#ouch veronica

[comicbookddr]

Ethory in "Three Cheers for Evil": A Gifset for Every Episode (3/?)

[yuwuta]

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

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

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

pairings. okkotsu/reader

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

[unholyhelbig]

Part two of mafia nat???

Title: The Oversight [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3079

Warnings: Hostage situation, brusing, mentions of child abuse, horrible grammar, and Quiznos

[a/n: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter! I'm making this a thing, for sure!] Let me know if you're interested in being added to the taglist for this story!

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

“The usual, sweet girl.” You set the plate of pancakes down in front of Veronica. A happy face was painted against the golden surface with whipped cream, with cherries and two slices of bacon divided perfectly for hair. Your daughter never seemed to grow tired of the meal and would swallow down a glass of milk with just a bit of strawberry syrup.

Despite having completed the maze on the back of the kid’s menu at least a dozen times, she remained infatuated, kicking her feet back and forth as the orange crayon made its way through the boldened lines.

You tentatively moved a lock of brunette hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Eat your food, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Veronica nodded and started to fork down the smiling face. She didn’t speak much, a few words here and there, and that worried you enough to take the day off from work. You had found a speech therapist right outside of the city that accepted your HMO plan with enough fervor that you made the soonest appointment you could.

While you worked hard to shield Veronica from the life that you were determined to break away from, you were distressed. Kids were smart, they didn’t’ get enough credit. You were sure that she noticed the only meals she ate was at this diner and at school. The way that you were here all the time, dressed in the same uniform stained with ketchup and coffee. The way you fell asleep on the second-hand sofa for a few hours at a time.

“She your kid?”

While your back was turned, mind rushing with intrepid thoughts, someone had sidled up against the counter with an empty white mug, its mouth flipped to the ceiling. The blonde looked innocent enough, if not in despite need of the coffee she was asking for. Her accent was thick. Russian or Ukrainian, nothing you could fully place. 

“She is a very good artist.” She tapped her finger against the orange drawing of a sunset in the corner of the placemat. “A lot of talent in this one.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, picking up the coffee pot. The blonde nodded and smiled back as you poured her a cup. “She gets it from her father.”

While you weren’t entirely sure that was true, you did know that the talent wasn’t from you. You never had the artistic eye. Veronica, on the other hand, was a quiet force to be recon with when it came to art. Even at a young age, you knew whole-heartedly that she had a future in it if she stuck with it.

“That so?” The woman took a long sip of her coffee, not flinching at the heat. “She should keep going. It’s important to have something to hold onto.”

The memory flickered in our mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It could have been a day, or a week, and your heart ached just as fiercely for your daughter as it always had. She would be in safe hands for now, you were sure. Your sitter knew about your devoted love, your resilience to make sure that Ronnie was okay. You were all she had, and being tied to a chair until your muscles felt like jelly was not a good sign.

You weren’t sure what had pulled you out of a fitful sleep for a few moments, but there was a light squeeze on your shoulder. Your head shot back and collided with something. There was a soft grunt, and your inhale burned your lungs. When you blinked awake, there wasn’t complete darkness. A less harsh light had been turned on.

The blonde from the diner was standing in front of you, robbing a tender spot on the center of her nose. “Ouch, that really hurt!”

“Sorry, I-“ you frowned, snapping your mouth shut. You weren’t going to apologize. You were the one that had been kidnapped, not the other way around. “What’s happening?”

Natasha had left you without another word, and you hated the way you missed her presence. You’d drifted off in the quiet and considered it a better punishment than Clints vicious blows to the face. The girl in front of you held a bottle of water up as a peace offering.

She cracked open the top, and even if you weren’t quite sure if something was in it, you didn’t care at the moment. She guided it to your lips, and a few drops dripped over your chin. It cooled the burning in your throat.

“Thank you,” this time you meant it. Natasha had made it clear that there was no good cop, but this was starting to look like your reprieve. You tested your luck. “If they’re going to kill me, why hold me?”

“They are not going to kill you. Natasha is a cautious woman. She did not get to where she was without crossing a few lines. You claim that you’re not on drugs and my sister wants to make sure that is truthful. Can you blame her?”

From a technical standpoint- no, you couldn’t. You searched for some type of resemblance in the woman and came up with nothing but a slight similarity in the slope of her nose. She smiled, crossing her legs, and sitting back against the chair.  

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and it sent a shooting pain to your temple. “If I get one wrong, do you shoot me?”

She laughed, “No wrong answers. Can you believe that I want to get to know you? I’ll go first. My name is Yelena, and my favorite color is green. Forest green if you would like to get specific, which I would.”

“Dark red.” You said “I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I know. How long have you lived in the city?”

You rolled your shoulders back again. They were stiff. You’ve never been this uncomfortable in your life, and not just socially. There was a cool calmness about Yelena that put you at ease. Though, she was one of your kidnappers, and most-likely a member of the secret underground organization that had inexplicitly frequented the diner.

“My whole life. Not this part of town, though. East lower with my mom and my dad until my mom died and my dad got himself killed when I was seventeen.”

“Foster care?”

“For a year until I was old enough to be out on my own. I’m not going to let my daughter end up the same way. That was the hardest year of my life and if she loses me then… Her father isn’t around, but I’m afraid that going into the system would be best case scenario.”

“She’s six?” Yelena asked.

“And a half, but yes.”

“Non-verbal?”

You nodded again. This felt like a shitty game of twenty questions. Yelena already knew all the answers and you could still taste blood and the aching in your jaw. She tapped her fingers against her knee, uncrossing them and leaning forward.

The ceiling still stretched above you. There were rafters that you could barely make out in the darkness. You blinked so you wouldn’t cry. Still, when you spoke next, your words came out pinched and you couldn’t help but feel weak.

“The world is a horrible place, and the odds are already stacked against her, you know?” You sniffed to keep snot that you couldn’t wipe away from dripping onto your shirt already soiled with blood. “She’s a good kid. She’s funny, and smart, and I want her to have a life where she thinks everything is okay, even if there’s a possibility that it never is. Ronnie doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to know.”

Yelena swallowed hard and nodded. She stood and closed the distance between you. Her hand was warm against you skin as she tentatively wiped away the moisture on your cheek. She gave you the rest of the water. “Okay. Drink.”

You were foolish to trust her. There was something in the water that was tasteless but rendered you unconscious all the same. You blinked awake, not sure how much time had passed. Your mind was swimming relentlessly, being forced in and out of lucidity had done nothing for your resolve.

Sunlight, something you thought you would never see again, flitted through an open window. A cooling summer breeze accompanied the sight. You’d been freed somewhere along the way, and your gratitude wasn’t lost on you.

Dark purple bruises encircled both of your wrists. Your whole body ached, and you let out a low moan at the sudden blinking movement. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

Your back was pushed up against a dark oak bedframe, heels shoving you back. There was a lightheadedness swirling around you. A nice bedspread was underneath you, and the room itself was dripping in riches.

It was large with floor to ceiling windows, the walls slathered in deep maroon paint. There was a wall of bookshelves filled with expertly bound books. Two chairs and a small cocktail table was set up in a beam of sunlight.

Natasha held a crystal glass of unidentified alcohol in her hand. The ice floated within the deep brown liquid as if it were afraid to make a sound. She wore a suit, one that hugged her sides. Her lips were painted red to match the walls and she tapped her nail against the glass, observing you.

Her words sent a pang directly to your core, and that embarrassed you more than your exhaustion. Blood flooded into your cheeks and the very corner of Natasha’s lip twitched in response. She set her glass down on the table.

You recoiled as she rose and transplanted herself on the corner of the bed. She was gentle with her movements as if you were an animal that she was afraid to startle. Natasha had a tight hold on her operations. She was nothing more than a myth. Simply the boss.

Somehow, she scared you more now than she did before. When you were tied to the chair, you were certain that you were going to die. But now, in this royal-style room, you were filled with questions about why she let you live.

“I don’t make mistakes, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the people who work for me.” She was glaring at the design etched into the duvet, gold embroidery. Her perfectly manicured fingers thumbed the flower. “You were profiled, and you were profiled wrong. I don’t go after single mothers, especially ones that don’t keep certain… habits.”

There was a sinking feeling that you weren’t meant to speak. This was the delicate moment during a hostage situation where the robber has a gun pointed at your head, the finger on the trigger and a burlap sack of money in the opposite hand. Your words would do nothing but loosen the safety.

“This is being dealt with, believe me.” Natasha looked up at you, her eyes fierce, a beautiful fern color that bounded off the darkness of the walls. “But you must understand, y/n, I am not known for my kindness, and I am certainly not known for my mercy. You still took the money, and you still owe me.”   

You drew in a breath, opening your mouth to protest, but Natasha held up her hand and you snapped your jaw shut. There was a bit of amusement in her stare that you didn’t have the mental capacity to dissect.

“Yelena said that you know how to fight. Or, at the very least, take a hit. So, I’m not asking. I’m telling you that work for me until your debt is paid off.”

Natasha had gotten impossibly close to you. That same deep scent of mint filled your lungs. It wasn’t comforting, but it didn’t’ unsettle you anymore, and neither did her warmth. You winched when she reached up and grabbed your face, squeezing softer than Clint had, her nails still dug into soft bruising.

She whispered her words, breath hot on your lips. “You belong to me now, and I don’t always play nice.”

Natasha ‘not playing nice’ looked a lot like having a driver drop you off in front of your apartment without your shoes. The sidewalk was cold despite the hot day, and as you stared up at your unit, you swore that the curtains flickered. You blinked and squeezed the bridge of your nose immediately regretting it the second you felt the shooting pain reach your eardrums.

They had taken your keys, presumably to make copies, and the sweatpants that you were given were much too big around your waist. You had sinched them with a shoestring, just counting yourself lucky that they’d provided a change of clothes in the first place. Even the shirt was stained and had a logo on it for a defunct Quiznos in queens.

Your body threatened to give out as you took the stairs two at a time up to your apartment. You still didn’t’ have a grasp on how much time had passed, but it was evening when you left work, and the sun felt like a mid-day assault on your senses.

Frantically, you knocked on your neighbor’s door, wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Natasha’s pants. More than likely- Clints pants. It took a few moments for the door to swing open, but when it did, you were flooded with relief.

Darcy had an eyebrow lifted at you. “Holy shit,”

You didn’t let her get another word in edgewise before you engulfed her in a hug. She let out a breath at the impact and after a few seconds, pulled you in closer. Darcy was a friend, someone you trusted enough to watch your daughter. There was a soft spot in your heart for her. You didn’t let go when she backed the two of you into the living room and let the door fall shut behind you.

“I was three seconds from calling the police, y/n.” she pulled back, squeezing your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

You were instructed on what to say, word for word. You’d repeated it twice to Natasha and once to the driver. Lying to Darcy, someone who was the equivalent of a lie detector. Her eyes were hard, her voice hushed.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys on the way out of the restaurant. I was stranded on the other side of town, no phone. I tried to get here as soon as possible but I got a little banged up. I’m okay, a little shaken, but okay.” You frowned, “What day is it?”

Your eyes searched the room for a clock, for anything that would give you indication, but Darcy, while one of the sweetest people you had ever met, was a bit scatter-brained. You trusted her with your daughter, and with your own life, but there were spare computer parts strung out across her coffee table, on the couch, and the television stand.

“Y/n, you’ve been gone for two days.” She lifted your chin with a curled finger, making a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath “Oh they got you good. You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“More trouble than it’s worth.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I would love an icepack, though. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve got frozen peas and corn, dealers’ choice. Ronnie finally fell asleep; I kept telling her that nothing was wrong but she’s too preceptive for her own good sometimes.”

It was a bad move, but you gave Darcy a thankful squeeze on the shoulder and moved down the hall to the guest room.  It was the cleanest place in the house, reserved for visitors. Darcy still had zoomed in photos of computer chips. They were like little mazes without an escape, her personality shining through.

Veronica was laying on top of the duvet, curled up in a blanket that was typically strewn across the base of the bed. She wasn’t asleep, her tempered gray eyes flicking to the door and then lighting up when she realized that it was you. You leaned against the doorframe, warmth flooding you.

You wrapped her in a bone-crunching hug, squeezing her into you as if you never wanted to let her go. She smelled like Darcy’s shampoo, a light floral concoction that comforted you. Ronnie’s hand squeezing the fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“Hi, baby” you pulled back slightly, enough room for you to give her a kiss on the forehead, pushing back ringlets of curly hair. “I missed you.”

Her nose scrunched up and her little fingers ghosted so softly over the pulsing bruises on your face. You never wanted her to see you like this, for anyone to see you like this, but at the moment you didn’t care. Having her in your arms was enough to erase all of that doubt.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” You assured, and she crunched her nose again. “Oh, you think I stink?”

You probably did. You’d been strapped to a chair for 48 hours, nearly vomiting up what little food you’d consumed the night of your abduction. You’d sweat through your clothes, and the borrowed ones weren’t much better in the scent department.

“Too bad, little one,” you poked at her sides, eliciting an infectious giggle. “You’re stuck with me, stink and all.”

You let yourself go slack against her, trapping her under one of your arms. Veronica playfully tried to shove you off and you let out a grunt at each attempt. Eventually her arms wrapped around yours and she settled into you.

Maybe some sleep wouldn’t do you bad. Your body was about to give out, and the only instructions you’d gotten from Natasha other than the white lie of your injuries, was to hang tight and heal until she contacted you, and she would contact you.

“I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought both.” Darcy said from the doorway. You mumbled into the pillow in response, nothing legible. “Oh, we’re cuddling, or is this a hostage situation?”

You winced internally at the words, but sighed contentedly when you felt the weight of the frozen vegetables against your shoulder blades. You melted into the pillows, the bed dipping down as Darcy laid on the other side of Ronnie, as you drifted off to sleep.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff]

[jacksonscouts]

Today's fic review is for @paigegonerogue's fic, Skin! I read this fic a few months ago and it was an absolute rollercoaster.

TW: referenced rape/noncon

First of all, this AU has such a moving, heartbreaking premise. What if Joel and Ellie met at Silver Lake? When I first saw that, I thought “oh nooo” and then when I read it, I was shook. Girl, you did not disappoint. 

Joel’s flashbacks to Sarah’s death and how you referenced that memory throughout the fic was such a creative portrayal of his PSTD. This is especially because, in this memory, “gasping” is the sound of Sarah’s life slipping away. It just hammers home Joel’s feelings of utter helplessness. This angst was an emotional gut-punch every time you used it.

This was my second time reading chapter 1, and Ellie’s introduction still made my stomach turn. It’s so well executed and I’m angry for her all over again. The exposition is spaced so well. It blends right in. For example, “She didn’t have washing privileges that day,” gives so much information about Ellie’s situation in just one sentence. Also, her snark and humor in her scenes with Joel are perfectly in character. You blend the fluff of their dynamic and the angst of their shared conflict in a way that sort of swings us readers back and forth. 

I’ve read this fic before, so I want to give some praise for the final chapter as well. Tommy was a fucking beast in that chapter. That man deserves a medal. The last few scenes had me at the edge of my seat. The action was so good! It felt fast and punchy and so well paced. Also, I got the ending I wanted. I don’t want to spoil, but thank you for what you did. It was so satisfying and then that cliffhanger was wild. You did such a great job, Paige, and it’s been so wonderful to hear about your progress on Scars. I know Scars gonna be fantastic!!

Phrases I loved:

She didn’t think her laugh was always this cold, this hollow. Her laugh used to be happy, joyful. Not shaky and broken.

The girl seemed to study him, her eyes tracking every twitch of his fingers and every breath he took.

“Mornin’, princess!” She said, forcing breeziness into her tone. 

“That’s James.” Veronica told him. “He’s a dick.” (Yes the fuck he is!! I know you wanted him to be a gray character, but fuck James, that fucking dick.)

He looked back over at her, seeing the way her face was burning in the tangle of her limbs.

She tried to smooth down her hair, tugging at her shirt, his smell still lingered, curling its way down her throat. Choking her. (Ouch)

It was warm. Warm like hugs in winter. Warm like her smile. Warm like her blood as died, gasping, gasping, gasping. (OUCH)

The tremors blaring through her hollow body. Shaking her broken parts. (Do you like hurting us?????)

[truthfulpoint]

Sex on the Beach

Slowly, but surely, this cruise was turning into a disaster. I had booked the trip to celebrate my recent tenure as a professor and also to spend some time with Jessica after long months of being cooped up with my research. Now the paper was submitted, and the initial reviews were very promising.

The boat was beautiful and the crew had great attention to detail. The food was fantastic and the other people on the boat seemed pretty nice for the most part. They were obviously way richer than me and Jessica were. I had basically used all the money from the research award I won for my last major paper to pay for the trip.

But somehow Jessica was in a foul mood. She stayed on deck with a book most of the time and didn’t partake in many of the activities that the crew organized for their guests. There, she was usually joined by a man of about 50 or so years by the name of John. John was constantly on his phone or hacking into a laptop and hardly seemed to notice the beautiful surroundings of the Greek islands.

John’s wife Veronica was much younger than her husband was, I guessed about 34 or 35. She had to look of a typical trophy wife with lots of time for manicures, pedicures, Pilates and appointments at the hairdresser. Initially that had put me off, but when I chatted with her, I was actually surprised that I quite enjoyed her company. She was a physical therapist and worked part time in an institution for children that needed rehabilitation after accidents. They apparently didn’t need the money, judging by his watches, John seemed to be richer than God, but it gave her a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

As we both were often flying solo for the group activities, we naturally gravitated towards each other. We chatted a lot over the first few days of the trip and got to know each other pretty well.

———-

One evening, after another delicious dinner on the beach, Jessica got up and said: “ I’m tired. I’ll go to bed. Don’t come too late, please. And don’t drink so much wine, it makes you snore.”

“ yes ma’am” I snapped, in an effort to lighten the mood. But Jessica just glared at me.

Embarrassed and angry, I turned to my glass of wine. What was going on? Why was Jessica so angry with me?

“Another evening all by our lonesome?” said Veronica as she walked over from the table where she had been sitting. She seemed a little tipsy.

“Yep. You too?”

“Yes. He’s already back on that damn computer.”

Maybe more than just a little…

She took a big gulp out of her wine glass.

“ I’m sorry”

“ You don’t need to be sorry. He should be!”

Another big gulp. Veronica seemed angry and determined to get very drunk.

“ He used to be different. He was always a hard worker, but when we were dating, he somehow always managed to find the time for a weekend away or a fancy restaurant.”

Another gulp finished the glass. One of the stewards quickly came by and filled it up again.

“ Now he seems married to his work. Some evenings he doesn’t even come home.”

Half the glass gone again.

“Or maybe he’s fucking his secretary. I don’t know. But I couldn’t care less. It’s not like I’m missing out on much.”

Ouch. Low blow.

“I mean, for real, he couldn’t even get it up without the little blue pills on the best of days. And now he’s so absent-minded with me, that he probably couldn’t tell my butt from my boobs”

Oh man. This woman was angry.

“ Well, why are you still with him?”

“ I don’t know. I guess it’s comfortable. I have to admit that I’ve gotten used to the finer things in life. He also donates a ton of money to the children’s rehab center where I work. That would probably dry up if we get divorced. And that would really suck.”

“Hmmm...” I didn’t really know what to say. “We should probably get to bed.”

She chugged her drink. She was very drunk now.

“Can I stay with you tonight? You’re cute.”

“I think you should return to your cabin and sleep it off, Veronica. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Adam. Sweet dreams”

Walking over the beach back to the boat, I couldn’t get Veronica’s words out of my head - “you’re cute”. She was more than cute. She was beautiful. And the more time I spent with her, the more I felt myself drawn to here.

That night, I did not sleep well. I tossed and turned, awaking often. Every time I woke up, my thoughts immediately returned to Veronica.

———-

The next morning, Veronica showed up to breakfast with a pair of large dark sunglasses and washed down three aspirin with her green tea.

———

Later that day, we had a guided tour of some ancient ruins. Of course, Jessica and John stayed on the boat. During the tour Veronica motioned me to stay back a little.

She hooked her arm under mine and started talking. “Hey Adam. About last night. I think I said a lot of stupid stuff. I was angry and a little drunk. Can we keep this to ourselves?”

“Of course “

“ I mean, I didn’t really mean it. At least most of it.”

“Which part did you mean?”

She squirmed a little and laughed nervously.

“well, I seem to remember that I might have mentioned that I thought you were cute? That part’s actually true”

“I’m flattered. I don’t often get compliments from drunk married women.”

“Now you’re being mean. I just repeated it, and I’m totally sober. Just very hung over.” She laughed and pulled herself closer to me, holding on to my arm.

I have to admit, it felt good to be complimented by a beautiful woman. I suddenly noticed how much I missed being touched. Things between Jessica and me had been pretty cooled down for a while now.

I brushed the thought aside, and we rejoined the group.

————-

The the next day was a beach day. We all chilled under the parasols and pavilions the crew had set up and enjoyed piña coladas and watermelons.

Veronica wore a white bikini that I hadn’t seen yet. After a week under the Mediterranean sun, she was quite tanned, and the white bikini complimented her bronze skin. When she went for a swim and came back out of the water, I had flashbacks of Ursula Endres coming out of the water in that James Bond movie. Hot!

I also went for a swim, but pretty soon had to stop because my shoulder and neck started to hurt. When I came out of the water, I was massaging my neck and wincing with pain. Veronica noticed me.

“What’s the matter? Hurt yourself?”

“ I don’t know. I went for a swim, and I had this strong pain going from my neck to my shoulder.”

“Want me to take a look at it? You’re a little bigger than my normal patients, but the basic mechanics are the same.”

“Sure, thank you!”

She sat me down on the edge of one of the deck chairs and started to examine my neck and shoulders with her hands. Admittedly, I quite enjoyed that. Probably more than I should.

She manipulated my arm and shoulder and stroked different muscles in my neck. The pain started to ease a little, but I hoped she would keep going for a little while longer.

“You are very tense. Probably from all that work hunched over a computer. I can show you some exercises that should help your neck and shoulder mobility”

For some reason, her hand was still resting on my pectoral muscle. I looked at it and she withdrew it, however, not without lightly brushing over my nipple in the process. I felt my nipple harden and blood rushing to my groin. She noticed it too, and gave me a little smile.

———

In the afternoon we were back on the boat. I was heading to the bathroom, which happened to be in a very tight corner of the upper deck. As walked I towards the door, it opened and Veronica emerged. The entry was so tight that we couldn’t avoid brushing against each other. As we were both still in swim clothes, a lot of skin touched. I had the impression that neither of us tried to minimize that contact.

————

That night I woke from a dream. I didn’t remember any details, but I clearly had the searing image of Veronica in her white bikini in my head. I was sporting a capital boner.

Jessica was sleeping next to me. I glanced over at her and then started to masturbate. I closed my eyes and imagined Veronica in her white bikini coming towards me. Taking the bikini off and giving me a free view of her perfect boobs. Cut. Veronica, reaching for my boner. Cut. Veronica rubbing my cock with her perfectly manicured hands. Cut. Veronicas mouth closing around the head of my cock. Cut. Veronica giving me a sloppy blowjob. Cut. Veronica turning around, spreading her butt cheeks and whispering “ I want you to fuck me in the ass” Cut. My dick in Veronica’s ass. Cut. My dick pumping cum into Veronica’s ass.

With that image, I came. Hard. Cum rained on my stomach and my chest. My cock twitched and a pool of cum gathered on my belly.

Jessica raised her head. “ what’s going on?” She asked sleepily.

“Nothing. I just had a vivid dream and moved around. Go back to sleep.”

I got up and went to the bathroom. I cleaned myself up with a towel and looked at myself in the mirror, slightly embarrassed. Not only had I fantasized about a married woman. While my girlfriend was laying next to me. Also, I had never been into anal sex, but that fantasy sent me right over the edge. I wasn’t sure that I could look Veronica in the eye tomorrow.

—————

As luck would have it, Veronica joined us at our breakfast table the next morning. I had the impression that Jessica didn’t like Veronica particularly well. But I decided to ignore it.

I grinned at her sheepishly and tried to make the most boring conversation ever. She looked at me puzzled.

“Final day in paradise, huh?”

“Yeah I can’t believe the 10 days are already over”

“ Well, Adam, it was very nice to get to know you and for you to keep me such good company during the excursions”

What was she doing? Jessica was sitting right next to us.

“Uhm, yeah. There were quite a few nice people on this boat.” I tried to downplay and defuse the situation.

“Yes, but very few as nice and gentle…manlike as you. I hope to see you later!”

And with that, she walked away, swaying her hips just a little too much for Jessica not to notice.

———-

When we got to our cabin, I could sense that Jessica was fuming. We had hardly closed the door when she went at me:

“ What was that bimbo all about? Thanks for keeping me such good company? Nice and gentle? What the fuck?”

I didn’t know what to say. “Hey, Veronica is not a bimbo, she’s actually pretty nice”

“Yeah seems like it. More than nice from what I can see”

Well, that maybe wasn’t the best thing to start with.

“What do you expect me to do? You never wanted to come to these activities. Most of the other guests went as couple, so obviously the two people abandoned by the partners kind of stuck together.”

Not helping things…

“I didn’t abandon you. I just wasn’t feeling like doing these stupid excursions anyway. This entire trip was all about you, and your fancy research award. Look, I’m Adam, the neuroscience hot shot.”

Ouch.

“Baby, where is this coming from? I booked this trip for us!”

“You booked this trip for you!”

“I’m sorry you’re not having a good time. What can I do?”

“I don’t know. I need some space”

“Ok baby. No problem. I’ll go and come find you later”

“No, I mean more permanently. I think I don’t want you in my life, at least for a while”

“Baby, what the hell?”

“When we get back to London, I think I will stay with my sister for a while”

I was dumbstruck. Without another word, I turned around and left the cabin.

On deck, I ran into Veronica.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Everything ok?”

“No everything is not OK! Jessica and I just broke up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that!”

“You’re sorry? You’re part of the reason! If you hadn’t done your little show this morning, none of this would’ve happened!”

“Is that so? Well, if you ask me, your relationship has to be in a pretty bad place if one tiny flirt manages to break it”

She probably had a point, but I was not willing to admit that just yet.

“Stay away from me.”

—————-

Lunch was on the beach that day again. For me it was a sad affair, as I sat alone, sulking in a corner.

Veronica came up to me.

“Can we talk?”

“Hm, okay”

“I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have done that. Even if I stay by my point that such a stunt could never derail a healthy relationship “

“Yeah, you’re probably right “

“The fact of the matter is that I see us as mirror images. Both stuck in sorta crappy relationships. And…”

“What and?”

“Nevermind. Why were you looking at me so funny this morning?”

“Nevermind”

“You tell me your’s, I tell you mine…”

“Okay, okay. But you go first.”

“Ok, here goes. I thought we were both stuck in sucky relationships. And that I would much rather be with someone like you. Well, you specifically.”

“Oh, wow!”

“Yeah, I know. It’s confusing. I probably have to sleep on this a bit. But I definitely have a bad crush on you.”

She blushed. “Now tell me your’s”

“Ok, whatever. I had a dream about you “

“A sex dream?”

“Uhm, yup” I blushed.

“Was it good?”

“I don’t want to talk about it”

“Did we make out? Did we sleep together?”

“Well, sort of”

“Did you cum in your dream?”

“No, not in the dream”

“What do you mean, not in the dream”

I squirmed under the interrogation. “Well, afterwards “

“Afterwards? What do you mean? Did you jack off thinking of me?”

My head was probably red as a tomato now. “Hm, yeah, kind of”

“Oh, wow. I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered… but it is kind of hot to think that I make you horny.” She giggled.

“It was just a dream! These things happen all the time!”

“Well, why don’t we try if was really ‘just a dream’?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come with me”

She took my hand and we walked away from the tables to a small secluded bay behind some rocks. Veronica undid the Pareo she had been wearing and spread it on the sand. Underneath, she wore that bedeviled white bikini.

“Adam, I am so sorry. I’ve been a bad girl”

“Wait, what?”

“I’ve been really bad. I think I deserve some punishment “

“Are you kidding me?”

“No Adam. You need to show me my place”

With that, she walked up to me and pinched my nipple.

“Ouch”

“Oh, so sorry. Let me make it better.”

She stepped up to me, pressed her body against me and started gently licking the pinched nipple. A familiar tingling traveled from there up and down my spine. Blood rushed to my groin. I gave in.

“You are right, you have been bad” I said with a raspy voice.

“Yes Adam”

“But I don’t believe in punishment.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I believe in showing the right way” With that I grabbed her hair and started gently, but firmly pulling it down. Her face came up, and I started kissing her greedily. I kissed her mouth, her chin, her neck. Her breathing accelerated.

I let go of her hair and unclasped her bikini top. Her tits sprang free. Glorious, glorious tits. I pinched one of her nipples. Pretty hard.

“A little payback”

She gasped from the mixture of pleasure and pain.

She untied the string of my shorts and let my cock spring free. She wrapped her hand around its base and started stroking. I had a flashback to my dream. This was just like it, but a million times better.

She kneeled down and put my cock in her mouth. Pretty soon, she was giving me a deep, sloppy blowjob.

I needed more. I needed her. I pulled her up. I turned her around and bent her over one of the nearby rocks. Her hips and ass swayed in front of the cock glistening from her saliva. I grabbed her round ass and pushed myself inside her. Her pussy was soaking wet and my dick slid in and out with ease. I started to thrust into her. All the pent up anger and frustration over the trip, the breakup, about Jessica went into my pushes. I fucked her hard.

“Yes, yes, yes” - little screams of pleasure came out of her mouth

“Is this just like your dream?”

“Almost” I gasped between to panting breaths.

“What’s different?”

“In the dream I was fucking your ass”

“Oh, do you want to do that?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never really done it. “

She bent over a little further, put her hands on her butt cheeks, and spread them a little.

“Adam, I want you to fuck me in the ass”

I was stunned. What was happening?

I pulled my cock out of her pussy. It twitched and glistened from her juices. I hesitated. Veronica reached around and placed the tip of my cock on her anus.

“Come on! Take me just like in your dream!”

I pushed forward. My glistening tip, lubricated with her juices pushed past the initial resistance. I heard Veronica take in a sharp breath, as she adjusted to the new sensation. I started to slowly push into her. The sensation was phenomenal. I started moving back and forth. Feeling her tight muscles gripping my cock, hearing her heavy breaths, and seeing my dick disappear inside her caused a rush of arousal and excitement. I realized I would come very quickly like this.

“Veronica, I don’t know how long I’ll last like this.”

“Don’t worry about it. This one’s for you”

As if her words had unlocked something, I felt my orgasm build. A powerful wave of lust and excitement washed over me and triggered my dick to explode into Veronica’s ass. She felt the pulses of my orgasm, and pushed her butt back, taking my cock all the way in. There she stayed, just lightly swaying , until she felt that my penis stopped twitching.

I pulled my dick out, panting. She got up and turned around to me. Her hand on my cheek, she kissed me sensually.

“THAT was not a dream.”

———-

After we had calmed down and gotten dressed again, we went back to our table. The steward spotted us and asked if we wanted to drink anything.

Veronica smiled: “I’ll have a Sex on the Beach, please”

[how-very-salty]

*slap sound*

J.D.: * rubbing his cheek* : ouch!

Veronica: you deserve it

J.D.: ...do it again

Veronica: no!

J.D.: why not?

Veronica: I'm not here to make you feel good.

[alteredarchie]

Ouch...Veronica's sprained finger sounds unpleasurable. We here at Altered Archie* hope she gets well soon.

*Archie Comics from another reality

[ednyxmatic]

Okay, but Birds of a Feather is such an underrated BTAS episode. I just feel so bad for Ozzie during the whole thing 😭

Look at him!! He thought someone would be waiting for him to get out of prison, but no one was! He looks disappointed and confused. 

And then! There’s the main plot where Veronica Vreeland tricks him into thinking she likes him romantically just so she can use him as a funny prop at her party.

Like?? Look at this guy. Initially he seems confused that she would like him in that way!  Then he saves her from getting mugged and kisses her hand!

Then he takes her to the opera!

And she has the audacity to look grossed out and annoyed 🙄 Gurl, this is all your fault! You initiated the dumb, mean plan!

It’s just a sad episode overall. He genuinely wants to reform and thinks he found someone who is attracted to him, or who might at least want to be his friend, but she’s just using him. Ouch. 

[sometimesanalice]

wait is there veronica mars tea????? ☕

OH YES! (My celebrity gossip addiction and Reddit rabbit holes have set me up for success in this moment! 🙌🏻)

So for people’s last day on set during that one-and-done revival series (rip what could have been but they did it to themselves going the edge lord route with that ending 🫣) the producers and show runners would show up for everyone’s last day. Like a nice celebratory thing!

Except for the day of Jason Dohring last day of filming. So he did his last scene, and NO ONE was there to send him off. (Spoiler: They exploded the guy and then he didn’t even get like a cake? I mean…) So for him to have been there from the beginning and was such an important part of the show, yet nothing? Ouch.

So he kind of dropped that bomb (edit: pun NOT intended, but now I’m wheezing) during one of the promotional interviews (linked for your viewing pleasure! The tea is spilled around 2:10) and you can tell that Kristen Bell is shocked (either because she’s like why would you air that or like wow I’m a jerk and didn’t even know until know) but it is TANGIBLY uncomfy between them, like he won’t look at her.

It’s not the hottest of tea, but still interesting considering how built up and hyped everything was about the revival! And how Rob Thomas justified the ending by being like Veronica can’t grow up if she’s still with her high school boyfriend. ☕️

[dragonfly0808]

Listened to the Heathers soundtrack while getting ready this morning and damn it does ‘If no one loves me now, someday somebody will’ punch me in the gut every single fucking time.

Like… ouch.

Also ‘VERONICA, open the- open the door please, Veronica open the door’ gives me chills everytime.

Anyone care for a long post about Heathers songs?

[canirove]

Professor Rice | Chapter 8

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

Declan’s POV

“I can’t believe you told her that you like her'' Mason said. He was suspended for today’s match, so I was going to go with him to watch it from the stands.

“Me neither, but I just couldn’t stand seeing her looking so sad and knowing it was all my fault.”

“And you were hoping she would like you back even if you can’t really act on those feelings now, right?” he smirked.

“Maybe…” we both laughed.

As we walked to our gate, I thought I saw a redhead walking in the opposite direction. And that meant I was going crazy. There are more redheads in the world, Declan. And she doesn’t like football, so why would she be here wearing a Chelsea scarf?

Veronica’s POV

I couldn’t believe I let Mike bring me to a football match. But here we are, Jo, Mike and I wearing our Chelsea scarfs (well, Mike was wearing the entire store. Who has Chelsea socks and wears them in public?) and heading to our gate. I was told there was good food. I really hoped that wasn’t a lie.

When we sat down in our seats, I looked at the players who were warming up. As per Jo’s requests, we went to the Chelsea-Everton match, and I could see that Jo was staring at Calvert-Lewin. I couldn’t blame her, but I was too busy trying to find where Mason Mount was.

“Hey Mike, which one is Mount?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s not playing today, he’s suspended.”

Huh, well, that was a bummer.

When the match started, I tried to look at the player’s names on their shirts. Number 21, Chilwell, was kinda cute, not gonna lie. But it was Kanté that Mike always praised, so I tried to find him.

The match ended with a 2-1 win to Chelsea. The Kanté guy Mike loves didn’t score, but everyone kept on talking about how amazing he was. Football is weird.

Mike also wanted to show me the ground, so we walked around while he explained everything to me. I loved seeing him so excited about things. If I had known me coming to a match was going to make him this happy, I would have done it years ago.

By the time we were done, most people were already gone, so we were about to head to the tube when I heard my name being called.

I think I know that voice…

Mason’s POV

“Veronica?” I yelled again. That’s her, right? Or am I just yelling at a random redhead?

Both she and her friends turned around to look at me, but it was the guy she was with who reacted first.

“Oh my God, it’s Mason Mount!”

“Mason, hi!” Veronica said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You didn’t expect to see me at Stamford Bridge? Where the team I play for was playing today?” That was a bit mean, but I couldn’t help it. Veronica blushed and her friends laughed. “I’m here with Declan” I said.

“Declan?” her friend asked, Veronica looking at me with an expression that showed me this guy had no idea about what was going on.

“Yes, babe” her other friend, the guy’s girlfriend I guessed, said. “Declan is Veronica’s professor. The one who is friends with Mount.”

“Right, that makes sense. So... can I take a picture with you? You’re my favourite Chelsea player” he said to me.

“Of course.”

“I thought your favourite was Kan… Ouch.“ He elbowed Veronica so she couldn’t finish her sentence.

After I took a picture with Mike and Josephine, who was actually really cute, I saw Veronica staring at me.

“Do you want a picture too?” I asked, knowing that wasn’t what she wanted from me.

“Um... no, thanks. I was just wondering where Declan was?” Of course you were, darling.

“He’ll be back here in a sec. We met some old friends from our time in the Academy and he’s talking to them.”

She nodded, and I had to take this opportunity to help my best friend. “Hey guys, why don’t we go to have a coffee or something once Dec is back?”

Veronica’s face was hilarious. But she knew her friend Mike wasn’t going to allow her to say no. Mike was saying that, of course, they wanted to do that, while Josephine whispered something in Veronica's ear. She nodded to her friend.

I turned to see Declan walking towards me and realizing who had joined me. He looked exactly like Veronica did when I offered them to go to have a drink. Soulmates!

“Look who I’ve found!” I said to him with the biggest grin on my face.

“Veronica, hi! And... Josephine, right? Good to see you again.”

“Hi. Yeah, good to see you too” Josephine said to him. “This is Mike, my boyfriend. Mike, this is Declan, Veronica’s professor.”

Dec shook hands with Mike. “Hi, mate. You alright?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Ok” I said to get their attention. “There is this place around here where we can go have a drink. Should we get going?”

“Yes!” Mike said enthusiastically. And so we were on the move.

“Oh look!” Josephine said. “A squirrel!”

“It kind of looks like you, Mase” Declan said to me.

“Shut up” I said, pushing him.

“Squirrels are kind of cute” Veronica added.

“You think so?” I asked her, and she nodded. “Then thanks for the compliment, bro. It seems that Veronica thinks I’m cute.”

“I didn’t say…” But I couldn’t hear what she was saying because Declan slapped the back of  my head, which made me laugh.

They are perfect for each other, and I won’t stop until they get together.

[cakepoppresent]

You Have A Lot of Nerve 2

Veroina pulls Su over to the side because he has some fucking audacity.

Veronica: You have some nerve coming here uninvited

Su: I was a plus-one

Veronica: How about you stop acting like a third party and leave?

Su: I don't know what you're talking about. Don't align me with that idiot.

Veronica: Why wouldn't I? Both of you are pathetic losers. I know Grayson is too nice to outright deny you since he likes making friends. But I'll say it once. Grayson is happily in a relationship and doesn't need any more stress from you. Do you know else? I don't like idiots and people who bother my friends and family. And you are both.

Su: You're very harsh. I see why Vaughan likes you.

Veroinca: He isn't important right now. You and Alaia are in the same boat. Losers who don't know when to stop

Su: You're pretty determined to fight for a relationship that isn't yours.

Veronica: Wrong. I'm protecting my younger brother from vultures with no class. There is a difference.

Su: So what? You're going to fight me?

Veronica: I don't fight with men. That's what Gideon is for. Anyway, I've said my piece. Hope you learn how to take a hint and get lost.

Su: Ouch you know how to really cut a person with words.

Veronica: Hmm...hopefully I stop seeing you buzzing around my brother. You can wait for Vaughan outside.

Previous - Next

[rainyday254]

The Best Of Friends, A Trilance (Can be perceived as you want) one-shot

It was just a week before Lancelot would be if on the fateful journey to meet Percival and all the other members of his crew. He was training hard to ensure his own safety, and out of boredom. Lancelot did stuff to get rid of his boredom, going on errands for Meliodas when he got too bored.

Tristan watched as he fought ten guards simultaneously, obviously he was winning. Meliodas stood with an arm around his son, hugging him gently. It was a warm day, Elizabeth was out with Margaret and Veronica, all three of them sipping on cold drinks whilst talking about their kids. Tristan wanted to join his best friend but knew he'd only be annoyed. It was just a longing anyways, but Meliodas dud want his son to be included. "Halt!" Meliodas ordered and they all stopped. Lancelot watched them curiously then sighed. "Get over here Tristan. You guys are all released. Let's go. One on one!" Lancelot declared. Tristan grinned. "I thought you'd never ask." Lancelot smirked. He wiped the floor with Tristan everytime, but he still came back for more.

Tristan rose from the ground, and Lancelot grabbed his bow, aiming and letting go, missing by a hair. "Quit teasing me!" Lancelot called and Tristan cackled. "I'm not!" He shouts. "Come on, you can do better than that!" His friend called back. "Move around, you're making this such a bore. Don't make me regret including you." Lancelot said and Tristan smirked, flying around as asked.

"Much better!" Lancelot said, admiring Tristan's now more focused look, instead of the playful one from before. Lancelot had been running around, focusing on his hand to hand combat. He was tired and hot. He was pleased he got a break, a cold breeze coming in as the cold of the evening came in. He shot an arrow, reaching it's target as Teistan landed on his back in a nearby hayroll. "Ouch. Truce?" Tristan asked. "Truce, for now." Lancelot smirked, then rubbed his eyes. "Let's go in." Lancelot murmured.

And that's the story of how Meliodas and Elizabeth found Lancelot and Tristan curled up in Tristan's bed together, quiet breaths filling the room. Tristan had a protective hold of his friend that made Meliodas melt. His son was happy, a smile plastered across his face. "So cute!" He whispered as Elizabeth closed the door. "Let's let them be, Meliodas." His wife said back.

[how-very-salty]

diet coke

Veronica Sawyer x Jason J.D. Dean. Heather Chandler (mention), Heather Duke (mention)

TW: mention eating disorder

Summary: Veronica is anxious about her weight, and J.D. knows who to blame.

(fluff, talks and a little fightings, supporting J.D., weight anxious)

_________

"Good morning, princess," a familiar, slightly husky voice murmured from behind her, surrounding Veronica with the thick smell of tobacco and motor oil. "Having breakfast all alone?"

"It's lunchtime, weirdo," she pecked J.D.'s cheek with a quiet chuckle and quickly pulled away, rubbing her lips. "Ouch! Why are you so stubbly, oversleeping again?"

He smirked, and carelessly shoved somebody's stuff aside and slumped into the chair next to her.

"Nah, been fiddling with the bike all morning. Damn thing wouldn't start again," he sighed noisily and glanced disapprovingly at the contents of her tray. "Shit, and I was hoping it was breakfast after all... Because this, honey, doesn't even come close to looking like lunch."

With a guilty look, Veronica picked up a leaf of lettuce with her fork and stared at it in disgust. She wanted to eat something normal, like a hot dog or a hamburger, but....

"I'm just not hungry," she shook her head and put the fork down.

Her stomach responded with a treacherously loud rumble, and Veronica, flushed, hastily excused herself, "It's..."

"It's that bitch again, isn't it?" J.D.'s face twisted with anger. "Did she say something about your weight again?"

"Well... if I gain a few more pounds," her voice grew quieter with each word, "I'm going to look like a whale..."

"Fuck," he exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Fuck! You're the smart one, Ronnie, so why the fuck are you listening to her?"

"But I gained weight! And Chandler's my friend," Veronica mumbled insecurely, "it's her way of taking care of me..."

"Well, she already took care of Duke," J.D. grinned fiercely and stared at her; she shivered and stopped talking, "and now, as a 'good' friend, she brings her flowers to the hospital and, I'm sure, still enjoys throwing in a few words about her looks. She's just found a new way to bully her. Am I wrong?"

She silently shook her head without looking up: he was frighteningly accurate. On their last visit, Chandler had brought some blush and advised Duke to "do something about that sickly look. Veronica had never forgiven Duke for the cemetery prank, but at that moment, she'd felt insanely sorry for her.

"Damn it, Veronica, you promised you'd kick Heather out of your life," J.D. snapped angrily, moving closer to hover over her. "But somehow you still let her wipe her feet on you! Would you please stop kissing her ass already?"

"You don't understand," she jumped up and glared at him, her lips pressed together in anger, "I've sa..."

"I don't fucking get it anymore, Ronnie," he stood up abruptly from the chair and almost dropped it. "If you're scared, I could protect you!"

"You can't fight off teasing and rumors with your fists, J.D.," Veronica shook her head wearily and looked up at him. "I've said it before: I don't want to stand alone against the whole school."

"But I'll be right there!" he slammed his fist into the table, causing the trays to bounce and jingle pitifully. "Isn't that enough? ...ah, screw it!"

J.D. turned and dashed out of the cafeteria with a quick stride. With a soft curse under her breath, Veronica grabbed her bag and ran after him.

Fortunately, he hadn't gone far: he was standing not far from the cafeteria entrance, leaning against the wall, furiously trying to wipe the soot off his hands with the edge of his shirt. Slowing her pace, she hesitantly approached and stood beside him. Pretending not to notice her, J.D. continued to rub the stain in silence, rubbing it harder into his skin. Veronica sighed heavily.

"That's enough, but it's... it's different," she stammered, trying to find the words. "I want to make good memories, J.D. I want to remember parties at Mac's, sleepovers at Chandler's, and going shopping with all the Heathers. I want to have fun at graduation! Not just remember bullying and laughing in the back for the rest of high school, you get it?" she asked.

"No, I don't get it," J.D. muttered grimly, rubbing the black mark on his arm in irritation. "It's all a fucking fake!"

"Not everything, just some of it," Veronica put her palm on his arm, stopping him gently. "But even if I fake it somewhere, I won't remember it later. Only the good stuff will stay. Just a few more months, J.D., and we'll be out of here..."

He shook his head stubbornly:

"I shouldn't have told you about the mugs back then, you know," his lips pressed into a thin line in contempt. "If that bitch had died back then, things would be a lot better now. For you and for everyone. The world would be a much nicer place without her!"

"Let's not get into that again," Veronica frowned and drew back sharply. "I'm tired of arguing and proving..."

"Wait! I'm sorry, I..." J.D. quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, "I just don't want to see you in a hospital bed! Not because of that bitch, not because of anyone. What if it had been you instead of Duke?"

Immediately softening, she stepped forward and laid her forehead on his chest. His arms immediately closed around her, confident and tight. Maybe too tight... He sighed loudly and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm not going to take suspect diet pills, I promise. Especially not after what happened with Duke," she muttered into his shirt. Her head was spinning badly: three days of lettuce leaves and apples had taken their toll. "But I am really overweight. And my thighs are huge! Soon it'll be time to buy a prom dress..."

"You have a wonderfully curvy body, darling. And an awesome ass, if you ask me," J.D. hummed, running his hand slowly down her back teasingly; she slapped his chest with a soft giggle, "so just buy a dress that shows it off. And I'll get busy scaring off all the guys who'll be drooling over it."

"You're such an idiot," Veronica giggled, reaching up and smooching him on his stubby chin. "That's why I love you! By the way, is your bike back on the beat?"

"Yeah," a broad smile spread across his face. "Where to, princess?"

"Let's go to 7-Eleven," she shook her head determinedly, "I'm starving for a giant hot dog!"

[kirua9]

So it's time for some random Makoto facts! Some of them I'm repeating from another post, but it's been... a year since I made it ig?

Anyways

🏷 Makoto doesn't know her father (she only knows he is American), doesn't even know his name, therefore she doesn't know her real name🤔 So "Aomine" is hee mother's and uncle's surname.

🏷 "Aomine" means "blue peak" and "Makoto" means "truth"

🏷 she was given a catholic name at baptism – Veronica (which means "true image" or "who brings victory")

🏷 she was baptized at the age of six when her mother stopped participating in her life and the girl began to live under her uncle's (who's a priest) care

🏷 she's never wanted to be a nun

🏷 she's never thought of church as a place of peace or "spiritual home". Makoto had more of careless attitude to this institution (and due to this she'd never look at Yui with any hint of sympathy when the conversation is about church)

🏷 despite being unattracted to the church, she genuinely loved her uncle, although they often had arguments for religion's questions

🏷 once she wanted to dye her hair blonde just like her mom to look more like her

🏷 she looks very similar to her mom except she's half white 😭💀

🏷 Makoto wanted to become a professional athlete, tho never searched a better place for training or a coach. In the end, she ended up doing sport as a hobby in school's clubs

🏷 She's bad at literature, art and maths, on the other hand she has certain talents in chemistry ans biology

🏷 she can read music sheets because she sang chorales in church

🏷 actually, she has a good voice for singing, but never tried, so... she sounds awful

🏷 she also can't draw

🏷 in a good ending she'll become a nurse 😭

🏷 loves children

🏷 a very good swimmer. Also loves playing volleyball

🏷 an ESFP (Well, I just want her to be it, but sometimes I see my own Ne influence on elaborating her personality and she starts looking very ENFP...😩 Also I sometimes forget she isn't a Ne user and instead of reacting on physical pain with "ouch it hurts" there are phylosophical thoughts about meaning of pain💀 i swear, i'll fight it)

🏷 I consider her as 3w2 ennea (3 core because her goals are above everything else, 2wing because she intends to be attentive and sympathetic)

🏷 idk about the tritype. Maybe 379? Lmao, I'd think

🏷 Her ideal type is... Banality, but the one who's kind and loving (also me pairing her with Laito or Ruki hahaha)

🏷 She's right handed, also her dominant eye is right one

🏷 she likes dancing, wearing headphones

🏷 likes arcades, lmao she just likes playing (gamble)

🏷 a dog pesron (definitely)

[delafiseaseses]

Let's look at the Forecaster's forecasts.

I just wanna say that by reading this post about 'The Forecaster' (real name: Clay as seen in his script notes) you owe him some caps, alright? Go pay him after this. Boot up FNV, go to 188 Trading Post and give Clay what he's owed for this.

Anyway, that aside we'll start with the least interesting one 'Here':

"Local, local, the here and now... little of interest... things to buy, false hopes, and regrets watered down, washed down in dirty glasses. With regret comes a girl... smiling sad, brown robe, name Veronica, half here. Wraps her and her heart up like a pack, in the pack, a key, some say. Forecast: Cloudy, with a chance of friendship.

Ouch. Thinking small only hurts a little, but it's a sharp pain."

Even he admits it's a 'little of interest' forecast, 'thinking small'. Not too much to really disect: 188 Trading Post has some traders, regrets and Veronica Santangelo.

Let's go next to to what The Forecaster thinks on The Courier themself:

"Your face does the thinking - two to the skull, yet one gets up. Odds are against you... but they're just numbers after the two-to-one. You're playing the hand you've been dealt, but you don't let it rest, you shuffle and stack, and a gamble... a gamble that may pay off? But how? Forecast: Rapidly changing conditions.

A lot of thinking - most of it in your face, it's almost shouting at me. Sorry if I said anything weird."

Clay, you really don't have to worry about it, lad. Anyway, we did indeed get two shots to the head, and the idea of the odds being against us, but that just being 'numbers' makes sense there (especially since New Vegas is, you know, all numbers in reality). It's the hand we've been dealt, but as the protagonist we can indeed change our hand quite a bit. Pretty sure the 'gamble' is backing one of the 4 endings. Rapidly changing conditions, considerin'g' we go from shallow grave to the decider of the Second Battle of Hoover Dam... yeah, that's pretty apt.

Speakin' of Second Battle of Hoover Dam, we're going into 'Everywhere', my favourite of Clay's forecasts.

"Bull and Bear over the Dam, at each other's throats... but a light from Vegas? Ball spinning on the wheel, more than two at the table, placing bets. All lose in different ways, a dam of corpses, towns of corpses, scattered across the sand. But whose, in what shares? Even the dealer doesn't know. Forecast: A rain of blood will flood the desert and not purify it.

Bleh. Thinking about Everywhere always makes me feel a little sick..."

I'm not surprised it does, Clay... all the conflict and loss is almost certainly bad for the... "thoughts". Anyway, what a summery of the main conflict. Legion vs NCR, House over in Vegas. Could be the Courier, but they don't really 'lose' like House can. And the losses, so many of them. Not even 'The Dealer' can predict the exacts of who or where (my personal interpritation of 'The Dealer' is 'The Developers' by the by). The bloodshed, it won't purify the land: War never changes. Every ending has cons and no matter what happens, even if we were to never kill anyone, it's too late for a lot of people.

So, that's done. No need to 100% believe my ideas on the Forecasts. And go pay Clay. Really, do it. Give the Psychic boy money!