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pandorxxx · 11 months

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Another man’s treasure

Neteyam x omatikayan fem reader (all aged up)

Warnings: cursing, oral (reader receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms, neteyam having a size kink, neteyam being “Mr. Steal yo girl” kinda, creampie, marking, scenting.

Listen to Mr. Steal yo girl by Trey Songz for the best experience 😊

Synopsis: You wanted lo’ak, and it was no secret. However, you were scared to talk to him. When you went to Neteyam for help, he made it known that lo’ak wouldn’t be interested in you because of your abnormal (among navi) size. But you soon realized, that what one brother didn’t like, the other one loved…

🔞mdni🔞

“Cant you find something else to do? I don’t have time for this today.” Neteyam chuckled, pushing leaves out of his path as he went to fulfill his duties. This was becoming an everyday thing almost. You’d follow Neteyam into the forest as he did his daily chores just to bug him about the same old shit.

You had a huge crush on lo’ak, and since you and Neteyam were…somewhat friends, you decided that the only way to get in good with lo’ak was with the help of Neteyam. Although he wasn’t much help.

“Neteyam come onnnn. I’ll leave you alone if you talk to lo’ak for me.” You whined, running behind him to keep up with his long strides. You were alittle younger than both of them, but that didn’t stop you from trying. Also, you were alittle smaller than the average female Navi, so you got made fun of sometimes. But you had a “Fuck you” mentality when it came to bullies, you couldn’t care less.

“Why don’t you talk to him, huh? Why are you bugging me about it? I’ve got shit to do y/n.” He spoke calmly, making sure to hold the leaves down for you to walk through. He was such a gentlemen without even trying.

“You know him better than I do. I just figured you could help me out…TEYAM!” You shouted his name, making him halt in his tracks with an irritated sigh. He turn to you, walking alittle closer.

“Y/n please. I don’t have time to get in the middle of this shit. And plus, I personally don’t think that lo’ak would go for this.” Neteyam confessed.

“And why do you think that? I’m pretty, no?” You asked with a hint of aggression, eyebrow cocked as you awaited an answer. He chuckled, crossing his arms.

“You’re very pretty. But you know that’s not what I meant.” He shook his head. Your eyes narrowed, picking up on what he was insinuating.

“Well what DID you mean, Neteyam?” You asked, anger radiating off of your skin. He eyed your small frame up and down in curiosity.

“Fuck, don’t make me say it. It’s very obvious.” He ran his hand through his braids with a loud chuckle. You were now visibly angry, tail swaying high in defense as you clutched your bow. Although you were smaller, you were one of the best warriors here. Some would even say better than the mighty warrior himself, so he knew you meant business.

With a loud sigh, he finally fessed up. “Y/n…you’re tiny as fuck.” He nodded with a sarcastic grin.

“Neteyam, what does that have to do with anything? Huh?” You asked with heavy aggression, shifting your body weight to one hip.

“If I were lo’ak. I wouldn’t even wanna touch you. Might break your little ass.” He joked, however you didn’t find it funny whatsoever.

“Fuck you. I can take any male in this clan, you and lo’ak INCLUDED. Size means NOTHING!” You snapped, poking his chest angrily as you peered up at him. He let out a loud laugh, placing his large hands on your shoulders.

“I promise you, and I mean this in the most humble way possible. You cannot take me, y/n.” He spoke passive aggressively, his tone becoming alittle serious.

“Neteyam, check my fucking stats. I’d have you crying when I’m done.” You growled, smacking his hands off of your shoulders. It was no secret that you’d been with other males before, what girl hadn’t? Though small, you knew exactly how to please a man. And men just like Neteyam would underestimate you all the time…until they got their feel.

“Oh y/n, please. I’ve heard about you, trust me. But I’m a REAL man. Those little boys you’ve been with have NOTHING on me. You hear me? NOTHING!” He growled, jaw clenching in restraint. You laughed in his face, taking a step back to scan his body from head to toe.

“Oh, ok there big boy. Calm down. Did lil ole’ me get under the mighty warriors skin?” You mocked. Neteyam was a man of great restraint, but you were really pressing his buttons today. He let out a deep sigh, before chuckling to himself.

“Don’t make me ruin you for lo’ak.” Was all he said, in that deep tone of his. The one that meant business. The one that created a pool of your own slick in your loincloth. The one that made you shift back and forth experimentally, trying to find some sort of friction.

“A lot of open ended sentences today. Tell me what that’s supposed to mean.” You commanded, arms crossed as you took a step forward.

“You know what it means, don’t act so innocent y/n. And DONT challenge me. I’ll snap you like a twig.” He trailed off, eyeing you up and down. You laughed in his face again, at his sudden sexual advances. It was always lo’ak for you, but Neteyam was just as hot, if not hotter. He was stronger, taller, sexier, and a lot more mature.

“So do it. You have nothing but space and opportunity to show me. If I’m being honest, this sounds like a bunch of bs. I can’t take you seriously in this light, Neteyam. You’re always so uptight.” You teased, hoping that it would make him angry enough to take you, right here…right now. But he quickly caught on to your antics. He stepped closer, until your plump breast met his stomach. Peering down at you with a crooked grin.

“Oh, I don’t know y/n. You’re too small to ride this ride. I don’t wanna hurt you. You’re better off finding lo’ak. He’s more your speed.” He nodded.

“But the things I’d do to you…it’s unspeakable.” He whispered, running his large hand down your torso, all the way to the band of your loincloth. You bit your lip, directing your attention to the scene.

“Tell me about it, I’m all ears.” You spoke sensually, eyes meeting his once again. “Well first…I’d rip this fucking loincloth off of your hips.” He spoke, simultaneously ripping your cloth off. You gasped, finding your balance again from the unexpected force.

“Then…I’d turn you around, and bend you over.” He spoke. His tone low and full of lust as he spun you around, bending you over into a 90 degree angle. Your hands immediately finding refuge on the bark of the tree infront of you. You let out a little giggle as you turned your head to look back at him, waiting for his next move.

“Mmmhm.” he groaned, smacking your ass as he watched your arousal leak out of you like a stream. You let out a small whimper at the impact, so desperate for more.

He kneeled down behind you, coming face to face with your dripping cunt. He licked his lips before diving in. His calloused hands holding your cheeks opened as he devoured you whole.

“G-God, Neteyam!” You whimpered, digging your nails into the bark. He didn’t say anything else to you, didn’t even bother coming up for air. All you could hear was nasally gulps, and squelching sounds followed by low hums of satisfaction from him.

You could feel his tongue flicking, sucking, and gnawing on your sensitive clit before licking all the way up to your ass, giving it a small peck. And then he would go back to work on you. Your legs were starting to shake as your whines increased in volume.

“I-Im sooo close.” You spoke in exhaustion from holding yourself up. He hummed in response, wiggling his head as you used the flat of his tongue to taste you completely. This in turn, sending you over the edge. Without much warning, you released into his mouth. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but his strong hands held you in place as he lapped up your juices. All of your essence dripping down his jaw and neck.

“This pussy tastes like heaven, baby.” He chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing to his full height behind you.

“I want you to stay juuust like this for me. Think you can do that?” He asked as he untied his loincloth from around his his gently. You nodded in response, feeling his tip graze past your slit on the way up to slap his stomach.

He grabbed his cock, using the tip to play with your clit. “Mmm…” You hum, leaning your cheek against the bark as you watched him with desperate eyes.

With little to no warning, just a devilish smirk, he slide into you slowly. His cock was stretching you out more than you’d ever been, yet it felt like the perfect fit once he bottomed out. You let out a series of loud whimpers once you felt his tip probing at your cervix. That was a feeling you’d never had before.

“I know, baby. I know…” he moaned, thrusting into you slowly to get you used to his size. His large hands trailed all the way up your back, giving it a light rub before finding their way to the back of your neck.

“You’re s-sooo big!” You whined, knuckles turning white from the grip you had on the bark infront of you. He didn’t know what it was about your cries that turned him on so much. Maybe it was the fact that you were a tough girl, and seeing you so helpless at the hands of him made his head spin.

And as much as he loved to make fun of how small you were, he secretly loved it. The comparison of you to him had him aroused from the start. He was a relatively big guy, very strong, and muscular from his endless training. And although you were a warrior too, you simply didn’t look like one. You were very fragile…delicate to him. And he loved that he could have his way with you.

“Mhm, keep talking.” He growled, now picking up the pace. His warm sack smacking against your sensitive clit, creating the right amount of friction. On top of the constant pounding to your sweet-spot. You couldn’t even form a complete thought at this point. The pleasure was consuming you. And at that point, you realized that you’d never had sex like this. Neteyam had proven to you why he was the better choice.

“I-I can’t even….I-I d-don’t- FUUUCK!” You rambled. So flustered that you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. He let out a breathily chuckle, rutting into you like he’d never see you again.

“Ok! ok! ok! I-I can’t take this shit. y-you’re killing me, Teyam!” You whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You were on the verge of such an intense orgasm, unlike anything you’d felt before. It was becoming too much for you to handle.

“But you’re so fucking close, baby. I can feel the way you’re squeezing me, sucking me in. I thought you could take me?” He spoke in a condescending tone, the same devilish grin plastered across his face as he watched your plump ass ripple with every thrust.

“I-I can’t take you! I CANT!” You whimpered, tears blurring your vision. He slowed down for you, just alittle, but not nearly as much as you needed. You began to gnaw at the bark in desperation, just trying to find some relief from your incoming orgasm.

“And why can’t you take me? I wanna hear this shit.” He spoke in a low tone, shifting his hands to your hips for more leverage. He began to thrust into you slow and deep, nearly knocking the wind out of you with every stroke.

Oh, how he loved this. He knew why you couldn’t, he just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you tell him how strong, and how big he was. It was an ego boost for him, and to have you completely drunk off of his cock was a huge turn on.

“Mmm t-oooo big. Way t-too big!” You spoke deliriously, legs beginning to shake as that knot in your stomach started to unravel. Your walls clenched around him before releasing your essence. You let out a series of loud moans, just like music to his ears.

“Thaaats right, baby. Cum on this big dick.” He moaned, smacking your ass with his bottom lip in between his teeth. His cock began to twitch Inside of you, signaling that he was about to cum. So instead, he pulled out of you quickly with a loud groan. He held your hips in place so that you wouldn’t fall as he caught his breath.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. You managed to turn around in his embrace, leaning your back against the bark of the tree lazily.

“Y-You didn’t-“ you began, before he lifted his finger to silence you. “Don’t worry about me. I just wanted to give you alittle taste. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He confessed, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“What if I want you to hurt me?” You spat, bringing him flush to you by his hips. He cocked an eyebrow in confusion, but mostly curiosity.

“Give me your all, Neteyam. Give me everything, please. Even if we have to go at it all fucking night. I want more than a taste.” You spoke sensually, wrapping your arms around his waist before planting a kiss on his chest.

“Fuck, don’t talk like that. Please.” He chuckled, rubbing your arms lovingly as he stared down into your desperate eyes.

“And what about lo’ak, huh? I thought you had a thing for him an hour ago.” He asked playfully, already knowing that lo’ak was the farthest thing from your mind at this point.

“I want you now. Is that a crime?” You asked, not even letting him answer the question before you stood on your tippy toes, engaging in a passionate kiss with him. His hand found the back of your head, gripping your hair to deepen the kiss. The other hand snaking around to lift you up, pinning you to the tree behind you. You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, and your arms around his neck.

“Mmm, take this off.” He spoke between kisses, referring to your top. You backed away from him slightly, leaning all the way back on the bark. He watched you intently, as you began to untie your revealing top. It popped open with the last knot, revealing your plump breasts. And just like a man, he licked his lips as his eyes locked to your chest.

“Fuuuck me.” He groaned before attacking your nipples. Gently gnawing at them to create love bites, and running his warm tongue around your areola. He nuzzled his head in your chest with low groans of satisfaction as he scented you. Everyone would know who you belonged to from here on out.

Without warning, he lifted you up by your ass, and slammed you down on his cock. You both moaning in unison. He immediately set a merciless rhythm, impaling you over and over again roughly.

“Oh great mother, yessss!” You praised, squeezing your eyes shut as your voice rippled through the forest due to his unbearable pace.

“Mmm, keep screaming like that.” He demanded, thrusting into you harder, knocking the air out of your lungs with every stroke. There wasn’t much else you could say, you were completely silenced.

“I-I..” you stuttered, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You let your head find refuge on the bark behind you, revealing your unscathed neck to Neteyam…big mistake for such a territorial male like himself.

He bent down to your neck, taking a deep breath before flashing his fangs. He grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Without anymore hesitation, he bit down on your neck gently. Still hard enough to leave a mark.

“Oh my-“ you started, your head going completely limp on the bark behind you. You could feel another orgasm building deep in your stomach.

“B-Baby, Im so close. Sooo so close!” He moaned, watching your breast bounce from his hard thrusts. He was slowly loosing it, and he couldn’t contain himself much longer. He could feel his stomach muscles tense repeatedly, which is something that’s never happened to him. Beads of sweat began to roll off of his frowned forehead. His mouth was slightly agape, low whimpers falling from his lips. And at that moment, he realized he’d never had sex like this.

“FUCK!” He growled, his hand slapping against the bark behind you as he bounced you on his cock quickly.

“Give it to me, pleaseeee!” You screamed, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly, leaning your head on his shoulder. Your body began to tremble in his arms as your toes curled. You couldn’t hold it anymore. Your peak was nearing quickly.

“Ladies first. Cum on this dick again, baby.” He whispered in your ear, kissing the lobe gently. The act alone sending you over the edge. Your eyes rolled back, jaw slack as you released on him for the second time. Loud squelching sounds filling the forest as his cream coated cock slid in and out of you. He could feel your walls contracting around him, and he just couldn’t hold it any longer. “Ohhh, shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He chanted, releasing his seed deep into your empty womb with a loud groan.

“Don’t be sorry, I-I wanted it. Juuust like that!” You whined, rolling your hips into his to bury his seed deeper into your tight cunt. You both took a few minutes to catch your breaths before he pulled out slowly.

“Mmmhm…” He hummed, watching his excess cum drip to the ground beneath you. For a moment, you two stared at each other in awe, completely whipped by one another.

He had his mind made up, and it seemed as though you had changed yours. Neteyam was the only man you wanted from now on….

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yuwuta · 3 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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perlelune · 6 months

Text

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

After a few weeks, you’re forced to acknowledge you were wrong about Coriolanus.

His mere presence assuages your hurt, and none of his actions bear a hint of impropriety.

He’s simply being a friend, comforting you and supporting you in a time of need.

His visits grow more frequent.

You’re amazed he even finds time between the University and his apprenticeship with Dr. Gaul. Still, Coryo never misses tea time with you, sometimes even bringing books and sweets. You’re thankful for the time he spends doting on you, even if you hate keeping him from his studies. You know how eager to succeed he’s always been.

But you can’t deny you missed the feeling of having a brother, of having this person who cares for you, looks out for you and protects you unconditionally.

And while you’re aware Coriolanus isn’t your actual brother, having him besides you helps alleviate the weight of grief and loneliness. Being with him makes you feel closer to Janus. You’re also solaced by the knowledge it’s what your departed brother would have wanted.

There is one person however who isn’t too keen on the rekindled bond between you and Coriolanus Snow.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” William notes, tracing the lines in your palm.

You’re both lying on the couch in the sunroom, your back against William’s chest, fingers interlaced with his. Sunlight spills from the stained glass in the ceiling, painting your fiancé’s brown curls in bronze hues.

This is a moment of tranquility you’ve longed for, a sliver of calm amidst the storm and chaos wedding planning has turned out to be. You reckoned it’d be easier than it has been. Instead, it seems nothing ever goes right. Between incidents with the cake, your wedding dress somehow being lost by the store, and the venue perpetually being booked…you’ve grown disheartened and exhausted by the entire process.

It’s almost like some higher force is trying to prevent you marrying William. It’s ludicrous, of course. But the ceaseless string of bad luck is beginning to drain your hope that your wedding will happen before the year ends.

You and William even had to push back the date. There was no choice as hurdles kept emerging.

So you bask in your fiancé’s presence, soaking his warmth and familiar smell, reminding yourself why you’re going through so much trouble. Marrying William is worth it.

“Yeah. He’s my friend,” you state casually.

“Your friend. Baby…” There’s a brief pause during which William appears deep in thought. When he speaks again, it’s with a softer tone. “At the risk of sounding jealous, the way he’s looking at you…are you sure that he knows that?”

His words make you sit up straight.

“William,” you admonish, taken aback by his preposterous insinuation.

Coriolanus’ a gentleman. He hasn’t made any moves towards you and he wouldn’t. Sejanus trusted him and you trust him too.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

“I’m just saying. We’re getting married soon, and everything’s been so…tumultuous. I just want to make sure that you won’t…”

You search his forest gaze. Shock fills you at the doubts you find lurking there.

“That I won’t what?” You give a light punch to his chest. “Get cold feet? William, are you mad?”

His shoulders slump. “I know your parents wish I was from a great house like him.”

William looks away and you put your hands on his face, drawing his focus back to you.

“It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I love you.”

He smiles, that beautiful sunny smile that blows a warm breeze through your chest every time.

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

“William, you’re good and kind and caring. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You hold his eyes. “He’s just a friend, I promise you. You…You’re my future.”

William studies you, love and devotion illuminating his features. His lips then collide with yours. He nudges you down on the plush beige upholstery, humming low in his throat.

When his hands find their way below your skirt, you push against his chest.

He immediately stops.

Your hot, rapid exhales mingle as you steady your breath.

“You know I’d rather we wait for our wedding night,” you mutter apologetically. It’s not the first time things got hot and heavy between you and William and you slowed them down. You know how frustrating it has to be for him and you commend his patience. “ I know it’s old-fashioned but I…”

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, holding hands with you. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away.” Pink dusts his cheeks as he adds, “You just smell so good and you’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks across your face. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He tilts his head and laughs.

“How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you talk to me like that?” He bites his lip, his lids dipping to half-mast. “Can I at least get another kiss?” he whispers suavely.

“Hm, we’ll see about that…” you mumble, closing your own eyes.

“Apologies, hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Coriolanus’ sharp inflection shatters the spell, making you leap away from William.

Heat nestles in your cheeks as you rise to your feet, hastily smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. Your fiancé clears his throat and runs a hand through his tousled locks.

“No, we’re…William was leaving,” you stammer, struggling to meet Coriolanus’ stark blue gaze.

William’s brows squeeze together at that. But you shoot him a glare that pulls a deep sigh from him. He nods and pulls you to him one more time.

He kisses you but you note it lasts much longer than usual, his fingers curling around your waist possessively.

Embarrassment flares inside you that this is happening right in front of your friend.

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

“Coriolanus,” William greets stiffly as he brushes past the blond.

“William,”Coriolanus replies, his tone somehow icier.

Once your fiancé has left, a weary exhale floats from your mouth.

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along. You both matter to me.”

Coriolanus smirks. “Oh, princess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” you inquire, blinking up at him curiously.

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you.

“Nothing.”

You scrunch your nose, displeased by his answer. He’s always so cryptic. A chuckle peels from his lips at your sour expression. His knuckles sweep over your cheek.

“There should never be a frown on such a pretty face.” He digs inside his satchel before retrieving a slim, leather-bound book. He places it in your hands as you gape at him, puzzled.

“Here, I brought you this. This will cheer you up.”

You examine the book. Surprise mingles with elation when you notice the words on the cover. The engraved letters spell out a familiar title. It’s one of your favorite books from when you were younger. It bewilders you that he even remembers. As if no time has passed.

“Oh my god! How did you…” An excited squeal leaves you. Then your voice lulls to a whisper. “It’s a first edition, Coryo.”

“It was printed and bound before the war,” he explains. “It wasn’t easy to dig up.”

Your brows rise. “An antique. You shouldn’t have.” You cradle the book against your chest. “You’re too good to me.”

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You both sit down for tea, cakes and macaroons. Time flies as you chat about everything and nothing with your friend. As always, you do most of the talking as he dutifully listens, only interjecting to ask you to elaborate on a particular point.

No matter what you jabber on about, his interest never appears to wane.

You eventually land on the matter of your wedding planning. You share all the troubles you and William have had and Coriolanus hums in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sips from his cup of Earl Grey. “How…unfortunate.”

He then pauses, seeming to ponder something. “I have a proposition.”

Your brow arches in question.

“Clemmie is throwing a party tonight. Let me take you, get your mind off of all this.”

Your lips part. Clemensia? A party? None of it sounds enticing to you.

“I’m not sure…” you trail off, your eyes finding the floor.

“What better way to cheer you up than a party, princess?” Coriolanus’ voice mellows as he adds, “You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Words falter on your tongue as your eyes swell with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern oozing from his gentle tone.

You shake your head.

“You’re crying,” he insists, reaching over the table to lift your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says sternly. “Talk to me.”

His unwavering inflection nudges you to admit, “I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Every part of this house, every nook and cranny carries a memory I have with Janus.” You glance about the sunroom. Here alone you can count so many hiding spots from games you and your brother played when you were kids. “It’s easy, keeping him close here. It’s just that…”

“You’re scared to move on,” Coriolanus finishes for you. His thumb glides over your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had spilled over. “But you have to.”

“Sejanus wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this house like one of your roses.”

You mull over his words. You suppose he’s right but you’re still not convinced. Parties like the kind Clemensia is fond of hosting aren’t exactly your scene.

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Then I’ll choose for you,” he replies without hesitation.

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before you can protest, he seizes your hand and drags you upstairs.

“Wait, Coryo…”

He ignores you, making his way to your room with brisk strides you can barely maintain pace with. Once he’s there, he rummages through your closet. You let him do it, half-skeptical, half-jaded. Most of these garments weren’t picked by you anyway, but by your mother based on whatever fashion trend raged in the Capitol at the time. And those trends change every other season. You since long gave up on trying to keep abreast of them.

“Hm, this one is perfect,” he announces, drawing a red number from the closet.

You gape at the dress he chose. It’s a slip satin dress the color of blood. The waist is cinched with a thin belt and the lace sleeves, adorned with embroidered flowers, flow elegantly.

It’s beautiful, radiating a timeless elegance…but the neckline is low, displaying more cleavage than you’re used to.

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

Your eyes bulge but you relent, something about his tone curbing your impulse to argue. “Okay,” you quaver.

Trying not to squirm beneath his intense stare, you grab the dress from him and slip behind the wooden divider screen.

Chewing on your lip, you peek above the folding screen.

“Maybe you could…get out while I change?” you suggest while fumbling with the lace strings of your day dress.

Coriolanus casually sits on your bed, his crimson coat pooling around him. He leans back and spreads his large hands over your bed sheets. A small smile dances along his pink lips.

“I won’t look, I promise. Don’t you trust me, princess?”

“I do but…”

“But what?” he challenges, cocking his head in question.

Stumped, you come up short of a decent answer. “Nothing,” you mumble.

You shed your clothes quickly to try on the red dress. The whole time, you can feel the weight of Coriolanus’ unnerving scrutiny on the other side of the wooden screen.

He gives you a sluggish onceover when you step out from behind the screen. Your skin prickles as you shake.

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

His blue eyes sparkle when you do as he says. He gets to his feet. He slowly strolls towards you.

Once he’s in front of you, he also arranges a few wisps of your hair in a way that he likes.

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done.

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

“See? All you have to do is to trust me, princess.” His deep voice dips to dulcet tones. “Just trust me and, I promise you, everything will work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You came,” Coriolanus points out, that signature smirk of his adorning his lips.

“I promised I would,” you defend.

He snorts. “I’m glad. Saves me the trouble of having to drag you here myself, princess.”

Nervous laughter peals from your lips at his strange joke and the intent way his eyes rest on you. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of you in the crimson dress. The very same one he picked himself.

He then loops your arm around his, bending near your ear to whisper,

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

You look around yourself, curious as you’ve never been to Clemensia’s house. The atmosphere is more intimate than you expected. The only source of dim light in the Dovecote’s sumptuous living room emanates from candelabras scattered all about, the wobbly candlelight casting twisting shadows over the damask walls. The crackle of the logs burning in the gigantic fireplace mingles with the soft piano tune filling the living room.

“Coriolanus, did you bring a ghost to my party?” Clemensia jests when she sees you. Her expression then turns serious as she studies you. To your utter surprise, she wraps her arms around you and hugs you. You freeze, too stunned to return the gesture. The two of you were never close, the opposite in fact. It all stemmed from the way she and her friends ostracized you and your brother in school. Maybe it’s all water under the bridge now that you’re older. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laments. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

Coriolanus hardly conceals his amusement at the interaction, mirth swaying in his cobalt orbs.

He and Clemensia keep introducing you to people. Some you recognize; some you don’t.

It makes you realize how much you missed.

After a while, faces blend into each other. You end up nodding and smiling to most of the small talk, your attention span dwindling by the minute.

Eventually, you decide to retreat to the bar to take a break. The barkeep nudges a drink your way and you thank him quietly. You swirl it in your hand, your thoughts drifting. Maybe this is what a return to normalcy must feel like. Slightly strange and overwhelming.

You gasp as Coriolanus appears at your side. “Are you alright, princess? Too much?”

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest.

“A little,” you confess. “But…I’m glad you took me. A change of scenery is nice.”

It occurs to you that you haven’t had time to wallow in your sadness, too caught in conversation with other people. However frivolous the topics, it did keep your mind off of things. No thoughts of dead brothers have crossed your mind tonight.

It might not be much but it’s a start, you suppose.

Coriolanus’ brow curves teasingly. “See? This is why you should trust me.”

“Don’t push it, Snow. You’re on thin ice.”

A laugh bursts from his chest but, as he peers down at your drink, all humor vanishes from his face. He swipes it from you and sniffs it.

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead.

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It was just…brought to me.”

“There’s something in it.”

“What?” Ice spills in your veins. “Oh my god.”

Your mind whirls as you peek at your surroundings, paranoia creeping in. You wonder who could have done this and why. Just to mess with you? Or maybe even worse…

Your gut sinks. Thank god Coryo put a stop to whatever awful thing could have happened to you.

He puts his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“T-Thanks,” you stutter. “Just nothing with alcohol in it, please.”

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you beam before taking a sip. You were starting to get a little parched.

“Always, princess.” He grins at you while you take another sip.

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you.

The room starts to spin around you, blurring into crooked shapes and colors. You try to stand but your knees buckle instantly.

If it weren’t for Coriolanus swiftly catching you you’d be a heap on the floor.

“Coryo…I’m not feeling so good,” you slur, struggling to speak. Cotton seems to fill your mouth, the mere act of forming words demanding great effort.

“It’s okay, lean on me,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Head…heavy.”

“You’re alright. Just hold on to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

In a daze, you stagger along as he escorts you through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. You grow so weak that you slump against him. With ease, Coriolanus hoists you in his arms, carrying you bridal style the rest of the way.

You fall onto something heavenly soft that sinks under your weight. Like fluffy clouds.

Your thoughts collapse, muddy and haphazard as you blink up at the ceiling. An antique chandelier hangs from it.

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

But as soon as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of your dress hiking upwards tugs you back to consciousness.

Befuddled, you look down. You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus wedged between your parted legs, hands clasped around your thighs. His waistcoat and white blouse are gone, exposing his pale, broad chest.

“Coryo, what is happening-”

His soft lips cover yours, stifling your protests. His tall frame pins yours to the bed. He purrs against your lips, framing your jaw when you feebly pivot your head to the side.

When his lips free yours, your mouth still tingles with the forcefulness of his bruising kiss.

He returns to the space between your thighs.

You lie back, your bones like jelly, as you feel the delicate material of your panties sliding down your legs.

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

His blue eyes glow strangely in the darkness. A chill slithers through your core.

“Shh, don’t worry about it, princess, just sleep.”

You want to move. You feel you have to. But you can’t.

“I…”

The syllable dies in a sharp gasp as Coriolanus’ cool tongue drags down your slit. Long fingers spreading you open, he traces wet circles around your bundle of nerves. He rasps against your center and the vibrations rock through your core. Your breath hitches. Your chest tightens. Heat builds in your stomach as he makes you dangle off the cliff of pleasure. He soon adds a finger and you cry out.

Coriolanus pumps in and out of you, gauging your expression as he grazes a particular spot that has your toes flexing. You writhe over the sheets, eyes blindly rising to the ceiling.

You clench around his finger, your cunt clinging to him reflexively.

He sinks a second digit inside you and you whine, back arching at the abrupt stretch.

Short, chaotic breaths rush through your lungs as he works you open. His slow, meticulous drags have your chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your legs quake as the coils in your belly grow unbearably tight and hot.

He stops as you’re on the cusp of your undoing. Your boneless frame sags onto the sheets.

He leans back and you hear the rustle of his pants coming undone. You get a faint sense of wrong trying to pierce through the haziness, but you can’t grasp at it.

Still, your fingers stretch towards the edge of the bed, your body rolling to the side. The meek attempt is interrupted as Coriolanus yanks you back onto the sheets, snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head. His frame drapes over yours. The scent of roses coats your senses.

“We’re not done, princess,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your face.

A painful pressure starts prodding your entrance. He grunts, hovering above you as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles.

You feel as if you’ll tear as more of him buries inside you. Every second is agony, your core burning at the blunt intrusion.

A sigh of pleasure floats from his mouth when he reaches the hilt of you. He stays there a while, seeming to bask in the feeling of you around him.

When he starts to move, your eyes flutter open. He sets a steady pace right away, thrusting inside you as if his life depended on it. Wordless screams rip from your throat. He releases your wrists, his long fingers latching onto your waist instead.

Each of his slow, deep thrusts sparks warm tingles through your body.

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

“I knew you’d feel just perfect around me,” he rasps, delighted.

His cadence quickens, his hand digging bruising grooves over your hip. Choked moans spill from your throat. His other hand crawls beneath the thin satin of your dress, fondling your breast and flicking your pebbled nipple. His hands feel everywhere at once and that sense of wrong rolls over you again.

“Ever since I saw you in this dress, I’ve been dying to fuck you in it,” he confesses, lust bleeding in his fevered tone.

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

A uniquely sharp thrust has your slick walls tighten around him. His cock stirs, a throaty moan pouring from his chest.

The repeated friction against your soft spots has you seeing stars.

A feral glint bounces in his blue eyes as he admires your panting form, lost in the throes of pleasure. Strangled shouts escape you as another wave of pleasure crashes over your frame.

His pace slows, sloppier than before as his cock twitches between your walls. His eyes roll back as he sighs, tension draining from his muscular frame. Hot ropes spill inside you, overflowing until you feel the warmth dripping along your thighs.

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

Coriolanus cradles your face, kissing away each of your tears with tender brushes of his lips.

“Shh, don’t cry,’ he mumbles. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” His cock stiffens inside you once more. He lifts you and snaps his hips viciously into yours, drawing a broken whimper as he bottoms out. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips when he begins to move inside you. Helplessly, you lie back as he takes you again.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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noneoutofnone · 8 months

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Getting whiplash going back to Armored Core VI after playing Starfield

Starfield trips over itself letting you know all of the quests are chill and good actually. The choices in dialogue range from doing a good deed to doing a good deed… for money😈. The only way to join the Space Pirates is to be offered the chance to go undercover first, making sure you see the Pirate but you’re a good guy option. If a persuasion check with someone fails, leaving you only with the prompt [Attack], your companion will say something to the effect of “woof, that was rough. But you did what you had to do.”

The most recent mission I finished in Starfield was for the United Colonies. You stand in front of a council of bureaucrats trying to convince them to hand over banned archival weapon data. This could help stop a small but growing danger to the galaxy. The council argues that it could also lead to that weapon falling into the wrong hands - It was locked away for a reason. It’s a great moment because it was the first time a character in starfield stood up and said to me No, you are in the wrong here, your research could lead to the weapon data leaking, civilians will be put it danger. ALERT. oh no. ALERT. Just as this conversation is happening an entirely contained but also extremely dire attack occurs. ALERT. You rush out and save the day. The threat is proven to be real and the data is necessary. No more questions about is it the right thing to do. Forget about all that other stuff we brought up, you were right. The whole council apologizes to you profusely. Here, take the nuclear launch codes, and here’s a thousand credits as an apology for insinuating that you weren’t the galaxy’s goodest bestest boy.

Mission 1 of Armored Core 6 is called “Illegal Entry”.

In mission 4 “Destroy the transport helicopters” the helicopters are just that. No weapons. Trying to run from you. The rubiconians who stand between you and the helicopters are defending their families. During the fight the enemies bark about you being the bad guy. After the mission your Dad calls you and says “It’s just a Job 621. All of it.” Throughout the entire game you are flooded with voicemails, calls, voices in your head, that all have an opinion on whether what you’re doing is good or bad or just a job.

Starfield is telling you not to think about it too hard. Armored Core is telling you to think about it. A lot. Screaming at you to think about it. What are you doing. It’s not just a job. The game is talking about your actions through all sorts of different lenses.

It’s stepping out of a lazy river and then immediately riding down Niagara Falls in a barrel. Sometimes literally. You see the same safe boring landing cutscene a million times in Starfield. Twice 621 has packed themselves into a barrel and yeeted it into danger.

#gaming #writing on games #armored core vi #starfield #games criticism #game design #fromsoft #Bethesda #621 #writing #ac6 #armored core 6 #videogame essay

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yanderenightmare · 6 months

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Dabi x darling x Hawks

TW: NSFW, noncon, war, soldiers, married reader

AN: kinda inspired by when British Parliament passed the Quartering Act in 1765, and those in the American colonies were required to provide housing for British soldiers, and how they were also expected to provide food, firewood, and even beer.

fem reader

Thinking about old-timey soldiers Hawks and Dabi who knock on your door with their caps in hand, plastic smiles on both their faces when asking for a warm homecooked meal – knowing you can’t refuse by order of the King.

It’s a humble cottage more than it’s a house, but the two men make themselves at home while you slowly stir the stew you’ve whipped up for them – only halfway of your own free will.

Hawks asks where your husband is, and you point to the love letters displayed on the mantle and tell them he’d been called away seven months ago.

Dabi then asks if you’ve been lonely…

You try and laugh it off as though it was a charming thing of him to say – but you’ve been feeling apprehensive ever since you opened the door – seeing their hands casually resting on the weapons by their hip as though in silent threat.

You sit with your hands in your lap while they eat. They say they’ve missed the sweetness of a woman like you – that the lads back at base don’t know how to do it the same way. And you know they’re talking about the food, but still… you can’t help but feel they’re insinuating something else.

You scream when they grab you – but it’s not like they expected anything else from a married woman – of course, a good wife would give anyone who isn’t her husband some fight – but like any woman, you’re quickly subdued by the two of them.

Their smiles are still eerily calm, even as you cry – utterly unmatched by their actions, where they squeeze into all your plush parts with unwarranted strength.

Hawks hugs you from behind, forcing your arms behind your back – his crotch planted firm against your rear, even through all the thick layers of your skirt.

Dabi is in front of you. He ripped open your blouse in the struggle – now whistling at the pretty sight of your tits while stroking his revolver up the crane of your neck, poking it into your cheek before using it to brush a wisp of hair out of your face – pretty and riddled with tears while you snivel and whimper.

He takes your chin in a strong hand, his tone smooth while he tells you to calm down – as though he's not got his loaded fire weapon aimed at you. His nose brushes yours as he croons at you through a smile – giving your quivering lips a quick peck.

Hawks’ tone is just as suave – playful even, grinning toothily, chuckling out how they just want to thank you for the hospitality as he quickly tugs the wool of your dress up, balling it all around your waist. Petting your cunt through your bloomers with your wrists gripped firm in his other hand, pinned tightly to the small of your back.

Cutlery, plates, and cups crash to the floor when Dabi swipes to clear the table – sending you hips-first against it.

The nose of his gun jabs into your nape, forcing your head down until your cheek smudges the splintery wood.

He doesn’t bother retraining you, letting the threat of his bullets do to all the talking while he unbuckles his belt, letting his uniform drop around his ankles.

He rips a gash in the thin cotton of your bloomers. They look too cute to remove. Not frilly like rich maidens wear, like in those catalogs the men will pass around if not pictures of each other's girlfriends. Yours are worker class, probably sewn by yourself from some old curtains – not meant to be erotic, but made so erotic because of it.

You’re just a simple farmer’s daughter making your country proud – is what he whispers in your ear when he has two fingers stuffed up your cunt.

It’s obvious you haven’t been fucked in a while – the two digits make you wince and, in turn, make him restless to give you the real thing. He can tell just by the buck of your hips it’s going to feel the same as fucking a virgin.

You’re quickly wet like one, too. Makes it easy for him to slide into your tightness despite your teary whines.

He lets out a heavy groan when you’ve taken him to the hilt – stays nestled there for a minute – in reverence of the tight, wet warmth he hadn’t felt in a while.

Sure, he and Hawks might have done things on cold, long, lonely nights, but nothing can quite compete with the softness of a woman in his mind.

Those precious ways you tighten up and shake from the stretch, shuffling your thighs when he kneads into your womb – soaking him with wet velvet slick.

His gun goes lazy against your back, though still very much keeping you scared in place as he lolls in and out of you at a languid pace – his chin tipped up with a sigh.

But it’s only initial relief – and once it dies down and the hunger spurs anew – he’s got his lips at your ear and his gun in your mouth – crude things flying off his lips, hips thrusting against you with the same haste of a hound in his rut – saying if he were your husband, he’d never leave your cunt and cooking – that he’d pick being buried six inches deep between your thighs than six feet deep in the dirt – sucking your cheek while telling you not to fret long over your man – how he and Hawks will help you grieve when the love letters stop coming.

The blonde is busy looting the liquor cabinet while Dabi ravages your poor cunt – but he comes back to switch with him once he finds the most expensive bottle.

It was a wedding present you’d been saving, one you’d thought you’d open the day your love would return – but Hawks cares little for the etiquette and swigs it raw from the stem as he retakes his place behind you – bathing his thick shaft with the slick sheen on your inner thighs before pressing himself inside you.

He doesn’t bother to start slow – he’d been kept waiting long enough and goes straight to pounding you deep. Kicking your legs apart – a hand buried in the cake of your ass to steady you whilst the other grips the bottle.

The table is small. Meant for only you and your man – so perfect for bending you over – just intimate enough to allow Dabi to stand at the other end with his cock in your mouth.

The whole thing wobbles against the floor as the two men have their way.

They deserted from their battalion a long time ago and have both grown pretty tired of house-hopping – and this place seems far enough removed from where anyone would bother looking for them.

Who knows, maybe they’ll stay until the war is over.

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antiquarianfics · 9 months

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Jealousy, Jealousy

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster, or so they say. You’d argue that jealousy is actually a blue-eyed, one-armed, super soldier.

A/N: 1989 (Taylor’s Version) announcement led to this. You’re welcome! Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Warnings: Swearing, sexual innuendo. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or copy my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

—

“Boys only want love if it’s torture.” —Taylor Swift

You are incredibly aware of Bucky Barnes’ infatuation with you. You aren’t blind to his gaze; you aren’t deaf to his words. Bucky Barnes is in love with you—and he refuses to admit it.

You are also incredibly aware of Bucky Barnes’ tendency to distance himself from good things. He is a man who believes he deserves the worst; he is a man who does not believe he is worth loving. Bucky Barnes will accept hate all day, every day. He won’t accept love.

So, clearly, he will not act on his feelings unless it’s absolute torture. Right?

This idea you latched onto days before is what got you into your current situation: flirting obnoxiously with John Walker and letting the man put his hands all over you.

“If this isn’t torture for him,” you think, “it’s at least torture for me.”

You chance a glance at Bucky across the room. He is clearly displeased with the development between Walker and yourself.

Ever since Walker was introduced to Sam, Bucky, and yourself, you were all off put by his overconfident, entitled behavior. You all agree he does not deserve to carry Steve’s shield—he does not deserve to be called Captain America. So, flirting with Walker, you know, is absolutely a sure way to get under Bucky’s skin.

You weren’t quite prepared for how uncomfortable it is making you, however.

“So, what do you say, sexy? Want to celebrate when we win this fight?” Walker flashes you what he clearly thinks is a charming smile.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky tense; his enhanced hearing picking up Walker’s innuendo. You take it to mean your plan is working.

—

“For the love of god, Barnes, just go tell her how you feel. It’s the quickest way to get her to stop talking to him!” Sam berates Bucky. Frankly, he’s sick of this will-they-won’t-they game you and Bucky are playing.

“No,” Bucky says simply, clenching his jaw and causing Same to groan.

“Why the hell not?”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“She’s trying to make you jealous. You know that, right? She is intentionally torturing you so that you’ll man the fuck up and make a move.”

Bucky glares at Sam.

“That’s not what she’s doing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam challenges. “You think she looks happy to have Walker touching her and making suggestive comments?”

Bucky purses his lips and turns to stare at you again. He is keenly aware that you tense up every time Walker touches you and that you clench your jaw whenever he insinuates anything.

“Because I don’t think she’d be glancing over here to see your reaction if she was actually interested Walker over there.”

Bucky shoots Sam another annoyed look before returning his gaze to you. That’s when he makes eye contact with you.

You raise an eyebrow. He keeps his face stoic. You smirk. He scrunches his eyebrows. You keep a watchful eye on him while you stand on your tip toes to reach Walker’s ear, whispering something unintelligible to Bucky.

Walker’s eyebrows shoot up before looking at you with shocked, yet excited, eyes.

“Damn. Yeah. I, uh, I’ve got a good 20 minutes before I have to head out. We can go to my car?”

Bucky’s neck turns red as anger creeps through his body when he catches Walker’s words. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.

Boys only want love if it’s torture.

—

You inwardly cheer when you see Bucky start towards you with a furious look on his face.

You back away from Walker, pretending to mull over his proposition as you let Bucky reach you.

Bucky shoves Walker out of the way and plants himself directly in front of you. His hands reach to your face, holding either side so gently—a direct contrast to the aggressive demeanor he carried on his trek to you. He leans in and kisses you passionately.

Bucky’s lips on yours is everything you hoped it would be: euphoric. His lips feel pillowy against yours, albeit slightly chapped. The force of his lips connecting with yours is gentle enough not to hurt you but aggressive enough to tell you he wants you. His teeth gently pulling your bottom lip between his makes you weak in the knees, and you can’t help but gasp.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

Your arms quickly snake around his neck, eyes fluttering shut. You let him keep control of the kiss—you’d tortured him enough—and only pull away when you desperately need to breathe.

As your lips disconnect, he rests his forehead against your own, but he stays silent.

“Well, hey there, Sarge,” you tease. “That was quite the hello.”

Bucky scoffs.

“Don’t be coy, Doll. I know what you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“You know.”

“I don’t. You should tell me.”

“You were torturing me.”

“I wasn’t doing anything to you, Bucky. I wasn’t even talking to you!” You allow your tone to remain playful while you deny any scheming that took place.

“You were talking to him,” he says with disgust.

“I can talk to whomever I please,” you point out.

“Not men who want to take what’s mine,” Bucky grumbles before connecting your lips again:

“Yours?”

Bucky nods, “If you want to be.”

“Obviously. Took you long enough. Can’t believe you made me flirt with Walker to get your attention.”

“Shut up.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x f!reader

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lemonlover1110 · 7 months

Text

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐋

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: You ruin your boyfriend's perfect marriage proposal.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

When did Toji fall in love again? He remembers one day waking up and deciding that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with you. The thought of having a family with you overjoyed him, and the thought of you being with someone else fueled him with rage. That morning he realized he needed to propose.

Planning the perfect proposal isn’t easy though. He has to pick out the perfect ring, pick the perfect date that has the perfect weather outside, he has to pick out the perfect romantic spot that has some significance to your relationship, he has to tell you to get your nails done without seeming suspicious– He has to plan out so many different things and ensure everything is perfect. Toji has never been the type of man to worry about this but he wants to make sure this is memorable for you. He wants this to be perfect, all for you.

He picked out a date and made a reservation at your favorite restaurant, then you’ll be going for a drive. It’s date night, of course he wants to see you all dolled up, he doesn’t want you to look your best for any other reason. The man that always assures you that you’ll turn heads even if you wear a simple trash bag so he doesn’t need to see if your outfit is okay, is the same man that’s telling you that he wants you to wear his favorite pink dress of yours. It doesn’t click in your head though.

“Good morning.” You yawn as you step out of the bedroom. You’re wearing an old pajama set that is washed out, your hair is messy, and your face is a bit puffy after sleeping for so long. It’s the most beautiful sight in Toji’s eyes though. You walk up to him and kiss his cheek before walking to the kitchen to serve yourself a cup of coffee.

“How’d you sleep, baby?” Toji asks, sitting down at the dining table to watch you get your day started. He hopes it starts off great, and that it’ll keep getting better until he finally proposes. His proposal is in just a couple hours, and the nerves are beginning to kill him.

“I had the strangest dream last night.” You comment, making him raise his brows.

“What was it?” He questions, and you shake your head. You walk to the dining table and take a seat across from him.

“It just made me realize… I want to spend every day I have left of life with you.” You begin, and he hopes that you’re not insinuating what he thinks. No, you can’t be doing that. You can’t be so selfish and ruin all his hard work. “I want us to get married, Toji.”

“No!” He yells, slamming his hand on the table, and your eyes widen. You’re taken back by the response, and your heart swells. You didn’t expect him to… Reject you. The same man that you cuddled into the previous night, who told you how much he loved you and how he wants to spend the rest of eternity with you, rejects you angrily.

“I– Um…” You try to gather words, and you feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

“No! I do want to get married.” He says once he realizes how overdramatic and mean he sounded. “I just…” He chuckles. “I planned out the perfect proposal. In a couple hours, I was going to propose.”

You watch him stand up and walk away from the dining table, to the bedroom. You wipe away the tear that manages to slip, and you laugh in relief. You just had the worst timing possible. He walks back to you, holding the little black box.

He gets on one knee in front of you, and he opens the little black box to showcase the perfect ring. This isn’t how he planned it– He’s shirtless, only wearing his pajama pants. He’s kneeling on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. Your nails aren’t done yet, and you clearly just woke up.

“I also want to spend every day I have left of life waking up next to you, as your husband. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He asks, and you nod your head frantically.

“Yes!” You exclaim, overjoyed. You get up from the chair, giving him your hand so he puts the engagement ring on your ring finger. He gets up from the floor, his hands wrapping around your waist while his lips meet yours.

Maybe this isn’t the ideal proposal, and you don’t look how he envisioned. But you still look perfect, washed out pajamas and all; and you look perfect, and you sound perfect, and you act perfect. Maybe he didn’t have to plan all of it out, he just needed you for the proposal to be ideal.

And when you pull away from the kiss and he admires your eyes, he realizes something. He fell in love the moment he realized that you make the worst possible outcome, simply the best.

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fluff

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corroded-hellfire · 8 months

Note

hello!! i have seen so many eddie x fem reader but never a chubby fem reader so? can u do one and plz take as much time

(can it also be smut???)

- suki

This honestly felt cathartic to write. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy 🩵

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, f!receiving, body image issues

Words: 4.5k

"Ugh, it’s so cheesy.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch dramatically. You scoff as you watch him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to keep most of your attention on the flickering television screen in front of you. The end of An Officer and a Gentleman plays, where Richard Gere picks up Debra Winger and carries her off bridal style.

“I think it’s romantic,” you say, lazily flicking your hand at your boyfriend’s chest.

His dark eyebrows raise up to meet his bangs as he kicks his socked feet up on the cluttered coffee table.

“Really?” he asks. “So, you’re saying you want me to just scoop you up like that and carry you?”

The snort that comes out of you isn’t intentional, but Eddie’s words force it to come out.

“Hell no,” you tell him. “You’d break your back.”

Eddie’s previously raised eyebrows furrow as he stares at you. His spine straightens and he crosses his arms across his chest, offense leaking into his posture.

“What do you mean?”

Surely, he must be joking, you think. But the way his gaze is focused on you makes you realize he’s serious.

“Eddie.” You brandish your hand towards your larger body before gesturing to his own svelte frame.

Unsure how to feel about your insinuation, Eddie shifts in his seat to face you better. He eyes your body, something that always makes you feel a little self-conscious even if it’s in an admiring fashion.

“You think I can’t carry you?” he asks.

“Not without blowing out your back.”

That has Eddie pushing himself up off the couch and rubbing his hands together. He nods to you as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Let me try,” he says.

“No.” You don’t move an inch.

Eddie’s shoulders slump, reminding you of a deflating beach ball as he begins to pout.

“Babe,” he whines. “Come on.”

“No, Eddie,” you reply, tone more definitive this time. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He waves off your concern as if it’s the last thing on his mind. But you’re aware that it’s very real and know it would only make you feel more uncomfortable in your own skin if your weight hurt your boyfriend.

“Just drop it,” you try.

As persistent and stubborn as Eddie is about something once it’s entered his mind, he can see your demeanor changing bit by bit, moving closer to upset. It doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go entirely, though. He’ll let you think he’s forgotten about it for now, just continuing on with the nice evening you��re having. But there’s already an idea turning the gears in the back of Eddie’s mind.

The next week, you waltz into the Munson’s trailer–having learned long ago that you can just let yourself in–and your brow furrows as you slip off your shoes. Eddie is standing between the couch and the television, doing arm curls with a pair of smaller but heavy-looking weights. Not once have you seen Eddie lifting weights before, so you’re confused, unsure of what’s going on.

Eddie’s eyes glance over to you, away from the rerun of Who’s the Boss playing on the television and gives you a smile.

“Hey, baby,” he says as naturally as always. “Be done in a minute.”

You finally find your voice as you track his arms moving up and down. “What’re you doing?”

“Knitting a sweater,” he answers without missing a beat.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking your way and plop down on the couch behind him.

Eddie lets out a small, breathy laugh and turns his head to the side so you know he’s talking to you.

“What’s it look like? I’m lifting weights.”

“But why?” you ask, tucking your legs up beneath you.

When Eddie turns face forward again, you catch a glimpse of his smirk in the reflection on the TV.

“So you’ll have no more excuses about why I shouldn’t pick you up,” he says.

Letting out a dramatic groan to rival one of Eddie’s own, you flop down on your side and bury your face into one of the couch cushions. Irritated, you pick your head up and glare at the back of your boyfriend’s head.

“This again?” you ask.

“I’m gonna sweep you off your feet,” he says as he begins his last set. “Wait and see.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin whines, leaning back in his seat. He swipes at one of the D20s on the table out of frustration. “Where the hell is he? Eddie’s never been late for a campaign in his life.”

“Are you sure your boyfriend didn’t mention anything about being late?” Mike snaps at you from the opposite side of the table.

“For the third time, Michael,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “no.”

Jeff opens his mouth to say something, but the drama room door bangs open to reveal their Dungeon Master, his soaking wet hair turning the white portion of the Hellfire shirt see-through. There’s a beat of silence as everyone takes in his appearance. Leave it to Dustin to break the seal.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Is it raining out?” Lucas asks no one in particular, eyes trailing Eddie’s weighed-down curls.

He doesn’t receive a response as Eddie saunters into the room, acting as if he didn’t just break one of his own most important rules. Your boyfriend throws a wink your way and presses a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by you to get to his throne. Once he’s plopped down in the seat and made himself comfortable, he takes in all the eyes staring at him from around the table.

“I was in the gym. Weight room, more specifically,” Eddie says, as if they should have known this all along.

“Like…where the athletes train?” Gareth asks, nose wrinkling up in confusion. You can taste Eddie’s snarky reply in the air before he even parts his lips.

“Congratulations on knowing what the weight room is, Gareth the Great.”

When Eddie’s eyes don’t meet yours, you wonder if he’s avoiding your gaze or not. He has to know that the fact that he was lifting weights again would grate on your nerves. Either he’s oblivious–which is entirely possible–or he’s being smart and not meeting your glare. Eddie is quiet for a moment, which is so unlike him that you’re wondering if maybe he’s waiting for you to say something. If that’s what he wants he’ll be sorely disappointed though because you’re biting your tongue for now. Even though he’ll definitely hear about it later when there are no witnesses around.

“All right,” Eddie finally says, clapping his ringed hands together. “Shall we get started?”

Whenever you want to vent about Eddie or something he did, you never have a shortage of friends to go to. Most are glad to lend an ear and a few even look forward to hearing what crazy thing he did this time. But when it comes to how you’re currently feeling in regards to your boyfriend, none of your friends could truly understand because they’re all, well…thin. They might be sympathetic to your situation or even relate in some different way, but none of them would wholly understand because they’ve never been viewed in the same light that you are by society. It’s not their fault they don’t understand, it’s just how it is.

Unfortunately, you’re not as good at keeping your emotions hidden as you thought you were. It’s only a few days before Nancy corners you at your locker.

“Are you okay?” she asks, narrowing her usually wide eyes at you.

“Fine,” you say with as much forced enthusiasm as possible while you dig around the locker for your biology textbook.

“For argument's sake, let’s say I believe you,” Nancy says. “Why have you been so quiet lately, then? You seem distracted, like your mind is somewhere else.”

“It’s stupid,” you say to her as you find the book you were searching for.

“Hey,” Nancy says, voice taking on a more serious tone, “no it’s not. Whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

You’ve known Nancy long enough to know she’s truly trying to help you and is determined to find out what’s wrong. You also know that if you tell her that you’re not ready to talk about it, she’ll drop it and respect your wishes. But you have been itching to talk to someone about everything that’s been going on, and the opportunity presented itself to you on a silver platter.

“After school?” you ask softly.

Nancy nods. “I’m putting the finishing touches on a story for the paper. I’ll be in there alone.”

When the bell rings signaling the end of school you find her right where she said she’d be. Bent over a few papers, shuffling them back and forth and inspecting them with a small furrow to her brow. As soon as she sees you, though, she moves her work to the side and gives you her undivided attention.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Trying to buy every second you have before you open your mouth and start to explain your predicament, you make yourself comfortable on the stool across from your friend and situate your bag between your feet on the floor. There’s no more stalling, you realize, as you continue to shift in your seat though. Deep down you know Nancy will be sympathetic and would never intentionally steer you wrong, it’s just the fact that she won’t get it that’s keeping you from spilling your guts.

“I’m not interviewing you, you know,” Nancy says, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips. “You can start whenever.”

“Eddie keeps saying he wants to lift me up.”

The admission just tumbles from your mouth, no preamble, no build-up, just straight to the problem that’s been lying heavy on your heart.

“Okay…” Nancy drags out the word and she leans in towards you. Clearly, she was expecting more to the story than this.

“And I told him that he’ll hurt himself and now he’s working out and lifting all these weights to prove that he’s strong enough for it.” For someone who wasn’t sure if they wanted to talk about this to begin with, you’re now word vomiting everywhere. Between the speed of your words and the way they seem to come out before being processed in your mind, you’re strangely reminded of how it is to talk with Robin when she’s flustered over something. The thought has you biting back a smile; maybe now you’d give Robin less grief about talking so fast.

“Why don’t you just let him try then?” Nancy asks.

An internal scream sounds in your head at her question. Of course she doesn’t understand what the big deal is. It’s not her fault, but you also know there are no words you could use to explain it to her to convey how you feel deep down about it. It’s something you either know from experience or not.

“You’ve seen the two of us together,” you finally respond, voice measured and quiet. “He’s so slender and has some lean muscle, but not enough to lift my fat ass.”

It’s obvious from the way Nancy does her cute little pout that she doesn’t like your comment.

“You are–”

Here it comes, you think. She’s going to say how pretty I am, even though I didn’t say I was ugly–just fat.

“–stressing yourself out by thinking about this too much. Let Eddie lift his weights. If you still don’t want him to pick you up, tell him. You know he respects your boundaries.”

It’s not what you expected her to say at all, and you admonish yourself for thinking Nancy would be anything less than logical about this. And her logic is sound. You know she’s right, but the emotional part of your brain still isn’t completely satisfied.

On your way out of the school after talking with Nancy, you pass the weight room and hear someone inside. You peek in the small window cut into the door and spot your boyfriend’s mass of messy curls. He has a barbell over his hips, thrusting them up and down. The sight alone has your knees feeling weak. The motion of Eddie’s hips has you hypnotized for a few moments before you decide to go in.

Eddie isn’t facing the door and he’s wearing headphones, so he doesn’t hear you as you slip in and close the door behind you. Now you can hear the soft grunts that leave his lips with every thrust, and it has you biting down on your lower lip. When you take a step closer, you can hear the music Eddie’s listening to, the song pounding out past the headphones. Even though Eddie doesn’t know you’re there it’s almost as if he’s trying to seduce you. The hips, the grunts, now he’s listening to Burnin’ Up by Judas Priest? That’s the most often played song while the two of you are having sex.

Deciding it’s fine if you’re perving a bit on your own boyfriend, you watch him while he does a few more reps. As he begins to slow down and finish up, you move to take a seat on the piece of equipment next to him. Eddie grins when he notices you sitting there and tugs the headphones down so they’re hanging around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “I’d hug you but I’m all sweaty.”

“It’s sexy.”

Eddie laughs at the blunt way you say it.

“Really?” he asks.

You nod your head and Eddie takes it as an invitation to come over and sit next to you. He wraps you up in his sweaty arms, teasingly wiping his forehead against the shoulder of your shirt. It makes you laugh and you wrap your arms around his damp middle. The black material of his Ozzy shirt is sticking to his skin–and now yours too.

“Gonna go take a shower,” Eddie says and presses a kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll go get some food, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect.”

The next week you’re over at Eddie’s house, on your back with Eddie on top of you as you make out. There’s a long-forgotten shitty horror movie playing in the background, but the cheesy, shrill screams of the victims don’t even register to either of you.

Rough calloused hands slide down your shirt, moving from your breasts to the hem of your tee, where it’s riding up. Eddie’s skin on yours has you arching your back as his hands travel upwards again. It’s clear that he wants your shirt off and who are you to deny him?

“Bedroom,” you mumble as you break apart just long enough for you to yank your shirt off. Eddie takes advantage of your quick preoccupation with your clothing to scoop you up in his arms, bridal style. “Eddie!” you squeak.

He just chuckles and squeezes you tighter against his body.

“Maybe now you’ll let me throw you around when I have to punish you for being a bad girl,” he says, a cocky smirk quirking his kiss-bruised lips.

“A-Are you okay?” you ask, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “You won’t offend me if you have to put me down.” You’re very aware of his lithe body and how it’s supporting your larger one. This has to be hurting him–right?

“Babe.” Eddie chuckles again and shakes his head. “I’ve been lifting weights that weigh at least double what you do. It feels like I’m holding a feather right now.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you try to determine if he’s lying or not. But the way he holds steady, not seeming to strain or struggle with you in his arms calms your worries. Eddie heads down the hall and carries you into his room and tosses you down on his bed. You land with a bounce and a giggle as he climbs up on top of you.

His lips attach to your neck as his fingers reach down and fiddle with the button of your jeans. Once it’s popped open and he drags the zipper down, Eddie starts to kiss his way down your body, making sure to press his lips against every part of you that he can. Your chest, your tummy, your hips. When he gets to your jeans, Eddie slides himself off the bed to kneel before you. He makes quick work of getting your pants off and lets out a sinful groan when he sees the wet patch forming on your pale green cotton panties. It encourages Eddie to move even faster as he yanks your underwear off so quickly that you blink and you miss it.

Eddie dives right in, wasting no time to run his long, talented tongue through your folds. You grip the off-white sheets below you in your fists at his ministrations. The laugh that rumbles through Eddie at your drawn-out groan sends vibrations up your body, only adding to the pleasure. Strong hands wrap around your thighs and pull you even further down the bed so Eddie can get better access to your pussy. His tongue repeatedly flicks over your clit and your eyes practically roll back in your head. Your boyfriend knows exactly how to work you up and bring you to the brink of–

“Hey,” you pout when Eddie pulls back and sits on his heels. “Fuck, Eddie, I was close.”

“I know, angel.” His words are soft and kind despite the mischievous glint in his eye. “But there’s something I need you to do first.”

“What?”

Eddie climbs on the bed and crawls up towards his pillows. He plops flat on his back as he says, “Sit on my face.”

“Eddie,” you say with a breathless laugh. “I’ll crush you.”

“Then I go out doing what I love,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I always told you that you’d be the death of me.” Eddie looks over you with those brown doe eyes and you feel the resolve melting away in your chest. “But seriously, please come here. I already miss how you taste.”

Lifting you was one thing, but this seems like something he couldn’t prepare for by going to the gym. The sincere, pleading look in his eyes tells you that he really wants this, though.

“Are you sure?” you double-check.

“God, yes, please.”

Hesitantly, you shuffle up closer to him and lift yourself up to straddle his face. Bracing your hands on Eddie’s headboard, you still can’t bring yourself to lower your body. Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something to Eddie, your boyfriend wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you flush down against his mouth.

“Fuck,” you groan. You can practically feel Eddie grinning against your dripping pussy as he gets back to work. After a few moments of making sure Eddie isn’t suffocating below you, you start to relax into it and are able to enjoy the sensations of his tongue leisurely licking up and down your heat. A particularly hard lick to your hole has you letting out a gasp and clutching onto the wooden bedframe hard enough to snap it in half.

“Shit, Eddie. A-Almost there.”

He hums in acknowledgment, even though you didn’t need to tell him. Your body was something Eddie was a quick study in; it didn’t take him long to learn all the little quirks and tells your body gives him when you’re getting close to orgasm.

“Fuck,” you moan between pants as your breaths become shallower. Sweat slicks your skin as you hurdle towards your peak, body a live wire as Eddie works your body just as flawlessly as he does his guitar. “I-I’m coming, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming.”

Eddie tightens his grip on your thighs as your hips rock against his face. His nose brushes against your clit and it shoots a spark through your body, only heightening your pleasure.

As the high wears off, you feel boneless and collapse down on the bed next to Eddie. He huffs a breath of laughter and raises himself up on an elbow to watch you recover. Satisfied smirk on his face, Eddie wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. He only gives you a moment longer to catch your breath before he gives you a smack on the ass.

“Hands and knees, baby,” he says.

Energy not fully recuperated yet, you give him a nod but otherwise don’t move. Eddie’s not having that, though. A strong arm wraps around your waist and yanks you up, causing you to yelp in surprise. As you settle onto your hands and knees like you were told, you peek over your shoulder to see a cocky smirk adorning your boyfriend’s face. He ghosts a feather-light hand up your spine as he leans in to murmur in your ear.

“Told you I’d manhandle you if I needed to.”

There’s hardly enough time for your brain to process his words before he’s yanking your hips backward towards him. The sudden motion has your arms giving out and you drop face-first into his pillow, filling your senses with the citrus-scented shampoo he uses. The husky chuckle that comes from above you lets you know that this is the exact position he wanted you in any way. You let your eyes flutter closed as you revel in the sensation of him dragging his cock up and down your soaked folds. It’s meant to be teasing you–and it is–but you’d be lying if you said the motions didn’t feel amazing.

Eventually, Eddie can’t take his own teasing anymore–he’s so damn hard in his hand now. He lets his cock drag against your clit one last time before he pushes himself into you. A moan gets muffled into Eddie’s pillow as your fingers involuntarily claw at his sheets. If you were facing him, you know you’d see him smirking. The bed begins to squeak as Eddie moves his hips, his own groans tumbling out as he slides further into you with each thrust until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, head falling forward. His hands grip the soft plush skin of your hips hard enough to leave fingerprint-sized marks. You turn your head to keep from suffocating against the pillow, but you know you’d willingly starve yourself of oxygen if it meant Eddie would keep pounding into you like this. “Shit, baby. I’ll never get over how tight you are. God damn, I love your body so fucking much.”

The only response you can manage is a groan, thoughts fleeing from your head with every snap of his hips against yours. His pace begins to pick up and you know he’s getting closer to the edge. But suddenly he pulls completely out of you, leaving you achingly empty. The loss makes you whine as you look over your shoulder at your boyfriend. Words still haven’t come back into your brain yet, so you just questioningly grunt at him, which makes him laugh.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. Your eyes track him as he shuffles up the bed until he’s sitting with his back against his headboard. He pats his thigh and winks at you. “Get over here.”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice. Throwing your left leg over his lap, you whimper as you lower yourself slowly onto his angry and leaking cock. The moment you’ve seated yourself on him, he thrusts his hips up into you, causing you to gasp and clutch onto his pale, freckled shoulders to steady yourself.

“Fuck!” you cry. “Yes, Eddie!”

The smirk that graces Eddie’s beautiful features is so self-satisfied. Normally, you’d come up with a witty quip or bratty action to wipe that look off his face, but the pleasure coursing through your veins leaves you incapable of coherent thought.

Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and starts bucking his hips wildly up into yours.

“Shit,” you all but scream as you drop your forehead down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. “God, Eddie.”

“Think my lifting paid off now, baby?” Eddie asks, smugness dripping in his tone. He chuckles and presses a kiss to your collarbone as you nod and bury your face into his neck.

“Yes,” you mumble against his skin before pulling back so he can understand you. “Yes, shit, your hips are magical.”

A chuckle rumbles through Eddie’s body and he tightens his grip around your waist, holding your body flush up against his. As you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, your fingernails dig into the delicate skin on Eddie’s back.

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby,” Eddie says. When you don’t acknowledge his statement, he tugs on your hair and forces you to look him in the eye. “Jesus Christ, I love your curves. Every single inch of your body. It’s fucking mine. So perfect, holy shit. How’d I get so lucky?”

“All yours,” you confirm, nodding as much as you can with his hand in your hair. “My body is all yours. Every curve, every i-inch. Fuck, I’m close, Eddie.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” Eddie says between labored breaths. “Come with me.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter out in a whisper.

Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure washes over you as you cling to your boyfriend. The way your walls clench around Eddie’s cock has him coming immediately after you, his hair tickling the skin of your cheek as he drops his head forward to rest against your body.

“Baby, yes,” Eddie moans as he spills inside of you, hips rutting against yours as he fucks his spend into you.

When he’s finished, Eddie lifts his head up before dropping it back against his headboard. A satisfied smile is on his lips as he looks at you, rosy cheeks and coated in a sheen of sweat as he tries to catch his breath. Your body collapses against his, breathing just as heavily, and Eddie wastes no time in wrapping both of his arms around you. It’s quiet as the two of you bask in the feelings, both physical and emotional. Eventually, Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss into your hair.

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, handsome.”

“So,” he starts, dotting soft kisses down the length of your neck, “you gonna let me pick you up now?”

It’s not something you even need to think about. “You can do whatever you want if you fuck me like that again.”

The laugh that Eddie lets out has you smiling against his skin. He brings his hand up and lightly trails his fingers up and down your spine.

“Glad to hear that,” he says. “I think next I want to try lifting you over my shoulder. You know, like firemen do. How’s that sound?”

The question makes you lift your head up to look your boyfriend in the eye.

“Only if you wear the uniform, too.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #request

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gglitch1dd · 2 months

Text

Angry Dilf Izuku pt2

Husband Midoriya Izuku x Wifey Reader

Context: It's your birthday and your husband makes it loud and clear that Katsuki isn't welcomed here anymore.

Warning: Fluffy family time, punching, insinuation of mentally or emotionally cheating.

Note: This isn't my best but it was sitting in my drafts so i decided to post it. Cheating Dilf Izuku will be out soon.

“Shh! You’re gonna wake her up!”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so loud if you weren’t about to drop the tray!”

“SHH! Mama will hear!”

“Can we wake her up now?”

��Mama… mama…”

“Okay boys, we’re rolling.”

You felt someone shoving you, trying to shake you awake. To be honest, you had been awake for the past twenty minutes when you heard all the rustling downstairs from your boys making a racket (and no doubt a mess) downstairs. You let out a fake groan as you shuffled to pull the blankets closer to yourself. “Five more minutes, honey.” You let out in fake tiredness.

“You think we should let her sleep in?”

“I mean it is her birthday.”

“I think we should just wake her up!”

“Mama!” You felt a body land on you making you release an ‘oof’. You opened your eyes to see your little four year old. Shoyo had gleaming bright green eyes as he looked down at you with a beautifully happy expression. Out of all your boys, he was the one that looked the most like Izuku. “Happy birthday!!” He cheered with a bright smile.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, as you sat up in bed, moving to give him a hug. You would have thanked him when your eyes widened in surprise. In front of you were all your boys. Toshinori stood with a tray in his hands at your side. Asahi was holding your favourite morning beverage, both him and his eldest brother had flour, oily fingers and aprons on. Hero held a picture as he sat on the bed next to you and finally, your husband stood with a camera facing to you with a warm smile on his face and your youngest son, Koda, strapped to his chest who made happy babbles as he kicked his legs in his little onesie so happy to see you. You couldn’t help but feel tears in your eyes as you looked at your amazing boys.

“Happy birthday mommy!” They all cheered

“Boys…” You let out with a wavering voice. Your mouth wobbled as you tried to stop yourself from crying.

Toshinori chuckled as he moved to pick up his younger brother rather easily off of you as he put the tray of your favourite breakfast down on your lap. “None of that, momma.” Your oldest son spoke with a gentle smile as he put a kiss to your cheek making you smile. “It’s your birthday, you should enjoy it.”

“Yah! We worked super hard on your breakfast!” Asahi pointed out factually as he put his hands on his hips.

Toshinori looked back at his brother with a scrunched up face. The thirteen year old boy looked confused but also deeply offended. “You mean dad and I worked hard on her breakfast.” He corrected with a pointed look.

Asahi gasped. “I was there!”

“Taking up oxygen!”

Hero looked between his brothers. “B-but I made the card!” He tried chipping in. “That’s the best part!”

Both Toshinori and Asahi looked to their brother with shocked expression. “How in All Might’s good name is that better?”

“Yah! You didn’t even colour in the lines!”

“I did!”

“No you didn’t! Look!” Toshinori pointed to a picture of a bear who you were guessing was you. Hero was never really gifted with drawing capabilities but he sure did try. “You didn’t even colour the dress on the bunny right!”

“THAT’S MOM!”

“MOM’S NOT THAT UGLY!”

The room was filled with your boys arguing, your eyes moving to all of them. Shoyo and Koda, your two youngest seemed rather unbothered by it. Your husband however looked a slight bit annoyed which you found amusing. He stopped the recording on his phone before putting it in his pocket.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he looked down at your three eldest sons. “Boys.” The tone in his voice was enough to make all three boys close their mouths. Your husband shook his head in disapproval but couldn’t help the amused smile on his face. Izuku motioned to the side. “Go take the laundry downstairs and finish your breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” Toshinori motioned for his brothers to go and fetch your laundry basket.

You sat with a gentle smile on your face as Izuku walked over to you with a loving look on his face. When you had both decided to have kids and had one of those long lengthy conversations about how you would parent, you had both agreed that he would be the disciplinarian. At first you were worried if your sensitive husband would be able to do it. However, years of being a ProHero and government official had made him rather strict when it came to certain things.

He was an amazing father, and he was often the first one to jump into misfit with the boys but if there was one thing he didn’t tolerate it was disrespect, dishonesty and lack of integrity. It was something he instilled into your boys that they weren’t going to be values that they represented. It was something you found undeniably sexy about him.

Your big man walked over to you, tilting your head up so that you could look up at him. A bright smile was on your face as you looked up at him. He chuckled as he moved his lips over yours. “Happy birthday, my love.” He let out with a low voice, a kiss to your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle against his kiss as you leaned forward against him for more. His hand slid down to wrap around your neck making a shiver rush down your neck. A gentle squeeze that told you that he would have plans for you soon.

“EWWW!” You both separated as you looked to your boys, all having scrunched up faces. Asahi made a fake gagging noise that made you both laugh.

Toshinori looked almost disappointed. “Otousan! While we’re here? That’s disgusting.”

“Hey!” You let out defensively as you squeezed Koda’s little cheeks as he stayed in his place strapped to Izuku’s chest. You let out a chuckle as you took your barely even one year old son away from his father and down to sit next to you. “It’s not disgusting, it’s love.”

“Yah and she’s my wife.” Izuku defended as he put a thumb to his chest proudly. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, at your side, an arm around you. “And I don’t care if it’s disgusting.” He let out with a petty smile. You rolled your eyes, ignoring the lick your husband placed to your neck.

Another gag from Asahi came as he ran out of the room. “I’m gonna be sick!”

Toshinori shook his head as he led his two other brothers out of the room. “I told you guys! Mom and dad’s room is a trap!” He lectured, closing the door behind him, leaving you alone with Izuku and Koda.

You picked up your little boy who was gripping at your shirt with a whine. “Mama. Mama.” He babbled as he pulled at your shirt trying to access what was hidden underneath.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, but gave him a piece of a banana to distract him before he chomped his way to bruising your breasts. You turned to look at your husband who seemed satisfied with his display. “You are absolutely insatiable.” You let out as you took a bite of your breakfast.

Izuku tilted his head, deep dark green curls tilting to the side as he looked down at you, nothing but love in his eyes as he did so. “I know, I’m so terrible right?” He said with a smirk on his face, clearly not believing a word. “So terrible for wanting to kiss my wife.” His eyes flicked down to your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle as you met him in a gentle peck, trying to move away before he did something that would end up with the both of you not leaving your bedroom for another good ten minutes.

If there was one thing your boys got right it was the fact that Izuku was absolutely disgusting, but to you it was in the best way possible. Your husband was insatiable when it came to you and absolutely obsessed. The five boys being a testament to that. He always had a hand on you, or his lips on you, or his tongue in you. Whatever came first.

But no one could blame him, when you treated him so well. Izuku had filled out and was basically double the size he was when her married you. He had thickened out into his dad bod (which you found absolutely delicious) and you couldn’t deny that it looked good on him. It helped with hero work too considering shock absorption.

Unfortunately, it meant you had five hungry boys plus one huge hungry man to feed at all times of the day.

“So what do you have planned for me this year?” You asked him as you ate another spoon of your breakfast, handing Koda another banana as he had promptly finished his piece and was whining for another piece. Koda let out a happy squeal as he got another piece of a fruit he adored.

Izuku chuckled as he moved to pick up his youngest son and put him back against his chest. “A whole lot, but right now, the main one is nothing.” With Koda safely secured, Izuku looked back to you. He placed a large hand to your cheek. “You deserve to rest, my love. You do so much for the boys and I, it’s only fair we let you rest today.”

“But what about the lunch?” You asked as you put your hands to cover Izuku’s large one. Mina had excitedly said she would be coming over with Sero and her kids and you also automatically knew that Katsuki and Eijiro would be coming with their kids too.

Izuku put his hands on his hips as he put a proud look on his face. “We can handle it. The Midoriya boys have everything all under control.” He told you with wave down of his hand.

You lifted a single eyebrow not convinced. You looked down at Koda who seemed equally not convinced in his father as you did. You looked back up at Izuku with a blunt expression. “You called your mother, didn’t you.”

Your husband didn’t answer immediately. “If I were honest… she was already going to come whether or whether not I asked her to.”

“Izuku.”

“Honestly, honey, I think you should be glad I called her. She always makes life easier.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his words as he slowly backed off towards the door. “Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’ve got this all sorted! You just gotta look pretty by 1pm.” He told you as he marched out of the room with Koda. “Isn’t that right buddy?”

“Dadada.”

“You see! Koda agrees!”

You laughed as you were finally left alone again, sitting in your bed. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You felt so unbelievably blessed to be sitting here with all that your family had planned for you. But more than that, you felt blessed to even have your family. You felt so unbelievably lucky.

“Go sprouts!” You heard Mina cheer as the kids were deep in a Just Dance competition amongst themselves. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you both sat beside one another outside by the deck chairs. You leaned back enjoying the relaxation and knowing that your husband didn’t want you to do a single thing. You sat with a simple cider in hand to spoil yourself. Mina chuckled as she turned to look at you. “So…” She let out as she wiggled her eyebrows. “Considering Hanta and I are taking Shoyo and Asahi, and Toshinori is having a sleepover with the Bakugous and Kirishimas and Mama Midoriya is taking Koda off your hands… what are the plans for the rest of the evening? Izuku’s been tight lipped about it.”

You lowered your sunglasses further down your nose before turning to look at your husband who was clearing up the outside tables. You watched as your larger than life husband laughed alongside Hanta. He wore a button-down shirt, that had the top few buttons open just due to the sheer fact that they physically could not close. You couldn’t help but think about just how big and rough he was now. Large thick hands that made everything smaller than they were.

“I know what I want to do.” You let out lowly as you watched your husband move around grabbing plates and taking them inside, before your eyes drifted down to his ass. “I want to climb that tree.”

Mina let out a loud laugh as she pushed your shoulder, however, you didn’t even get deterred. “Girl! I thought we were being safe. No more broccoli sprouts.”

You turned to look at her as you took a sip of your cider. “Mina, it’s harder than it looks.” You told her truthfully.

“Hey, Y/N.” You turned to see your sweet mother-in-law, Inko, shuffle over to you, holding Shoyo in her arms who was babbling off about a story about who knows what. “There’s someone at the door for you.” She told you.

You smiled as you stood up. “Thanks, Okaasan. I’ll get it, don’t worry.” You told her, placing a kiss to her cheek before moving to go answer the door. You walked past Toshinori and Hina Sero who were both deep in a dance to care about whoever was at the door. You chuckled as you moved into the entrance hallway and opened the door.

Standing outside your door was a family of four. Two children, around the same age as your eldest son stood there with bright smiles. Kane and Satomi stood with boxes in hand, gifts addressed to you. “Happy birthday Aunty Y/N!” They wished with bright smiles.

You let out an awe as you moved to hug them. “Awww thank you two!” You let out gratefully. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Well of course we would come.” Kane let out with a shrug, his crimson eyes, so much like his father looked up at you. He folded his arms as he looked away from you with a soft blush on his face. He huffed. “You’re like a mother to us so of course we’d come to say happy birthday.” He spoke.

Satomi nodded her head as she looked up at you with bright ruby eyes. “Yes! We hope you like the gifts.”

You smiled dearly at the two children. With only their dads, they never really did have a maternal figure other than you. You tried your best to step into that role not only as their best friend’s mom but also just trying to be a decent human being. You crouched in front of them and hugged them both. “Thank you so much. It means a lot to me.” You spoke sincerely as you placed a kiss to each of their heads. “How about you go tell Toshinori that you’re here to pick him up, and you can leave the gifts down in the kitchen.” You motioned into the house, allowing the two of them to sprint in.

You stood back up straight to face their fathers. You smiled as you faced Kirishima and Bakugou. “Katsuki, Eijiro, It’s so good to see you two. Thank you so much for taking Toshinori for the night.” You let out truly grateful.

First to speak was your ex, Bakugou Katsuki. He let out a low laugh, the blond moving to pull you into a tight hug. “It’s high time we repay all your babysitting hours. Happy birthday, Y/N.” He let out lowly in your ear again. You moved back out of his arms, but he kept his hands on you.

“Katsuki is right, Happy birthday Y/N.” Kirishima wished sincerely as he stood behind Bakugou in everything.

“Thank you.” You stated as you tried to step back out of Bakugou’s linger touch, however it was quickly rectified as a large hand pulled you back into his front as he stood in the doorway. You turned to look up to see your husband with a tense smile. His hand resting on your shoulder. His hold on you was clearly possessive but also cautionary.

Bakugou’s crimson eyes, filled with mischief and amusement flicked up to Izuku. He let out a scoff as he tilted his head to the side. “Deku.” He put his hands in his pockets, staying silent.

“Kacchan.” Izuku let out stiffly. He hummed as he gave your hand a squeeze. You knew what that meant and put a hand over his own, trying to calm him down. Over the past few weeks, Izuku had been able to promptly avoid Katsuki and everything he had to say about you, however, it seemed like today would be the day where he would address the elephant in the room. He motioned for you to head back inside but kept looking to Bakugou. “Honey, go fetch Toshinori.”

You looked up at him wordlessly, but at the look on his face you knew that he needed your support on this. You nodded your head but before you could leave, you heard Katsuki let out a scoff.

The blond man folded his arms as he looked over at you. He motioned to your husband with a finger but looked at you amusedly. “You gonna let him boss you around, sugar?” He asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows, not sure as to what Katsuki was trying to do here. “I trust my husband, Katsuki.” You stood your ground as you moved in closer to Izuku’s side.

His jaw tensed at your words. Kirishima took a step forward, confused as to what was going on but put a hand to Bakugou’s shoulder. “Katsuki, drop it.” He told him gently. “It’s Y/N’s birthday, there’s no need to be so hostile.”

Bakugou shrugged off Kirishima’s arm as he let out a huff. His redheaded husband looked surprised at the action, his face forming into hurt as he watched Bakugou. The blond rolled his eyes as he moved to head inside. “I’ll go get the kids.”

However, stopping him in his tracks was Izuku. He stepped to the side, folding his arms as he did so, blocking the entire doorway. Bakugou looked at him surprised with wide eyes as he looked up at the green haired man in front of him. Izuku had made sure that you were behind him at all times, making sure that you wouldn’t be caught in the middle of the both of us.

“Kacchan, I think it’s best you don’t enter my house… ever.” He stated firmly.

Bakugou scoffed as he tilted his head. “And why the fuck not.”

“I don’t appreciate how you look or talk about my wife and until you sort that out, I don’t want you anywhere near her or my kids.” He specified.

It was Kirishima’s turn to look confused as he looked over at Bakugou. His eyebrows furrowed as he rested his hands out of his pockets. Despite being one of the biggest men you knew, Kirishima had been looking awfully small nowadays. “Katsuki…” He let out softly and unsurely. “What is Midoriya talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter, Eij.” Bakugou dismissed it entirely before turning to look at you. You automatically took a step back. “Y/N, are you really going to-”

“Hey!” Izuku moved so that you were completely out of sight from the blond. “You are not talking to her, you’re talking to me.” He put a thumb to his chest as he took a step forward. “So I want you, back in your car, away from my family.”

Bakugou scowled as he looked up at the green haired man in front of him. Years of letting you be swept off your feet by Midoriya after the two of you broke up, the both of you married faster than Katsuki could even breathe and having five boys. Years of agony of Katsuki watching the girl that he coveted and loved being taken from his grasp. It all felt like it was bursting open, especially with such an order.

“Like hell am I staying away.” He let out lowly and stubbornly. “You think your big shit, huh, Deku? You think your so big and tough just cause you’ve got your ring on her finger.”

“Yes.” Izuku stated seriously. “I am her husband, Katsuki. Not you, not anyone else, but me! You’ve got five minutes to step away from my front door, the else I’m not liable to what happens next.” He growled down in anger.

“You threatening me, Deku?”

Izuku stepped forward with a scowl on his face. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Bakugou nodded, turning around to leave, almost resigning to whatever your husband had to say. However, you knew the blond far to well to know that he would never back down from such. Your eyes widened before you could say anything, you watched Bakugou swing at your husband. With a slight flash of light, lighting and static fluttering over your husband’s skin as he dodged it, stepping back. A scowl went to his face as he immediately went to connect a punch to Bakugou’s face.

You gasped as you stepped back, although not entirely surprised they were fighting. It was going to happen sooner or later regardless.

“Midoriya!” Kirishima shouted as he hardened his arms and just barely managed to pull your husband off of Bakugou. Bakugou leaned against the Jeep they had come in, wiping blood from his nose as he sneered at Izuku.

Izuku let out a huff. He pointed a finger at the blond. “I don’t want to ever see you here again.”

You paused as you turned to see Toshinori. He was holding his backpack straps, Kane and Satomi still being somewhere in your house. He flicked his gaze to you before looking back at the glimpse of outside. He frowned before shrugging off his backpack. He turned around. “Guys, I think we’ll have a sleepover another time! I promise Hina I’d go over to her place.”

You let out a soft sigh in relief that your son was as fast and as perceptive as his father was. No doubt he would have questions but you doubted that they would be answered today.

With all the kids out of your house, you and your husband were cuddled in bed watching a movie play on the screen. You looked up at him, watching as the glow of the TV painted his face as he sat beside you, an arm around you protectively. Izuku turned to look down at you, feeling your eyes on him. “You alright, my love?” He asked lowly.

You smiled up at him as you moved to shuffle and climb ontop of him. His eyes went wide as you straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You got comfortable on top of him, earning a smirk like grin on his face, sharp canines glinting in the low light as he moved his large arms to rest on your hips. “Ever tell you how much I love you?”

Izuku nodded his head, deeply hypnotised by you already. “Oh yah… I just never get tired of hearing it.”

[Angry Dilf Izuku Pt1]

[Izuku Midoriya Masterlist]

#mha x y/n #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha #izuku x reader #mha #deku x reader #dilf izuku midoriya #dilf deku #dilf izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoryia x you #izuku midoria x reader #domestic fluff #boy mom reader

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ariseur · 1 month

Text

ffvii jealousy headcanons 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

✧˖*°࿐ includes cloud strife, zack fair, sephiroth, reno, genesis rhapsodos, and angeal hewley

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

just a little something to satisfy you guys while i continue working on my requests!! already did a dmc one so might as well do a ffvii one too lol

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

jealousy (obviously), some possessiveness, intended lowercase, like one bullet point about post-nibelheim sephiroth, just a couple of guys who love the reader??, lmk if i missed anything !! 🎀

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓒LOUD — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ cloud is the type of person who will swear up and down that he doesn’t get jealous, but truth be told, he does. however, he doesn’t recognize it as jealousy at first.

❥ although, he definitely tries to shove his feelings down once he realizes that he’s somewhat upset. cloud won’t upright and confess that he’s jealous or go up to you when he sees someone flirting with you.

❥ cloud’s pretty understanding if you needed space or if you were just talking with someone else, he’s not gonna immediately resort to his insecurity.

❥ but once it’s a reoccurring experience, or if they know what they’re doing— or worse, if they’re actively flirting with you or touching you, then he’ll definitely start to get a little jealous.

❥ instead of actively confronting you or getting up in the flirt’s face, he’ll only watch afar at first. he’ll observe the conversation, the light touches, checking to see if you look uncomfortable or not.

❥ when it begins to become too much though, cloud’ll come up to you, saying something along the lines of how he needs you or needs your help and that it’s so urgent that you have to come with him asap.

❥ if you even insinuate that he got jealous though, he’ll deny it to the moon and back and say that it never happened. he may act like he doesn’t care, but don’t let it fool you. cloud cares about you way too much to let you be slobbered over at a bar by a disrespectful dude.

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. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓩ACK — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ i feel like zack’s semi into pda? as long as he’s not around the firsts or anybody important, especially angeal, then he just can’t wait to show you off. he can’t help it, poor boy loves you too much 😭 so because of the somewhat pda, i dont see a lot of people trying to flirt with you— especially knowing that your boyfriends a SOLDIER.

❥ i dont think he’d even notice at first, too busy talking to you to even notice that theres someone who has your attention also. i cant see anybody really trying to flirt with you though, zack’s like that one small dog who keeps yapping at your feet when you get to close to its owner.

❥ zack is very vocal!! if the person interrupts your conversation, he will blatantly call them out on it. he’d narrow his eyes at them and just say, “hello, i was talking to them??” because who interrupts people like that?? plain rude!!

❥ saw this in another post and i totally agree with it, zack’ll joke and joke with underlying messages behind these said ‘jokes’ and definitely has the mindset of, “what can they offer when you have me???” he just doesn’t see how they catch your attention or why they’re talking to you while hes sitting right there??

❥ will bend over backwards just for your attention, he will pout otherwise if he doesn’t get your full undivided attention after his attempts.

❥ will probably annoy the person after you’re gone by either passive-aggressively interrogating them or ranting about how in love he is with you. he’s like the cartoons where they hold their chin in their palm with heart eyes as they look up all dreamy with a giant thought bubble that’s just you. he can’t help it, he just loves you too much (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞!!1!1!

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. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓢EPHIROTH — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ for pre nibelheim (because i miss soft and not crazy sephiroth), i cant see him getting all that much jealous? i guess he’d get more so protective if he sees someone all up on you— but otherwise, he’s pretty laid back about it. he puts a lot of his faith in you entrusting that you won’t break it, so i cant see him going crazy over it.

❥ i think sephiroth’s mature enough to not cause a scene even if he was jealous, though. he wouldn’t be petty or actively try to keep you away from anybody pre nibelheim, although he finds it amusing how they try to flirt with you.

❥ he especially has to have trust in you considering he’s a first class!! unless you are also a SOLDIER or you’re associated with shinra, you guys will spend semi-large gaps of times apart. he doesn’t think you’d betray him like that though, he’s mature enough to have a conversation if he’s really worried.

❥ sephiroth has his moments of insecurity, but usually when he’s off duty— he’ll be with you. i’m just imagining sitting at a bar with sephiroth as he’s literally right beside you while this persons trying to slide up next to you lol. i also don’t think sephiroth gets jealous because he knows his worth and know he can be intimidating when he wants to be!! even just his teasing makes people quiver in their fuckin boots lmao. i doubt anybody would wanna mess with a first class SOLDIER who’s fit and over 5’11” / 180cm.

❥ after they either get intimidated or realize their advances aren’t working and that you’re happily in a relationship with sephiroth and leave, he’ll chuckle to himself as he thinks aloud about how silly it was to even attempt to get with you, knowing who you’re with. on the off chance that he’s feeling a little possessive or something, he’s not one for pda but he might just give you a kiss after they leave and a quick murmur of amusement due to their foolishness.

❥ now!! post-nibelheim!! you’re not even gonna be out of his sight enough to be hit on considering he’s kinda like.. a war criminal in a sense 😭. he’s much more possessive in his little silly criminally existentially crisis insane arc, never letting you leave alone or even go out in public that often. he’s much more obsessed with you after his break, so if he finds someone even making advances on you?? ooh, boy.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓡ENO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ reno is one weird little dude, let me tell you that. every time i think of reno, i think of a cat. with a suit. suit cat.

❥ reno does get jealous a lot of the time, even if he is usually all up on you anyways. he still is a turk and also has to spend some time away from you, leading to overlapping thoughts of you while he’s away, maybe not even just possessive but also about if something happened to you. nothing could cure these thoughts better than a little phone sex, though.

❥ i’d like to think reno’s into pda as long as he’s not at work, poor rude having to witness wet kisses on your cheek with a lazy arm slung across your shoulder ever day. so i can’t really imagine anybody trying a bunch of stuff with you when usually— reno’s not too far behind.

❥ if reno happens to be not right next to you and he’s just doing his own thing and he happens to GLANCE AT YOU? AND HE SEES SOMEONE HITTING ON YOU?? instant slide next to you.

❥ he’s petty enough to start calling you all these pet names while he’s sitting next to you, wrapping his arm around you while he’s sizing the flirt up. he’ll look them up and down with a hard stare and maybe throw some passive aggressive comments every once in a while.

❥ he’ll probably make them uncomfortable (unless they wanna square up, because knowing reno, he might just charge if the person reciprocates his belligerent comments) so by the time they already leave, reno’s already whining against you as he asks what that was all about, acting all clueless afterwards. but you can tell just from the tone that laces his voice that he knows what he’s doing lol.

❥ he’s just a petty guy, maybe not so much possessive because i mean you can go out wherever you want wearing whatever you want (maybe after a small quickie at home if it’s something revealing), he can fend for you. he swears he’s your knight in shining armor no matter how much he teases you lmfao

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓐NGEAL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ now here’s the real knight in shining armor™!!!! angeal is your savior if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation, although he doesn’t really get jealous at all— he’s just very observant of you.

❥ angeal has a whole thing about how in a relationship you must have faith and he’s very comfortable with both you and himself. he’s happy in your relationship and he is secure with himself!! if zack ever sees you two together and he’s like “(」°ロ°) 」??”, bombarding him with questions as usual, then i can just see angeal giving zack a talk on how to treat women and the gentleman way of approach— although zack is very respectful, it’s just in angeals nature to lecture.

❥ he won’t think anything of it when someone you know sits with you, you guys usually know each others relatives and friends well enough to trust them. but he’s a little iffy when a random stranger starts chatting you up.

❥ angeal obviously trusts you!! again, unless you’re a SOLDIER (which he wouldn’t prefer only because he worries about your well being), then you guys will have to spend some time apart. he has a lot of faith in you and will always write you when he’s away, letting you know he’s always thinking of you while you’re apart.

❥ if anything, he’ll save you if he notices you’re uncomfortable or something along those lines. he’ll swiftly say he needs your for something and apologizes to the person out of courtesy that he interrupted your guys’ conversation, but oh it’s so urgent, we must retreat!! and i must hold you hand in hand while we run off and do totally boring SOLDIER duties!!

❥ omfg then he pulls you aside and asks if you’re okay and ugh i just want him so bad. like sephiroth, he’ll also explain how foolish it was to even hit on you when you’re clearly happily in a relationship with him. you two’ll walk along back to hq (?) or whatever while you talk about how odd the encounter was.

❥ so in conclusion !! angeal is a gentleman and doesn’t get jealous / protective unless he thinks you’re in trouble or you’re clearly uncomfortable. angeal hewley to the rescue!!!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓖ENESIS — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ this dramatic bitch.

❥ genesis is so petty that he’ll probably consider the possibility that you’re flirting back? and then proceed to ignore you or leaving you off with some esoteric poetry while he tends to his duties. he is first class, after all.

❥ if he’s sitting right next to you though, and he hears that you’re not flirting with them. he’s petty enough like reno where he’ll suddenly be throwing out all these dramatic pet names and throw longing glances towards you, except he won’t even spare a glance towards the other person— simply only paying attention to you.

❥ id consider genesis a jealous person, but i do think that most of it strikes a protective instinct within him. he does understand that he’s also a first class SOLDIER meaning he’ll have to trust you, but he has way too much time on his hands to think. also like angeal where he’ll write you as much as he can— except he’ll send you mindless poems he writes or favored quotes of LOVELESS.

❥ in the case that you leave to go to the bathroom or any sort of occasion, genesis would probably scare the other person or make them feel uncomfortable as well. but when you return and they’re gone, he’ll act so clueless. all, “whatever do you mean, dearest?”

❥ another instance where i don’t think anybody would try anything with you. like angeal and sephiroth, genesis is a first class SOLDIER. everybody knows these dudes are the real shit (well, mainly only sephiroths talked about, but it applies to genesis and angeal too!!) so hes all smug parading you around as he side eyes every person who gawks at you. of course he knows you’re beautiful, but your beauty is too much for these fools to comprehend. so yes, he must glare at every single of them.

❥ and yes, also like his companions, he will jeer and whine about how silly it was to try that with you when you two are alone. i can even see genesis pulling a cloud and just whisking you away claiming you need to do something and then act like nothing happened afterwards. either that, or he’ll overdo it and claim to be your angel— no in between.

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