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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 1 month

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Preggers

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: fluff, smut!

a/n: sequel to Racing Simulator, enjoy!!!

"Fuck.." You sighed closing your eyes. Your palms were sweating and resting on the sink as you waited for the results of the pregnancy test you just took without Lando knowing.

Your mouth went dry and your legs wobbled when you opened your eyes to see another line appear on the test. Positive.

Your body felt as if a heat wave just hit you. You were overwhelmed by a wide range of emotions as you put your hand over you belly trying to make yourself aware that a new life will grow in you in the coming months.

You decided to take the test secretly without anyone knowing because you didn't want anyone to put any kind of pressure on you. You've been feeling weird for the past two weeks and as a woman you knew something was happening to your body something you've never felt before.

The possibility of being pregnant immediately crossed your mind especially after coming onto Lando like a horny teenager that day in his racing chair. You were well aware that there was a great chance you were gonna get pregnant because you were ovulating and that very day you just had to spice it up.

You wisely tried to hide symptoms like nausea, inexplicable feeling of fatigue and headache. You even tried to fool yourself by attributing it all to stress at work, but it was only when you missed your period you decided to stop denying the possibility that you are pregnant. And now that you are standing over the sink looking at two clear lines, you have convinced yourself that a woman's intuition is never wrong.

You didn't even realize that a few tears ran down your cheeks until you looked yourself up in the mirror and blinked a couple of times. Taking a deep breath in you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over your face to come to your senses before going to look for Lando.

When you finally managed to get yourself together, you went to the kitchen, leaving the test behind in the bathroom. You poured yourself a glass of water looking over the kitchen island at Lando who was lying on the couch in the living room.

"Baby?" He asked looking at you from the couch, but you just kept staring at him without blinking. "Is everything okay?" He asked again, but there was no answer from you which instantly made him get up and walk over to you.

"Y/n, what's wrong? Talk to me." His gaze was full of concern as he cupped your face between his hands making you look up at him.

"I-I.." You stuttered, struggling to get the sentence out. "I have to tell you something." You put your hands over his tightening your grip around them.

"What? Tell me."

"Uh..I.." Nervousness washed over you, words didn't have the courage to leave your mouth because you didn't know what his reaction would be. you didn't often touch on the topic of children even though you had been together for 4 years. You loved each other more than anything, but you wanted to enjoy your youth as long as you could.

"Y/n, please, tell me what's going on. You're all pale and I'm getting really-"

"I'm pregnant." You cut him off making his jaw drop and eyes widen. It took him a second to process what you just said before he chuckled and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Baby..are you really?" His eyes sparkled. You didn't know at that moment, in fact, you were even confused by his reaction, but it was as if he had been dying to hear those words all this time.

"Yeah..I just took the test in the bathroom" You nodded your head smiling with teary eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours and laughed sweetly before tightly wrapping his arms around yours shoulders.

"You're freaking me out a little with how happy you are" You admit pulling back from the hug to look at him.

"Of course I'm happy. My woman is having my baby. How could I not be?" He couldn't hide his excitement and that was definitely a relief and an encouragement, but you were still kind of terrified of the new unfamiliar situation you found yourself in. "Are you not?"

"I mean..I'm a little scared. I wasn't expecting this now" He raised his eyebrows giving you a doubtful look tilting his head to the side making both of you laugh as he remembered that day he finished inside you without you complaining. "Oh stop it!" You laughed, softly punching his chest before he pulled you to himself again and you leaned your head against him.

"You have nothing to be scared of okay? I'll take care of you, of us. " His words and his hug were enough to erase every fear, every uncertainty and question mark above your head. His embrace was your safe haven, your refuge and your home where you felt the best. "We're in this together. It was going to happen sooner or later."

"You've thought about us starting a family?" You ask looking up at the blue eyes.

"For quite some time now"

"Really?" You asked visibly taken aback, but positively surprised.

"There was one particular moment when I started fantasizing about us having a kid. It was when you met Mila for the first time. When we came for a family dinner at my parents' house and then after a while you disappeared from the table and I found you two in the playroom having a tea party." Both of you smiled as he tucked your hair behind your ear reminiscing the heart warming moment.

"The way you played with her, the way you talked to her..It was so natural for you and she was delighted with you. I was just standing there at the door admiring the two of you and then my mom saw me and it was like she could read my mind right at that moment. She was like "don't wait for too long Lando". And that's when I knew, I knew you'd be the one to carry my baby one day. Nobody else but you."

"Baby, that's so sweet.." It looked like the pregnancy hormones had already kicked in because his words made you a whimpering mess beneath him. You were sobbing as you listened to the man you loved more than anything talk about everything a woman could wish for.

"Just think about us lying in bed in the morning, our baby between us. We're looking at her, kissing her, cuddling her..I can't wait to protect both of you for the rest of my life you know?"

The scene that you pictured in your head was heaven itself just like he described it and now the excitement and joy prevailed in you and the color returned to your face when you realized that everything would be fine. Everything would be just like you've always dreamed of and more.

"Now I can't wait to meet baby Norris." You said quietly giving a soft long kiss to his lips.

"Yeah, baby Norris." He proudly repeated after you loving the way it sounded. "And when are you going to let me make you mrs Norris?" He asked and you smiled shyly looking down.

If it only had been up to Lando, he would probably have married you that day when you met Mila. He knew you were the one for him. You were the one thing he was completely sure of without a single doubt in his mind. You felt the same way about him as well, but you always thought that you should wait a little longer, that you are too young, that you are not in a hurry. There was also a constant pressure from the public that you were not ready to deal with so Lando waited patiently for you to be ready.

"Now is the perfect time to take my last name." He said.

"No, people will think that you're marrying me only because you got me pregnant and I don't want that."

"I don't care what others will think. You and I both know that's not true. C'mon, baby, be my wife." He kissed you and you wrapped your arms around his neck giggling into the kiss as he seemed to propose you right then and there.

"Maybe I should accept it now that you're offering because maybe you won't want to marry me later when I'm all fat and swollen."

"Me not wanting to marry you? That is unlikely to ever happen. Besides," He says between kisses, gripping your ass he pulled you to him pressing you against his already semi hard crotch. "I can't wait to have you walking around with round belly and full breasts. Fuck, it's turning me on so much." His hands moved to your belly gently rubbing it then up to your tits underneath your cropped wide t shirt giving them a tight squeeze.

"Is that so?" You smirk deciding to go along with what he just started. "You gonna help me out with sore breasts?"

"Fuck yes baby. Gonna take such a good care of you. " The soft kisses quickly turned into more passionate and deep ones pushing tongue into each others mouth. "Turn around for me" You do as he pleases bending over the kitchen island as he grinds himself against your butt.

"I'm so hard, can you feel it?" He whispers into your ear making you shiver. Pulling your legging just below your butt, his hand slips inside your panties. His fingers quickly trace over your wet folds before attaching them to your sensitive bud. "So wet for me, fuuuck. You're my good girl, aren't you?" You nod closing your eyes and throwing your head back on his shoulder.

"Arch your back for me" He gently takes your hips in his hands pushing you onto the hard cold surface and collecting your hair into a ponytail. Teasing you with his tip at your entrance you push yourself back against him until you have him deep inside you.

"Ahh, feels so good"

"I wish you could see my point of view right now, so fucking hot." His eyes were glued on his cock disappearing into your pussy, drenching him in your wetness. "I'm not pulling out anymore, I'm gonna cum in you every time you let me fuck you"

"Oh Lando..yess, please"

"Everyone will know that I'm the one who put a baby in you. That I fucked you so good, filled you up so deep, yeah? Shit, baby.." His hands were desperately clutching at your hair while he was slamming hard into your hole. The slapping of your skin against his echoing through the kitchen.

"Yes, you fuck me so good Lando. Keep going, I'm so close." A couple more thrusts later, his hot breath against your skin and soon you were reaching your highs panting out his name.

"Fuck baby, look how much you came" His eyebrows furrowed and lips parted groaning when he saw that you left white ring around his cock taking him again and again. "Gonna play with your pussy every day. Shit, I'm gonna cum, oh shit" The sight drove him crazy, you could feel him pulsating before he spilled his cum inside you pushing his cock as deep as it went.

"You did so good, so so good." His arms pulled you to him trapping you in a tight embrace as he left small kisses on your cheek and your shoulder.

You wince as you feel him pull out of you, your juices dripping down your thighs making him curse under his breath. Unable to resist the urge, his hand slips down to your thighs collecting the dripping cum with his fingers and rubbing it all over your pussy again.

"My beautiful, most beautiful pregnant girl."

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feyhunter78 · 3 months

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Lab Partners

(Image taken from Pinterest, I believe the artist is teletwobees) More Nerd!Miguel here

Also, plz feel free to ask me about college/nerd!miguel bc he is in my thoughts now

Regret, that’s what you’re feeling as you bury your face in your arms, the lab table cool against your skin. You should’ve brought a jacket, but you didn’t have time, just raced out of your apartment to your car in leggings and a t-shirt with your letters printed across the back in purple and white bubble letters.

“Y/N are—are you okay?” Miguel’s voice is soft, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor not as soft, your head aching, pain piercing through your brain at the noise.

Your stomach rumbles and a wave of fatigue washes over you as you lift your head to look at him. “Got dragged to the bar last night.”

He’s wearing a soft looking, long sleeve dark blue shirt, the sleeves pushed up exposing his forearms, his glasses flecked with raindrops, his hair is tousled and slightly damp curling slightly at the ends.

“On a Thursday night?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he unpacks the lab equipment.

“It’s the night everyone goes out, I don’t know why, and I hate it.” You whine, massaging your temples.

Miguel’s large warm hand presses against your forehead, and you startle for a moment, causing him to jolt back, stuttering apologies.

“I—I just wanted to make sure you weren’t sick.” He says, a light dusting of pink across his tanned cheekbones.

He’s got great cheekbones, really, he’s got great everything. Maybe it’s just the hangover talking, but you really want to kiss him. Well, you’ve wanted to kiss him since he sat next to you on the first day of class. And when he slid his notes over to you the month after when he saw you struggling to keep up with the professor’s supersonic lecturing speed.

“I mean, a hangover is a kind of sickness, I’m pretty sure.” You say, your own face burning, but you can’t tell if it from his touch or the hangover.

“Don’t they say to drink something for a hangover? A Bloody Mary or a mimosa? I heard the café off campus sells them until noon.” He suggests, nerves coloring his tone.

Is he trying to ask you out? No, he can’t be. He’s Miguel, the genius, shy and sweet, and definitely not interested in you, and your hectic, dramatic life with sisters you both love and hate depending on what week it is.

“Can’t drink in letters.” You tell him, fumbling for your water bottle and taking a long drink, your eyes fluttering closed as the cool water soothes your sore throat.

“Really?” He asks, and his eyes are on you when you open yours, lingering on your lips, then darting away.

“Yep, it’s like the number one rule for all sororities all across the U.S. movies always get it wrong, really pisses me off.” You grumble, putting your water bottle back in your bag and trying to muster the energy to focus on the assignment in front of you.

“Interesting.” Miguel says, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt.

Like an absolute pervert, your eyes shoot down to the exposed sliver of skin. Tanned and toned, you swallow hard as you rip your eyes away.

“Yep, Hollywood, they always try to make us look like drunk sluts. And look, I may be drunk occasionally, but I’m not a slut.”

Miguel’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “I would never call you that—never think you were one, ever.”

You smile and pat his shoulder. “I know, Miguel, you’re too sweet for that.” You can’t help but let your hand drag down to his bicep, his stupidly firm bicep. “My sweet boy.”

His glasses clatter onto the lab table and Miguel scrambles to pick them up, slipping them back on. “Did you get to finish your assignment yet?”

You screw your eyes closed, swearing under your breath. “That’s what I forgot.”

“It’s due tomorrow.” He reminds you.

You nod and press the back of your hand to your forehead, willing your headache to recede. “Yes, yes, I know, I just shit, I totally forgot, and I’ve been so busy, we have this major philanthropy event coming up, and I’ve been up till two am all week helping paint the banner and I really don’t get anything we’re doing in here.”

You pause, sniffling, your eyes welling with tears, as you bite the inside of your cheek trying to keep from crying in the back of the lab.

“I could help you?” Miguel offers tentatively, fidgeting with his pen, his eyes darting between you and the table.

“Really? Miguel, that would be amazing.” You say, unable to resist the urge to lean over and wrap your arms around him.

He smells good, like expensive cologne, and old books.

You take a moment longer than necessary to pull back, basking in his warmth, in the way his strong arms wrap loosely around you before he gains the courage and crushes you to his chest.

“It’s no problem, why don’t we meet in the library around four? It looks like you’re almost done with it, so we shouldn’t be there for too long.” His voice low, calm, and warm vibrates in his chest, and you relax into his hold before pulling back and nodding.

“That would be perfect, thank you.” You beam at him, headache receding, the knot in your stomach unraveling, there’s something about him that’s so comforting, makes you feel safe.

He nods and focuses in on the PowerPoint the professor is going over. He looks so handsome, warm brown eyes flickering over the typed words, his broad shoulders still half turned towards you, his full lips parted ever so slightly as he mumbles to himself.

You rest your chin in your hand and watch him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep from daydreaming about what it might be like to be his.

Miguel is going places, you know it. And you? You’ve always thought it might be fun to be a trophy wife, maybe Miguel needed a trophy wife?

You can see it now, standing next to him in a gorgeous red dress, your hand around his bicep as he accepts some award for genetics. You can almost feel his lips against yours as he thanks you for your support and dips you old movie style.

“Y/N I’ll see you at four, yeah?” Miguel’s voice pulls you from your daydreams. Class is over, you’ve taken zero notes, and he definitely caught you zoning out.

You nod, and quickly gather your things. “Yeah, yeah four, I’ll meet you there!”

(Also ummm I was in a sorority my entire time at college, so I am actually the expert and Hollywood gets everything soooo wrong it makes me legit angry😭)

Miguel TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #nerd!miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #college!miguel #college!reader #college!au #sorority!reader #nerd!miguel O’Hara #nerd miguel

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1-ker0sene-1 · 3 months

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❤️❤️ah, I didn't want to dump requests into your inbox in case it came off as "cater more to ME" but if you do take requests.. I've been struggling with serious fatigue and migraines lately (Dr and I have no idea what's causing it) so I've had a hard time dragging myself out of bed and taking care of myself. Which of the cod boys do you think would find ways to help? I think Simon would be gentle but absolute in his caretaking. I bet he would hold me upright in the shower, whereas Gaz would share a bubble bath and order takeout :')

{I hope you get some answers soon anon! And don't be worried about sending requests! I love getting them ♥️}

Personally, I think each of the 141 would have similar yet subtly different approaches.

Price

John is a worrier. Always has been. The man exudes stress when it comes to the ones he loves, especially when they're in pain. He'll bundle you up in some blankets, carry you to the couch and turn down the lights. Letting you rest comfortably.

Without taking his eyes off you, he's probably in the kitchen talking to your doctor on the phone. He wants to know how to help you, not having answers frustrates him.

The rest of the time is about you. He'll get you some migraine medication. He's definitely making you eat a lot of fruit because he read somewhere it helps with headaches. He doesn't want to toss you around, just trying to keep you comfortable.

He also will not tolerate if you feel guilty about being so exhausted.

"You just don't feel good love.. don't you worry about a thing. Just let me take care of you. It's what you deserve."

Gaz

Kyle, dear Lord, will take such good care of you. Like it's second nature. From the moment you wake up, you're held close in his arms. As soon as you stir in pain he'll ask what's going on, pressing kisses to your skin.

You're gonna be pampered the entire day. The room is only lit by some candles, he'll carry you from bed to a warm bath. Stripping down and joining you as well. You won't have to lift a finger, not that he'll let you anyways- definitely not an excuse to wash and play with your hair.

He'll wave you off anytime you say that you feel like you're burdening him.

"You know I like takin' care of you anyways"

He might leave to go get you medicine real quick, probably sits in the tea aisle as well- trying to find something that helps with migraines.

Soap

Johnny, the sweet bastard, kinda takes this to have a lazy day with you. If anyone, he's the one ordering take out with you. Arms wrapped around your waist, kissing on your stomach and snuggling into you.

"my poor wee lass.."

Cooing and doting after you. You aren't getting up even if you want to. He's pulling you right back in bed, whining to not over exert yourself.

"You tell me what you need hen."

And you somewhat have to, he doesn't really know exactly what to do. But he'll do anything you ask of him. Get your medication, get you some water, practically spoon feeds you. Opens the windows to get you some fresh air. If you're cold, well he's right there to warm you up.

Ghost

Simon is more of a watch dog. At your side constantly. If you want up and around, he won't stop you. But the moment you look too exhausted, or wince from your migraine? You're getting scooped up and taken back to bed. He just wants what's best for you.

Anon is right about the shower. He'll hold you up against him, lips pressed to your forehead. Supporting you against his body, mumbling sweet words into your skin as he washes you up. Swaying the both of you slightly together with a deep rumbling hum.

"I'm right here doll.. I'm not leaving ya.."

He mutters. Simon can sometimes be a hard ass, even in your relationship. But when you're hurting like this? He can't have a mean bone in his body. Every little thing you do, you're getting so much praise for it. He knows how tired you are, you're doing so well.

#cod x reader #disabled reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #141 x reader

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kimbap-r0ll · 8 months

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Could I request the Vil, Epel, Azul, and Jamil with a who's basically the "team mom" of the first years? She's known for making snacks for the group, scolding them when mess around, getting protective of her friends when they're in danger, etc.

Hi, thank you for the ask! Sorry I'm getting to these asks so late, uni's starting up again and that means I'm starting to get busy again haha. This seems like a fun idea, thank you!

Vil, Epel, Azul, Jamil x mom-friend!reader

Vil

He's glad that you're extremely responsible but at the same time feels bad for you because you're constantly having to babysit your friends haha

Vil is the type of person to notice when you get tired or stressed really quickly, so even if you aren't completely burned out he'll make you do a self-care day with him

I feel like he liked you because of how you were protective of your friends from danger and you had no problem dealing with your friends' antics. If he was in your position he knows he would've had a headache 24/7, so he admires you

I feel like a lot of students would be scared of the two of you because of how strong you seem, but what sets you apart from Vil is how you're able to still be extremely kind and caring (not saying Vil isn't, he's just bad at showing it). He likes the sweet side of you that shows up from time to time

Epel

He was at odds with you first when you told him what he was doing was dangerous and things like that. However, after you two got closer, he realized that you weren't just a "no-fun" person and rather you cared a lot about the people you cared

Definitely tried to make you do some daring things while you two go on dates. While yes being a mom-friend does mean you are prone to saying "that's dangerous you're going to lose an arm" you aren't the type to say no when it comes to something new. I feel like it's a nice balance of safe and fun

You probably saved him from Vil a few times, mainly with him asking you to talk to him with you since Vil is such a scary person haha

Overall he likes that you're super caring and that you sometimes help him adjust to Pomefiore's rules. He wants to be someone people can rely on as well, and so you're sort of a role-model to him too

Azul

I feel like he tried to recruit you into the Monstro Lounge when he found out how efficient you are and how you're super good at catching details. However, he was scared of you a little bit because of how you were able to spot his more manipulative side extremely quickly unlike most students

I feel like once you two get to know each other, he sort of finds comfort in you unlike the comfort he's ever felt after mastering spells and such. You make him feel like he doesn't have to be perfect around you, and he admires how you are able to show kindness to everyone

You two are probably the reason the lounge is extremely well-organized. Whenever something slightly goes wrong, every Octavinelle student working there will come running to you before running to Azul now haha

When he saw how you were like around the first years, I feel like he could sympathize. He's had to manage so many different kinds of people through contracts, but for you it was like you were saving them from fire 24/7

Jamil

Ace joked that you two were going to date because of how similar you two were, turns out it's not a joke anymore!

Jamil and you first got close after taking care of Kalim's antics and then his friends (which were also your friends) and their shenanigans. Jamil and you often joked about how you two were like the parents of the group

Even though he's stressed out of his mind, he goes out of his way to make sure you aren't fatigued. If you need anything from him, whether it would be a cup of tea or just some time to read, he's there to help. I feel like he would almost be a mom-friend to you too haha

Overall you two are literally nicknamed "mom" and "dad" by students because you two sort of act like that haha. I think what Jamil would admire the most about you would be how even though you're strict and aren't scared to face danger, it's because you care about your friends and want the best for them

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #anon ask #twst scenarios #twst headcanons #twst x reader #twst vil #twst vil x reader #twst epel #twst epel x reader #twst azul #twst azul x reader #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader

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vertigoed · 1 year

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tinder 3.0 || fuckboy!satoru gojo

synopsis : in which you match with satoru gojo, tokyos most seeked after bachelor

summary: fem!reader, toxic!satoru

Part 1 | Part 2

Masterlist

it is mandatory to imagine this version of gojo when reading this part :) thank u hehe

you wake up to an empty bed, feeling hungover as your groggy eyes try to adjust to the bright sunlight shining through the french windows. you look around at your surroundings as you feel the soft silk sheets underneath you. the room was opulent with plush carpeting and decorated with expensive looking artwork, some of which you recognised as takashi murakami's.

you wondered where satoru was as you check your phone to see the time- it was almost mid day. "fuck," you groaned, not realising you slept in so much.

you swing your legs over to the side of the bed and tread your way to the ensuite. you couldn't help but gasp at the extravagance of the space. the bathroom was adorned with gold fixtures, marbled floors and sparkling chandelier hanging over the huge sunken bathtub in the middle.

"he must have rich fucking parents," you muttered.

once you've freshened up, you make your way downstairs in search of your clothes from last night. you had the fright of your life when you walked into a small framed suited man sitting in the lounge room, reading a newspaper.

he looked equally as shocked and hastily stood up from his seat, giving you a bow.

"nice to meet you y/n, i'm kiyotaka ichiji. gojo asked me to drop you off home."

"oh!" you said awkwardly, "are you his chauffeur?"

the man chuckled flatly at your question and shook his head, "i'm his co-worker but i can see why you may get that impression. are you ready to leave?"

you look down at satoru's shirt and pants you were wearing, shifting your weight from one foot to another. "i'm definitely missing clothes but i don't want to waste your time any further so yeah i'm ready to go!"

as much as you could appreciate satoru's gesture of arranging a ride, you wished he would've given you a heads up that a stranger will be waiting for you in his apartment.

after a painfully long car ride, you thank ichiji and sprint out, taking the stairs instead of the elevator as you didn't want to risk running into any of your neighbours.

once you get into the comfort of your four walls, you throw yourself onto your bed and let out a sigh, feeling like you can finally breathe.

the past 24 hours felt like a crazy whirlwind of experiences and you felt like you came back from another universe. you take a look around at your humble abode and couldn't help but compare the contrast of your lifestyle to his.

you knew you were helplessly falling for someone who was on a whole different class from you and you drift off to sleep with pessimistic thoughts and a fatigued body.

you wake up 15 hours later with a headache, feeling like absolute shit from sleeping half the day. you don't check your phone until you've showered and scoffed down a hot meal. you then open up satoru's tinder messages.

gojo: i can't stop thinking about last night

gojo: give me your number

you notice he sent this at 2pm and you look at the current time which was 2am. you quickly text him back your digits, tightly clutching your glass of water as you watch the bubbles pop up showing that he was typing.

gojo: u take a whole day to reply to me

gojo: what could u possibly be doing that made u too busy for me 🤣

you narrow your eyes and take a sip, he was acting uncalled for. the toxic part of you wanted to play games with him. he didn't have to know you were actually passed out from being fucked out too hard by him.

you: i dont have my tinder notifications on

satoru didn't reply to that and this time round, you don't hear back from him for a very long time.

three months later

you feel your phone ring and pull it out to see who was calling you during class. you frown at the unknown number and press the decline button, thinking it was a scam call.

once your lecture has finished, nobara dragged you off to a mixer, ignoring your protests as per usual.

"i told you to dress nice today," she tuts at your outfit as you made your way to the bar.

"i hate going to mixers and you know that," you rolled your eyes, looking down at your sweater and pants.

you enter the bar and nobara waves at the two college guys that were arranged for the mixer. only one of them had an enthusiastic smile on their faces.

"i dibs the pink hair guy," nobara whispered to you.

"hey guys!" the pink haired boy beams at both of you as you sit yourself across from the dark haired one, "i'm yuji and this is megumi."

the megumi guy gives a curt nod, barely smiling. he didn't seem too interested in this gathering as well.

"i'm nobara and this is y/n," your friend greets him back and you give a small smile.

nobara and yuji instantly hit it off, passionately raving to each other about some show they both watch. you sigh in boredom, watching the bubbles in your beer pop as you tune in and out of their conversation.

megumi was dead silent, his position mirroring yours with his arms tightly crossed against his chest and his eyes staring into blank space.

"what's up with you guys?"

your head shoots to yuji who was gesturing at you and megumi.

"what do you mean?" you straighten your back.

"you guys look dead," nobara chimed in, taking a sip of her drink, she clicks her fingers at you "come on, i want to see some talking."

you and megumi meet eyes for a brief second before he looks away. you turn back to the other two with a forced smile, but your eyes were begging them to stop.

"we're comfortable with the silence," you shrugged, "you can't force a conversation between us, what if we just don't feel like chatting?"

"don't you want to get to know megumi?" yuji sounded almost hurt.

"she's hooked on this old rich dude who ghosted her two months ago," nobara speaks up. you noticed megumi raise his brows, causing you to kick her under the table and she hastily added, "i mean, not like super old, just older. besides the point, that's why i dragged her along to this mixer, hoping we can find a replacement for her."

"i see," yuji nodded and suddenly perked up, "well i like your honesty nobara!"

thankfully the food came to the rescue, saving you from this uncomfortable conversation. you busy yourself by stuffing your mouth with the karage and takoyaki, washing down every bite with beer and lemon sours.

eventually, you're on your third pint of beer and nobara and yuji were both passed out in their seats, refusing to wake up, leaving poor megumi to put up with your drunken rants.

"honestly," you drawl, slamming your fist onto the table and leaning into megumi, who looked bored out of his mind, "i really do hate him megumi, i do. i just wish he'd fuck off and i wish i never met him."

"he did fuck off," he stated. his cheeks were flushed pink from alcohol but he was the most sober one out of everyone.

"that's true," you nodded, resting your head against your palms, feeling pathetic for sulking over a one night stand. your head was aching from it constantly pounding.

"how are we going to take care of these two?" megumi changed the subject, gesturing at the bodies.

"well, i definitely can't carry any of them."

"i should've just stayed home," he closed his eyes while tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

you miserably nodded in agreement. you reach for your phone in your pocket and your heart drops when you find it to be empty.

"fuck! where's my phone?"

"when did you last have it?" megumi rolled his eyes, clearly not caring about your newfound dilemma.

you think back and realise you must have left it in the lecture room. you bury your head in the table, feeling even worse and begin slamming your forehead.

"i'm so fucking stupid," you said in between hits.

"okay, you're way too drunk right now, relax, just get it tomorrow," megumi placed his hand in between your head and the table.

you raise your head and his gaze softens at the sight of your tears. he tosses some tissues at you, his voice noticeably lighter, "come outside for a smoke, fresh air will sober you up a bit."

you follow him out, wiping away at your eyes. megumi offered you a cigarette which you accepted. you let him light the end for you.

you don't notice his dark eyes staring into you as he leaned up against the wall, his cigarette mingling in the warm summer breeze.

"you smoke often?" he asked.

"only when drunk, but-"

"gojo sensei?"

you tense at the name and slowly turned to where megumi was looking at. your breath hitches when you see the white haired man you were moping over standing right before your eyes.

his hair was shorter and messier with a new undercut. he looked like he had been working out with his tight-fitting shirt accentuating his bulging biceps and broad shoulders even further.

your eyes trail over to the beautiful, dark haired girl hanging onto his arms. you quickly looked away from the pair when the girl caught you staring.

"megumi!" satoru smiled, taking his hand away from the woman to give him a wave, his eyes flickered to your cigarette in your hand before he flashed a smile at you, "and y/n! what are you two doing here?"

"wait, how do you know gojo?" megumi turned to you with a bewildered expression.

your mouth opened and closed and you look over at satoru, hoping he'd say something, but of course, he enjoyed watching you squirm under pressure.

"we don't really know each other, i think we met once at a family event," you lied, glaring at the man who was trying to stifle his laugh.

megumi blinked at you with a blank face but didn't say anything. fuck does he know i'm lying? you think to yourself.

the girl was eyeing you up and down with her lips tightly pursed, suspecting something was off from the way satoru kept shamelessly focusing checking you out.

she nudges satoru to introduce her. he quickly clears his throat with a smile and said, "excuse my manners guy, i forgot to introduce my date, this is julia-"

"julie."

"that's what i said," satoru continued and wrapped his hand around the girl's hip in the exact same way he held onto you and her scowl instantly softened into a smile.

you and julie were no different from each other.

"anyway, catch me up with what's going on with you two. how on earth do you guys know each other?"

you sighed under your breath realising the juxtaposition and take a long draw from your cigarette. your night couldn't get any worse than this.

"yuji dragged me to a mixer and i met her there," megumi replied with a shrug, glancing at you, "okay, well, have fun on your date."

"i'm just going to go back in as well," you announced and turn to walk in.

"okay-"

"i'm calling a taxi for julie now, any of you guys need a ride home?" satoru cuts megumi off. his blue eyes looking straight at you.

"i'm going to taxi with nobara," you answered, avoiding satoru's burning gaze.

you glance over at satoru's date who looked appalled at the current situation and felt a pang of guilt.

"i got my car," megumi replied dryly, "we're going back in, see you around sensei."

you don't look back at the couple and quickly follow megumi back into the bar. your blood was pumping at this point. it was infuriating that satoru was offering you a ride home when he was on another date as if he had no respect for either of you or julie.

does he really think you're that low?

you knew you had to down another pint of beer to wash away the frustration burning inside of you. megumi watched you throw back the drink in one chug, letting out a burp. he grimaced in disgust at your lack of manners.

"so what's the relationship between you two? you guys seem pretty close," you asked, wiping your mouth.

"he was my high school teacher but he looked after me when i was a kid," megumi answered, "are you into him?"

"no," you lied with a scoff but you knew your cheeks were flushed from that question.

"well you should probably drop all interest now. during the 12 years i've known him, he's never been tied down," said megumi before adding, "unless you're into the one night stands and being treated with no respect."

his words felt like a blade digging into your heart, bruising your ego and shattering the little hope you had. you don't answer for a bit and play with the hair tie around your wrist.

"well, good thing i'm not interested in your teacher."

"you are a terrible liar," megumi gives a small smirk, "let me guess, gojo is the guy you've been crying over. he fucked you and now you can't get over him?"

your jaw dropped, shocked that megumi could be so blunt when he seemed like such a reserved guy. your shoulders fall and you let out a dramatic sigh. you knew there was no point in denying the truth.

so you reveal everything to the guy who was raised by satoru gojo. one of those drunken moments that your sober self will soon enough come to regret.

----------

you check the missed calls and messages when you find your phone the next morning. your eyes widen at the string of messages from the same unknown number that was calling you.

2:09PM it's me satoru pick up my call, im free tonight wanna hang?

11:00PM u like fucking little boys like megumi?

1:00am: he cant fuck u like i do

you scoffed at the nerve of this man to be acting jealous when he was the one who ghosted you for three months.

9:00am: don't worry he wasn't little

you sent the message without thinking, then instantly regret it as soon as it delivered. you pray satoru doesn't bring you up to megumi, otherwise you would have some very awkward explaining to do.

you brush off the jittery feeling and bite back a grin, placing your screen down so you can focus on your studying. couple of minutes later, your phone buzzes again.

9:10am: are you angry at me love?

9:11am: if it makes u feel better ur mouth and pussy feels better than hers . its unfair how good u feel .

9:12am: i know you've been thinking about me too

you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste metal and you hastily put your phone on do not disturb, ignoring the warm fuzziness building up inside you. you squeeze your thighs to relieve some tension and strain your eyes onto the words but your brain was processing no information.

you had your mid term exams coming up and you had no time to be playing into his games but, your mind kept on drifting onto that particular night and like an annoying itch, you were desperate to scratch it for some relief.

as if your body had its mind of its own, your fingers begin to type out a message despite nobara's voice ringing in your head.

"ugh, he hasn't been texting you because he's busy fucking his other matches, get over it."

"you fucked him once. it was a one night stand. have some self respect and get yourself a boy our age, you're better than this!"

but nobara was wrong, you weren't better than this.

in fact, you don't think you've even been this low in your life before.

11am: ur right, i've been thinking about you

ok so nobara isnt a sorcerer in this but megumi and yuji are . this is set after the culling games and lets just be delusional and pretend nobody died, gojo won and its all sunshine and rainbows

TAGLIST: @mc-reborn @cherrymoon4 @creolequeen11210

lmk if you'd to be added to the taglist!!!! ❤️

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen

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obsessedwithmiguel · 3 months

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My Headcanons for this man.

This is my first time writting here and my first lenguage is not English, so my apologies for bad grammar.

▪︎ To be honest, I don't think he is a very affectionate person.

▪︎ I'm sure he is a person who overthinks a lot.

▪︎ He is definitely a coffee man, especially with black coffee that has no sugar or milk. Pure, pure coffee.

▪︎ Is he a man of many words? No. I think that just his look is enough to know more or less what he means.

▪︎ He doesn't like to repeat, if you didn't listen once, he won't repeat it to you again. The fact that you didn't listen is your responsibility.

▪︎ He is not late to ANY place. Always punctual. Most likely, arrive a few minutes before arrival time just to be safe.

▪︎ We all agree that this man is a workaholic.

▪︎ He hates it when neighbors play loud music in the middle of the night. He would cover his ears with those sound-blocking earplugs if he wanted to sleep.

▪︎ I don't know why, but I have a feeling that he would suffer from insomnia. Because of the nightmares he would have and because of the weight of the great responsibility he carries.

▪︎ Do you like cats? Probably. Dogs? Hmm, no thanks.

▪︎ He rarely rests because he overworks himself a lot.

▪︎ When he gets home, he deactivates the suit and lies down in bed and goes to sleep, as they say.

▪︎ When he walks he drags his feet, the fatigue is so much that he can even feel how heavy he is.

▪︎ I am 100% sure that he suffers from migraine. He must have two bottles of Advil Migraine. I bet he takes two to three pills. He has two pots at home and another two pots in his 'cave'.

▪︎ When he has a headache he lays his head on the desk and massages his own scalp, temple or forehead.

▪︎ HATES loud sounds. I feel that he would prefer that when they talk to him, it be in a normal voice. But if you are a person who normally speaks loudly (like me) you would have to speak softly and softly.

▪︎ He lowers the brightness of the screens so that they don't strain his eyesight so much.

▪︎ When he goes out, he wears glasses. They can't say no to me.

▪︎ Listen to bachata, especially Romeo Santos. His favorite songs are: Eres mia and Propuesta Indescente.

▪︎ We agree that he has a fascination with slow motion, right?

▪︎ He doesn't like to be answered. In the sense that if he is protestant, he does not like to be contradicted and/or answered with sarcasm or attitude.

#miguel o’hara headcanon #atsv headcanons #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader

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anundyingfidelity · 25 days

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part V)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.4k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: some misogyny and shit (you know who), psychiatry stuff, canon gore, blood, heads exploding, and violence?.

Notes: so I'm sorry for any mistakes during the psychyatric process, I go to therapy and take medication myself so that's all I know plus google research. And be aware of the gore descriptions, I tried to do my best I guess lol. Thanks for reading as always!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part V: Blow Your Mind

With a deep breath, you reviewed the symptoms Soldier Boy barely 'gave' during your session. The list was kind of long on the pages and it read:

Always being on guard for any danger, self-destructive behavior, irritability, angry outbursts, panic attacks, feeling emotionally numb, not trusting anyone, not feeling safe, hypervigilance, intrusive thoughts, fatigue, muscle tension, headaches, back pain...

There was a weird silence surrounding both of you, mostly because of his mood and his change in demeanor from a somewhat friendly asshole to an irritated, unbearable jerk. Once you had started with the uncomfortably stupid questions, he felt threatened. Soldier Boy wasn't actually open to talk about his past and the traumatic experiences he had, and that meant it was difficult to get to know how his body and mind were reacting to all the stress and madness he went through in decades, adding those weeks after Billy Butcher had released him from his nightmare.

He was opposed to speaking directly about how he was feeling, but you knew better that Ben speaking out on his symptoms was not going to happen. So you had to ask each one of them and review some his most harsh experiences directly, in order to receive monotonous responses, limited to: 'yes', 'no', 'I don't know,' and finally 'what the fuck is that?' You took them all as an absolute yes.

He was being defensive and you knew better than to miss anything after he almost burned the whole damn building. And with the small but confident experience you had with psychiatry, you concluded that he needed medication and therapy. As soon as fucking possible.

"Yeah, you have PTSD," you said after a moment and your eyes found his unreadable gaze.

He raised his eyebrows with false surprise. He already heard that shit from Hughie before. "And where's the fucking drugs?"

"For that to happen, you have to stop the weed first."

"I've survived bricks of coke mixed with shit you probably don't know about and you want to take the only thing that's keeping me sane? Fan-fucking-tastic!" he fumed, but you didn't flinch. Not a bit.

"Look, my goal is keeping you safe and making you sane because you definitely are not. Not right now. And since I took you out, you'll follow my process, so stop whining."

He chuckled softly with a bitter grimace on his lips as he shook his head softly. "No, that's not gonna happen."

"I don't care if you agree with that, it's settled," you continued, a triumphant smile plastered on your face.

It was true, you didn't give a single shit. He had to be clean and quit any type of drugs to start the medication but most importantly, to use his blood. Eventually. You were more than aware that he wouldn't die easily, that was proved. And it was just a matter of time to get him to your lab to take samples of his blood and run the necessary research on them while you and your team still continued the studies with the Anti-V prototype. You were only hoping that day would arrive soon enough. Two months sober, that was all you needed from him. And the best part? Soldier Boy didn't have to really know the whole details.

Ben, on the other hand, clenched his jaw so tight and closed his eyes for a moment after hearing your statement. You really were a fucking bitch, letting him fall into the abyss of misery and torture that was his own wrecked mind. He considered your intentions internally, once again for the millionth time. You showed up there all dressed up, playing a rich doctor when in reality you were just a fucking slutty brat, just to tell him he had to stop his usual pot, which you also brought happily when he asked you to. And now, you were taking away the only thing that stopped him from ripping your head off. What a great move.

"That's not smart," he insisted.

"Why not? I have you under my own terms."

Ben tilted his head, studying you carefully. "You can't stop me, doll. None of you can. I'm only here because I find it suitable instead of storming out and catching unnecessary attention."

Ben saw you swallow down, he immediately knew it was because you were angry, not scared. You never really seemed scared of him. And you tried to restrain yourself from slapping him right away. "Are you blackmailing me again, Soldier Boy?"

"Is just a warning," he said, nonchalantly. "Wouldn't want to harm such a pretty thing like you, now wouldn't we."

"Oh well, just a reminder I can also turn on the damn gas if needed," you snapped. The arrogant smirk on his lips fell off and it was your turn to smile back. "We all have hidden cards, right?"

Such an arrogant bitch, he thought.

"So, what's your plan?" you switched the subject to avoid going further into what was troubling him.

"What do you mean?"

"Homelander. You want him dead, don't you? You must be getting ready to fight again..."

His body seemed tense once you pushed him to talk, looking away from you to calm a bit. "Isn't that what all of you want?"

"Any sane person would love that, trust me."

Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes. "Well, I can do it. If I wasn't here... You've seen what he's capable of. Jesus, I've seen it," he bitterly chuckled. "And the kid? He's a fucking menace."

"You've been watching the news, I take that—"

"The fuck I do! Wasn't gonna wait for you to keep me up to date of what the fuck is going on!" Ben shouted, his loud voice roaring in your ears despite the distance.

"I don't want you to stress out more than you do," you said, vacillating. "A lot of things take time, such as you adapting to the twenty-first century."

"I'd love to know when that'll happen," Ben insisted. "Or else, I might just break out."

With a tentative smile, you started to write down the report. "I'm so glad you're talking more during our sessions."

You barely said goodbye to Soldier Boy once you finished your daily session. Your head was aching as you walked down the aisle, barely leaving the empty wing of the building behind. Certainly he was hard to handle and was behaving defensively. Before you left he began asking, or better said, bossing you to get him whatever the kid Hughie told him he needed to learn how to use. Shit like the internet and GPS, he said. You told him he was not ready for it yet.

But you'd give him a golden star for trying and insisting so badly, even if he was against eighty percent of your methods. He was up to something, there was no question for that. He was a soldier, more or less like his given supe name. People like him always had a plan, and underneath his facade, there were more plans backed up with words of honor that you had to track sooner or later.

As you made your way to your office, greeting your lab employees and guards, a disturbing sensation grew up inside. Before crossing the doorframe you subtly looked around, focusing for some reason in the security camera, more time than you'd like to admit. You turned again to finally get inside, facing the entry of your office when hurried steps and a voice stopped you from doing so.

"Doctor!"

Once again you turned on your heels to see your assistant, tablet in hand. Those had to be the results.

"Hey," you began. "You have everything?"

Bianca nodded with a straight face and handed you the tablet. You noticed her tight grip and her somehow trembling fingers when you took the device from her hands. You eyed her a little, she remained with her hands intertwined in front of her, her attention seemed lost. With caution, you continued to check the file.

"Is the patient alright?" you asked, reading the profile of the supe who had the not so good luck of being tested previously.

Solaris was his supe name. And he had the ability to manipulate light and matter with his mind. He had taken part in the program for a month now and this was his first test. As always, each supe you had into the program was low-profile. You were thankful of your team keeping these supes under their gaze to offer them some sort of solution, even after all the deaths you tracked from time to time when a test of the Anti-V was run. More than a solution for them, it was a partial contribution to find it.

You quickly scanned the updated file that Bianca completed for you. He was doing better than projected, his powers were still gone with a forecast of probably coming back within a couple of hours. A deep breath left your lips. Now that was an improvement. It was the first time anything like that happened on any tests. The supe survived, he was weak but the powers were off for a bit. It was a small step closer to your goal. Just a little bit more maybe and it could be done, finally...

"He's resting right now," Bianca interrupted your thoughts. Your eyes were back on her face.

"This is great news, thank you. I trust he's doing okay."

She nodded. "He is."

"Great, I guess I'll see him in a couple of hours," you said about entering your office.

"Wait!" Bianca suddenly closed the little space between both of you. She breathed heavily before stuttering words out. "I, I have- I'm sorry..."

"Are you okay?" you inquired, knowing her behavior was unusual. She swallowed down, turning her gaze away, her hands shaking. Was she sick? "Bianca, what's wrong?"

You tried to reach her cheek with your hand, but she stepped back abruptly, looking at you like if you were a ghost with her eyes red and wet, and a fine layer of sweat adorning her skin.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed.

You walked towards her, worried about what was going on but every step you took, she also gave it back.

"Bianca, what's happening?"

Her back bumped the wall of your office, and finally, she started to cry. "I'm sorry. You have to go, please..."

Your heart started pounding heavily on your chest. "What—"

"Go now! Please... Please don't hurt me..."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bianca," you whispered, trying to comfort her.

But she continued crying and mumbled incoherent words with eyes shut, while hot tears streamed down her face. She choked on her sobs as she pleaded for her life. But you didn't understand why. You tried to soothe her, reaching her shoulder with your free hand.

And when you placed your palm on her, everything became red. It all happened in seconds. Ropes of warm blood covered your face in an instant. A loud gasp fell from your throat. You felt every drop mixed with brains on the skin of your face, on your neck, and sliding down the skin under your blouse. It was shocking and equally disgusting. And your eyes remained shut, not brave enough to move or see the horrid picture in front of you.

Your palm was still on her shoulder when the remains of her body fell to the ground with a thud. Your trembling hand wiped some blood from your face to open your eyes anew. The wall was painted with her, as much as you were, and it left a trail of blood from where her corpse slid to the floor. Her head long fucking gone.

"Shit."

Shit. Fucking shit. Was it him? It had to be him. There was no reason to doubt it. It was him. And he complied with his promise. Had Homelander been controlling Bianca? Was she the only one? No. There had to be something more. Homelander wasn't easy and he wasn't merciful with anyone. You had to stop him and get Soldier Boy out of the building. Now.

You tried to control yourself as best as you could, walking away to reach anyone, crossing a corner on the hallway, where a guard was casually passing by.

He stopped on his tracks at your sight, covered in blood and meat. "Doctor?"

"I need your help," you whispered.

He nodded quickly and you began explaining with a low, shaky voice.

"I don't know what happened, my assistant was right there with me when— Fuck!"

You walked some inches away when his head exploded, just like Bianca's did. Luckily, or not, this time was inside his helmet. All the red brains and blood were catched by it. Still, you wanted to throw up right fucking there. The remains of his body fell to the floor with a loud sound.

With a deep breath you continued your way, finding guards, lab assistants and agents. If they were alive, their heads popped into your sight. And if it was your somehow lucky moment of the day, you just found their headless corpses lying on the ground, creating a pool of blood you tried to avoid.

The only thing on your mind was taking Ben out of the building. The alarm had been turned on and the annoying sound of it was driving you crazy. Your head ached more than ever as you made your way to Soldier Boy for the second fucking time during the day.

Since there was no time to open the heavy door properly, you used a force field around the metal, moving the door until it slipped enough to let you in. You found him standing in the middle of the room. Eyes dark and alert, with fists and frame ready to fight. He wrinkled his nose once you entered the place.

"What the fuck's going on?" Ben growled, observing your blood covered face.

"We need to go, now. Take your clothes off."

He blinked, taken aback. Before he answered you continued with an explanation.

"I'll turn you invisible, but can't turn your clothes," you ordered, looking in the closet for a sports bag you knew was inside and picking a couple of shirts, pants and boxers as quickly as time allowed you to. Once finished, you turned to Ben again.

"Mind to fucking clarify?" he insisted. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Look, I'll tell you everything once we're out," you turned one of your hands invisible for him to see.

Ben snorted with laughter. How ironic, he thought.

"No fucking way."

"Strip. We're leaving."

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon fanfiction #the boys series #the boys tv #the boys amazon prime #jensen ackles fanfiction #soldier boy/ben

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enbycrip · 1 year

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A thing about how *I* experience chronic pain: it’s not always easy to quantify when I’m in “routine” pain, esp when it’s dull rather than sharp, but it absolutely *does* affect my functioning.

So much stuff about chronic pain, especially relating to pain scales, talks about relatively lower-level routine pain that “you no longer (actively) notice” as if it then becomes a zero sum game; you no longer notice it, therefore it no longer affects you?

But a lot of the pain I live with daily *is* dull rather than sharp. And quite a lot of it I’ve been living with various kinds of intermittently for most of my life. For example, digestive pain and nausea, dull headache, and ongoing musculoskeletal pain *definitely* do affect me even when I’m not actively noticing it. It eats spoons to do things. It makes me actively *considerably* more fatigued and actively reduces my emotional capacity to process rather than react. It also reduces my executive function *enormously*, and that is *not* great at the best of times.

The best analogy I can give is that it’s like background programmes running on a computer, eating processing power.

#chronic pain #chronic fatigue #chronic illness #disability #pain scale #heds #hypermobile eds #pots syndrome #autism #autistic adult #adult adhd

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the-s1lly-corner · 5 months

Note

Maybe TADC Characters X Reader who loves gossip?

TADC cast x reader who loves to gossip!

Okok I know I have a track record of saying ik only goinv to answer a few asks then go to bed but I think I might actually

Go to bed soon

Im still feeling unwell and tbh its been getting worse; what was originally stuffy noses and sore throat is now that + fatigue and headaches (but no more sore throat!! Yay!)

Very bad sinus pain though

So uh uh

Only a handful of requests tonight then I might try to sleep

Very short since I'm sick + im on mobile + not many ideas are happening here <\3

CAINE:

Now caine looooooves to gossip, not even as a malicious thing he just likes speculating what the silly people in this circus do when hes not around

I like to think that caine definitely would play match maker should a circus member fall in love with someone, so he asks you for any and all details and secrets

POMNI:

Probably uses your habit of gossiping to try to find an exit. I mean you have a lot of into on other people, what's to say you dont have info on other things? Its worth a shot, at least in her eyes

Thus leads to her uncomfortable sitting next to you while you spew a bunch of stuff that happened before she joined the circus

RAGATHA:

Definitely on the side of "I dont like talking about people behind their back especially if its something petty or none of my business"

Obviously venting is a different story but this ask is specifically about gossip

I don't think she would like gossiping that much, other peoples business isnt her business you know?

Politely asks you to not involve her

JAX:

Jax probably has lied about another circus member before. Harmless rumors, of course, ones that are totally outrageous and only the more gullible would believe

So you two make a powerful duo, when we also take his pranks and jokes into account...

KINGER:

I think he likes some basic gossip. Like a "I heard (x) said (y) to (z), can you believe that" kind of gossip

But does it count as gossip if hes just relaying something most of the other crew knows?

Probably not but given his state of mind half the time can you really blame him?

ZOOBLE:

I took she would occasionally engage on gossip

Is it still considered gossip if its just shit talking, though? Because boy, I really do headcannon that zooble does NOT like jax in particular

Honestly you two can probably sit down and talk about stuff for HOURS

GANGLE:

Very awkward about it, similarly to ragatha I dont think she would be too big of a fan of gossiping about others

Gangle strikes me at the type to keep to herself and mind her own business tbh, not much else to say

Kind of just quietly let's you talk, very obviously doesnt want to engage in the gossip

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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call-sign-shark · 9 months

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Hey Bunny pt. 2 || Yandere!Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: You try to escape. Arthur is clearly unhappy with that: don't you understand that you're made for each other?

Words: 5k

TW: Drugs use, unreliable narrator, unrequited love, graphic depictions of violence, blood, domestic violence, allusions to non-consensual sex, stalking, depiction of obsessive behavior, horror, psychological manipulation, — this is dark, experimental, and out of character.

Notes: Italicized+bold are quotes from the show said by Arthur.

PART 1. || Masterlist

How many days went by since Arthur Shelby brought you home?

Such information was impossible for you to tell, especially because of the throbbing headache that was still hammering your skull. What you knew though was that you could not help feeling exhausted and slightly ill. The sensation was quite hard to describe, but it mainly manifested itself with a general weakness; to the extent you had trouble standing for too long, on top of being the unlucky owner of a constant dizziness that left you disoriented. Gathering all your feeble strength, you tried to open the bedroom window for more air but nothing happened when you pulled its handle. You frowned, confused, but you hadn’t enough energy to insist nor to investigate further — your legs were threatening to give up at any moment. It was with drawling steps that you came back to bed, your flickering frame collapsing on the mattress. Then, you sunk your face into the pillow and whined.

“How’s me little Bunny doing today?”

You raised your face from the comfortable pillow at the sound of Arthur’s hoarse and low voice, looking at him above your shoulder. His tall silhouette was standing in front of the door, holding a plate: he came to bring your dinner. “I still feel exhausted, Arthur. It’s really unpleasant…” You replied with a little voice, for even speaking seemed to require too much effort. At this point, your fatigue was becoming a real nuisance — which was odd considering how full of energy you usually were. You rolled on the bed to lie on your back, your beautiful but so-tired eyes looking at the ceiling with tears dawning at their corner, “I don’t think it’s normal. Maybe we should call a doctor?” You suggested, bringing your trembling hands to your forehead to wipe the thin layer of sweat that was covering it. Arthur remained silent and stared at you for a little while, his steel blue eyes slightly squinted as if he was actively thinking about his answer. Finally, he let out a little sigh and walked to the bed, first putting the plate he had in his hands on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. Once he did so, he gently grazed your cheek with his fingertips as if he had been afraid to break you with his simple touch. The physical contact with the leather of his gloves had the immediate effect to make you relax. Surprisingly enough, the infamous Arthur Shelby had been a real sweetheart with you these past few days. Indeed, the man was at your bedside, constantly spoiling you with care, good food, and company. The moments you appreciated the most were certainly when he held you in his long arms and fondled your hair, telling you about his favorite childhood memories or the many mischiefs he did with his little brothers. The more you talked, the more the emotional facet of Arthur you discovered, and the more your tiny soft spot for him grew. During this loving moment, you’d always end up dozing off, lulled by the warmth of his gravel voice. Such kindness definitely unsettled you though, when thinking about the Hell you’ve been through for months because of him. But when you thought about that it seemed too anchored in the past for you to really hate him. Moreover, people changed — or at least that was what you liked to believe.

“S’alright, love.” He whispered in a tone so soft, so loving, that you could not help but offer him a tiny and genuine smile; which made the gangster’s heart flutter — he bit the inside of his cheek. Fuck, you were so cute, lying in his bed, depending on him. Arthur stopped his caresses only to lay down next to you. He uplifted his body with one arm to lean over your frame, “The doctor came when ye were asleep eh. ‘Told me you caught a little something but it’s nothing serious. All ye need is rest and someone to take care of ye. Which is exactly what your Arthur does hmm.” He almost purred. The gangster had brought his face closer — so close that his nose was grazing your ear and his lips, hungry for you, were ghosting over your jaw. A deep shiver ran down your body at the caress of his scorching breath against your freezing skin. Despite his care and the comfort he gave you these last few days, you still turned your head to the other side to deny him access to your mouth. It did not seem to bother him though. His feverish sigh brushed the sensitive skin of your neck. “I brought ye dinner. It’s me Aunt who cooked it, yer going to like it. It’s yer favorite meal…” He let his sentence hang for his lips and pressed a delicate kiss right on your throat— A surge of electricity crossed through your body and died between your legs, leaving you a bit confused. Your brows slightly furrowed in response as one of his calloused hands languidly ran down your ribs, right above the fabric of the shirt he had lent you, “Me clothes suit you well, y’know.” The sight of you wearing nothing but your lace panties and one of his far-too-large shirts gave his stomach butterflies.

Something wasn’t coherent. How could a doctor came and diagnosed you without you even noticed it? Even asleep, you’d have heard something.

“Arthur— please…” You called him, your weak little hands trying to gently push him away, “Can you— can you tell me what happened again? I’m trying so hard to remember but everything is foggy. I feel like my mind has erased everything of this awful party…” Which was ultimately true. At your request, Arthur hummed and pulled his face back from your neck only to lock you in an intense stare, the proximity between you small enough for your noses to still touch.

“Of course, love.” The fingers of his free hands stopped fondling your body and reached your face in order to trap your chin between his thumb and his index, “Ye were partying at the Garrison when a bastard bothered you. Ye spent a bit of time with him outside, wearing light clothes. The doc’ said it was prolly why you caught somethin’ eh.” Listening attentively, you swallowed the lump in your throat. Arthur was clingy, so clingy that it stirred conflicting feelings In you. A part of you tensed at the thought of this criminal you barely knew being so lovey-dovey with you, with his hands and lips roaming freely on your frail body. The other part, lost and tired, was looking for any kind of comfort it could find, and the comfort of his arms outmatched everything you had ever experienced. “At some point, I checked if everything was okay but I overheard your conversation and he wanted to bring ye home. I heard you yelling so… I beat the shit out of this cunt and brought ye here safe.”

“You did?” Your voice was merely an exhausted meowing as you offered him another smile; He nodded in reply. Very timidly, you put your hand on the back of his head and pressed your forehead against his at the realization that he probably saved you from getting abused.

Something is wrong, that was what your instinct whispered to your ear.

Yet, your lonely heart was tamed by his softness. Could it be possible that you’ve misjudged him? Sure, what he did to Gaspard was unforgivable and he had sincerely creeped you out, but… Maybe he didn’t mean to do harm? After all, he protected you, so he could not be that bad right? Stuck in this suspended moment of utter tenderness, you observed the very details of his face as if it was the first time you saw him. Your heart missed a very small beat at his adorable freckles and the way his dark lashes fluttered when your breath melted with his — the oldest Shelby brother was definitely good-looking and charming. A kind of wild and raw charm.

Arthur could have stayed like this forever, lost in the beauty of your gaze and locked up in this room with you, but unfortunately, Tommy wanted to see him tonight and he could not say no to Shelby’s business. His lips parted and the words left his mouth reluctantly. “I’ll have to go right? Eat your dinner. Drink your nightly glass of milk and try to sleep hmm.” He hummed against the corner of your mouth . The vibration of his voice combined with the sensation of his facial hair melted your core and sent a wave of warmth in your belly. Finally, he kissed you there one last time before forcing himself to get up. This was at the moment he was about to leave the bed that Arthur felt the feeble grip of your little fingers closing on the fabric of his vest’s sleeve, trying to hold him back.

“Stay with me, please.” You sniffed, for his presence and the devoted way he took care of you made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t experienced in years. Your hazel eyes, whose color reminded him of sunlight going through a pool of honey, shone with a beseeching look, “Art’… Pretty please.”

“Oh… Bunny.” Arthur clenched his jaws — he felt his heart’s pace quicken in his chest at your intoxicating words and at the submissive way you were looking at him. At this very moment, keeping the thought of ruining you out of his mind was the most difficult struggle he had always faced. War in France was nothing compared to the restless battle that was happening in his soul. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harder until the metallic taste of blood flooded his tastebuds and soothed his violent desire. His whole being had lit up with such an indescribable euphoria that you almost saw the flames dancing in the frozen desert of his eyes, “I’ll be back soon and stay with ye forever,” He let out a long and shaky exhale from his nostrils in an attempt to keep his brutal emotions in line. For sure he didn’t want to burst into hysterical laughter in front of you and scare you away. Not after everything he did, everything he sacrificed to make this moment happen. Once he managed to alleviate his inner turmoil, the gangster gently took your little hand in his and kissed each of your knuckles with indescribable tenderness. “Sleep tight and wait for me, I’ll come back soon, slip under your bedsheet and keep ye warm eh.”

You did not wait long after Arthur left the house to eat what he had brought. Despite your poor health condition, you surprisingly felt like you were starving. Eating the last slice of bread, your lips stretched in a faint smile: he didn’t lie when he said you were going to love it. His aunt truly cooked like a chief, and you mentally noted down that you’d had to compliment her for her cooking skills the day you’ll meet her. Following this pleasant meal, your general fatigue caught up with you and you decided to go back to sleep rather quickly. A little yawn escaped from your lips — never mind the glass of milk. You left it on the nightstand, untouched, because you were already dozing off. Ready to sleep, you snuggled in the good-smelling sheet, made yourself comfortable in the large bed, and even found the best position… But Morpheus didn’t want you anymore. Worst than not sleeping, you emerged from your torpor only twenty minutes later, with an insufferable aching feeling that twisted your stomach. The pain had been so sudden, so vivid, that you sat up straight on the mattress, your eyes wide-opened and cold sweat running down your spine. The room started to spin around you for what seemed to be an eternity — and it spin so bad your nails dug into the bedsheet in a desperate attempt not to faint. Your heart was beating so fast that you could feel it pulsing in your throat, ready to be thrown up and run away by itself. But despite these sudden symptoms, all the indescribable and odd fatigue you went through for the last couple of days had entirely vanished, leaving you well-awake. The only reminder of your weak condition was the bitter taste that remained on your tongue.

“Hell…” You exhaled slowly, the heavy nausea and dizziness you just experienced finally decreasing, but the relief was short. Indeed, it was at the very moment you started to feel better than the musky and masculine perfume that was floating in the room struck you. To these peculiar fragrances, your body reacted with another fit of panic: you could recognize this cologne among thousands of others, for its owner had been the bane of your existence since the night you met at the Garrison. Arthur Shelby’s scent was all around you. It impregnated the bedsheets and stuck to your own body and hair so strongly you even wondered if he hadn’t crawled under your skin in your sleep. With renewed energy, you jumped from the bed like a cat that had just touched water, and looked all around you with quick and erratic movements: this was not your bedroom.

“No, no…” You repeated, slipping one moist palm in your fire hair, and slicking it back, all the while your mind began swirling in a whirlwind of utter panic. However, you knew you had to stay the calmest you could if you wanted to understand what was happening and if you wanted to find a solution. Hence, you focused on the cold sensation of the wooden floor to keep track of reality. After wiggling your toes a few times, the realization that you were almost naked slowly crept into your mind, “No…” A gasp escaped from your lips when you looked down and discovered that you were only dressed in your panties and a man’s shirt that was running too large for you. The same shirt you saw Arthur wore sometimes. That damn white shirt with thin dark stripes. Panic settled in your bones again, making your breath hitched and your throat tightened as if an invisible hand was trying to choke you, “Calm down Y/N, calm down!” You scolded yourself. In an ultimate attempt to remain stoic, you focused on your shaking hands — as your mother had taught you before your very first day of school. However, it wasn’t the way your fingers shook that grabbed your attention but rather the burns and scars of ropes that were engraved in your wrists. The marks, still a bit reddened, showed how harsh Arthur had been. You took a few steps back as if you had just been stricken, and wobbled under the violence of the chaotic flashbacks that suddenly assaulted your mind.

The bottle of whiskey shattering on the ground.

The ropes hanging from a gloved hand.

Arthur’s lanky body pressed against yours, trapping you against the wall. Oh Bunny… I won’t hurt ye.

Ropes biting on your skin?

In search of the truth, your eyes quickly traveled on any visible parts of your body. Then, you saw them: similar marks on your thighs and ankles. The sole sight of them triggered a stream of uncontrollable tears to overflow from your eyes, and helped you reconstitute what happened during your odd blackout: Arthur Shelby had kidnapped you. The disgusting epiphany made you feel sick in your stomach all of a sudden. Yet, many questions still remained, buzzing in your head like a hive of furious hornets: how did he manage to abduct you? Why couldn’t you remember anything? And why were you so docile these past few days? In truth, all these interrogations would have been left without answer if your gaze did not fall upon the still-full glass of milk that was on the nightstand. Water had beaded over the surface as the beverage warmed up due to the room temperature, trickling down the glass just like your crystal tears did down your cheeks.

“He drugged the fucking milk…” You whispered with a broken voice. It was all becoming clear. Yes, your excruciating fatigue and dizziness suddenly made sense. Arthur had purposefully drugged your daily glass of milk to keep you all nice and quiet, hence finding another use for the meds the doctor had prescribed him. Consequent to this last information, your self-control broke down — it was too much to handle.

“FUCKING SICK BASTARD!!!” You yelled, for your repressed panic exploded in a fit of anger and sadness. The feeling of betrayal was so excruciating and your hopelessness so crushing that all you could do was grabbed the glass of milk and smashed it against the floor. The white liquid splattered all over the parquet and filled the small space between each board. Then, not relieved by this violent gesture, you pulled your hair and screamed louder, eyes squeezed tight and lungs burning. Never in your life you had felt so close to losing your goddamn mind — and it was awfully One sole rational thought crossed your mind at that moment: you had to get the fuck out of here before he came back. Without further waiting, you rushed to the door like a chased rabbit and tried to open it — but of course, it was locked. What were you expecting? “SON OF A BITCH!!” You screamed, shaking the handle as fiercely as you could, but the door remained shut and only the only thing that replied to your desperate shrieks was the dull silence of an empty house.

Truth was, the most logical part of you knew that no matter what you attempted, it would not work. And this last conclusion killed the last bit of control that remained in your soul. Slipping into a temporary fit of fear-induced insanity, you slammed your tiny body against the heavy wooden door one first time. Your being shook at the collision with the hard surface but it didn’t stop you. Quite the contrary, adrenaline had numbed your nerves and you were more than ready to destroy your bones in bits if it was the price to pay for freedom. “OPEN IT!!” You roared, crashing yourself against the door a second time. A big thud resonated in the house. “FUCKING OPEN IT!” Another impact. And another. And another until all your strength left your body, exhausted by useless efforts. Silence fell again in Arthur’s bedroom: the only sound that could be heard was your erratic and whistling breath. You might as well face if: you were trapped for good, with no way out of this hell. All you did after your fit was to let your back slide along the door until you ended up sitting on the floor, hopeless. As your eyes aimlessly wandered around you, you noticed a sheet of paper floating in the puddle of milk. Curious, you frowned and tilted your head to the side to look at the drawing that was on it. The sketchy and dark lines were forming the shapes of a bunny, lying limp into the fangs-filled jaws of a creepy-looking wolf. You started crying again. And so did the bunny, for the milk had made the ink that composed the drawing run down the animal’s face in tar-black tears.

Arthur had been looking forwards to coming back home.

During the whole mission, his mind kept obsessing over the sight of you, peacefully sleeping in his bed with your doll face relaxed and your long fiery mane spread out on the immaculate white sheets. He had nervously moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue at the maddening memory of your feeble voice begging him to stay by your side — a sentence that was playing on repeat in his mind like a broken record. The way you had looked at him, with teary eyes and lips parted, got him on his knees. With spiraling thoughts all revolving around you, Arthur didn’t even reply to Tommy when the latter talked to him about the Epsom Derby and the Eden’s Club. All he did was stare blankly at the wall facing him, lost in the meanders of his own sick brain. The club, the races, the money, the pretty dancers, he didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was your frail arms around his body and the intoxicating way your lips grazed his burning skin when you nestled your face in the crook of his neck.

Tommy and John quickly glanced at each other after witnessing one too many of their older brother’s absences, but still, they did not ask any questions. Masculinity obliged. Moreover, it was not unusual for Arthur’s gaze to turn into the thousand-yard stare, especially after the war. Somehow he had never fully returned from France, like many other veterans. Like John and Tommy themselves — it was just more frequent in Arthur’s case. When Tommy told him they were done for tonight, Arthur simply mumbled a gruff “Alright, see ye brothers” before leaving with hastened steps, his tall silhouette disappearing in the dark veil of the nights with the walk of a preying wolf.

“Something’s wrong with Arthur lately.” Thomas Shelby’s husky and quiet voice stated as his mesmerizing turquoise eyes still remained fixed to the horizon, even after the darkness of Birmingham’s streets had swallowed his brother’s frame.

“Something’s always wrong with Arthur anyway.” John shrugged.

They never talked about it ever again.

As soon as he came home, the gangster hung up his long black coat stained with dried blood behind the door and threw his cap on the living room’s coffee table. Before heading upstairs, he stopped in front of the corridor’s mirror to slick his hair back, smooth his mustache and rearrange his bow tie: he had to be perfect for you. After a very short while of dolling himself up, Arthur finally grabbed the red carnation he had brought earlier and went up without wasting any more time. So late in the night you were certainly sleeping, but still, he had promised you to crawl in the bed, and, to be honest, he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to feel your dainty body against his. So strong, rough, and scarred. Stealthily, he walked to the bedroom, careful not to make any loud noise that would disturb your well-deserved rest. Yet, he stopped at the door and hesitated once he arrived – his heart went wild at the simple thought of seeing you. Arthur clenched his jaws, his mind spinning round and round to the point he had to grip the handle to keep himself from slipping into madness. That was because of this unpleasant feeling of being overwhelmed by his love that he took a blue little vial out of his trouser’s pocket and poured the white powder it contained on the back of his hand. Blocking one nostril with his index, Arthur snorted the cocaine line in one row, coughed a little bit, and then threw his head back, letting out a long and raspy moan. His lips parted as a sweet cocktail of euphoria and energy spread in him in a warm wave. Now he felt better, now he felt invincible. After that little boost, Arthur entered the room with a smile etched on his lips and closed the door behind him. What an unpleasant surprise it was for him when he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him with your face distorted by both anger and disgust. His smirk soon vanished when he noticed your eyes, swollen and bloodshot from hours of crying.

“Bunny?” He asked with a tinge of worry in his voice.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” You replied, biting down your enraged sobs. The gangster opened his mouth to reply to your cutting remark, but no sound came out: you had taken him aback. Instead, his steel-blue eyes quickly searched for the glass of milk, which he found smashed on the floor. It didn’t take much more for him to understand what had happened.

“It’s not what ye think, love.” He tried to remain quiet but panic was already setting in him. The red carnation slipped from his fingertips and fell on the wooden floor.

“You’ve locked me up in your bloody bedroom, almost naked…” Even you barely believed the words you were speaking, for they sounded almost surreal. It surely was a nightmare. An awful, awful nightmare.

“Fuck me.” Arthur grunted when he noticed the damaged door handle, undeniable proof that you had done everything in your power to escape. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat… You had tried to escape. In a matter of seconds, Arthur’s heart rate increased, and his mouth dried at the escalating anger he was experiencing. Why? Why would you want to escape? The first flicker of irritation manifested itself with the way his body tensed and the long inhale he took.

“I—I want to leave.” You said as firmly as you could, standing up in front of the bed.

“Leave?” His forehead creased above his frowning brows, “Nah, you ain’t leaving.” He straight off replied. All the softness and the honey with which he usually talked to you had disappeared, handing over a corrosive hostility. You batted your eyes, not recognizing him anymore. But despite everything, Arthur did try his best not to let the destructive rage that was burning within overcome him. Gathering all his willpower, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand and went on “Yer going to come back to bed eh. And yer going to let me take care of you, right? We’ll talk about it after a good night of sleep ‘cause you’re not thinking straight at the moment.” He talked slowly, making several short pauses in between words for he was fighting against the urge to let the switch in his brain flip. But the way he handled the situation, dismissing the problem and ordering you to go back to bed as if everything was normal made you lose your temper.

“Are you fucking serious? You think I’m going to obey and go back to bed? So what, Arthur? Do you want me to spread my legs for you and then thank you for fucking abducting me?” Now you were yelling, fear temporarily replaced by a blinding hatred you had never felt in your whole life, “You’re a maniac, a fucking sick bastard!” Tears flooded your vision as you spoke, "You've been ruining my life for months!"

“Stop it.” He said, as calmly as he could, his eyes flickering between you and his boots. Blood was boiling in his veins.

“The fuck is wrong with you ey?! You’ve tied me with ropes… You kept drugging me to use me as your puppet and satisfy your fucking twisted urges… Christ, Arthur!” Your voice boomed in the room. Carried on by your hatred, confidence grew in you and you approached him step by step, " Wake the fuck up!"

“Stop it.” Arthur had trouble breathing, his anger nearly suffocating him as seconds passed. He clenched his fist until his scarred knuckles whitened – God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, but a vortex of rage swirled inside him, and he knew he was about to reach his breaking point in a minute or another. Trying hard to suppress his caustic wrath, he slowly broke the distance between you and brushed your hips with his trembling fingers in a seemingly soft gesture, “Stop it, Bunny.”

But his touch felt like he had stabbed you with a knife.

“STOP CALLING ME BUNNY! MY NAME’S Y/N FOR FUCK’ SAKE. I’m not your bloody bunny! I’m nothing, and so you are!” You almost choked with your screams, pushing him with a surprising strength – At least, it had been enough to make him take a few steps back. “Get fucked, Arthur Shelby.” That being said, you pushed him again and rushed to the door in an attempt to run away from him. But Arthur’s reflexes were sharp, enhanced by cocaine, and he managed to catch you by the arm before you could reach the exit. Surely you didn't mean it, you were just a bit... Confused. But soon you'd understand that you loved him too.

“Y/N.” He scolded but you weren’t listening anymore. You didn’t want to listen, you wanted to leave this damn place and you wanted it now. Guided by panic, you threw a nasty punch right at his chin -- your knuckles aching from the shock with his jawbone. When you realized what you had just done, it was already too late. Arthur’s face turned to the side at the violence of your blow, making him bite his tongue so hard he felt the metallic taste of blood exploding in his mouth. Then, silence fell in the room. The threatening and chilling silence which follows the blast of a bomb, right before the screams and cries start to echo. “What the hell did ye…” He muttered, bringing his trembling free hand to his bleeding mouth. The other was still firmly holding your arm, keeping you from escaping so firmly that he almost broke your bone. His fair eyes, adorned with pretty lashes and charming crow feet, suddenly darkened like a predator that had just smelt the distress of a wounded prey.

“Let me go!” You whined, pulling on your arm as fiercely as you can and clawing his hand with your nails to try to break from his grip.

“ALRIGHT THEN!” He burst out, definitely losing control. With brutal movements, Arthur pounced on you with the strength of a rabid wolf, and trapped your wrists with one of his hands before pushing you against the nearby wall to pin them above your head, “Al-fucking-right! Are we hitting each other now? That’s what ye want?!” He barked loudly with blood dripping from his mouth, only a few inches away from your face. “Did I laid a fookin’ finger on you? Nah, so the least you can do is be FOOKIN’ civilized!” A cry of pain escaped from your lips as he shoved you a second time against the wall, the collision between it and your frail body making all your bones shake.

“You’re hurting me!” You lamented, wriggling under his grip. The gangster was holding your wrists so tight that your fingertips were starting to tingle.

“Am I?” He replied in a low growl – Arthur’s lips stretched into a carnivorous smile, showcasing blood-stained teeth whose canines were pointy. His face was red, his rage highlighted with the pumping vein on his forehead, “Listen to me. I don’t bloody know what the hell yer implying, but I didn’t satisfy my urges, as you said. If it had been the case, you would have woken up every day with cum dripping down yer tight pussy.” All you could see now was the white of his eyes. “I would have ruined ye until ye could not walk anymore, filled every fookin’ hole of your body,” He pressed you harder against the wall, his words stirring desire in him, “Marked every inch of your skin,” He licked the blood off his lips with the tip of his tongue, the taste only arousing his more, "Made you fookin' choke on my cock ‘til you’d look at me with teary eyes and drool running down your bratty mouth." The sparkle that lit up his steel-blue eyes betrayed how he enjoyed keeping you restrained -- and probably how the darkest side of his obsessive love would love to make such things to you, "So don’t make me fookin’ regret being a gentleman with ye.”

“Please Arthur, stop! I—I wanna go home please…” You begged him, despair and terror overcoming you.

“Now ye say please, ey! Now you ain’t callin’ me a maniac anymore, are ye?!” He let out a hoarse and menacing chuckle, spitting a few droplets of blood at your face as he did, “That’s not how ye should talk to your bloody man, sweetheart.” With ragged breath and bare teeth, you knew Arthur was at the very edge of going for your throat.

Yet, you looked at him straight in the eyes through your tears and spat at his face, disgusted by all he had said. “You’re not my man and you’ll never be!”

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Trembling with rage, and fury shining in his eyes, Arthur grabbed you fiercely and threw you on the floor, right where the glass shards were scattered. You had barely understood what had just happened when the piercing and excruciating sensation of the glass cutting your flesh awoke in your body. You yelled in pain, your voice so loud that it did not seem human anymore – you sounded like prey screaming with agony. Terrified and in utter panic, you wanted to move but didn’t, for the sight of your own blood suddenly made you feel sick. You were bleeding. Fucking bleeding.

“Oh God, oh God…” You sobbed.

“Why don’t ye understand that I fookin’ love you eh?!” Arthur brawled even louder, standing in front of you and towering over you with all his height as you were crying in crimson stains of fresh blood and shattered glass, “We're made for each other, Bunny. I know it. I knew it from the moment ye smiled at me at the Garrison: you wanted me to come for you... And here I am, love! All fookin' yours!" He said, opening up his arms and tilting his head slightly to the side, his lips stretched in a blood-stained and frightening grin. As your eyes watched him with horror, you understood the extent of his madness. Then, Arthur leaned over you and grabbed you by the neck to bring you closer again. In a reflex, you shut your eyes tight at the sensation of his calloused hand tightening around your throat, “I won’t let you leave me, hm?” He groaned. His breath – erratic and panting – crashed on your face, “I’ll tell you…” He started with his low and gruff voice, whose gravel tones broke the last will of fighting that remained in you, “All you’re gonna do now is be a good fuckin’ wife,” He breathed heavily, while his free hand roamed over your face in a soft caress. In the violence of your fight, some strands of his hair had come loose and were now hanging down his sharp face, “Yeah, like the perfect couple. We’ll go in the bathroom hm.” Arthur strangle you a tiny bit harder to feel your heartbeat against his palm, which resulted in you moaning in pain. “ We’ll go in the bathroom. We’ll get you all clean yeah.” His lips crashed against yours without searching for your consent, stealing a few pecks from your plump lips before his voice turned into a whisper, “Yeah. We’ll make love, hmm?” He kissed you again and again until his light pecks weren't enough for him and he decided to let his tongue force its way into your mouth. The taste of whisky and blood overwhelmed you. Desperate, you tried to move away, for you were suffocating as he moaned softly and low in your mouth, but he was too strong.

“Please…” You begged against his lips, sobbing — but he remained unmoved by your cries. The room was spinning all around you as you realized how stupid you had been thinking you could have escaped. How suicidal it was to underestimate his obsession with you.

With trembling fingers, you cautiously touched the back of the hand that was choking you. Despite your thoughts crashing into each other in your skull and the despair that was beating you down, you still managed to understand one essential thing: you had to calm him down. You had to do it if you didn’t want him to kill you out of anger – especially since his brutal and crazy fit was enhanced by the fact he was high. Yes, you definitely had to find a way to lure him into a more stable mood…Because you just knew that if he couldn’t have you, no one else would. With everything it implied. Gathering your courage, you looked up and hold his gaze even though pure terror shone in your hazel iris, “I’m… I’m sorry Arthur…” You gritted your teeth, black dots dancing in front of your eyes. Air. You needed some air.

“Hmm?” He replied, his lips still grazing yours. Nevertheless, the tender sensation of your skin against his made him loosen his grip around your neck.

“You’re—You’re right. We’ll do that.”

“Are we?” He groaned, rubbing his cheek against yours like a wildcat. If he could have purred at this moment, he would have certainly do so.

You forced a smile, but tears still ran down uncontrollably from your honey eyes, “Yes Arthur.” You finally said, letting his void swallow you whole. Why would you fight? Your fate was sealed, and you just knew you would never leave. Your future was to be with him and nothing would ever change that. Even if you managed to escape one day, you knew he would track you down until you were either his or dead and cold. All you could do now was just do your best not to get yourself killed.

A few days ago you were Y/N. A young and joyful student, whose excellent grades and good nature made your mother proud. Now you were just Bunny. Fucked up and enslaved Bunny. And Bunny belonged to Arthur Shelby.

For the best.

But particularly the worst.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

The image of the limo rabbit in the wolfs mouth was an idea of the talented @zablife

Tagging some of Arthur’s bunnies: @helen06dreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyltd @peakyswritings @dearshelby @raincoffeeandfandoms @kissforvoid @psychadelichues @shelbydelrey

Gif by Ria (@alicent-targaryen)

#peaky blinders #Arthur shelby #Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders x reader #arthur shelby x y/n #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders fanfic #Tommy shelby #A little too much #dark fanfiction #yandere x reader #dark!arthur shelby

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wiltingedelweiss · 4 months

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What is Sage Island’s altitude??

Maybe I’m the only one who thinks about this, but would anyone else/anyone else’s Yuu be so confused about the air quality on Sage Island???

Lemme clarify. I live in extremely high altitudes, which means really thin air, and where I live, very cold weather.

I’d be in twst like “dang this air cured my asthma.”

Or I’d try to bake and be really confused as to why everything comes out wrong. Like, the temperature is too hot, there’s not enough flour or liquid, and definitely not enough sugar. Cakes are always collapsed and have batter bubbling down the sides. The finished product is dense and tough. Dough wouldn’t be left to rise long enough. I could go on, but the point is;

Trey would be horrified.

Holiday break comes around and I’d be prepared for an apocalypse. Anything to increase humidity, towels/blankets covering windows/door cracks, lotions, I’d get shorts and cut sleeves off shirts because the last thing you want is to sweat in the cold, and have blanket piles in every room along with a surplus of fire wood/kindling.

If the altitude difference is high enough you would not be looking good your first day there. Reverse altitude sickness sucks. Some cases it’s not too bad, just headaches, and fatigue. But it can get so much worse.

On top of the previously mentioned symptoms there’s nausea, dizziness, shortness of breath (and sometimes a fun rattling sound when you try to breathe), heart palpitations, tightness in your chest, and even blue and grey lips and fingernails.

So that entrance ceremony would not be fun.

Am I the only one who thinks about this?????

#disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst yuu #disney twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst x mc #twst x yuu

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ecriter · 1 year

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Make the Bond - Pt. 1

Summary: Unexpectedly, your life is flipped upside down when a waterlogged stranger washes ashore in your village. Hostile, nasty, and unable to speak the language, he makes for a headache of a combo. But something inside tells you not to give up on him, that he's capable of learning and change. But how are you supposed to trust this yellow-eyed stranger when you suspect there's more to him than he's letting on? Not to mention the rumors of a dangerous avatar on the loose....

A/N: Link to the ao3 version here.

Part one of ? Part Two Part Three

At first, you had thought you’d made a really good catch.

It was the last toss of a very long day and your basket was frustratingly empty. The fibers of the net had rubbed your hands to an irritated red and your shoulders were aching from fatigue. Your fishing abilities were not one of the finer things about yourself. Many of your days were spent in the corals of the shallows, plucking stones smoothed from decades of the ocean tide to weave into jewelry or languishing in tide pools warmed from the sun. You'd matured in the clan, and had passed the tests required of young Metkayina to reach adulthood, and yet you felt a certain displacement in your village. Your father, Olo'eyktan of your settlement, was often troubled by this. Though you weren't in line to inherit titles and responsibilities (those would fall to your eldest brother), a certain measure of appearances still needed to be kept. And having an aloof youngest daughter didn't help. So, in line with the duties of a daughter, you were often sent to do tasks away from the village. Like fishing.

In the sky, the sun kissed the edge of Polyphemus, a signal that your time in the shallows was ending. At eclipse, you’d return to the village with your measly basket of nothing, face the embarrassment of being unable to catch much of anything, and retire to your pod for the night. If you were lucky and vigilance was low that evening, the opportunity could present itself to slip away and spend some time alone in the reef, exploring.

The net in your hands seemed impossibly heavy as you pulled it from the lapping tides and gathered it around your wrists. One last toss and you’d be done, could officially declare that you’d tried your very best and expended maximum effort to contribute to the clan. Squinting out into the water, you searched for a break in the waves, an indication that a school of fish may have broken into the shallows, but it all looked the same. Damn. Going off of a prayer.

Taking a deep breath, you adjusted the rope, reeling your arms back, back, back, and – there! A flash of deep blue broke the water and the net was out of your hands in an instant. It arched through the air, blooming into a wide birth that settled across the surface of the water. Yanking the cord wrapped around your wrist, the net puckered around its catch and tugged through the currents back toward you. The weight felt disproportionately heavy than what you were used to and you swore you saw a flash of green that you couldn’t remember belonging to any marine life you were familiar with. Still, a catch was a catch, and it was one more than you thought you would be going home with.

The net crested one last wave and beached the sand, propelled by the momentum of the tide.

This is way too big to be a fish, was your first thought.

Holy shit, that’s a person, was your second.

You lunged for the net and whatever you’d pulled to shore, ripping away fibers and seaweed. A man buried beneath the mess was pale, clammy, and certainly dead. Your net had caught his left arm, which is why it had felt so slow. His eyes were closed and when you pressed your fingers to his parted mouth, you felt no breath pass. That wasn’t great. Definitely not ideal. Panicked, you sought out a pulse beneath the thick cord of the strange man’s neck, prodding up to just underneath his jaw. Soft, pliant skin gave way and there you felt it, the weak shutter of a heartbeat.

“Thank Eywa,” you gasped, rocking back onto your heels. Dealing with an alive stranger was far easier than figuring out the identity of a dead one, particularly one that didn’t look to be from the ocean. This man had darker skin than that of your clan, a slender tail that tapered into a tuft of hair, and – oh. Five fingers.

Snatching at the man’s limp hand, you pressed your thumb to the soft palm, forcing the fingers to spread. You counted them once, twice, feeling a spike of nerves. There were definitely five fingers, an extra little appendage that curled at the end of his hand. Your tail lashed at the sand and a pit of anxiety sunk to the bottom of your stomach. Though your clan was located far from the forests where the Sky People had first settled, you had heard stories. Most clans knew the battle of Pandora, the call of Toruk Makto, the devastation wreaked upon the Omatikaya people. Dreamwalkers had five fingers, demons, and the fact one had washed onto your shores couldn't bode well.

But the stranger that laid before you seemed so weak and harmless. His breath wheezed from tired lungs and welts oozing thick red blood dribbled from blue skin. Honestly, it was a pitiful sight. You'd never been one to leave someone in need anyways and, regardless of his allegiance, Eywa had brought him to your shores and washed his body quite literally to your feet. There was a message somewhere in there, and it wasn’t to leave him for dead.

“Please wake up soon because I can’t carry you all by myself. It’s either that or I leave you here for a few hours and I’m not convinced you won’t die on me.”

Removing your knife from the sheath around your thigh, you sawed at the net coiled around his bicep until it fell away into the sand. Bruising was beginning to develop there and you would have felt a twinge of guilt if that wasn't the least of your problems. The man shifted whenever the blade glanced his skin but was otherwise unresponsive.

“Hey,” you tapped his cheek lightly with your fingers. “Wake up. I really don’t want to have to drag you through all this sand. Help me out here.”

When you became more insistent, jerking the stranger’s shoulder and pressing on his sternum to release any water that may have been brewing in his stomach or lungs, he finally jerked to the side and vomited. Dregs of seawater seemed to be the only thing in his stomach and he retched a few more times before collapsing back into the sand. His eyes roved listlessly over the darkening sky. Golden eyes, you noted. Like the forest clan. Your uneasiness deepened.

With hesitant fingers, you reached out and prodded his shoulder.

“Are you ok?" You asked.

The man didn't seem to hear you. His eyes slid closed, ears folding back against his head. It looked like he was sliding back into unconsciousness, slackening, and if he did that there was no way you'd be able to get him back to the village alone.

"Hey, hey!" You patted his cheek with your hand, drawing his half-lidded eyes back open. His head lolled to the side. "Please don't fall back asleep. We need to get you up, over there."

You pointed out across the water to where your village lay among the mangrove roots, coming alive with the glow of evening fires. It was only a few paces away, but it would be a long haul if you were pulling this man's waterlogged body. The man inclined his head towards your village, following your finger. In a moment, his ears were flat against his head, eyes dilated in alarm. He began to drag himself away from you, away from the village, and back into the water. His tail whipped behind him and soon the spray of the waves was choking him again.

"What are you doing?" You cried out, jumping on the man and pulling up back out of the water by his armpits. "You're going to kill yourself if you get back in the water. You can't swim in this condition!"

The man sputtered and gasped, kicking his feet in a weak attempt to fight your struggling grip. When you were a good distance away from the water, you dropped him into the sand. Crouching over him, you pressed a hand to the flat of his chest, feeling the acceleration of his heart, the gasping of his breath.

"Calm yourself," You urged. "My people won't bring you harm." You hoped.

The words didn't seem to settle the stranger in the slightest. His eyes whipped from the village to your face, to the water. He was like an animal pressed into a corner, desperate for escape. You pressed into his chest harder, forcing him into slower, deeper breaths. This seemed to bring some level of reason back over him. His fingers curled around your wrist, that extra little finger brushing your palm.

"Wermai?" He said, squeezing your wrist. "Tsengpe, Where?"

Your ears flicked forward in surprise, understanding the admittedly poor Na'vi.

"Where? My village, my home. There," You gestured again to the village bathed in orange and blue hues light.

The man shook his head violently, tugging you down so your faces were close. You could smell the salt on his skin but also the sour scent of fear.

"Toruk Makto. Where?"

The man pointed out towards your village, jabbing his finger again and again to convey his point. The only words it seemed he could manage were Toruk Makto and where? But Toruk Makto was in the forest, had never been to your side of the ocean. In fact, he had disappeared years ago like a breath stolen by the wind.

"Toruk Makto is not here," You tried to explain. "He is from the forest clans. Out there," You pointed across the ocean, then shook your head. "Not here."

The stranger seemed to understand. The rigid lethality of his panic melted away and his head fell back against the sand. His adrenaline was melting away too, disappearing into the lapping tide, and was replaced by something milder and calmer. You could tell he wasn't falling back into the throes of unconsciousness, but the toll of his survival was certainly catching back up with him. He would need to see your mother, if not for the energy he expended fighting for his survival, but for the deep wounds that still oozed blood. You tapped your fingers to the stranger's wet brow and his eyes slid open.

"You must come with me. I can get you food and sleep."

Your fingers curled in a come here motion, beckoning him to rise to his feet. At first, he seemed hesitant, weighing his options. You knew he could not survive in the jungle beyond the ocean. He had no weapons upon him, no way to navigate the unfamiliar terrain, and he looked as if a harsh wind would blow him over. Considering all of this, he reluctantly obeyed, somewhat to your surprise, and leaned heavily against your shoulder for support. Another problem began to present itself. This man was huge, even for a Na'vi, and you weren't sure how long your smaller frame could support his bulk. You hoped you could manage all the way to the village, or at least close enough to signal for some help. You also noticed the strange way the man was dressed, green shirt tucked into oddly printed pants. It all only confirmed your suspicions of this man's allegiance with the sky people. But you had already pulled him to his feet, communicated with him, and you couldn't, wouldn't, turn your back on him now. Shifting your arm underneath his ribcage, bracing him against your shoulder for support, you set off towards the cluster of pods in the distance.

"You're going to need to help me a bit here," You grunted, taking one slow step in front of the other. You tried to stick closer to the sea, where the sand would have less give, but the man's incredible weight still sunk you into the ground a considerable few inches. The man grumbled something in his native tongue and the drag of his feet lessened, lightening your load. You fought off a grin.

As you approached the village, clan members that had been relaxing on the lip of the walkways directed their attention to you and the stranger you towed along. Their faces reflected the alarm you had felt when realizing this was not one of your own Metkayina people, but someone from the forest. Then, a second realization passed across their faces. Not from the forest, but from the sky people. Cascades of whooping flittered through the village, drawing more of your clan from their pods. Mothers drew their children close as you and the man worked your way across the walkway, toward the Tsahik's tent. No one made a move to help you, to touch the stranger. It was as if he was sickly and even an inclination towards him would infect the others.

The man seemed to recognize the growing hostility from your people. His ears angled towards the whispers that had broken out, then angling backward in distress. His yellow eyes had sharpened but he kept them down, watching his footfalls to ensure he didn't step wrong. You squeezed the man's forearm, trying to offer some meager assurance. His eyes turned to you, but his face gave away nothing. You couldn't say you were feeling much better.

Your mother was at the entrance of the tent when you arrived, but it seemed as if word hadn't yet reached your father.

"Mama, I see you," You greeted, bowing your head as best as you could manage.

Your mother said nothing and instead hurried to help the man off your shoulders and into the privacy of your tent. Even from its protection, you could see the crowd that had gathered along the outskirts of the walkway. You helped the man lay on a bedroll and only noticed the sticky blood on your hands when you withdrew them. Your mother said nothing to you nor the man as she turned him on his side and observed the slashes across the breadth of his back, the source of the blood.

"I will need coral weed and salt flower," directed your mother. "and juice from a paya fruit." When you hesitated, unsure of leaving the man alone, your mother snapped her hard gaze at you. "Now."

You gathered everything as fast as you could. Helping your mother as Tsahik had given you a good idea of the healing properties of the sea's plants, but your scattered mind and shaking hands meant you'd grabbed toro petals instead of salt flower and larvo juice instead of paya fruit. When you returned back to the tent, your mother had already stripped the man of his upper garment and washed the blood away from the wound. You handed her the salt flower, which she smeared across the largest cuts on the man's back. She paid no heed to his hissing and spitting at the sting, layering coral weed across the wound to help congeal anything else that might leak from it.

"Will he be alright?" You asked quietly, crouched down beside the stranger's head. His eyes had fallen closed and you would have thought he was sleeping if not for his heaving chest and shoulders.

"He will be fine. His energy is low and he will need much rest, food, and water."

She broke open the paya fruit, squeezing its pulp into a wooden bowl. The man's nostrils flared at the scent and when your mother placed the bowl in front of him, he slurped it hungrily, juices running down his chin. Your mother did not look at you as she tended to him, but now she turned to you, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Where did you find this man?"

"Out when I was fishing. He got caught in my net and I pulled him in and I thought he was -"

"Do you have any idea who this man belongs to? Where he has come from?"

Your ears pressed back at the hiss in your mother's tone.

"He was so weak, Mama, he would have died if I-"

"He should have died," She toned lowly. "He is of the sky people, that is certain. Where they go, trouble is sure to follow. What enemies do we invite by having him here? You have endangered yourself and the village by bringing him."

Your mother inhaled deeply, cupping her hands over her mouth and blowing out the rest of her anger. "I must speak with your father. You are to stay here with him and any actions he takes are your responsibility,"

The Tsahik rose from the floor and stepped out of the tent, disappearing into the crowd. You could feel the oncoming rush of tears, the familiar burn in your nose, and turned from the tent's entrance. The man's eyes were open again and he was staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Ignoring him, you took the empty wooden bowl and refilled it with more paya juice, handing it back to him. He did not drink immediately, eyes still passing over your face. "Please don't cause any more trouble. I risked a lot bringing you here. More than you're worth, I imagine." You crossed your arms over your knees, resting your chin on your elbows.

The man's eyes followed the movement of your mouth, trying to decipher your words. It seemed he recognized a few because his ear flicked and his expression deepened before he drank from the bowl again. When he finished, you took it and set it aside. The stranger reclined deeper into the mat, wincing at his wounds. You could sense the drowsiness pulling on him and figured it would be easier to deal with a sleeping man than one that was awake and demanding questions in a foreign tongue. When his breath evened out, you allowed yourself to wonder what the hell you had gotten yourself into.

#miles quaritch #avatar #avatar way of water #quaritch x reader #quaritch imagines #enemies to lovers #strangers to lovers #jake sully #avatar imagines

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ctrlsatoru · 6 months

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DIABLO - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes.

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the concept is something corny along the lines of Diablo.

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life.

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?”

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface.

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team probably spent twice the time it took you to get here on LA traffic to arrange his inky black hair in the perfect unbothered way. There’s a healthy glow on the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks.

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette.

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have the sight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you.

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing.

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. You're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The world would be a much more peaceful place and the arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure.

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Toji concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate. Unlike him, you don’t even look down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time in their lives.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain the skeptic, observing from the fringes. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas, and you expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel.

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before digging in.

Techbro, self-made, controversial, messy family background. He was the mastermind behind the acclaimed video game, Diablo, which exploded in popularity during the early 2000s. For years, he's faced criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity and accusations of satanism. You have to chuckle at that. Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and he went on to found a videogame and software company under the same name. He's been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent after repeatedly refusing buyout offers.

Buzzfeed has a trove of ridiculous articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogame. You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew.

According to a twitter thread, he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

You can't help but wonder if your brother knows him.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not an inherited impulse, Satoru personally taught you how to handle them. One of your favorite early teen memories of your brother is watching him reduce Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when he catches you looking that contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. If you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested by the wardrobe team and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you note the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum.

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off your scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—”

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Taking a Q-tip soaked in micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste he finds.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow.

“This is Utahime’s concept, I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What concept would you go for?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. The reason for it being that you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days, you work with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom, usually sought out for your particular aesthetic.

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.”

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin at you, kind of like a warning. it’s gone as soon as you blink at him.

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his soldier of an assistant. Toji doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like, then?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I do get bored easily.”

You conclude the brief interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way Toji’s amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

“It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?”

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror while giving him your back.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he describes your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. You’d submerge half of his face in black tinted water, or have his head resting on a white surface, make blood spill from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply early 2000s mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.”

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, like he knows just what to say to negotiate with you. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the full-body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry, and tired, and nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored on set today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praising kink or something?”

He’s unbothered by your dig. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?”

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway.

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin.

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable or want to only deliver and fold when it’s their turn to take.

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

“Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor.

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone–

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to cower. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s mysterious self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

–Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.”

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him? Maybe.

But so was the whole room.

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Do you always just take on the job of the make-up kids out of the goodness of your heart?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer to that. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. There was a time at the beginning of your career when you engaged in every aspect of your work, from styling and set design to prop work, editing, and even makeup.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?” he pushes you further, casually dropping the G-word as a last resort.

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things, don’t be cocky, old man.” He starts blinking real fast like he’s never been called old to his own face. “Earlier, you asked me what you look like.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but ends up only squinting at you.

“I did ask you that.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly moves as you follow the movement.

“And I’m not married yet, so– you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear.

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your car is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out.

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro. It was nice to meet you.”

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it weren't for the fact that it's him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit inside the same room, Haibara being so charming and Toji, a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present. You look at your fiancé and get the dreaded feeling that you’re an impostor pretending to know what to do with a man so devastatingly beautiful.

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before.

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until–

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you, and you can't help but laugh softly into his mouth. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.”

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on his flight. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch.

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Huh?”

“What does Toji want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracy. “She was covering for Iori. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for Hiroki.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not— exactly professional. I think the asshole might try to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her, and traumatized Miwa.”

“Not Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a sick barely there smile, finger on her chin. You don’t like how well she knows you. She makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows Toji, and how much he told her.

What exactly he asked.

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea.

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, the alcohol causing a painful sting inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing from days prior, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, your glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there.

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.”

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“Thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it.

“Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about the fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.”

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds.

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too,” he says, eyes set on his phone. He seems to like to add your name at the end of his sentences.

“Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug.

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey–”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy.

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“Did something happen to you as a child, maybe?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly responds, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Are you diagnosed?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you tease, struggling to contain your amusement at the situation. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing mental health."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah–” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. You lift your eyebrows, eager to see where he’s going with this. “I can agree with that. But you rich kids–”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant. You’re fucking tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction. “–You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, I see. No, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. A spoiled little bitch with a bad attitude who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

“You wanted to hatefuck her but then she ruined your game and made you feel uncomfortable, and now the chase isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

“No?”

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back, haven’t you? You run on pure spite, eh?”

“Fuck off.” you scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And– get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you do the same “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know? Violently misogynistic. You and your brother got your therapist's pockets nice and full, paid off a few nice vacations to hawaii, probably bought a big beach house for her.”

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him.

“But you, you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a fucking nightmare for your poor little fiance, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his social justice speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family, asshole.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father in family gatherings.

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally send your old man to the grave.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru.

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

“Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You frown, confused.

“You couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned the fiancé, but you looked like you would’ve blown my brains if you had a gun on you the second I brought your brother up.”

He sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I know him,” he mentions offhandedly, leaning back. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.”

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself.

He turns to you before you can dwell on what he means by that. “So, you’re two peas in a pod then? You and him?”

“I don’t see him that often.” you think out loud, your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. “He’s on some getaway in Osaka, performing some corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And you’re too cool to involve yourself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it.

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, deep in thought.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he says.

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered this change so abruptly.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll watch from here and look the other way if you start to drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “I didn’t think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

He's momentarily silent, and you believe he's finally relented.

Yet, he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him.

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes.

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

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