bubble.

starting to write little by little :) if I've written about it, chances are I'll answer your ask or take a request 21

[bubblebbg]

"𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞"

hitman!Ghost x reader

Killing is just a job for him. As depraved as it sounds, he's a natural at it, and he doesn't see himself ever stopping. Not with the ease and the money. When it comes to pulling the trigger, he's never hesitated.

That was until you.

WC: 2.4k

TW: suicidal thoughts, mentions of violence, gun, knife, implied intercourse, probably OOC at points

The job description had come with a hefty paycheck and little to no instructions. Fifteen thousand dollars cash, plus liquid assets. Meet at the coordinates given on Sunday at 4 AM. Details to be given there, payment after successfully finishing the mission.

Ghost isn't an idiot. He shows up with enough weapons on him to get him on the no fly list in every country.

It's damp and cold. If he didn't have his mask on right now, his breath would be coming out in white puffs inside his car. He's put even more on edge when he sees you, a stranger in a sweater and scarf, looking down as you walk.

You knock twice on the hood of his car as discussed. He unlocks the passenger side.

You slip in and take a deep breath. You look a mess, not to mention suspiciously innocent. Your eyes are tired, features ruddy from what seems to be either a lack of sleep or lots of crying. There certainly could be a weapon stashed in your sweater, but somehow he doubts it. An unlucky messenger, maybe.

"Hope it wasn't too hard finding this place," you mutter softly, managing a glance at him. He's scary. From the hard glare, silence, and what looks to be an entire arsenal on him, you get the memo. He isn't here for chit-chat, and he certainly doesn't trust you.

You sigh and soldier on. "As I mentioned in the description, you'll receive all of the money in cash after the job is done. I have some things you'll inherit, but not everything. I wrote a little contract here. It's not very professional, but-"

"Cut the bullshit. Who do you want me to kill?" His voice, gruff and low, cuts through your timid one. You feel yourself sinking into your seat.

"Me," you whisper.

It's nearly imperceptible, but you see his eyes widen. He has a way of staring right at you that puts you on edge. Like he'll shred you if you so much as make a wrong move. Ironic, considering your request.

"You what?" He asks, biting down the incredulity he feels threatening to take over his tone.

You swallow and take another deep breath, feeling emboldened. "I'm paying you to kill me. I want you to witness my last week, then put me out painlessly in my sleep. I know it's not very conventional-"

He pulls a knife on you. You can feel the presence of its cold, fatal edge just millimeters from your throat. His eyes are narrowed.

"Jesus, man," you shakily mutter.

"Who the fuck sent you?" Ghost barks.

"No one!" You feel stupid for the tears that threaten your eyes. You squeeze them shut. "It's all legit, ok? I just can't seem to do it myself, so I figured I'd pay someone. I'm just," you pause, breathing again. "I'm just done."

Ghost scrutinizes you further. You don't see it, but you can feel it - his eyes roaming over you, looking for even the slightest falsehood. Anything to indicate a lie.

You must have passed his parameters. You hear him sheath the blade.

"Bloody insane," he mutters, more to himself than you. "Fine. One week, and not a second more."

Day 1

"Red onions or yellow onions?" You look to Ghost, who pushes the cart beside you. He's switched the menacing mask for a simple balaclava under a hoodie. He gives you his signature 'I don't give a fuck' look. Expressive for a man of few words. "Yellow it is."

You get stares wherever you go with him following you. You can see why; Ghost is tall and imposing, his silence oppressive. Its nice, in a way. You feel seen beside him.

You pay for the groceries and exit the store. He puts them into the trunk of his car and drives you to your apartment.

When you enter your small place, he goes about his usual cautious routine, searching each corner and frame for some threat. You would roll your eyes, but you know its how he's survived in a harsh profession. You'd be more concerned if he didn't look around.

"You can do whatever," you shrug your coat off and start to unpack groceries to start on dinner. It's a little early, but you have nothing better to do. You quit your job last week. "TV remote is on the table if you wanna watch something."

You chop vegetables and meat in relative silence. He eventually deems the place up to his standard of safety and sits down, flicking through channels on the television. When you finish dinner, you sit on the other side of the couch and hand him a plate. "I usually only cook for one, so sorry if it came out weird."

He eats without complaint. After eating and watching shows together, you find that you don't mind the silence. Whatever it is to him, you find it domestic and comfortable. You're allowed a little bit of comfort in your last week.

For bed, you offer him pajamas, which he declines. He follows you to your room. "Gotta keep my eye on you. Just in case," He asserts in a low voice. He sits on a chair in the corner, arms crossed as he watches you. You roll your eyes, but your sleep comes quick and dreamlessly.

Day 3

The next couple days are spent much the same way. He follows you and begrudgingly participates in whatever activites you throw at him. So far you've made him go to the movies and visit the aquarium with you. Now, you've forced him on a walk in the park.

It's another grey fall day. Sometimes he walks so mechanically that it makes you want to laugh. You make him push you on the swing for a bit just because it inconveniences him. When the novelty is gone, you let him stop. "You can sit on the other swing."

He takes it. You're not sure how long you're both sat there, quiet like always. You swing slightly, really just kicking your feet, and watch the clouds as they pass.

"I like fall."

He snorts. "I bet you do. Gloomy ass."

You roll your eyes, but you smile anyways. You chance a question. "You have any family?"

You expected this same silence from him. What you didn't expect was for his quiet, hoarse answer after minutes without replying. "No."

You nod and look ahead. Is it a painful subject for everyone? "I do," you reply.

"Complicated?" More of a statement than a question.

A sigh. "Yeah."

You kick at the damp woodchips below you and bite the inside of your cheek to stop that sudden urge to cry. "I don't think they understand me."

"Do families ever understand?"

That makes you chuckle. You may have imagined it, but his eyes seemed to crinkle with the hints of a smile.

"Let's go," you stand. "It's getting dark."

Day 6

"I don't see the appeal," he gruffly states. You can hear the smirk in his voice. "Are you seriously crying?"

You sniffle and wipe the popcorn butter off your cheek. "You just don't get it. It's a cinematic masterpiece."

Since the beginning of this week, you and. Ghost had fallen into a comfortable routine. Meal, activity, nap, meal, activity, sleep. Tonight, you had gotten him to watch Pride and Prejudice with you - the 2005 version, of course - and he had made snarky comments the entire time.

"Yes, a masterpiece. You hardly ever see a male director get the female gaze right, Ghost, and," you huff as you catch him mocking you, his hand puppetting your words as you speak. You smack him with a pillow.

His eyebrows raise. "Oh, you do not want to go there with me, sweetheart." You raise your head in defiance. "Maybe I do."

He looks at you, giving you a chance to take the words back. You nail him in the face with another cushion.

He pounces. You laugh and kick and squeal, smacking him with anything you can grab. He's stronger and faster - anything he doesn't block doesn't even make him flinch.

He pins you down with a hand on your chest and uses the other to whack you repeatedly with a pillow. "Ack! Son of a -" You uselessly use your hands to try to grab the pillow or smack it away, but he smacks you anyways. "Ok ok! I surrender!"

He stops and looks down at you. You're breathing heavy, and you're smiling - really smiling. It's the first time he's seen it on you.

He drops the pillow. The hand that was on your chest releases you. You look into his eyes and you feel your heart beating against your ribs.

You eyelids flutter shut. He pulls his balaclava up just enough for his lips to meet yours.

Day 7

Ghost can't believe how impulsive he was last night. It wasn't like him. There's no room for emotions in this job, and certainly no room for waking up naked in his client's bed. You were warm in his arms.

He shakes the thought. He screwed up, yes, but it's your last day and he has no time to think about the mistake. He needs to focus on fulfilling your last needs. He takes you out to eat, drives you out to watch the city lights for awhile. You haven't had much to say.

He lays in bed with you, straining his eyes to watch the subtle changes in your expression. You're on your sides, facing each other. You trace his rough palm with a finger. He tries to ignore the electricity it sends through his nerves.

"Will it hurt?" You whisper. Suddenly, his throat feels tight. He shakes his head.

"No. You won't feel a thing."

He watches your chest rise and fall with a new breath, and the tears forming in your eyes. He catches them with a thumb before they can hit the pillow.

"I know I didn't put it in the contract, but do you think you could make sure I always have flowers on my grave? I like flowers. I don't know if anyone will leave some for me."

He lets you lace your fingers with his. His own curl to hold your hand.

"I guess I can do that."

You finally look at him. Your words tremble as they leave your lips. "Do you think I'll get into heaven?"

He frowns. Slowly, he pulls you closer. You didn't think you'd be doing so much crying this week.

"I don't know about heaven and hell," he mutters, "But if we end up in the same place, someone made a poor judgement call."

When you finally calm down, you can feel sleep taking you.

"Goodnight, Ghost."

He waits a few hours until he's sure you're deep in sleep. He slips out carefully, not wanting to wake you up. From a case, he preps his pistol. For some damn reason, his hand won't stop shaking when he points it at your forehead.

Day 8

When you wake up, light filters in through the blinds. You rub your eyes. Heaven feels just like my room, you think. That is, until you realize this is your room, and you're still alive.

You rub your eyes. Some part of you is relieved, if not confused. You leave your bed and look around the place. It's like nothing has happened, and no one has been here. Something like dread or disappointment sits in your throat. Had you imagined it all?

Your head snaps right as something catches your eye. A little yellow square. You peel a single sticky note off of your fridge. So it wasn't a dream. You smile to yourself. He has shitty handwriting. You read it, and fuck, you're crying again.

Keep your money. I'm too busy trying to get that awful movie out of my head.

-- G

[bubblebbg]

Reblogging this in hopes that my little fic gets more love 🥹 thanks everyone who has supported me so far!

[bubblebbg]

"𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞"

hitman!Ghost x reader

Killing is just a job for him. As depraved as it sounds, he's a natural at it, and he doesn't see himself ever stopping. Not with the ease and the money. When it comes to pulling the trigger, he's never hesitated.

That was until you.

WC: 2.4k

TW: suicidal thoughts, mentions of violence, gun, knife, implied intercourse, probably OOC at points

The job description had come with a hefty paycheck and little to no instructions. Fifteen thousand dollars cash, plus liquid assets. Meet at the coordinates given on Sunday at 4 AM. Details to be given there, payment after successfully finishing the mission.

Ghost isn't an idiot. He shows up with enough weapons on him to get him on the no fly list in every country.

It's damp and cold. If he didn't have his mask on right now, his breath would be coming out in white puffs inside his car. He's put even more on edge when he sees you, a stranger in a sweater and scarf, looking down as you walk.

You knock twice on the hood of his car as discussed. He unlocks the passenger side.

You slip in and take a deep breath. You look a mess, not to mention suspiciously innocent. Your eyes are tired, features ruddy from what seems to be either a lack of sleep or lots of crying. There certainly could be a weapon stashed in your sweater, but somehow he doubts it. An unlucky messenger, maybe.

"Hope it wasn't too hard finding this place," you mutter softly, managing a glance at him. He's scary. From the hard glare, silence, and what looks to be an entire arsenal on him, you get the memo. He isn't here for chit-chat, and he certainly doesn't trust you.

You sigh and soldier on. "As I mentioned in the description, you'll receive all of the money in cash after the job is done. I have some things you'll inherit, but not everything. I wrote a little contract here. It's not very professional, but-"

"Cut the bullshit. Who do you want me to kill?" His voice, gruff and low, cuts through your timid one. You feel yourself sinking into your seat.

"Me," you whisper.

It's nearly imperceptible, but you see his eyes widen. He has a way of staring right at you that puts you on edge. Like he'll shred you if you so much as make a wrong move. Ironic, considering your request.

"You what?" He asks, biting down the incredulity he feels threatening to take over his tone.

You swallow and take another deep breath, feeling emboldened. "I'm paying you to kill me. I want you to witness my last week, then put me out painlessly in my sleep. I know it's not very conventional-"

He pulls a knife on you. You can feel the presence of its cold, fatal edge just millimeters from your throat. His eyes are narrowed.

"Jesus, man," you shakily mutter.

"Who the fuck sent you?" Ghost barks.

"No one!" You feel stupid for the tears that threaten your eyes. You squeeze them shut. "It's all legit, ok? I just can't seem to do it myself, so I figured I'd pay someone. I'm just," you pause, breathing again. "I'm just done."

Ghost scrutinizes you further. You don't see it, but you can feel it - his eyes roaming over you, looking for even the slightest falsehood. Anything to indicate a lie.

You must have passed his parameters. You hear him sheath the blade.

"Bloody insane," he mutters, more to himself than you. "Fine. One week, and not a second more."

Day 1

"Red onions or yellow onions?" You look to Ghost, who pushes the cart beside you. He's switched the menacing mask for a simple balaclava under a hoodie. He gives you his signature 'I don't give a fuck' look. Expressive for a man of few words. "Yellow it is."

You get stares wherever you go with him following you. You can see why; Ghost is tall and imposing, his silence oppressive. Its nice, in a way. You feel seen beside him.

You pay for the groceries and exit the store. He puts them into the trunk of his car and drives you to your apartment.

When you enter your small place, he goes about his usual cautious routine, searching each corner and frame for some threat. You would roll your eyes, but you know its how he's survived in a harsh profession. You'd be more concerned if he didn't look around.

"You can do whatever," you shrug your coat off and start to unpack groceries to start on dinner. It's a little early, but you have nothing better to do. You quit your job last week. "TV remote is on the table if you wanna watch something."

You chop vegetables and meat in relative silence. He eventually deems the place up to his standard of safety and sits down, flicking through channels on the television. When you finish dinner, you sit on the other side of the couch and hand him a plate. "I usually only cook for one, so sorry if it came out weird."

He eats without complaint. After eating and watching shows together, you find that you don't mind the silence. Whatever it is to him, you find it domestic and comfortable. You're allowed a little bit of comfort in your last week.

For bed, you offer him pajamas, which he declines. He follows you to your room. "Gotta keep my eye on you. Just in case," He asserts in a low voice. He sits on a chair in the corner, arms crossed as he watches you. You roll your eyes, but your sleep comes quick and dreamlessly.

Day 3

The next couple days are spent much the same way. He follows you and begrudgingly participates in whatever activites you throw at him. So far you've made him go to the movies and visit the aquarium with you. Now, you've forced him on a walk in the park.

It's another grey fall day. Sometimes he walks so mechanically that it makes you want to laugh. You make him push you on the swing for a bit just because it inconveniences him. When the novelty is gone, you let him stop. "You can sit on the other swing."

He takes it. You're not sure how long you're both sat there, quiet like always. You swing slightly, really just kicking your feet, and watch the clouds as they pass.

"I like fall."

He snorts. "I bet you do. Gloomy ass."

You roll your eyes, but you smile anyways. You chance a question. "You have any family?"

You expected this same silence from him. What you didn't expect was for his quiet, hoarse answer after minutes without replying. "No."

You nod and look ahead. Is it a painful subject for everyone? "I do," you reply.

"Complicated?" More of a statement than a question.

A sigh. "Yeah."

You kick at the damp woodchips below you and bite the inside of your cheek to stop that sudden urge to cry. "I don't think they understand me."

"Do families ever understand?"

That makes you chuckle. You may have imagined it, but his eyes seemed to crinkle with the hints of a smile.

"Let's go," you stand. "It's getting dark."

Day 6

"I don't see the appeal," he gruffly states. You can hear the smirk in his voice. "Are you seriously crying?"

You sniffle and wipe the popcorn butter off your cheek. "You just don't get it. It's a cinematic masterpiece."

Since the beginning of this week, you and. Ghost had fallen into a comfortable routine. Meal, activity, nap, meal, activity, sleep. Tonight, you had gotten him to watch Pride and Prejudice with you - the 2005 version, of course - and he had made snarky comments the entire time.

"Yes, a masterpiece. You hardly ever see a male director get the female gaze right, Ghost, and," you huff as you catch him mocking you, his hand puppetting your words as you speak. You smack him with a pillow.

His eyebrows raise. "Oh, you do not want to go there with me, sweetheart." You raise your head in defiance. "Maybe I do."

He looks at you, giving you a chance to take the words back. You nail him in the face with another cushion.

He pounces. You laugh and kick and squeal, smacking him with anything you can grab. He's stronger and faster - anything he doesn't block doesn't even make him flinch.

He pins you down with a hand on your chest and uses the other to whack you repeatedly with a pillow. "Ack! Son of a -" You uselessly use your hands to try to grab the pillow or smack it away, but he smacks you anyways. "Ok ok! I surrender!"

He stops and looks down at you. You're breathing heavy, and you're smiling - really smiling. It's the first time he's seen it on you.

He drops the pillow. The hand that was on your chest releases you. You look into his eyes and you feel your heart beating against your ribs.

You eyelids flutter shut. He pulls his balaclava up just enough for his lips to meet yours.

Day 7

Ghost can't believe how impulsive he was last night. It wasn't like him. There's no room for emotions in this job, and certainly no room for waking up naked in his client's bed. You were warm in his arms.

He shakes the thought. He screwed up, yes, but it's your last day and he has no time to think about the mistake. He needs to focus on fulfilling your last needs. He takes you out to eat, drives you out to watch the city lights for awhile. You haven't had much to say.

He lays in bed with you, straining his eyes to watch the subtle changes in your expression. You're on your sides, facing each other. You trace his rough palm with a finger. He tries to ignore the electricity it sends through his nerves.

"Will it hurt?" You whisper. Suddenly, his throat feels tight. He shakes his head.

"No. You won't feel a thing."

He watches your chest rise and fall with a new breath, and the tears forming in your eyes. He catches them with a thumb before they can hit the pillow.

"I know I didn't put it in the contract, but do you think you could make sure I always have flowers on my grave? I like flowers. I don't know if anyone will leave some for me."

He lets you lace your fingers with his. His own curl to hold your hand.

"I guess I can do that."

You finally look at him. Your words tremble as they leave your lips. "Do you think I'll get into heaven?"

He frowns. Slowly, he pulls you closer. You didn't think you'd be doing so much crying this week.

"I don't know about heaven and hell," he mutters, "But if we end up in the same place, someone made a poor judgement call."

When you finally calm down, you can feel sleep taking you.

"Goodnight, Ghost."

He waits a few hours until he's sure you're deep in sleep. He slips out carefully, not wanting to wake you up. From a case, he preps his pistol. For some damn reason, his hand won't stop shaking when he points it at your forehead.

Day 8

When you wake up, light filters in through the blinds. You rub your eyes. Heaven feels just like my room, you think. That is, until you realize this is your room, and you're still alive.

You rub your eyes. Some part of you is relieved, if not confused. You leave your bed and look around the place. It's like nothing has happened, and no one has been here. Something like dread or disappointment sits in your throat. Had you imagined it all?

Your head snaps right as something catches your eye. A little yellow square. You peel a single sticky note off of your fridge. So it wasn't a dream. You smile to yourself. He has shitty handwriting. You read it, and fuck, you're crying again.

Keep your money. I'm too busy trying to get that awful movie out of my head.

-- G

[bubblebbg]

Okay. Imagine. A demon slayer reader x Mizu. Bruh. She out her with a long line of family that has killed demons all across Japan and they send the reader out with wisteria and mask and a very special katana to keep demons away or to kill them. Only to meet Mizu and find her beautiful and want her to teach them how to become a samurai. Tagging along on her travels for revenge completely content with just following her and helping her out. Not thinking she is a demon at all.

Thank you that’s all.

In a society that is deeply xenophobic and alienating, Mizu is so traumatized by her upbringing and experiences as to believe that she is a demon. Societal pressures, prejudices, and superstition, as well as deeply rooted self hatred have all contributed to the belief. This belief is so consistently reaffirmed in her daily life as an outcast to normality, that it's all but a truth to her.

Then comes Demon Slayer!reader. Someone who takes genuine interest in her and builds trust through their constant presence. Someone who Mizu can admit has an incredible set of skills and unmatched swordsmanship. Someone she comes to deeply respect, and to love.

In loving you, she doesn't wish to deceive you. She holds onto a dangerous hope that somehow, just this once, the person she cares for won't turn their back when faced with the ugly truth. She timidly asks you one night, eyes betraying some fraction of her anxiety, "Would you stay by my side if I were a demon?"

And you laugh, which does nothing to soothe her nerves. "You're not a demon. I'll never have to face that choice."

She scoffs. "Right."

You set aside your cup of tea and attempt eye contact, but she sadly stares into the bonfire. "Is that what you believe," you whisper, "that you're a demon?"

She nods, her expression a mixture of shame, anger, desperation. "I know I am. I'm an onni."

And she cares for you so deeply that she's about ready to apologize for deceiving you. But you're voice is filled with a determination she's never witnessed when you reply, "I come from generations of demon slaying. I have dedicated nearly every second of my life to tracking, hunting, and killing demons. Do you think you could have possibly deceived me all this time? Do you trust so little in my expertise that you think a demon could have fooled me for so long?"

She lifts her eyes to look at you, unsure of where you're headed.

"You are not a demon, Mizu. You aren't even close, and with me around, you never will be. I won't let you become one. However," your voice softens, your hand covering hers, "If it turned out that I was truly a fool, and that all of Japan and yourself were correct and you were a demon, I would still love you. You could have been a woman, a man, a breeze in the trees, or a storm approaching the shore, and I would have loved you anyway."

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can i ask for a jealous mizu from blue eye samurai feeling a little overprotective and jealous when taigen spars with reader bc they are a swordmaster as well? Mizu doesn’t like it how taigen always gets you to laugh or how he injures you when sparring

why yes, anon. you may. Only warning is violence, but like, not really? Not proofread. Also, Mizu's pronouns change per perspective. I may as well shamelessly plug my other Mizu fic right here ;))

❝𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝❞

Mizu has no one to blame but herself when she's forced to bite back her envy and watch you with Taigen. If you two spar one more time, she might throw up in her mouth. It's about time she takes matters into her own hands.

The clinking of metal on metal, the air sliced through with a swish; all sounds Mizu has become accustomed to. Nonetheless, her eyebrow twitches in irritation, eyes following the movements in front of her. She thinks to herself that she never wanted to be this accustomed to those sounds, especially not when accompanied with Taigen's stupid remarks.

She watches you double back after having knocked him down yet again in the midst of your spars. She hates the way the both of you giggle.

"Please," Mizu rolls her eyes, "It can't be that funny the eighth time."

Taigen collects his sword and stands, sheathing it before dusting himself off. "Like you could do any better. Sure, you're good, but you're no master." He looks to you as he says this, smiling as if the praise was at all inconspicuous. She scoffs a bit when you smile back, crossing her arms and looking to the side.

The irony of her jealousy is that it's of her own making. You've asked Mizu to train with you before, and every time it's been a no. Because she cares about you, she at least does you the decency of making up excuses. "I'm tired, maybe tomorrow" or "I'm busy" - poor excuses, she knows, but she's trying here - and you've learned to stop asking. The truth is, she doesn't trust herself to not give away what she tries to keep hidden. Her heart already beats hard enough around you. The consequence? Watching you spar with a man who's clearly inferior to you, all while he makes pathetic advances and jokes. She's not sure if she hates him or herself more right now.

"But that's right," Taigen remarks, a snarky look on his face, "You're too scared, aren't you?"

The look in your eyes is cautionary as you nudge him. "Stop it," you mutter. And Mizu knows she shouldn't be so childish as to take the bait, but this isn't about you; it's a direct challenge from Taigen on her (sort of) manlihood.

"I am not scared."

"Then prove it. Duel. Right now."

"That's enough, Taigen," you reply, always the mediator, "If Mizu doesn't want to spar, then he -"

"I'll do it," she stands, approaching you both and stopping in front of Taigen with a searing look, "And you'll see that you're not even half the swordsman I am."

𓆩… . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . …𓆪

Inhale. Exhale. You stand face to face, a few meters apart, each a hand on their sword. The cold bites, snow falling between the two of you. When you look into her eyes, you see blazing fire, a spirit like tempered steel. When she looks into yours, there's something more unnerving; calm, like the surface of water undisturbed. Her heart pounds.

Inhale, she wills herself. Exhale. She draws and lunges, and you're quick to block it. Another swing, and another, and another, all quick and strong. Sharp eyes, she thinks. Each attack of hers is stopped as soon as it begins. Your eyes, watching as if not only to prevent, but to predict.

Inhale. She steps back, assessing. You're like a fortress - impenetrable defense. Your lips curl in the slightest smile and there goes her damn heart's pounding again.

Exhale. She drops to a crouch and swipes snow at you in an attempt to blind you, to throw off your analysis. She lunges through the spray with a decisive blow, a duel-ending strike.

Nothing. Her blade hits nothing.

Instead there's a blade at her throat, with you behind her. "How the hell did you -"

She reddens at the feeling of your warm chuckle at her ear. "You're breathing gives you away," you whisper, "Every time, without fail." You sheath your blade and Mizu whips around to look at you. She can't help but share the smile you give her. "Dirty bastard," she replies, and your laughter fills the air, the only sound she'll never tire of.

"Hah! I knew it, you're no match either, Mizu!"

Mizu's about to reply when you beat her to it.

"Whatever Taigen, he lasted longer than you ever will."

And it's Mizu's turn to laugh.

[bubblebbg]

Just wanted to thank everyone for all of the support on my most recent Mizu x reader fiction, "once: forever, over and over again" . I'm still getting familiar with the tumblr community, but I'm so grateful for all of the love. Oh and of course, if you haven't read it, I'd be most pleased if you took a gander at my blog ;)))

If you have any blue eye samurai requests, please send them my way! I'm also down for JJK, AOT (specifically postwar! Levi), ATSV, Demon Slayer, and Obey Me requests. Muchos besos everyone 💋 😘

[bubblebbg]

❝𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞: 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

Mizu x Reader

- Reader in this fic is of some sort of mixed or foreign descent, but this can also be interpreted as having any trait that would make them a pariah of sorts. Warning, not proofread lol. All spur of the moment.

When you found the blue eyed stranger laying bloody on a lonely street, you took her in. You keep her warm, fed, and with mends on her wounds. Mizu knows well that there are sacrifices to be made on her path. She doesn't know just how much they can sting.

Mizu can't quite pinpoint the most irritating part of the pain. The ache of broken bones, the sting of stabs and slices, the consistent ringing in her head; everything hurts, and she supposes that like every other injury, it's all par for the course. Small price to pay for revenge. She knew she'd have to rest at some point, but she didn't expect to be incapacitated, edging on consciousness for days. Every now and then there's a sensation like coolness on her forehead, or water at her lips.

It's on day three that she becomes lucid enough to realize someone's taking care of her. Her distrustful brain is immediately sounding alarms, but her body can do little to react in such a broken state. Mizu can do nothing but lie silent and weak on this futon, sipping medicines and soups when it's brought to her mouth and being patched, cut for cut, wound for wound.

The first thing she notices about you, her caretaker, is your eyes - eyes brimming with concern and care, eyes that catch every weakness of her flesh and seek to heal. She hears your whispers of "poor thing" and "I'll get you healed up in no time". And being Mizu, her first thought is...

"Why?"

She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but she doesn't rush to take it back. Why are you, a stranger, so willing to take care of her? Why are you expending your resources on a broken thing, a mistake that any other sane person would let rot in the street where they found it?

You only smile at her, and in such a way that makes her heart race. Gentle, patient, tentative. She doesn't like it one bit, the way it pulls at doors she's kept locked for years. Her eyes focus, taking in what you look like as you stand and ready yourself to leave the room.

"I don't need your pity!" She manages to choke out. It has you stopping in your tracks.

"It's," she coughs, sputtering on words, "It's because you're just like me, isn't it? You're different. A monster."

The look on your face is one of mild amusement, an eyebrow raised and the corners of your lips upturned. She's not sure if it's that or the confidence in your next words that makes her cheeks heat up.

"I am not a monster. Neither are you."

And you're gone, leaving her to deal with the weight you've left in her chest.

𓆩… . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . …𓆪

The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months. With so many parts impaired, it'd only make sense that healing would take this long. Most of all, it's your endless patience that surprises Mizu. When she reopens a wound by carelessly trying to train despite your cautions, you're there patching it up. When she expresses her frustration with not being able to take up the sword yet, you're there reassuring her that it'll all be fine in time. You're kind when she's haughty and sarcastic (which makes her feel guilty, and thus even more indignant), and this extends to others as well. She often sees you helping children or neighbors, anyone in need. You're loved in this town.

It makes her a bit irritated, seeing your kindness bestowed on others. At first she thinks it's because she sees weakness in your actions. Then she thinks it's jealousy - why are you, someone who would otherwise be an outcast like herself, so beloved by your town? How come it didn't turn out this way for her? But when she sees you cooking enough for the both of you and the family next door, stirring slowly as the food steams, she thinks to herself, god, they're even patient when they're cooking. And then it hits her.

She is jealous, but not in the way she thought. In the way that yearns for your priority, that seeks to be the only recipient of your sweet manners and loving nature.

It doesn't help that you've grown close, too close for her liking. There have been nights spent in each other's company, saying nothing but gazing at stars. There have been conversations in which you've both laughed, some in which you cried. Mizu's mind can't help but remind her that this isn't safe; the last time she opened her heart up, it returned battered.

But this - you - feel safe. You dedicated nearly three months to healing her body, all the while you had been patching up wounds the eye can't see.

"I'm leaving," she says meekly on a warm evening, the two of you sat in a field of grass overlooking your village. You look to her and she only stares forward. You suppose it's better than her leaving without telling you, but the pain is no lesser because of the thought.

You take a deep breath and exhale before answering, "I had a feeling."

There's a long silence between the two of you. It's your turn to watch the sun setting over the trees as Mizu looks at your expression, the hints of sadness in her eyes.

"Do you... do you really have to? You are welcome here, you know. You'll always have a home here with me."

The words have Mizu choking up and suppressing the sudden and unnerving urge to cry. What you've done to her in three months still astounds her.

"I do. You know I do. I was always going to have to leave."

Mizu is caught by another urge, the urge to take those words back when she sees streams on your cheeks. You sniffle and hiccup, and it's so much less pleasant than your usual smiling disposition. It hurts in the way no blade ever could.

The sun is disappearing, and she wills herself to stand. If she doesn't, she might never go. She turns to leave and you stand as well. She stops in her tracks when you tug on her sleeve. She faces you and you slowly, carefully bring a hand to the side of her cheek. When she doesn't flinch away, you lean in close. Your lips meet in a kiss that conveys words that neither of you have the power to say.

You pull back after a moment, your forehead pressed to hers and your eyes closed. Your voice is quiet, almost inaudible when you say your goodbye.

"Break my heart once by leaving. Do not break it again by dying."

She turns and leaves while your eyes are still closed. You open them to an empty field, your palm still wet with her tears.

[bubblebbg]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝐚𝐫𝐞).

Upon popular request, part 2 of this post.

Miguel O'Hara x reader

It's just like old times, the two of you finding respite on the rooftop and away from the party. Miguel is glad to have you back, if not only for a moment. Unbeknownst to him, you're ready to return to how it was permanently, to do away with the obstacles of the present. Miguel is just as eager to accept you and turn back time together.

As things are starting to fall into place, he can't help but think about how all of this suits you. The warmth of your hand as you lead him up the fire escape and to the roof, the breeze in your hair, the way your laugh travels in the air. God, he's missed this, the way you smile, the light in your eyes, you and him. It's enough to nearly send him into a daze, that is until you sit on the roof's edge, beckoning him to sit with you. "You know," you say, and the familiarity of the way you speak has his full attention, "I'm sorry. I guess I didn't really think how much this all affected you. I've only really been thinking about myself."

You look at him apologetically, a timid smile on your face. He's not sure if he's supposed to have let go of your hand by now, but he doesn't want to. So he keeps your fingers interlaced, speaking softly in that tone reserved for you and only you. "That's not true. You've made time for me whenever you could, even if it hasn't been as much time as before. I didn't think you'd walk out without seeing your boyfriend."

You sigh, "I didn't think I would either."

He pauses, watching your expressions as you turn your gaze to the city again. Anyone else might think the slight shine in your eyes is the gleam of streetlights, but he knows you. Knows you like the back of his hand, and knows you're biting back tears. Miguel whispers, his hand leaving yours to tentatively wrap around your waist, "What do you mean?"

You take a moment, eyes searching windows and cars in the distance as if they might provide the answers, the words to say.

"It's funny, how things suddenly become clearer to you. This necklace," your hand goes to trace the silver gift around your neck, "The flower? I mentioned it once, almost a year ago, and you remembered it. And that made me so happy. So I thought -"

You breathe deeply, the tears breaking the surface despite your battle to keep them in. Miguel's hand instantly comes to wipe them, concern evident in his features. You let him, head resting on his shoulder.

"I thought to myself, when was the last time anyone else made me this happy? Or remembered anything? My boyfriend," you chuckle through the tears, amused and disgusted at your choice in partner, "He doesn't remember shit. I've been telling him about this birthday party for the last month and he still didn't take the time off. I bet you right now that the gift he has is something he picked up last minute that I don't even like. He's pathetic. I haven't been happy with him this entire time. And it's all clear now. I'm so, so stupid."

"Hey," Miguel soothes, "Don't say that."

"Miguel, don't lie. I'm stupid and you know it."

"Ok, maybe you're a little stupid," he teases, earning him a jab to the ribs as you both laugh. He smiles, rubbing your side while you lean into him, sniffling and giggling. "I don't think you're stupid for wanting to be loved though. It's human."

"I'm just stupid for not realizing it was supposed to be you."

His eyes widen in shock, sputtering and looking to your face with his cheeks turned red. "I-I.. you - huh?"

You laugh at that, eyes turned to your phone as you get a text notification. You show him your phone, and his already racing heart beats faster. It's filled with replies from your now ex-boyfriend, angry and scolding you for dumping him. "I broke up with him. Texted him with one hand and held yours in the other."

Miguel's smile widens, eyes meeting yours, "While we were going up the stairs?"

"Yep."

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

You're leaning into him, face only inches from his. He reacts in a moment's notice, eyes flickering from yours to your lips before meeting you halfway, a hand coming to cup your cheek. Your lips are softer than he imagined - and he'd never admit it, but he imagined them many times - and that warmth you exude fills his body. He all but melts into you, a weight lifting from his shoulders that he wasn't aware he had. Slowly, you part, lips still close as he mutters, "I do."

The way you look at him, riddled with the telltale signs of post-kiss afterglow (rosy cheeks, lidded eyes, glossy lips and all), it has Miguel nearly at the altar already. He's not sure how it's possible, but you've managed to make his devotion to you even deeper than before. His best friend, the person he'd gladly die on hills for, who he's watched from up close and afar: you. He's not sure when friendship become something more, but now the tenderness of your confessions sit in your hands, alive and beating.

Carefully standing up on the roof's ledge, you hold out your hand and he knows immediately what to do. He falls in place next to you just like in the past, guiding you as you step along the cement, his firm hold assuring you that you're safe. You won't fall, not with Miguel there to catch you. The two of you walk like this in a comfortable silence, savoring the sweetness of what's happened, the certainty of each other's touch.

Suddenly, there's a commotion on the fire escape. Your heads snap to look at each other and you both know what's happening; you're angry ex-boyfriend is ascending the stairs, no doubt in pursuit of some argument, maybe to ignorantly throw a few punches at Miguel and call you names (a horrendous mistake, but he's dumb enough to try). Miguel rolls his eyes. "I'll handle him," he says, turning to help you off the ledge. You don't budge.

"Don't. I've got a better idea." You pull him up onto the ledge.

"Oh," he smirks, "Are you sure? Last time we did this you nearly pissed yourself."

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "Shut up, I've changed. Come on, let's go."

"Hold on, I want that bastard to see something."

Miguel wraps his arm tight around your waist, pulling you into his chest. As your ex makes it to the top, eyes furious and jaw dropped in disbelief, Miguel kisses you again. You can feel his smirk against your lips, can hear your ex screaming. But none of that matters right now and you really couldn't care less, not when you're wrapping your arms around Miguel's neck, not when you feel safe like this.

Miguel leans back and you're both falling from the top of twenty five stories, a hasty descent for the ground as he holds you close. His chest swells with pride as the two of you watch your ex leaning over the edge in disbelief at the apparent leap of death you two have taken. The wind blowing against you, Miguel shoots out his red webs, swinging away from the building with one arm. You laugh heartily, and maybe you really have changed, your face fearless and joyful as he weaves through the cityscape with you. Different, but still you. Still his.

[bubblebbg]

would you be able to do a Miguel x f!reader where the reader is a civilian who's the sunshine to his grumpy? She's pretty much the definition of the quote "the violence it took to be this kind". She had an abusive childhood, and unfortunately she's currently up in an abusive relationship, she tries really hard to hide her pain with warmth and laughter, hiding her bruises with long sleeves in the summer and concealer.

This is my first request, I'm so happy! I wasn't really comfortable writing the physical abuse part (I don't want to misrepresent this issue) , so I've made it to where the reader is in an unhappy relationship instead. I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted. :)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.

Miguel O'Hara x reader

To him, you're one of those people that deserves better, deserves the best. Today especially, that's what you should be getting. If Miguel could, he'd hand you worlds on a silver platter. But he can't. Not with your boyfriend around to stop him.

Part 2

"Your boyfriend is the biggest asshole I've ever met. Come on, you have to know this by now." Miguel has pulled you to the balcony of your apartment and away from the music and festivities, his jaw clenched with anger as he seethes. He's never liked your boyfriend; there's you, the sweet, kind woman who's always considerate, endlessly patient, practically saintly in nature. And then there's your boyfriend, some scum of the earth who's only ever been callous and cold during your interactions. Miguel has tried and tried and tried to keep his mouth shut about it, but the way your smile faltered as you explained that he couldn't take off work to be at your birthday party is his last straw. "Seriously, today of all day's he has to work? Say the word and I'm sending that douchebag flying through a wall-"

"Miguel, stop it. It's fine, he's just a busy guy you know? And I'm sure you throw enough people around already." You chuckle, but the sadness doesn't quite leave your eyes. You sip some of the champagne in your glass, sighing as you let the alcohol numb some of your senses. Looking out at the cityscape, arms folded on the railing. He really wishes you knew how much you deserve, and the selfish part of him wants to be the one to give that to you.

When you catch him staring at you, at the way the lights of the city glow on your face, he turns forward, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "I just don't get it is all. You could have anyone you wanted, why him? Hell, you're better off alone than with him. If I could make the decisions for you, he would've been gone a long time ago."

You step closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and the champagne drained from your glass. "I know you're concerned about me, but in the end these decisions are mine to make. I'll talk to him after the party. Until then, how's everything at work? Still got a lot on your hands?"

A smile plays at his lips, feeling a bit warm from the touch. "Hey, don't go changing the subject on me. We need to talk about this."

"You change the subject on me all of the time! Humor me on my birthday, please." He rolls his eyes because he can't believe that you'd play the birthday card on him, but he also knows he can never say no to you. Not with the way you look at him. So he puts an arm around your shoulders and lets a breath out his nose.

"Still stressful, but not so bad. I guess your whole 'have meetings to help people with their mission strategy instead of just yelling at them' plan has been working." You laugh at that, eyes crinkling as you lean more into him. You look good like this, the cheery person you usually are, not the one being let down by their partner. "See? And how hard was that? If I had spider powers like you, I'd be the ultimate diplomatic leader and badass." He can't stop the laughter that bubbles up in his chest when you punch and kick the air to emphasize your badassery.

"Your form is terrible," he smirks, "You'd be dead in seconds."

"And if it weren't for me, every spider ever would have quit because of your nagging."

"Right, right, whatever makes you feel better, civilian."

This is how it's supposed to be, the way it was before you decided to date this guy. It was always you and Miguel before: him carrying all of your grocery bags as you raved about some new hobby, you and him on the roof of your apartment building, him pointing out flaws in a movie at the theater while you ate all the popcorn, him begrudgingly pushing you on a park swing despite his assertations that you were in fact too old to still do this. It hits him all at once. He's missed you. Your absence leaves gaps in his life that no one else can fill.

"Hey," he mumbles, "I know you said you didn't want any gifts, but I got you something. Happy birthday."

Your eyes widen as he timidly hands you a rectangular box, his gaze turned to the city and a light blush on his face. He watches through the corner of his eyes as you open it. Inside is a silver necklace with a lily-of-the-valley preserved in resin, the flower you told him about that grew around your childhood home. Your palm comes to cover your mouth and tears well up in your eyes at the considerate nature of his gift. (That's Miguel, always remembering the details of things you say. When was the last time your boyfriend did that again?) Miguel turns to face you with an anxious expression. "Do you not like it? I left the receipt in there, you can return it and use the money on-"

"No, no, no, it's beautiful," you smile, turning and lifting the hair from your neck, "Could you please put it on me?"

He sighs in relief, taking the necklace and clasping it gently around your neck. As soon as he's done you jump into his arms with a delighted giggle, beaming with joy. He lets himself hug you back for a few more seconds before setting you down. Seeing you like this has his heart racing as he's filled with the courage to say it, to tell you what you mean to him. He opens his mouth to speak and -

Someone shouts through the sliding doors of the balcony, "Hey, where have you been? Get inside, your boyfriend just got here!"

And just like that, the courage is gone, his mouth closing to a slight frown. As he's preparing to go back in and stomach the sight of you with that man, he sees you climbing the steps of the fire escape and stops at the door.

"What are you doing?"

You stop, turning to look at him with the breeze at your back and the moon shining on you. You offer your hand to him.

"Come on, let's go. We can sit on the rooftop like we used to."

He pauses, taking a look at the party inside. Then he takes your hand and you're leading him up like you used to, and everything that was out of place in him shifts back to fit. He smiles at how small and smooth your hand is in his larger, rough one. Yeah, he thinks.

This is how it's meant to be.

[bubblebbg]

deep wounds and how to heal them.

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

He's a man that does his job; kills when necessary, saves when he has the luxury. Miguel doesn't know how to be a healer, but he wants to. He wants to be a healer for you.

TW: mentions of blood and injury

"This is the second time in one month that you've gone and gotten yourself hurt. If you keep this up- "

"If I keep this up, what? You gonna ban me? Shit, Miguel, sometimes it seems like you only keep me around to scold me. It's fucking irritating."

He sighs, briefly pinching the space between his brows before continuing to wrap the deep gash on your arms. You're the only one who gets the privilege of speaking to him like this and you'd never admit it, but he's right; you've slipped up too much recently, and it's not like you. You're doing your best to steel your expression so as not to elude to the immense pain you're in, and you're not sure what's been getting on your nerves the most; the hopelessness of your duty itself, the way that duty eats at you, or the fact that your feelings for Miguel are what started this downward spiral in the first place.

Along with the stress of your job came the stress of this accidental relationship you and Miguel forged - too close to be just friends, but too reserved to be anything more. It was unintentional for both parties involved; when you joined the Spider Society, you were the first one to get him, always an understanding face in the midst of dealings with people who were sick of his strict, serious nature. You were immediately incredible at your job, following instructions to a tee and even helping to decrease his workload. At social events where he was uncomfortable, you'd always make your way to him armed with a witty comment and a smile, the anxiety immediately dissipating from his body. Somewhere along the way, time spent together on missions became time spent together on days off. All of the other spiders knew that where one of you was, the other wouldn't be far behind, so much so that they'd often use your names interchangeably.

Then came the lingering touches, the longing gazes, the late night conversations, all of it tinged in the bitter taste of dread and scars. Miguel's lost enough people, and enough of them have been his fault. Despite the love you undoubtedly have for each other, he's started to believe that anything he touches turns to dust. And if keeping his distance is the one thing he can do to save you in the way he couldn't with the others, then he'd rather watch from afar. So a few months ago that's exactly what he started doing, and it hurt like hell. Sure, you have other friends amongst the spiders, but you only have one Miguel. Maybe it's greedy, but you don't want anyone else, and what kills you is the futility of it all. That is what has been commanding your attention enough for the past month to get you hurt twice.

You watch the wrinkle on his forehead and the concern in his eyes as he cleans and tends to the wound. A pang of guilt hits you. The first time you were wounded this month, he rushed to your side with a quickness you hadn't seen before, holding you and promising to take care of you. It had been so long since it had been like this, the two of you close, the care he has for you slipping from his heart and into his actions before he could lock it in. When you were put on a mission with him again later in the month, there was the smallest window of time for you to dodge an incoming attack. You locked eyes with Miguel in that moment and the sick, greedy part of you wondered if you could have him back again. All it would take was a little bit of inaction. So you didn't dodge it, and now you sit here feeling like a falsity, letting him play nurse.

"I scold you because I care about you."

He mutters it just loud enough for you to hear and it shakes you right out of your thoughts. His eyes are glued to your injury to avoid the look on your face. You wish he would look at you as he speaks, but you know him, and speaking from his heart is difficult enough for him to begin with.

"I just... You've always been better than me at this kind of thing. I'm not tender and soft like you." His eyes travel up your body, finally finding yours. You can see just how much this all has pained him, which only serves to further your guilt.

"I don't know how to take care of you. I'm not sure if I even should, but I guess if I don't you'll just go off and hurt yourself even more."

Your eyes widen in shock, flushed with embarrassment. "...You knew?"

He chuckles, and it's nice to see the amusement on his face for once. It looks better than the pain. "Yeah, I knew. I could see the gears turning in your head when it happened. You don't just make mistakes like that."

He looks so timid when he talks like this, and his words break the dam on your emotions. You sniffle and hiccup as you start to cry and his arms wrap around you on instinct, pulling you into his chest to hold you. You wonder how its possible to feel this way: helpless like a crying child, safe in his arms, guilty for what you've done, relieved to know he yearned for you just as much. The sight of you like this and the way you melt into his arms is enough to dismiss the last of his reservations, his lips coming to kiss the top of your head as he whispers, "No llores, mi niña bonita. Lo siento, lo siento..."

"I'm really sorry, it won't happen again, I swear -"

"Don't. It's my fault. I hurt you before you could hurt yourself by being cold without explanation. You wouldn't have done this if I had just been better."

Eventually your crying slows, eyes puffy and red. Cute. He wipes the residual tears from your cheek and the way you're looking at each other rights every wrong, heals every wound you've dealt one another. Miguel smiles that smile you've missed, speaks to you with that warmth that's reserved for your ears only.

"So please, be patient with me. I have no idea what I'm doing. I can be hard-headed and obnoxious. But I love you. I love you enough to learn."

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've been so grateful for all of the love my posts have been receiving, especially as someone who's only started posting their writing a few days ago. If you'd like, please let me know your thoughts and if you want to be mutuals - I would love to start being more of a part of the community. :)

[bubblebbg]

"You're such a pretty girl, you know that? Prettiest girl around."

Gojo can't help but run his thumb over your soft bottom lip, a little bit red and coated in a layer of his spit. You're held tightly in his arms on his bed, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded. His admiration for you is always evident in those bright eyes of his, and now is no exception.

He chuckles at your embarrassed face - it's not the first time you've done this together, but every time may as well be with the way you look at him.

"You're even prettier when you're all flustered like this," he whispers,

"I can never get enough of you."

And truly, he can't, leaning right back in to press his lips to yours, a hand at your jaw so that you won't turn your head away in the midst of your shyness. The way you let him lead you, a sign of your trust in him, always has his heart doing jumping jacks. You taste sweet no matter when or where he kisses you, tongue dipping out to graze your lips before playing with yours. Slow, soft, warm, intimate - everything he didn't know he'd have and thanks the heavens and the earth for. He nibbles a bit on your bottom lip, rejoicing in the way it makes you whine. Pulls back just enough to look at you, a strand of saliva connecting your lips.

Insane. You drive him insane.

He rolls so that you're underneath him. One of his larger hands locked with yours and pinned next to your shoulder on the mattress.

"Perfect, baby," he mutters into your neck. Places a kiss there, worshipping you.

"You're just perfect for me." Unoccupied hand under the hem of your shirt, praising the heat of your skin, the smoothness of it. You really make it hard for him to do anything else but stay in bed with you. He wouldn't change that for the world.

[bubblebbg]

The days that pass this slow are sweet.

Yuta x reader headcanons, young love

It's been a long time since he's felt like this, the way he does about you. Yuta Okkotsu is new to romance, stumbling through young love with all of the inexperience it entails. He tries though. He really does.

When Yuta first meets you, the air is sucked out of his lungs. His face is warm and he's stuttering because you're just so beautiful, and you're nice to him on top of that.

So when you gently call his name and he realizes he's been staring at you, and intensely at that, while you tried to return the pencil he dropped, he's a total mess. You know his name? Oh my gosh, you're the most beautiful, kind person he's ever met -

Aaand, he's a goner. From that day on he hovers around you, hanging off of every bit of attention you'll spare him. He feels a bit like duck waiting to be thrown breadcrumbs, but he's too infatuated to care.

He makes sure to eat lunch with you everyday, eyes locked on your expression through every word of conversation. He thinks he's sneaky, but everyone and their mother can tell how lovesick he is.

After long days of training, he's always right there by your side with a towel and a bottle of water to help you unwind. He points out where you did well, what areas he thinks you could improve on. And if you suggest private training together? Oh boy, his heart is racing.

He can never turn you down, no matter what it is you ask. You want to go to that arcade after classes? Sure! You text him to sit on the school rooftops and just talk? He's already up there, asking where you're at.

This extends to things you don't say too - he'll see you add something to your wish list on amazon and he's handing it to you in the next week with a bashful expression. If it makes you happy, the money is better spent. Most of the things occupying your room by this point were gifts from him.

Yuta is the most considerate person you know. That time you got sick during finals, he rushed right over with all of the remedies the internet told him to get, catching you up on any missed lectures or training. His face is warm when you rest your head on his shoulder in a sick haze. His friends may make fun of him but this, this is worth it.

He tries to confess to you, he really does, and Panda and Toge are starting to get sick of waiting. But the timing just never seems right - someone else is always trying to get your attention, something is always coming up right in the middle. He doesn't blame you; you're incredible, of course everyone's pulling you from every direction. He just wishes, hopes that he's as high on your list as you are on his.

When he sees some tall, attractive guy asking for your number from afar, he's sure this is it. He tries not to cry because it's silly to cry over something that was and wasn't at the same time, but his hands are clenching the stems of the flowers he bought you, the gift bag dropped to the floor. You catch sight of him and he immediately rounds a corner. He wants you to be happy, after all. Even if that's not with him.

You follow him to where he's sat on the ground against some lockers, sitting right next to him like you always do. He smiles, and you know him well enough to know that he's biting back sadness.

"I saw that guy asking you out. Congrats! He's really cool from what I've heard, popular, smart, the works. You guys will look good together." He tries to fake excitement, but again, you know him better. This is the same boy who's been glued to you for months, he can't fool you.

And you really don't mean to humiliate him, but it makes you laugh a little, shoulders shaking and a hand over your mouth. He looks at you confused, asking, "What? What's so funny?"

You sigh in content, turning to face him. He really is so adorable. His face always gives away how he feels before he says it.

"I said no."

"...what?" Eyes wide, but heart hopeful. "Really? But he's everything! He's attractive, he's -"

"I said no because I like you, Yuta." You take the gift bag that he was hiding (poorly at that, just stuffed behind his back against the locker) with all of your favorite snacks, rifle through it and find a charm bracelet. You put it on. "Where are the flowers? I know you got some."

He feels his heart pounding like never before now, face stricken with disbelief. Slowly, timidly, he hands you the flowers he had been holding out of sight.

You take them, closing your eyes for an appreciative whiff. Hydrangeas, your favorite.

It's all he can do to meet your eyes with his right now, cheeks flushed beyond belief. "...Really?"

You laugh again and he smiles as he turns his gaze to the floor, a hand scratching the back of his head.

"Yes, you dummy. For awhile now. I've just been waiting to see if you had the balls to confess yourself. Didn't mean for that guy to get in the way."

He smiles with a happiness you haven't seen before, eyes lighting up like you've just given him the world. Yeah, you think, It's always gonna be you, Yuta.

Yuta's silent for a moment. He mutters just loud enough for you to hear, "Can I kiss you?"

And you nod, that smile playing at your face that he yearns for everyday. You lean in and he closes the gap, lips tingling and warm and body brimming with electricity.

Days like this move so slow, basked in the yellows and oranges of sunsets. This has to be the slowest time has ever felt for you two, and neither of you want it to end.

You both pull back after a bit, eyes locked and a bit breathless. You reach for his hand and his fingers interlace with yours naturally.

Yeah, slow days like this are the sweetest.

[bubblebbg]

Thinking back on it, you were doomed to break before you could even start.

It wasn't serious at first. If it had been, it would've scared him off right from the beginning - what shards of a heart Dabi had left he was unwilling to hand over easily, maybe at all. So you settled for the pieces of him you could have. You'd let him in your window at night when he'd knock, always covered in someone's blood. (You stopped asking whose, and he'd rather not tell you. He cared about you enough to spare you the details.) You'd fuss over his wounds, forcing him onto the cold toilet seat to tend to them, always scolding him, "Stop getting hurt, idiot." And he'd just give you that stupid smirk that made your face warm, teasing you with an, "I know you just care about me, doll. You couldn't hide it if you tried." Your heart fluttered every time, stitching him up a little harder than necessary, letting him hiss at the pain.

You let him sleep in your bed, let him touch you when he wanted to - and let's face it, you wanted him just as much. Fed him when he'd let you, laid on the couch and watched those shows that he groaned about, but you knew he loved them. You knew he loved you, and you loved him; you knew he wouldn't say it. So you watch when he leaves out that window at night when he thinks you're asleep. You watch his expression when he gives you that one last look before he goes, like he's not sure if he'll see you again. Like he's apologizing, something you know he'd never do to your face.

It takes a toll on you, rightfully so. The uncertainty of your relationship, the burns when he comes back, the time in between seeing each other. So when you get back from a long shift at work and he's getting ready to leave even though he promised he'd stay longer, you snap. A rubber band pulled too tight.

Here you are, shouting at each other. You started raising your voice when he would only respond with snide remarks and eye rolls to your concerns, and now you're both loud, louder than you'd like, loud enough that your own voice scares you. But you're angry and you're hurt, and fuck, you just love him. So you don't let down this time.

There's glass on the floor from a vase being thrown. Tears running down your cheek, his chest rising and falling. It's been brewing, this argument. Brewing like a storm approaching the shore from the distance.

"You promised, Dabi. You promised you'd stay for one fucking night, and you can't even do that. Do you know how worried I get about you? How hard it is to not know where you are or what the hell you're doing?"

He scoffs, hands in his pockets, "You knew how I was when you let me in your apartment for the first time. I'm fucking trying here for you, ok? Don't push it."

"That's the problem, Touya. You push and you push and you push-"

"Don't you fucking use my real name like that."

He's offended now, hurt and anger in his eyes at your usage of his real name. On any other day you'd let up and say sorry, trying to repair the fissure in what trust he has in you. But today you don't let up, voice sharp through your tears.

"You push people so hard that they can't push back, and then you blame them when they leave. But god forbid I push you the way you push me, Touya. If I pushed you like this, you would have left me in seconds."

"Don't say that. That's not true and you know it."

He looks really hurt now. You're sure if his tear ducts weren't burnt he'd be crying with you, his fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. You hate seeing him like this - you don't want to argue. But it never seems to quite get through to his head, and you're not sure anymore if it pains him to see you hurt as much as it pains you to see him. He's let you down too many times to be certain.

"Do I?"

At first you thought you asked it in your head, but the look on his face tells you you said it out loud. The question hanging in the air has you letting out a heavy breath. It's too late to take it back, and you're not sure you want to. You can feel your heart crumbling, the trust you had in him falling after taking too many hits. As strong as you'd tried to be, you aren't immune to the way he burns you.

He takes a few steps forward, face riddled with guilt. He wraps an arm around your waist, a hand coming to your chin to make you face him when you refuse to meet his gaze. He sees it now, how he's gone too far, wiping some of the tears from your cheeks.

"I wouldn't, baby. I could never leave you."

His eyes burn into yours, waiting for a response. Hoping you'll take him back like you usually do. When you finally look at him, he really does wish he had been better to you. Wishes he wasn't a raging fucking idiot, wishes he hadn't ruined someone so sweet and tender.

"...We'll see." Your voice is small now, smaller than he's ever heard it before. His eyes look at you pleadingly, begging for you to not mean what he thinks you mean. You don't have the energy to care anymore.

"What?"

"I said we'll see. I'm done pushing so hard, Touya. I'm not strong enough for this, and I don't deserve it. I love you but - I can't. I can't take it anymore."

You leave his embrace, eyes turned to your feet. You walk right past the glass on the floor and it's so unlike you - the girl he knows would have swept it up as soon as it crashed to the ground. He follows you, because this can't be it, you can't leave him. Please, god, not you, anyone but you. He follows you until you've locked yourself in your room, his hand jostling the knob before he rests his forehead on the door.

"Baby, please come out. I'll fix this, I will. I'll stay every night if I have to. I love you, just -"

Your voice is muffled and exhausted behind the door. "You have three days to pack your stuff and get out. Leave anything behind and it gets thrown away."

He crumbles to the floor, back against the door, eyes raised to the ceiling. Bloody tears drip from his eyes as he regrets and wishes some more. Wishes he had been better, wishes he hadn't tried to leave early tonight, wishes he'd told you he loved you before this, not in this fight.

But it's too late now. And you were doomed from the start.