind of cool. He could always—

His inner dialog was interrupted when his shoulder came into contact with another student who had been walking in the opposite direction. A student who had been deeply engrossed in the papers he’d been reading, too distracted to notice Steve approaching. Which, to be fair, Steve had been too distracted to notice him as well. As their shoulders slammed together, papers and notebooks rained from the other student arms, sliding across the linoleum floors.

“Jesus Christ! Seriously? I wasn’t even—” The other student looked up, and Steve immediately recognized him as one Eddie Munson. The school freak and drug dealer. Eddie stopped as soon as he saw Steve, his face shuttering for a second before morphing into a scowl. Before Steve could formulate a response, Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, then dropped to his knees to begin collecting his papers. He heard him mutter “Figures,” under his breath.

Steve could take a wild guess at what that meant. He didn’t remember ever doing anything personally to Munson, but he’d definitely never done anything to stop his ex-friends from bullying him. Which was pretty much as bad. But he wasn’t that person anymore, and he was determined to prove that.

He dropped down beside Eddie and began to slide some of the notebooks that had made it to his side of the hall closer. He’d only managed to grab a couple when Eddie’s voice stopped him.

“Harrington, what are you doing?” His tone was sharp and cautious, as though sure this was some type of trick. Which, yeah, Steve sort of deserved that.

Steve held up one of the papers, which looked like a history exam. “Helping pick up the stuff I made you drop. What does it look like?”

Eddie just blinked at him. “Why?”

“Uh, I don’t understand the question. Why wouldn’t I?”

But Eddie was shaking his head. “So, what? You shoulder check me, make me drop all my shit, and then pick it up? Is this some new type of jock power play?”

Oh. Eddie thought he’d done it on purpose. Well, that sucked. Probably said a lot about what most of the school population thought of him. Why would anyone want to be his friend when they all thought he was a huge asshole? Steve swallowed and ducked his head to hide his hurt expression. It wasn’t Eddie’s problem.

“No, um, sorry. I didn’t run into you on purpose. I just wasn’t looking where I was going. So, sorry about that.”

The frown slid off Eddie’s face, replaced with a mixture of confusion and mistrust. “Really? King Steve, apologizing to little old me? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “Dude, I’m not a King anymore. Can’t be, when I don’t have any friends. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, I thought I saw Hargrove sitting on your throne, surrounded by the little lap dogs. Surprised you haven’t tried to take it back.”

“Nah,” Steve said with a shrug. “I gave that shit up on purpose. I don’t want it anymore.”

He continued to scoop up papers and notebooks, doing his best to straighten them out, while Eddie continued to stare. It was slightly unnerving.

“Why not? It seemed like it must have been pretty nice at the top.”

Steve shrugged, not making eye contact. “It was, for a while. But then someone opened my eyes to what… to what bullshit it all was. Once it was seen, it couldn’t be unseen. So, I think I’ll be happy hanging out at the bottom for a little while.”

When he finally looked up and met Eddie’s eye once more, the other boy was staring open mouthed. As if he were seeing something he couldn’t quite believe. It made Steve self-conscious, like maybe he’d revealed a little bit too much of himself. He cleared his throat.

“I really am sorry for running into you.”

Eddie blinked a few times, then shook his head. “Uh, no, it’s fine. Accidents happen. Or at least that’s what my uncle told me three times a day growing up. I was a chaotic kid. Knocked lots of stuff over.”

Steve chuckled. “That was nice of him. Kids should be allowed to make mistakes without it seeming like the world is ending.”

He handed off the papers he’d collected, then scooped up the last folder. It fell open in his hand, and he caught a glimpse of the book inside. “Oh, Dungeons and Dragons! You play?”

Eddie’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head. “You… You know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, the kids I babysit play it. They never shut up about it, actually, so it would be kind of difficult for me to not know about. It’s got like, Demogorgon’s and Mind Flayers and shit, right?”

Rather than answer, Eddie made a choked off sort of noise in the back of his throat, as if he wasn’t getting enough air. Steve raised a hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

That seemed to jolt Eddie out of whatever fit he was having, as he suddenly bolted upright into a standing position. “No, yeah, I’m good. Totally cool. Super cool. Look at me. When have I ever not been cool?”

Steve straightened up and raised an eyebrow, letting a smile grow on his face. “Yeah, totally. You seem really chill.”

That earned him a glare, though it looked like Eddie was also fighting a grin, which made Steve laughed. “Don’t mock me Harrington, or I’ll deduct all the points you’ve earned over the last couple minutes.”

“Oh, well we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

He handed back the folder, which Eddie snatched back. “You’re sort of a bitch, you know that?”

“Yeah, duh. I can’t go losing all my charm now, can I?”

“Charm, he says,” Eddie muttered. “Just watch where you’re going next time, alright Harrington? Not all of our beloved peers will be as benevolent as I.”

“Not sure what benevolent means, but yeah, I’ll do my best.”

He flashed one more grin, which Eddie seemed to take in with a sort of dazed stare. Without another word, the other boy spun around and continued on his way in the other direction. That was when Steve noticed the black bandana that must have fallen out of his pocket. He picked it up and was about to call after him when the bell rang shrilly overhead. Almost immediately, the halls began to fill with students.

Steve looked down at the black square of cloth. It was nothing special, but he was pretty sure he’d seen it hanging off the metalhead a few times. Maybe it had sentimental value. Well, he would just have to find a time to return it. After all, hadn’t he just been thinking that he needed something interesting to distract him? A new friend to take his mind off everything? Huh. Maybe Eddie Munson was exactly what he’d been looking for.

Part 2

#steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #Eddie and Steve #eddie munson #steddie fic #ficlet #This is going to be a THING #Part 1

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pin-k-ink · 15 days

Text

Dazai Osamu

CW: mention of death and violence, one night stand, a small teeny weeny age gap

a/n: this was more of a self-insert than an x reader fic

Dazai was a man who scoffed at the notion of fate, rejecting the idea that some invisible force could be guiding his life's trajectory. He preferred to attribute his successes and failures to his own decisions and actions, a belief system forged in the harsh realities and tough choices of his upbringing. Raised in a world where relying on fate was a luxury he couldn't afford, Dazai learned early on that he had to carve out his own path in life.

His disbelief in fate stemmed from a childhood marked by instability and uncertainty. Growing up in the Port Mafia, he witnessed firsthand the randomness of life's outcomes. There were no predetermined paths for him, only the constant struggle to survive and shape his own destiny. It was a world where the strong thrived, and the weak perished, and Dazai had no intention of being the latter. He had clawed his way to the top, relying on his wits, cunning, and sheer determination to overcome every obstacle in his path.

Amidst the chaos of his surroundings, a familiar face caught his eye, pulling him from his thoughts. It was her, his little pupil whom he had taken in along with Akutagawa years ago. However, the woman standing before him was a far cry from the timid, scared girl he had once tried to train. Back then, she was a scaredy-cat, a fragile little mouse in a den of lions, who would pass out at the mere sight of blood. Dazai had practically given up on her, considering either passing her along to someone who would take care of her or putting her out of her misery himself. He doubted she could survive in the mafia or even make it on her own outside of it.

He remembered the countless hours he had spent trying to toughen her up, to mold her into someone who could withstand the brutal realities of their world. But no matter how hard he pushed, she seemed to retreat further into herself, her wide eyes filled with a terror that never quite seemed to fade. It was as if she was too pure, too innocent for the life they led, and Dazai had resigned himself to the fact that she would never be cut out for it.

Ultimately, Dazai had left the mafia shortly after, without having to make that decision. He had never given her much thought after that, assuming that she had either found her way to a safer, more peaceful existence or had met a grim fate at the hands of the unforgiving underworld. But now, seeing her here, he realized just how wrong he had been.

The scene before him was a bloodbath, with dozens of dead and mutilated bodies scattered at his feet. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder, a symphony of death and destruction that would have made even the most hardened criminals recoil in horror. And yet, there she stood, in the middle of it all, idly wiping her gun clean before holstering it with a nonchalant air, as if this was just another day at the office.

As she lifted her head, her face was indifferent and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the carnage that surrounded her. She raised her hand in a small, casual wave, as if greeting an old acquaintance. "Oh. Hey, Dazai-san." Her voice was flat, almost bored, and it sent a chill down Dazai's spine. There was no mistaking it; this was definitely her, but not the her he had once known.

Dazai found himself gaping as she coldly stepped over the bodies, making her way past him with a pat on his shoulder, as if he hadn't been sent there to detain her. For a moment, he was too stunned to react, his mind struggling to reconcile the girl from his memories with the ruthless killer that now stood before him. But then, on an impulse, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward, finally regaining his composure. "My, how you've grown, my little flower. I didn't think you'd even make it into your twenties."

"I'm... eighteen, Dazai-san," she replied, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. There was no trace of the timid, stammering girl he had once known, no hint of the fear that had once consumed her. Instead, there was a coldness in her eyes, a hardness that spoke of a life filled with pain and suffering.

"Right, right." He paused for a moment, his mind racing. Why had he stopped her? What did he want to say? A thousand questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Finally, he settled on the one thing that felt safe, the one thing that might give him a chance to unravel the mystery of the woman standing before him. "Wanna grab a drink with me?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, hanging in the air between them like a lifeline. Maybe it was second nature for him to ask any beautiful woman out on a date, or perhaps he hoped to unravel the mystery of his once-hopeless pupil's transformation. Either way, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her response.

He watched as she stared at him blankly for a couple of minutes, her expression unreadable. It was as if she was weighing her options, trying to decide whether he was worth her time. Finally, she nodded. "Sure."

And with that, the two set off, leaving the carnage behind them. As they walked, Dazai couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the girl he once knew, and what had shaped her into the woman she was today. He had a feeling that this drink would be the start of a very interesting conversation, one that might just challenge his long-held beliefs about fate and the paths we choose.

But more than that, he found himself curious about her, about the life she had led since he had last seen her. What had driven her to become so ruthless, so cold? What had she seen, what had she experienced that had hardened her heart and turned her into a killer? And why, despite everything, did he find himself drawn to her, to the mystery and the danger that seemed to surround her like a cloak?

As they made their way to the nearest bar, Dazai couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a chance encounter. Maybe, just maybe, there was something more at play here, some invisible force that had brought them together after all these years. And while he still didn't believe in fate, he couldn't deny the sense of anticipation that thrummed through his veins, the feeling that something big was about to happen.

For now, though, he would focus on the present, on the woman walking beside him and the secrets she held. He would buy her that drink and see where the night took them, and maybe, just maybe, he would find the answers he was looking for. Or perhaps he would simply find himself drawn deeper into the web of mystery and intrigue that seemed to surround her, a willing participant in a game he didn't yet understand.

They settled into a booth, ordering drinks and making small talk. But as the alcohol flowed and inhibitions lowered, the conversation took a deeper, more personal turn. She began to open up, sharing glimpses of the life she'd led since he left the mafia - the struggles, the triumphs, the choices that had shaped her into the person she was today.

Dazai found himself drawn in, captivated by her every word. There was a magnetism about her, a sense of danger and mystery that called to something deep within him. As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, the air between them grew charged with a palpable electricity.

Perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through their veins, or the weight of the secrets they'd shared, but at some point they found themselves stumbling out of the bar, hailing a taxi to Dazai's apartment. The ride passed in a blur of heated glances and barely restrained touches, the anticipation building with every passing block.

As they stumbled into Dazai's apartment, the tension that had been building between them all night finally reached its breaking point. Dazai's eyes roamed hungrily over her figure, drinking in every curve and contour that had been hidden beneath her clothes.

She had grown into a stunning woman, a far cry from the scrawny girl he'd once known. Her body was lean and toned, honed by years of training and combat. But there was a softness to her too, a feminine grace that made his fingers itch to explore every inch of her smooth, supple skin.

She seemed oblivious to his heated gaze, too focused on removing her jacket and shoes. Dazai took the opportunity to admire the way her shirt clung to her breasts, the swell of her hips in her tight jeans. He could practically feel the warmth radiating off her, beckoning him closer.

Unable to resist any longer, Dazai closed the distance between them in two quick strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips sought hers in a searing kiss. She let out a small gasp of surprise before melting into him, her arms coming up to wind around his neck.

The kiss quickly turned heated, Dazai's tongue delving into her mouth to tangle with hers. His hands slid lower, cupping her rear and pressing her closer still. He could feel every inch of her body against his, supple curves and firm muscle setting his blood on fire.

Breaking away from her lips, Dazai trailed kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat. She let out a breathy moan, her head falling back to grant him better access. The sound shot straight to his groin, his already painfully hard cock throbbing in the confines of his pants.

Impatient to feel her skin on his, Dazai tugged at the hem of her shirt, yanking it over her head and tossing it aside. His eyes immediately fell to her breasts, encased in a lacy bra that made his mouth water. Reverently, he traced a finger along the edge of the delicate fabric, marveling at the contrast against her skin.

She shivered under his touch, her nipples pebbling against the thin material. Dazai couldn't resist dipping his head, placing an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of her breast. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he laved attention on the sensitive flesh.

Growling low in his throat, Dazai reached behind her to unhook her bra, letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled free, perfect handfuls topped with rosy peaks that just begged for his touch. He obliged immediately, palming the soft mounds and rolling her nipples between his fingers until she was arching into his touch, little mewls of pleasure escaping her kiss-swollen lips.

Lost in a haze of lust, Dazai walked them backwards towards the bedroom, unwilling to stop his exploration of her incredible body. They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, hands roaming and mouths fused as they frantically removed the rest of their clothing.

And then she was laid out before him like a feast, miles of creamy skin and toned limbs, a flush of arousal painting her from head to toe. Dazai took a moment to just look at her, to marvel at the absolute perfection of her form. She was a goddess, a siren, and he wanted nothing more than to worship at her altar for the rest of his days.

Starting at her ankle, Dazai began to map her body with his hands and mouth, determined to learn every dip and curve, to catalogue every spot that made her gasp and moan. He kissed his way up her legs, nipping at her inner thighs until she was writhing beneath him, begging for more. He laved attention on her breasts, sucking and biting until she was a keening mess.

By the time he finally settled between her thighs, she was dripping with need, her hips canting up in search of friction. And as he finally placed his mouth on her pussy and tasted her, as he felt her shatter apart under his skilled touch, Dazai knew that he would never be the same. She had ruined him for all other women, had branded herself on his very soul.

And as he slid into her tight, welcoming cunt, as he lost himself in the slick slide of their bodies moving as one, Dazai couldn't find it in himself to care. Let the world burn, let fate do as it willed. In this moment, in her arms, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

#bsd x reader smut #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bsd dazai #dazai smut #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x reader smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x reader smut #dazai osamu smut #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs

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