#and i've never been any good at exteriors and this feels like it will take me a long time bc its also unfurnished

[aridridge]

sometimes renovating a house in the sims truly feels like taking on a serious laborious construction project 

#im ridiculously obsessed w littlemore street by cowboycid like the layout is SO perfect #but i decided i want to rlly renovate the exterior to make it suit my sims + san sequoia #and its fun but also like i am WORKING. i feel like i am putting in EFFORT #and i've never been any good at exteriors and this feels like it will take me a long time bc its also unfurnished #if anyone has any fav inspo pics/a pinterest board that has like... #one story coastal bay area kind of ranch houses they wanna share w me so i can take inspo please do LMAO #deciding on windows and wallpaper is just so so hard to me always

[redclercs]

i only see daylight ✩ charles leclerc

— or, three times charles showed you love is golden.

✐ charles leclerc x gender neutral reader

✐ requested. inspired by taylor swift's song 'daylight'.

✐ warnings: lowercase intended, small mention of reader being insecure of their looks, 1k words.

i don't want to look at anything else now that i saw you

"why are you looking at me like that?" you ask, eyebrows tightly knitted. you've done your best to avoid asking the question, but charles' stare is making you self-conscious despite your best efforts. intrusive thoughts swarm your brain now and then, telling you he's too good for you in many, many ways, but the most evident one might be how plain you look compared to his beautiful exterior.

"do you think the moon is jealous of how beautiful you are?" he's so sincere your heart hurts a little, and yet, a smile spreads on your face imitating his own.

you laugh, shaking your head, as he's still staring at you.

"i'm being serious," charles joins in your laughter, all contradiction to his spoken words. "you're the most beautiful thing i've ever laid my eyes upon."

you've been told you're pretty in different instances of your life, you've been called 'cute' 'adorable' and on very very strange occasions, beautiful. but charles calls you all of that so often, that you're shocked the words haven't lost any meaning. he speaks from his heart every time he talks to you.

the awkwardness has seeped out of your body, replaced by the warmth of knowing you're loved in a way many people spend their lives desiring.

all of you, all of me, intertwined

it's your racing heartbeat that wakes you up. you lie in bed, eyes open and blood rushing to your ears, waiting for another sound to come from outside the bedroom. you are supposed to be alone, but you swear something fell in the kitchen.

you're frightened, but you know you have to deal with whoever is rummaging through your cupboards at 2 am. grabbing your cell from the nightstand, you dial three digits for the emergency line and skip the 'call' button, this is a dumb idea, but you are going to the kitchen.

it takes you three minutes to find one of charles' golf clubs, and you get a pinch of regret about using them as a weapon, but deep down you know he won't mind. tiptoeing your way down to the kitchen, your heart is about to burst out of your chest. this really is a dumb idea, you could just be endangering yourself further.

"ah putain!" a male voice whisper-yells, followed by the sound of another pot crashing to the linoleum. your boyfriend is angry and disheveled, and he has never looked better in your eyes.

"what are you doing?" you question, leaning the golf club against the wall. there's this happiness that only he brings you by just being in the same space, that your fear is gone. there's surprise in your heart too, pleasant surprise, he is supposed to be on the other side of europe still.

charles straightens up so fast he gets lightheaded, but it doesn't stop him from crossing the kitchen in three long strides, arms open and with a huge smile that shows his dimples clearly. "mon amour!" he's still whispering, although you're awake and currently being asphyxiated in his embrace.

"i thought you were taking the eight am flight," you mumble against his shoulder. he carries with him the smell of the plane, which is not unpleasant, but it hides his normal scent; the one that makes him feel like home.

"i couldn't wait to see you," he's peppering your head with kisses, his hands roaming down your sides as he takes you in, as if he's missed you for years and not just a weekend.

"hmhmm," you love being in his arms, you just don't love the lack of oxygen that's getting to your head.

charles lets go of you, not without leaving a sloppy kiss on your forehead.

"and what were you doing sneaking around like a mouse in the kitchen?" you look at the pot still on the ground and the wooden spoon resting on the stovetop.

"well," he's sheepish now, scratching the back of his head. "i was hungry. i hate plane food."

you laugh and he takes this as a chance to hold you against him again. sleep has abandoned you completely, you are too giddy now that you're with him.

"and what exactly were you planning to cook?"

charles shrugs, "whatever i could find, to be honest."

you make yourselves busy with preparing a three am snack, quickly falling into synchronization after so many meals prepared together in this same kitchen. sometimes in silence, others like right now, there isn't a pause while charles tells you everything about his weekend away, there isn't a thought in his brain that doesn't make its way to his mouth when he's with you.

it's three am, you're both sleep deprived and you can't picture yourself doing this with anyone else or for anyone else.

i once belived love would be black and white

in your experience, there were only two possibilities when it came to a disagreement: i’m right and you’re wrong.

fighting with charles is uncommon, your disagreements over petty things can be solved in childish ways, a game of rock, paper, scissors, pulling the short straw, etc. these stupid little issues end with a laugh and short mockery of whoever lost, and the agreement to don't bring it up again. which is the harder part, teasing each other in a lighthearted manner is a love language too.

you still remember the first time you had your first big fight with charles. the reason it started has slipped to back of your mind, insignificant. but you remember the crying and the yelling.

the thought of your love being over was the worst stab, straight into your heart. things like these had happened before, your previous relationships never bounced back from your mistakes. it always was all right or all wrong when it came to you.

charles hadn't yelled, he had waited patiently for you to finish and when you were a mess with reddened eyes and a clogged nose, he hugged you and told you he loved you.

yes, he was mad at you too. but his temporary anger didn't cloud his better judgment, words cannot be taken back, and hurting you wasn't something he could forgive himself for.

“pause, okay?” charles says sometimes, others it’s your turn to freeze the frame, when things are getting too ugly to be sane about them.

and you pause. because there is right and there is wrong, but there are no absolutes between the two of you, except maybe when it comes to loving the other.

─── team principal radio: ❝hi! this is my first request on this blog, so thank you so much to the anon that requested this. I hope they and everyone who stumbles upon this enjoyed it!❞

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 fluff

[killerlookz]

Hello my fellow Criminal Minds fan! 😊

May I please request headcanons for Spencer falling for a female agent who’s cynical about love and relationships due to being hurt in the past?

a/n: thank you sm for the request! i'd be happy to write this for you! :-)

Falling in Love Again | Spencer Reid Headcannons

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

content: mentions of reader having been cheated on in the past, uhhhh that's really it haha

word count: 1,478 (sorry she's so long)

Spencer Reid had always been excited about falling in love, the thought of being so close to another person- to share so much with someone was such a wonderful thing to him.

Especially after watching his mom and dad growing up, and the way his father treated her-Spencer was dead set on never becoming anything like him, he looked forward to treating a woman right and spending the rest of his life with her.

But, for as excited as he was he was probably 20 times more nervous about the whole falling in love thing.

So when you came around, and he started to experience that warm, creeping feeling in his chest- he felt a little bit like his world was going to end.

Spencer had never made a move on anyone before, sure he did make out with Lila Archer that one time but he didn't exactly initiate it.

Spencer decided just to channel all of his romantic interest in becoming friends with you, at least he got to spend time with you, that's what really mattered to him. Maybe one day it would turn into something more.

Well.. he hoped until he couldn't help but overhear...

"I went on my first date in months last night, and all this guy did was talk about himself the entire time- didn't let me get a word out, I mean, can you believe it?" Emily says, exasperated

You look up at her as she stands in front of your desk, "Oh, trust me Emily, I can believe it." You shake your head

"I mean," She throws her hands up, "What is it with men? What's wrong with them."

"Everything," You smirk, "They're men. I can't remember I had a good experience with one of them- never maybe?" You laugh. "I've given up on dating."

Your words sunk into Spencer's brain, leaving him with a heavy feeling all around he felt awful- not just about the fact that his chances with you seemed to reduce to zero right there in that moment, but because of how upset you seemed under your sarcastic exterior, he could tell you'd really been hurt before.

A few weeks later you're out for drinks with Emily, Penelope, Morgan, Spencer, and JJ. Amidst the loud, drunken conversations and music at the bar- you can hear the faint chiming sounds of your ring tone, Who would be calling this late?

As you take your phone from your pocket, your stomach drops when you see the number flashing on the screen. The mere sight of those 10 digits making you want to throw your phone to the ground and stomp on it until nothing remains.

"Ooooh, who's that calling." Morgan smirks

You look him dead in the eyes and respond flatly, "My ex."

Morgan's smile doesn't fade instead his smirk seems to deepen, "You two got a little thang goin on?"

"No," You shove your phone back in your pocket, "More like he's trying to get back in my pants after cheating on me- twice."

"Ooh!" Morgan responds, wincing, "So he's a dog."

"A pig is more like it." You scoff, "Who does he think he is. I can't even imagine giving my time to another man again, and even if I could- what makes him so confident I'd give him the time of day."

That familiar heavy pain hits Spencer again.

He's staring at you, and it's like the rest of the bar doesn't even exist. Only you, as you bite your lip, trying to hide any emotion in your face.

Spencer has become good at reading your emotions, maybe it's because he spends so much time with you- maybe it's because of how often he finds himself staring at your face. As much as you try to seem nonchalant, he could tell how upset you are.

Spencer would spend more time than he wanted to admit fantasizing about treating you well, about giving you the love you never seemed to have.

Every time you made a snarky comment about love, or how men had treated you in the past Spencer would want so desperately bad to just tell you about how well he would treat you, how he would never ever hurt you, how he would spend his entire life taking care of you.

The words were practically scratching up his throat, begging to be let out. But still, he would just swallow them down, and give you a sympathetic look, he couldn't muster up being able to do anything more.

At the very least, Spencer's plan of becoming friends with you was working.

The two of you would become very good friends.

Spencer would learn everything he could about you, he would want to know as much as possible.

Not in a weird creepy way- but in a he just thinks you're so amazing he can't get enough of you sort of way.

Every time you and Spencer hung out he wouldn't be able to ignore that nagging feeling, the thought of putting an arm around you and pulling you close, of holding your hand in his, or placing a delicate kiss on your cheek.

The thoughts would eat away at Spencer, and he would only fall more, and more in love with you.

Still, he would lose more hope every time you divulged information about your prior encounters with love. He couldn't blame you for feeling so cynical it, not after what you'd been through.

Spencer would think about his mom, about all the wives Rossi had been through, about Hotch and Hailey, about you- he would wonder why love had to be so painful for some people. He was sure he would never hurt somebody he loved.

One day you're over Spencer's apartment, watching a rom-com, and you make a snide remark, "Oh, real love isn't like that." You scoff and roll your eyes.

Spencer doesn't know what it is, but something in him makes him respond, "It could be." He says meekly

You look up at him, caught off guard at his disagreement, "Hm?" you hum

Spencer wasn't able to take it any more, he hated hearing your cynical nature. He would need you to know how you deserved the entire world.

"Love- It can be like the movies." He affirms his stance.

"Not in my experience."

"I would give you love like that." Spencer would tremble as he makes his confession, so unsure of what would happen next.

He would be terrified of your reaction, scared he was about to mess everything up, ruin any future the two of you had together, and even worse, lose your friendship.

"W-what do you mean, Spence."

"I mean, you always talk about how you've been hurt before, and it just-" He takes a deep breath in, contemplating what he's going to say next, "I love you, y/n," He looks down at his lap, then back up at you, "I would never hurt you."

Despite the obvious passion in Spencer's voice, you were still hesitant about it, but everything inside of you told you to give Spencer a chance.

Spencer would insist on taking things slow, you were his first real relationship and he wouldn't want to rush things, for both his and yours sake. He wouldn't pressure you to put a label on things, or even say you're "dating"- those would come on your own time.

Spencer was determined to make you believe in love again, and he would do everything in his power to make sure you knew without a doubt how he felt about you.

Spencer would often get to work before you to surprise you with coffee and a breakfast sandwich, or a donut on your desk in the mornings.

He would insist on having a date night at least once a week, even if the two of you were on a case, ordering room service or finding a local pizza restaurant way late at night was sufficient, as long as the two of you got to spend time together.

Spencer would be hesitant about PDA or really moving too quickly into being too affectionate, still, he would frequently hold your hand, squeezing it tight when he could tell you were stressed or upset- either by a case or by life in general, he just wanted to give you that extra reassurance that he was there for you.

Spencer would really put the work in, he'd exert more effort than you had ever seen from any past relationship into even the tiniest things.

Spencer wouldn't mind though, anything he could do to reassure you that he loves and cares about you, he would do it.

Every little act of love and gratitude would be worth it to him.

He would savor and cherish every hug, every shared glance, every peck on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips.

It was all worth it to him, every second of it- all he wanted to do was make you smile, to make you fall in love again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid headcannons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[just-jordie-things]

really lovvvve toxic ex megumi who can't stop being around you after you're break up. follows you to the parties you attend, meets with you, you both have an argument and then make out. <33

The cycle repeats until you take him back, you might as well anyway, it's not like you can get rid of him<3

godddd toxic ex megumi <3 <3 we'll always go back to uuuu

you see him before he sees you. or at least, he happens to not be looking when your eyes find him in the crowd. it happens too naturally for your taste. instantly there's something bitter in your mouth and you feel your eye begin to twitch.

but you play it off and try not to pay him any attention. you're at a house party, and you already found some eye candy that would much better suit your attention for the time being. would you see him after tonight? no, definitely not. but the more you sip your drink and flutter your lashes at him, the more appealing he becomes. especially now that you-know-who is here.

and who invited him anyways? your mind wanders even as you keep your eyes on the handsome company you forget the name of. all that matters is he's blonde- not a ravenette- and he's got brown eyes -not deep, beautiful ocean blue...- and what were you thinking about again..?

"she has a boyfriend you know"

you have to shut your eyes to regain some false sense of peace. otherwise you would've whirlled around already to try to kick the shins of the 6 foot toxic piece of-

"you do?" your blonde placeholder looks down at you with confusion in his eyebrows. your own expression is unamused, bored, and quite frankly you're not sure who to direct it at at this point.

"she does" megumi confirms. your elbow hits his forearm in warning, but it's not nearly strong enough to get him to back off. he's already made his stance clear in coming straight to you in this crowd of people, and your gut is already telling you that you're going to fall for it.

"i don't, actually," you reply, giving your nameless suitor a sickeningly sweet smile. "in fact, i'd even go as far to say i've never been as single as i am right now"

the blonde man clearly isn't in the state of mind for these games, his eyes shifting between you and megumi, and it's obvious to you both that he's made up his mind before he's even said anything. you don't have to turn around to know that megumi is glaring this sucker down until he cowers out.

and as expected, your once suitor bids you a fast, "well, have a good time!" before turning and booking it away from you and your baggage.

your baggage grins down at you as he takes his place. you huff and shut your eyes again, this time pinching the bridge of your nose as you wrap your half-drunken head around what just happened.

"what the hell do you think you're-"

"you look stunning, by the way,"

megumi cuts you off, he could skip the part where you chew him out for his behavior, it's nothing he hasn't heard before. you try to smack his hand away when his fingers tug at the fabric resting over your hip, but he ignores that too. he's far too interested in watching the short skirt of your dress ride up your thigh when he tugs on it.

"i like this dress," he mumbles out his thoughts, and you should smack him again, but you don't. his knuckles graze your skin and your thoughts start to go blurry. "haven't seen this before"

"well, it's been a month, so..."

your answer is weak and you both know it. you hate that when he looks at you, your heart starts to race. you hate that you know what's coming next, and that if you wanted to badly enough, you could stop it.

because when megumi says, "come with me" and beckons you to follow him, you do without a word. you follow close behind him as he wanders through the crowd before he gets to the patio door, and you stupidly follow him out through it, where you're both alone.

"you can't keep doing this" you say, but it's a mumble, and when you lean into the exterior wall of the house, he's in your space again in a second.

megumi's convinced himself that he's not manipulative, you're just so willing. why else would you wear that dress to a party you knew he'd be at? why else would you follow him somewhere where you could be alone? and you don't exactly push him away when he leans in close and tilts your chin up to bring you even closer. you bat your lashes at him and pout your lips- you're practically begging for it.

"don't be like that baby," he murmurs and you're melting before him. did you leave your drink inside? because now you find your hands empty and you need something to fiddle with or else they're gonna end up in his hair- "missed you, y'know"

you sigh, shutting your eyes and trying to tilt your head away, lean it back into the wall, but megumi's quick to cup his large palm around the back of your head and bring you back towards him.

or into him would be more like it, because his lips are on yours without any other warning.

you move your hands to shove him away, but they have their own will and they end up fisting his tee shirt to pull him in closer until you're so pushed up against the wall that your dress is being dragged up your thighs. the material wants to bunch up at your hips, despite your efforts to keep yourself partially decent, megumi has other ideas in mind when he decides to grab you by the legs and lift you. his hips pin you to the wall again with an ease you're all too used to, and it's around then that you don't care where the state of your dress lies.

he has the nerve to mumble nothings into your mouth as you sloppily meet his lips in every heated kiss. things you've heard too many times,

"see? you missed me too"

"i knew you'd want to get back together"

"we're so good together, baby"

and as you always do, you'll fall for it for however long it lasts this time. because no matter how many times you've broken up, you've never gotten over megumi.

#megumi brainrot #megumi x reader

[fictoculus]

Hello ^^ I've been reading your stories and I really like them and I was just wondering if you don't mind doing a genshin impact boys x Reader with the characters being Tighnari,Kaeya,Albedo,Alhaitham and Kaveh? And the story being you hug them from behind (I hope that is fine with you of course no NSFW I've read the request rules ^^) that is if you still do genshin impact

౨ৎ hugging them from behind...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... tighnari, kaeya, albedo, alhaitham, kaveh

A/N... hellooo anon, thanks so much for this request, and for taking the time to read my rules too, i really appreciate it! alsoo, i'm so glad you like my writing, it means so much ♡ i actually really love this concept, and you've chosen some good characters too! apologies in advance if anyone is ooc ^^ (i have a feeling tighnari and kaeya might be a bit whoopssss)

✧ tighnari.

for tighnari, being the "chief officer of forest rangers" comes with a lot of responsibility, an example being informing the rangers of the route for patrol and any threats they could face along the way. that's why, when you find your beloved stood infront of a group of eager men and women, you're hardly surprised.

you sneak closer to them, listening in on the instructions your beloved was giving, but not paying attention to a single word said; instead, relishing in the smooth sound of tighnari's voice. it was so calming and so soothing; he was always able to relax you from just a few words... and that's when you decided, you wanted to hear it "more up close"

the "plan" had been created, and it was a simple one at that; you knew tighnari always left his weapons at home while instructing the team for some unknown reason, but would always have to come back to collect them before setting off. you thought you'd be helpful and bring them to him instead, it would save him the unnecessary trip, after all.

despite a couple doubts crossing your mind, you decided to follow through with your "plan", rushing back home to collect his bow, trying your best to be as quick as possible so that you don't miss your chance; and luckily, you didn't.

arriving back at the meeting grounds, you make your way over to tighnari, being sure to approach him from behind. setting his bow aside, you waved at the rangers who waved back enthusiastically, leaving tighnari to wonder: "who are they all waving at? me?"

he lifts his arm to wave awkwardly, only for you to grab hold of him, squeezing him tightly around his waist and pressing tender kisses behind his ears.

"you forgot your bow again, love"

you whispered, a rosey hue tinting his cheeks as his eyes widened in embarassment. instinctively, tighnari wraps his tail around you, his soft fur tickling your skin slightly. you smile to yourself, just imagining how brightly he must be blushing; having about a dozen people watching an intimate moment he'd much rather keep private, or atleast away from an audience.

"i have a question regarding the-"

"any questions will be discussed another time, dismissed"

he hurriedly shoos the forest rangers away, making up excuses such as "there are matters i must attend to" and even "those things don't concern you, now please take your leave". he acted all angry when he turned to face you, but archons, he looked adorable.

"now what do you think you're up to, hm? hugging me like that infont of all the rangers?"

"i can tell you aren't mad, 'nari"

you can read him like a book, knowing exactly how he acts when he tries to hide how flustered he is; how he attempts to harden his exterior but gives in within seconds.

"i- i never said i was i just... don't you- i-"

he sighs, admitting defeat as he burries his face in the crook of your neck. you feel his hot breath against your shoulder as he murmurs:

"i hate you"

"i love you too"

✧ kaeya.

you walked to the cat's tail with a spring in your step, excited to see kaeya after spending more than a week apart. you'd been on a long expedition to liyue and had only just gotten back to mondstadt, not bothering to drop your belongings off at your house but instead hauling them along with you; unable to wait any longer to see your beloved (and silently praying he'd offer to help you carry them to your place)

after what felt like an hour of walking, you finally made it to your destination, shoulders sore from having to carry your bags instead of loading them onto a cart like you had when travelling to the nation of contracts.

poking your head into the tavern, you could see kaeya sat at one of the tables alone, watching out of the window, as if he was waiting for something, or someone... that's right, you!

you watch him carefully, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and there it was: he'd gotten up from his seat, suppossedly to order a drink at the bar, and attempt to avoid the black cat and his... friendly translator; being invited to play a game of genius invocation tcg was the last thing he wanted.

dropping everything and leaving it in a pile at the front door, you practically throw yourself inside and run towards kaeya, his back now turned to you as he walks back to his table.

"[name]? archons, you scared me, i almost dropped my drink!"

refusing to let go, the two of you awkwardly waddle to the window, wanting some peace and quiet away from the taverns other patrons.

"someone's a little friendly today, hm? you miss me that much?"

"well if you don't want my attention, i can just let go..."

you tease, slowly but surely loosening your grip on his waist and sliding your hands to his sides. without warning, he grabs hold of your hands and wraps them back around him, holding them in place firmly, caressing your palms with his thumbs.

"i never said let go! wait... do you... not want to hug me anymore?"

here comes the show... kaeya would gasp dramatically, clutching at his chest as if he'd been struck by lightning, or something even more theatrical.

"do you not love me anymore?"

it never ends. he keeps building on it, acting hurt by your actions, more-so physically than mentally despite you having injured him being nothing to do with the "plot". only when you spin him around in your arms and press your lips against his does he finally stop talking, melting into the kiss as his mind goes completely blank. he'd pull away panting for air, his eyes glazed over with pure adoration.

"i love you"

"i love you moreee"

you're basically asking for it at this point.

"you love me more than i love you? impossible! preposterous! disgraceful! outrag-"

"i'm going to magically fall out of love with you in a minute if you don't-"

"i'm only kiddinggg, you're so fun to tease"

he brings one of your hands up to his lips and kisses it softly with a big grin plastered on his face; oh how he loves to wind you up, and secretly, you love it too.

"i do love your hugs though, and i really did miss you so... please hug me again?"

✧ albedo.

it's been hours since you'd last seen albedo, and though only a few hours doesn't sound too long, it felt like an eternity. it was all too often he'd hide away up in dragonspine, working tirelessly on his latest experiments and not taking any time for himself, and it worried you. that being said, you decided to come up with a plan to distract him, and a hug from behind sounded like the perfect idea...

you creep into his campsite, waiting for the perfect moment to throw yourself onto him.

"3... 2..."

you whispered to yourself, counting down the seconds before you could finally hold your beloved once more, missing his gentle touch; and you were more than just eager.

"1!"

excited, you jog up to him and wrap your arms tightly around him, but feeling him jolt so harshly made you slightly concerened...

"woah! careful, careful!"

panicked, albedo sets down the equipment in his hands as quickly as he can, worried he'd drop or injure you with them. he lets out a sigh of relief once they're out of the way, moving his hands ontop of yours and loosening your grip so that he could turn to face you. hands now resting on your waist, he looks at you with a stern expression.

"[name], what did i tell you about hugging around my experiments?"

"i know, i know, i just missed you and thought if i hug you from behind i wouldn't be getting in the way"

"i-... technically you're right, but you gave me quite the scare nevertheless, it could've caused an explosion if we were to have fallen. what kind of lover would i be if i were to put you in danger?"

"i'm sorry, 'bedo, i didn't mean to-"

he sighs, noticing the way he was being slightly too hard on you; all he wanted was to keep you safe. he'd never forgive himself if you were to be injured from one of his experiments, which is why he always to extra precautios when it came to you.

"i know, it's alright, my love, i'm just glad you didn't get hurt"

he leans towards you, reaching both hands up to cup your cheeks, squeezing them gently before giving you a soft kiss on the lips. he doesn't take his eyes off of you, pulling away from the kiss only to look into your eyes, his own filled with the purest love. you could get lost in them for hours, admiring how all the different hues work together so perfectly to create the most beautiful shade of blue.

"i know you were probably hoping to spend some time together, but... i really have to get this done, honey, i'm sorry"

"that's ok, i just want to be with you..."

"... then stay, hold onto me from behind, ok? just make sure you-"

"-don't touch anything, i've got it"

and so you hung onto albedo, almost like a sloth, slowing down his movements ever so slightly, but he didn't mind, nor did he mention it. he'd apologise whenever he accidentally stood on you foot, even though he wasn't applying much pressure in the first place, being purposefully light on his feet as to not hurt you. every now and then, he'd take hold of one of your hands, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it so gingerly before setting it back down onto his waist.

sure, it wasn't the most romantic scenario, but you couldn't care less; all you wanted was him, to hold him, to feel his warmth against you, to know he was there...

✧ alhaitham.

"'haithammm"

you call out, wondering into his study, half expecting him to be elsewhere, but being pleasantly surprised when you find him sat comfortably in his arm chair. (like an old man)

"yes, darling?"

a soft smile creeps onto your face as you slowly make your way towards him; you just can't help it. even when he is doing almost nothing, alhaitham never fails to charm you, to make you smile like an idiot from a single glance.

"will you tell me that story again? the one about the dr- oh! sorry i didn't realise you were busy-"

you apologise profusely, turning to leave but only being able to take a few steps before alhaitham grabs your arm and drags you back towards him, almost pulling you over the arm of his chair

"love, it's ok, i'm not busy, i can tell you stories whenever you'd like to hear them"

"that's ok, how about you tell me about that book instead?"

you smile down at him sweetly before taking a look at the cover of his book; the gold lettering complimenting the brown leather perfectly.

"darling, you don't have to pretend to be interested, i can t-"

"no, no, please, tell me what you're reading! i like hearing you talk about your books"

he blushes slightly, his slightly widened eyes flicking back to the pages of the novel within an instant, wanting to avoid any possible eye contact.

"well, if you insist... this book is about how two-"

listening carefully, you move behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders before sliding them down his upper arm before dragging them across his chest. your hands meet near the middle, intertwining with eachother and resting against alhaitham's pounding heart.

"everything ok?"

you tease, knowing well how flustered this makes him, enjoying how he stuggles to keep a hold of himself.

"i- as i was saying... this book here is about two young lovers, how they met, and how they will someday grow old together and see the beauties of the world beyond life hand-in-hand... quite a precious story if i do say so myself, wh-"

you stand in shock, scanning over the open pages to make sure the story he's explaining is truly the one held in his hands; to your surprise, it was.

"wait wait wait, 'haitham... you are reading a romance novel?!"

"is that so surprising?"

"never in my life did i think alhaitham, the akedemiya's scribe who seems only interested in facts and figures, would be reading books about romance"

"well, dare i say you've rubbed off on me, love"

"i- i have?"

"why of course you have, every empty moment is filled with you, my love. see,"

he gestures to the pieces of - what looks like - paper sticking out of the book in various places, each one seemingly marking a significant moment in the plot.

"-even this book reminds me of you, all these little tabs represent thoughts of mine, these purple ones are thoughts of you, of us"

much to your disbelief, almost every single tab - par one or two - is coloured a shade of purple, you can even spot a couple of hearts peeking out from inbetween the pages. each section that was sticking out had the words "i love you" carefully written on them, written in his fancy handrwiting rather than what you refer to as his "scribe mode handwriting"

you squeeze him tighter, touched by how head over heels he was for you, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck and planting soft kisses on along his shoulder and below his jaw. you wanted to show just how loved you felt in that moment, and how loved you wanted him to feel too. little did you know, alhaitham was a blushing mess; his face a vibrant hue of pink, his mouth forming words but not being able to force any of them out.

"i love you so much, 'haitham"

"i- i love you, [name]"

✧ kaveh.

"that doesn't seem quite right..."

kaveh is stood pondering in his office, the blueprints on the easle in front of him full of detail, far more complicated than anyone other than him could make any sense of. several stacks of scrolls take up all his desk space, 'stealing' his pencils and other pieces of equipment, or atleast that's what he claims to be happening.

in reality, his workspace is far too messy, causing him even more stress ontop of trying to find the perfect measurements for whatever building he was planning. you picked up on this, how he often promises to eat with you at the table, but gets so lost in his work he dismisses his own needs just for the sake of his project.

you decide to take the initiative, covering the plates of food with towels before making your way to kaveh's office; a small building to the left of the living area of the property, though it seemed to be that he was living there instead.

slowly pushing the front door open, you let yourself inside, sighing happily at not only the warm air against your now cold cheeks, but also at the comforting scent that you know all too well...

"it looks good, hun" you'd say, your voice gentle and sweet as to not scare him. he wouldn't turn to face you, but instead stare holes into his blueprints, hand holding his chin as he was lost in thought.

"hm? oh, sorry love, could you repeat that? i didn't hear you"

you make your way over to him, choosing to stand behind him rather than infront. snaking your arms around his waist and pulling him into you, you rest nuzzle the side of your face against his back. he jolts slightly, only to relax into your touch seconds after. "it's looking good" you repeat yourself, rubbing circles on his stomach through his shirt in an attempt to ease his stress. all it does is leave him stressed and flustered... ok maybe a bit less stressed, he's not complaining though. he loves the way you're so gentle with your hands, and know exactly how to make him feel so flustered. placing his own hands on yours, he intertwines your fingers with his, dragging your hands across his lower stomach to wrap around him tighter. "y- you really think so?"

"of course i do, love, everything you design is beyond beautiful, but this one especially...

"would- do you think you'd live in it?"

"oh, absolutely! strangely enough, it looks just like how i imagined my home to be when i was younger"

unbeknownst to you, kaveh is uncontrollably smiling like an idiot, knowing that you approve of your future home really gives him even more motivation to put his all into every single one of the blueprints, making sure not to miss even a single detail...

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

© FICTOCULUS 2023; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

#genshinx reader #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #tighnari x reader #tighnari fluff #kaeya x reader #kaeya fluff #albedo x reader #albedo fluff #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #kaveh x reader #kaveh fluff #gn!reader #nb!reader #wholseome #.typingptera #request answered

[maxarchive]

2024 L'Équipe Interview, "I always need to improve."

This fascinating dive into the heart of a champion's life, through his words, reveals the warm and endearing man described by those who know him intimately. A 26-year-old man, different from the one we have become accustomed to seeing over the years, this wild and cold beast who leaves no room for improvisation and feeling.

At your press briefing, you said you'd rather talk about your car than non-sporting problems. So, how is this RB20? It's great. I felt comfortable in it straight away. I'd say it was more of an evolution, an improvement on the previous car.

Is that so? Despite all the exterior changes, are your driving feelings close to those of last year? It's even a little better, a little more natural. And that's great.

Did you feel it as soon as you got into the car during winter testing? You can never be sure right from the first run, but I could see from the start that it was well balanced and, above all, that I could set a good time straight away. That's a sign that the car will be fast! After that, you have to know where the competition stands. We don't know how the others have worked.

Did you have the same feeling with the RB19 in early 2023? Pretty much, yes. There were a couple of things to sort out, but nothing dramatic.

Of all the Red Bulls you've driven driven since 2016, is there one that you like the most? The most fun were those of the previous generation (before the 2022 ground effect regulations).

The one from 2021? Exactly (his face lights up). The car was great, it was responsive. Today, they've become heavy, wide and long.

But do you like them all the same? When you're driving the best car on the grid, when it's a Formula 1 car, of course (he laughs).

Weren't those 2021 cars a little on the edge? Didn't they force you to make mistakes sometimes? (He reflects.) No, I don't think so. We managed to make the most of it, and then there was this philosophy, this way of to make it sharper (his hand mimics the diving single-seater like Red Bull used to design its single-seaters). I loved it.

Are you having more trouble today? (He smiles.) No… I don't care. I can adapt. But these 2021 cars, they went faster through the slow corners, they moved better. I was having more fun.

When they say you can drive any car, what would you do at the wheel of a Haas (last team in the standings last year)? (He smiles.) I don't think I'd win a race.

Not even a podium? Normally not (he reflects). Probably not. But I'd try do a better job than anyone else, that's for sure. After that, if the car is slow, it's slow.

It seems that since the advent of ground effect cars, you've been unbeatable. Do these single-seaters require special driving techniques and do you adapt better to them? I don't think so. If I'm successful, it's because I've got a great team around me who have built these fabulous cars. We had a bit of trouble getting back to the top with the old generation, but by 2021, we'd figured it out. And by 2022, things were looking up.

So, no change in style? Of course not. The cars have changed, and so have the tires. But we're adapting.

In what way? The car is heavier so I can't rely on it as much. The tires are wider, which means less visibility. The suspensions are so hard that we have to work on a new way of attacking the curbs.

Does that take time? Yes, it does. But it's the same for everyone.

Last week, Pierre Waché, the designer of the RB20, told us he really appreciated your technical feedback, that it allowed the team to progress. What do you have to ask him today, when you crushed the first race? Every car has its weaknesses and it takes time to overcome them. We haven't driven on enough tracks yet to tell you. Last year, it was the street circuits. This year, I'll tell you later, but I'd say they're details.

You give the impression of always having had a steering wheel in your hands. What's your first memory? (Instantly.) I was 3 years old and rode a mini moto.

And in a car? In August 2013, in Wales, on a Formula Renault 2-liter on the Pembrey circuit. It was my first experience in a single-seater. Something very different from karting. It took me a while to adjust my behavior and reflexes. I had no experience of tires, especially as it was raining. It was raining hard. The first few laps were a bit hard, and I spun a few times, but after that I had a blast. I had Michelin tyres which are excellent in these conditions. I just loved it.

Everything seems easy when you talk about driving. I was lucky enough to have a father who helped me a lot and gave me lots of advice. And the best thing was to let myself go and find the limit of the car.

Do you think your success can be explained by the talent or hard work you've put in to progress? Some people are more gifted than others. It's the same in soccer. The first day I drove a go-kart, I smiled (his eyes sparkle). And I haven't stopped since. The helmet (he mimes putting it on), I didn't take it off all day. I knew it was what I wanted to do.

This winter, you went GT racing with your father. Can't you stop stop driving? It's my passion. I also love the simulator. It's important because by changing cars all the time, you can adapt more quickly to the changes in F1. I need to try things out; I always need to improve. And I love making a car go faster (he smiles).

Alain Prost confided to us that his last year in F1, in 1993, was a very tense one, when he was favourite for the title with the best car in the field. Now, for your fourth title, you find yourself in a similar situation. How do you see this season? I'm not asking myself that question. If I don't win, I look for the reason why. Is it my fault? Then I'll correct the mistake. It's not my fault, so I'm going to help the team improve our performance. You can never win it all.

Is that why your duel with Lewis Hamilton in 2021 will surely go down as one of the greatest seasons in Formula 1 history? I know you're not going to agree with me (he smiles). But, in my eyes, the best was last year. People saw it as a one-sided domination, but you don't measure the degree of involvement of every member of the team in achieving this amazing result (21 wins out of a possible 22 for Red Bull, 19 for Verstappen). It's something I'm very proud of. It must have seemed boring to some people, but I don't care (his hands make a helpless gesture). I'm here to judge my performance and that of the team. And 2023 was the best season ever. The 2021 season doesn't even come close.

Translated via DeepL

#max verstappen #f1 #interview #2024

[familyvideostevie]

hit me with the sunshine!james and grumpy!reader fluff, loser :)

-cece

how delicious! so good i'll ignore the name calling <3 all for you, @theemporium :) i've never done this trope before so hopefully this works!!! | fluff, fem!reader, grumpy!reader x sunshine!james, 1k

"If you keep frowning like that your face is going to stick," James says lightly. He startles you a bit, but you don't let it show. He knows you well enough to tell, anyway. He slides his hand over your lower back as you continue to stare, arms crossed, at the book in your hand.

"Ha, ha," you say, toneless. "James, it's no use." Your lower lip has a small indent in it like you've been chewing on it. He wonders if you'll let him kiss you in the store.

"What's no use, darling? Catch me up, I'm slow." Sometimes, if you're in the mood, you'll bump your hip with his when he teases like that. But you don't move, don't even lean into the hand on your back.

"I think today is going to be a bust." It's shopping day -- different from errand day, you both wander around local shops and buy things you don't technically need. Birthday presents, new clothes, books. It tires you out immensely and James knows that tonight you'll fall asleep in his lap with a movie in the background.

"Why's that?" he asks. You won't ask him to go home early, even if you're not enjoying yourself, since you know he's got things to buy. You won't even sulk -- that's not your style. He'll just be able to feel it radiate off of you, and while he adores your slightly sour disposition, he never wants you to actually be upset. Dissatisfied with the state of the world? Sure, who isn't. Annoyed at slow walkers? Again, join the club. He loves you when you're frosty, he loves you when you're grumpy, he loves you when you're soft in his arms when you wake up every morning. It doesn't matter. He loves it all.

"I--," you start. You set the book back down on the table perhaps a bit too forcefully, as you wince at the noise it makes. "I'm just annoyed they don't have the edition I wanted. When I called last week they said they did." You take a deep breath. "And I'm frustrated that I've dragged you here when it's on the other side of town as the stationary shop we need to go to for Remus and all the other places we need to visit." You sigh again, frown deepening. Time for him to make his move.

He's mastered this by now. James knows that you'll let him underneath your exterior no matter what, half because he's so damn charming and half because you want him to see you, to make you smile. And, if he's honest, he's got no idea why you let him. But from the moment you met it was clear that he was the perfect companion to your mood.

"I'll buy you another book. Two other books. No, three!" You turn towards him and his hand slides to the flesh of your hip, squeeing once, gently. "Well, any more than three and you definetly have to carry some."

You aren't convinced. "James, that's not the point --"

"Well, who needs books, anyway?" He hooks two long fingers through your belt loop and tugs gently. You allow it, falling into his chest and catching the lapels of his jacket, frown still in place. But he can see he's getting there -- your eyebrows are quirked in interest and your shoulders are already looser. He taps the tip of your chin with a knuckle before cupping your cheek. "I could just ravish you in the stacks of this shop, instead. No purchase required."

"James," you scold. Your grip on his jacket tightens and he can tell you're fighting a smile. "I will not be kicked out for public indecency. Who even says ravish, anyway? Who are you, a historical romance hero?"

He nods very seriously. "That's my day job, obviously. How did you not know? You really should pay more attention to me." That earns him an eye roll and tug at the corner of your mouth .

"Poor you," you drone. "Most neglected boyfriend on the planet."

He drags his thumb across your skin, watching it pull. Your nostrils flare. "No," he says. "No, I don't think so. You couldn't neglect me if you tried." He moves his face closer, so close that your noses brush. Your eyelashes flutter and your eyes close.

"Only because you're so bloody loud," you say, softly. "It's very hard to ignore you." He scoffs.

"Careful," he says. "Or I might think you're flirting with me." He drags it out even more, brushing his lips over yours without properly kissing you.

"Now that would be a real blow to my reputa--" you say, but he ends his own game and presses his lips to yours. You gasp and he swallows it, right there in the fiction section of the bookshop. James doesn't let it go on too long, lest you actually get kicked out, which would be a shame since he knows you do like this place normally. So after a few mostly decent-for-public kisses, he pulls away. Your hands loosen their grip on his jacket and he releases your face.

"Shall we go, then?" he asks, finding his voice a little rough. He loves the effect you have on him. You nod, frustration seemingly gone for now.

"I hate when you do that," you grumble, linking your fingers together. He squeezes your hand. "Cheer me up so easily."

"No, you don't," he says, beaming at you. You reach up and flick a loose curl back into place.

"No, I don't," you say, suppressing a smile. "I still don't have my book, though." Well, at least you no longer look put out about it.

"Then we'll go to every shop in the city, silly girl," James says, tugging you toward the exit. "We've got all day."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #marauders

[mysteria157]

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Coming Soon...

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn. 

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world. 

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it. 

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance. 

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away. 

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful. 

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe. 

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name. 

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble. 

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing. 

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?” 

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else. 

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut. 

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground. 

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him. 

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him. 

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one. 

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment. 

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck. 

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes. 

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him. 

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else. 

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“ 

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?” 

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.” 

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind. 

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line. 

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no? 

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed. 

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence. 

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway. 

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul. 

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better. 

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony. 

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers. 

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness. 

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you. 

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately. 

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance. 

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time. 

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him. 

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling. 

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory. 

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet. 

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car. 

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to. 

Just you. 

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier. 

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out. 

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place. 

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #Toji Fushiguro x black reader #toji fushiguro x black fem reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mysteria157 #masterlist #anime x black reader #Toji Fushiguro fanfic #jjk fanfic #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro fluff #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji fanfic #toji smut #toji x reader #toji jjk #jujutsu toji #soft toji #jjk au #In Too Deep

[snek-panini]

I participated in Renegade Bindery's Binderary challenge this past February, and since it ended about two weeks ago it's probably time for me to start posting photos of the finished books, yeah? I made eleven books this year, many of which were multi-volume sets, and I'm going to start with the one that I had the most trouble with, Jane Austen's Persuasion. This project was nothing but trouble, and honestly every time I look at it I see nothing but its flaws. The cover is Allure book cloth from Hollander's (wisteria color; I bought it for another project last year and had a lot left over) with gold metallic HTV for the title and graphics. The last project I did with these materials was a dream; the cloth took HTV like a champ, better than any other project I'd done, and yet this time with the same roll of cloth and type/brand of HTV I couldn't get it to stick. You can see two spots where it's gone on crooked in the above photo, and below the cut you can see additional problems with the spine:

Yikes. It is peeling. I read the book once and it is peeling. I've never had this problem before; it won't always stick at first, but once I get it to stick it stays that way. Not this time.

Top view, with the endbands I sewed that have their cores visible. Again, not a problem I've had before but was a recurring theme this binderary; several of my Binderary books have it. Also platinum silk moire endpapers that were really hard to photograph and have both a wrinkle and a glue stain. It's my first time working with silk moire and I'm not sure I'm a fan, but three of the other books I made also have it and I didn't have nearly so may issues with them. So I think this book may have just been cursed. It's not pictured but the ribbon bookmark developed some kind of mysterious dark smudge in the middle somewhere between me gluing it in and me taking these photos. I do not know how this happened. The gilding went well though. That I can say.

Couple of images of the typeset. I had to print the title page twice because it came out streaky the first time. I actually really like the typeset, which is what makes the rest of the issues with this bind so frustrating. It's pretty! I did well on that part! I wanted the exterior to be just as pretty and I'm upset that it's not!

Fun fact: Persuasion was actually my least favorite Austen when I first read it. But I was in my early twenties then, and I thought it would be fun to bind myself a pretty copy since I didn't own one, and reread it and maybe have different feelings about it now I'm on the other side of thirty. And I did reread it after binding, and I do like it better, and I'm sad that the exterior parts didn't turn out as well as I had hoped. Half the reason I bind public domain stuff is so I can show off my skills to IRL people who aren't in fandom, and not have to explain what fanfiction is or why it has so many dicks in it, and there were so many issues here that I don't even want to do that.

The good news is that this was the low point of binderary and most of the other books gave me results I like better. I'm still doing titles for a lot of them, so we'll see how fast I can get them done and photographed, but I've definitely got more books in store in the near future.

#bookbinding #snek makes books #it feels weird not to tag a fandom but i don't want to put this in the main book tags #i realize it sounds like i hate what i've done here #i don't hate it i'm just frustrated with myself #and i learned stuff which is an important part of the process #but dangit #the public domain bind from last year came out better than this

[calqlate]

RE: LOVE & LIFE | ONE

— SOMEONE WHO CARES

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

PAIRING(S): zhongli x f! reader + diluc x f! wife! reader

SUMMARY: As the wife of the famous big shot in the wine industry, you have everything you could ever ask for — a beautiful mansion, endless wealth, servants at your beck and call... However, you lack the one thing you yearn for: love. With your beloved husband neglecting you and being stuck in a loveless marriage, you decide to end it all, only to be stopped by a man whom you have never met before, and who also coincidentally happens to be your soulmate. In addition, there just might seem to be more than what meets the eye in regards to your peculiar soulmate, and you just might have to find that out for yourself.

TAGLIST: @crescentmoonnn + @deeomi + @esthelily + @mshope16 + @nerdiel-has-no-braincells

A/N: sorry for the wait, i've been struggling with the biggest writer's block as of february :") here's the long-awaited chapter, please enjoy ^^

As you walked off the plane and step foot onto the arrival hall of Liyue's airport, you combed some stray locks of hair falling into your face. Sitting through a five-hour flight while sending emails and settling a whole load of paperwork (which had been uploaded onto an online folder courtesy of your secretary Giselle) had you red-eyed and ready to take a good three-hour nap. You were presently on a business trip to meet a partner who was keen on investing in your company to expand and establish a branch of its own in Liyue. The said partner in question was Fatui Network, a trading company renowned for having a seemingly shrewd CEO who had the 'magic touch': any business she was interested in and chose to invest in seemed to turn out successful, and you were hoping for good things when she reached out to contact you when you chose to expand your business.

You were scanning the crowd for the person who was arranged to pick you up when you spotted a gingerhead in the crowd waving eagerly at you. You raised an eyebrow up at him and he gave wide, exaggerated nods as if to say "Yes, it's me!".

You dragged your luggage over to him and gave him a quick once-over. The man was fair-skinned with blue eyes that seemed to have seen many things in life despite his young exterior. He wore a bright smile which exuberated a youthful and bright energy. You greeted him with a smile and extended a hand for a handshake, "Nice to meet you. I'm [F/N] Ragnvindr, CEO of Aster Cosmetics. You must be the representative from the Fatui Network, right?"

The gingerhead grinned and shook your hand back, "I'm actually one of the directors there. The name's Ajax Tartaglia, nice to meet you."

You raised your brows and drew your hand back along with him, "I didn't think your CEO would send a director to meet me."

"Oh, we must," Ajax said, "You're a valuable business partner of ours. It's only right for one of the higher-ups to pick you up and show you around."

"That's kind of you, please deliver my sincerest thanks to your CEO," you smiled.

"That, I will," Ajax smiled, "Now, shall I show you to your hotel?"

Ajax proved himself fun to be around: he was a great conversationalist and naturally made you feel at ease. He made you feel as if both of you were friends for a long time even though you had just met less than an hour ago. He was different from the usual directors that you met on business talks and trips, and he was like the breath of fresh air you never knew you needed.

"Speaking of, Mr. Tartaglia, isn't the Fatui Network based in Snezhnaya?" you asked as the taxi the both of you were riding up pulled up to the hotel.

"We are, but I flew down a few days ago to check in on our Liyue branch," Ajax explained.

Both of you stepped out of the taxi and he rounded to the back to retrieve your luggage.

"You are the hands-on type, I see," you said with a teasing smile.

"It's good to see to things personally," Ajax smiled, rolling your luggage beside him as the both of you stepped into the hotel.

The lobby was grand and sparkling, with a huge glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling as a centerpiece. There were sofas placed round small tables, with a vase of flowers on top of each table. The floor was covered in dark marble and it was so smooth and shiny that one could see their own reflection against it.

As Ajax went up to the service counter to get your room booking, you pulled out your phone to check your text messages. Just a few from Jean and Kaeya, but none from the person you were hoping to hear from. A slight pang of disappointment filled the pit of your stomach as you sighed through your nose. You were delusional for actually hoping for a response from him, were you not?

"Mrs. Ragnvindr, are you ready to go?"

You snapped your head up to see Ajax waving your key card idly inbetween his fingers and you shot him an apologetic smile.

"Apologies, I'm coming," you slipped your phone back into your purse and took quick steps to catch up to Ajax, pushing the thoughts of him into the back of your mind.

Despite the small little blemish that was the disappointment you felt earlier in the day, Ajax seemed to wash it all away by distracting you with the itinerary he had planned for the day. He had chosen good restaurants and cafés to have lunch and dinner and went through your proposals during the short coffee breaks.

All the distractions wore off once you were back into the confines of your hotel suite. The room was booked based on your husband's terms, which were pretty adamant demands according to Ajax.

What use is giving me a luxurious room when I've got no one to share it with? You sighed as you peeled your heels off and clambered onto the sofa which was designed for aesthetics first and comfort second. The armrest dug into your side uncomfortably and you adjusted yourself to make yourself feel more comfortable. You dug into your purse again to retrieve your phone.

There were still no texts from him.

You decided to give your husband a call via Facetime. After all, there was only a one-hour difference and it was only 11pm in Mondstadt then. Your husband was still awake and you knew that he would only sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

You placed your phone standing upright on the table, leaning your phone against the ceramic vase for support. You sat up straight eagerly, waiting for your husband to pick up.

"Hello?"

Your eyes brightened as you watched the screen shift in perspective. Diluc's hand was covering the screen partially as he moved his phone, the screen coming to a standstill as he placed his phone on a solid surface. Diluc's hair was slightly disheveled and ran down the sides of his face. Upon closer inspection, you realised that he had rather deep set eyebags beneath his eyes, and his skin looked paler than usual, making him seem ghostly.

"Diluc," you started, "Are you alright?"

"I'm doing fine," he was curt in his response, choosing not to look at you. You could hear the sounds of a typing keyboard in the background, so you knew he was still working while on the line with you. His eyes never left his laptop as he asked, "What about you? Is the room comfortable enough for you?"

"The suite is great, thank you," you muttered.

There was a moment of silence as neither one of you said anything. The only sound being heard was the clacking of his keyboard and the occasional clicks of his mouse.

"Is that all?" Diluc asked, "If so, you should hang up and go to bed."

"You should go to bed too," you whispered, "It's already so late and you're still working."

"You don't need to worry about me. I'm fine."

"The eyebags under your eyes say otherwise," you countered.

"They are none of your concern," he said, his voice solid and holding his ground. There was another beat of silence before he said, "That's all for tonight. Goodnight."

With that, the call went dead and your screen went black. The calls with Diluc were always like this, and you really should not be surprised or even had expected something more. He was merely your husband in name, and his feelings were not yours to bend at your will.

A few involuntary tears escaped your eyes and you wiped them away quickly. What use was it to be the wife of a rich man when this marriage was loveless and cold? It went against all expectations you had of marriage: you had wanted to be married to a man who would shower you in endless love, be it a wealthy man or a homeless one. As long as you were loved, you would be okay.

However, you were not loved in the slightest, and you were not alright by any means.

You walked right towards the door and slipped your heels back on again. You needed some fresh air, so off to the rooftop you went.

The hotel had a swimming pool on the top floor which oversaw the entire city. At present, the neon city lights glittered against the still waters, which were glowing in a seemingly neon blue colour, thanks to the lights installed on the pool's tiles. You walked right to the edge of the pool which was close to the glass panels separating the pool from the sky. You closed your eyes, feeling the cool night breeze against your face.

After your grandfather passed away, your parents learnt of your grandfather's will to have you marry the eldest Ragnvindr son, and they were more than happy to pretty much sell you off to the said famous family. You remembered that they did not even bat an eye when they did so, saying it was all for strengthening the family's ties with the social circle of the wealthy, but you could care less. It seemed that in this world, no one was truly on your side.

You kicked your heels off and climbed onto the seats a little far off the pool, their backs facing the glass panels. You closed your eyes and held your hands up, walking in a single line as if you were walking on a tightrope.

I wonder, if I fell off here, would there be anyone who will care?

Suddenly, you tripped on an uneven cushion and swerved to your side, the side that was close to the glass panels. Your eyes flew open as you let out a silent scream, watching your life flash before your very eyes as you fell into impending doom.

By fate or some sort of miracle, someone grabbed your other hand and yanked you away from the edge, pulling you straight into something solid. Your eyes screwed themselves shut as you careened into something… or someone. You opened your eyes to see that you have found yourself in the arms of a dark-haired man, whose eyes were brimming with tears as he whispered the string of words you were not expecting to hear from a complete stranger.

"Please stay alive for me."

#💫—re: love & life #💫—qq writes #writeblr #writing #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x yn #zhongli x you #zhongli x reader fluff #zhongli x y/n fluff #zhongli x yn fluff #zhongli x you fluff #zhongli #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #diluc x yn #diluc x you #diluc x reader angst #diluc x y/n angst #diluc x yn angst #diluc x you angst #diluc #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x yn #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader fluff #genshin impact x y/n fluff #genshin impact x yn fluff #genshin impact x you fluff

[mosneakers]

Tycho: So you spent the whole evening babysitting for Sage and Alice, and now you're tending their garden without even being asked. [Teasing] …Such a good little family-sim!

Coraleye: You better watch your mouth, Curious, or else I'll turn you into a family-sim by the end of the night!

Tycho: Is that so? Just like how I was unflirty when you met me, and now I'm a romance sim?

Coraleye: Hey! Don't blame me for that one. I think you've always been a little romantic underneath that exterior of yours... You could just never bring yourself to admit it. [Perceptive grin]

Tycho: [Laughs] No idea what you're talking about, Darling.

Coraleye: Sure, Curious. Sure. I've got you all figured out. [Winks] Tycho smiles, captivated by her charm, but partially reassured by the fact that she's not entirely correct. As he feels the warmth of the magenta glow that signifies his passionate emotions building beneath his skin, he can't help but wonder, how the hell can this possibly be a useful feature to alienkind?

Tycho: But really though… You have such a pure heart, it's sweet.

Coraleye pauses and locks her gaze with Tycho, her eyes piercing into his soul. In that moment, the reassurance he felt just seconds ago shatters, replaced by a profound insecurity fueled by his lie, leaving him uncomfortably vulnerable in her presence.

Coraleye doesn't know where it comes from, but she's observant of Tycho's tension, and quickly softens her gaze.

Coraleye: Well... They have three little ones to take care of, and clearly haven't been able to make time for gardening. But these plants... they're Sage's friends, really. I couldn't just leave it like this. I imagine they'd do the same for me when I have a garden and some babies of my own. Also… with a little magic, it's not so bad!

Coraleye giggles and whirls her fingers, conjuring a glimmering display of magic. With a graceful little wave of her hand, the pile of pulled-up weeds vanishes, leaving the garden pristine and free of any signs of neglect.

Tycho breathes a deep sigh of relief when his brewing glow is washed away along with the weeds. He narrowly escapes being found out this time, but can feel the glow from within, threatening to return, and inevitably rip everything from him.

#ts4 #Sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 story #MD4 #sim 4 #Coraleye Darling #Tycho Curious #Strangerville #MD4season10 #journeyboundgardenaglow

[deramin2]

I've head Crowley and Aziraphale referred to as a "will they won't they" story. I can understand that interpretation, but it feels like it misses the depth the historical minisodes add: They will. They always will in the end because they always have. (This isn't the end.)

For millennia they've been drawn together. At first by many chance meetings. And then because they liked each other. Crowley pushed Aziraphale to have free will and examine what he wanted to do and experience beyond what Heaven said he ought to. And Aziraphale saw past Crowley's scowling exterior and associates to the kind person he actually is. They're both answers to questions the other's been asking.

And end of season 1 they were brave enough to choose each other over their respective sides openly and defiantly. When they thought the bookshop had burned down, Crowley offered to let Aziraphale stay with him until it was sorted. Aziraphale turned him down under the excuse that Heaven wouldn't like it. (Even though he's already been kicked out of heaven.)

Season 2 we see the fall out of their defiance. They've had peace but it's transient. Crowley respected that Aziraphale didn't want to live together even temporarily so he never told him he was living in his car. Crowley compared angels to bees. Aziraphale has lost his hive. Even though he has his earthly delights and Crowley, he's feeling very alone. Crowley is used to that kind of loneliness, Aziraphale isn't.

That's the weakness Heaven exploits to undermine his freedom. They promise him he can have heaven and Crowley. All it takes is Crowley agreeing to be a subject of heaven again. But of course Crowley is never going to do that. Crowley knows both sides are equally toxic, manipulative, and violent. He's an abolitionist of the entire system.

Aziraphale is a reformist. He thinks that this is all a big misunderstanding of God's great plan and if he was in change they could get everything sorted out and it would all be how it's supposed to be. He thinks the violence is an accident and not inherent to the system.

For 6000 years Crowley's been trying to persuade Aziraphale to stop being complicit. Their biggest wins are when Aziraphale listens to him. But he doesn't win every time. Aziraphale's entire existence has been defined by upholding the belief that God has a plan and that plan is inherently good. If that's not true, they Aziraphale has no certainty. This is a man who's worn the same outfit for over 100 years. He likes the comfort of the status quo.

Choosing his own way with Crowley is utterly terrifying to him. So he was promised that he could have all his certainty back, AND he could have Crowley. It was a very expertly crafted temptation. And of course it's a lie. He won't have any real power and the power he is given will just make him more complicit and drive him farther apart from Crowley, which is the real goal. If they just deny Crowley to Aziraphale, Aziraphale will fight them. This way they make it look like it's Crowley keeping them apart and Heaven is being the reasonable ones. It's a kind of deceit Aziraphale isn't used to from angels. But it's been shaping his whole life. He's so used to that kind of emotional manipulation that it looks like love. It's an amplification of what happened at the Bandstand.

So this is their trip into the underworld where they have to face their greatest foe: their own selves. But the point on that story form is to come back out again transformed, not just stay there. To be that's not the "will they won't they" trope of straight media, it's the core queer trope of the cyclical fight for the relationship against a world that wants to tear you apart. Personally I wasn't expecting Neil Gaiman to write the tone of Big Eden, I was expecting Torch Song Trilogy. Especially when the story was being written. The adaptation is new, but the story comes from a particular queer media tradition.

Famously Torch Song Trilogy was three plays, but if you tried to stage the first or second play without the third it's just a bummer. The second play in particular has a devastating ending. But add the last play and get to the end of the story and it's a masterpiece. It couldn't hit that high without either of those lows.

Queer love stories are about how love isn't per-destined, it's something you choose and fight for. Sometimes you fight yourself for it. Sometimes you fight your partner for it. But you always have to fight the world for it. And it's worth it. It's so worth it to love and be loved. "The mortifying ordeal of being known." It's about being brave enough to do what you know is right against a world that says established power and decorum is better for everyone.

Queer media is all about cycles. They haven't been waffling about their relationship for trivial reasons. It was never going to be that easy. Their love represents a very real threat to institutional power. as do Beelzebub and Gabriel. Angels and Demons are not supposed to have free will by definition. Free will and choice is supposed to be a human trait. Is love and compassion stronger than God's plan?

Challenging and subverting systems of power like Heaven and Hell isn't a one-and done. They don't lose a battle and give up the war. Crowley and Aziraphale chose their own side but their still combatants. It takes courage to keep fighting and that slips. But I also trust Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and the places they guide their stories to in the end. The minisodes of Aziraphale and Crowley's history shows that however many times they get cold feet and withdraw, they always come back together. That's their nature, and it's more powerful than Heaven's schemes.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #go s2 spoilers #long post

[vorchagirl]

writing prompts

14 and 25 for your choice of Ryder

A/N - Thanks for the prompt! Combining "she clouds your judgement" and "we have three hours" was a little difficult, but I made it work! Enjoy! I went with Reyes & Cerys, set well before High Noon.

-

"You told the Pathfinder?" Keema's voice rose sharply, and he felt her pin those luminous blue eyes on him.

"Yes." Reyes didn't look up as he continued flicking through reports on his datapad.

He'd known she would would make a big deal about this. She liked Cerys, but she didn't trust her any more than she trusted Sloane. The Pathfinder was an outsider, and one of the invaders who wanted her people's land.

"You told her you're the Charlatan?"

He finally glanced up. "Yes."

Keema rose from her seat at the bar and joined him at the table. "Are you mad? She's Initiative, Reyes! She's practically the enemy! A useful tool for taking out Sloane, yes, but she'll betray us the moment her superiors give the order-"

"She won't." Reyes set the datapad down with a sigh. "She's on our side and she wants Sloane out as badly as we do."

The angaran woman scoffed. "I highly doubt that. She hasn't had to live under Sloane’s thumb! Scraping a living and struggling to survive while the bitch bleeds us dry! She didn't have to watch as Sloane introduced a drug into slums that reduced my people in gibbering wrecks! And your precious Pathfinder doesn't have to live with the threat of beatings and violence if we don't pay protection fees!"

He drew in a deep breath and picked up his whiskey as Keema ranted, watching the condensation bead along the rim.

"Nevertheless," Reyes broke in quietly, but with enough conviction that Keema shut up. "She is the one who got the drug out of the slums, and she's made her stance on the beatings and violence clear. Cerys hates Sloane and wants her dead. The Pathfinder will help us, I've ensured her loyalty."

His body clenched as he remembered exactly how they had sealed their deal in his hideout in the Draullir caves. He could still feel her body against his, could still taste her kiss on his lips. Cerys had been everything he'd thought she would be and more, because despite her good girl exterior she was a very very bad girl in bed.

The rest is under a cut!

And she was very susceptible to his charms.

Keema’s eyes narrowed and her lips curled ever so slightly as she read his expression. Reyes didn't flinch under the scrutiny; he liked Keema. She was useful and she recognised an opportunity when it came along. But her mistrust of Cerys Ryder was blinding her.

"You slept with her, didn't you?" A knowing smile slid across her face and she tossed her head back and laughed throatily. "Reyes Vidal, the consummate player got played by a goody two shoes Initiative woman barely out of her teens. I never thought I'd see the day when a woman whipped you so soundly."

Reyes clenched his teeth at her phrasing and set his whiskey down without taking a sip. "I didn't get played, Keema, I-"

"But you did sleep with her despite your policy of not mixing business with pleasure?" She sounded intrigued, and she reached for his glass, draining the whiskey one gulp. "Know what I think? I think you're blind when it comes to the Pathfinder. I think she clouds your judgement until you can't see straight-"

Reyes grinned and shook his head. "No. I've just tied her to us so tightly that she can't betray us, even if she wishes to. If she does, the Initiative will find out just how much she's meddled here on Kadara. She's done things the Resistance would crucify the Initiative over, and she's already become involved in our little Exile war - something the Initiative has forbidden her from doing. Trust me, she's on our side."

And of course, he had slept with Cerys to seal their deal, but not because he'd planned to. He liked her and he'd wanted her. She made him feel things he hadn't felt for a long long time. And perhaps most importantly if all, she gave him hope that maybe he could succeed here on Kadara and turn things around.

Keema watched him carefully and finally sighed, setting the empty glass down. "I think you're a fool, but if you trust her, then I'll trust you." She leaned back and smiled. "And if she tries to betrays us, if I even suspect she'll betray us, I'll have her killed. Fair?"

Reyes glanced up as a flare of anger shot through him at the threat. Cerys was his now - if anyone tried to harm her they'd find out how dangerous he could be. Would Keema would do it, he wondered. Probably not, but if she did hurt Cerys he would rain hell down on her and her people in retribution.

She had to know that.

He bared his teeth in what he hoped looked like a smile. "She won't betray us."

"Fine," Keema waved a hand, dismissing the Pathfinder. "But onto more pressing business, have you decided which of Sloane’s men you'll use to take out Kaetus?"

Reyes' smile stretched into a genuine grin, and he passed the datapad to Keema. "I have. The bastard won't stand a chance, and Sloane will fall for this hook line and sinker. The turian is her weak spot and she'll go ballistic when we hurt him."

"Hmmm," she nodded as she flicked through the names of the men, her expression approving. "Good choices. Have you decided when this little event will take place?"

"Three hours from now."

Keeme's head jerked up in surprise. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"The longer we wait, the greater the chance that one of the men will have an attack of conscience. I won't risk that. It happens today."

He lounged back in his seat and gazed around the room at the assembled Collective Representatives, his most trusted lieutenants ready to follow his lead and die for him. The chess pieces were in place, all he had to do was make this final move and it would be checkmate for Sloane.

"Today," Reyes met Keema’s eyes and held her gaze, "Sloane dies."

She grinned and poured them both another whiskey. "I'll drink to that."

#reyes vidal #reyder #mass effect andromeda #my writing #saints and Liars

[ploo-toe]

The Crow and The Mourning Dove: CH 4

SCP-049 x SCP!Reader

Series tags/warnings(18+): fem!reader, slowburn, (eventual)smut, horror, gore/violence,  Assault(mental, physical,sexual), death, unethical experiments, dark, mentions of past trauma, happy ending

Chapter Summary: I would take great pleasure in crushing you beneath my boot like the pest that you are.

Note: Sorry for the delay! I've been having some pretty bad migraines lately, but hopefully things will be rolling out smoothly now :)

 ___________________________________________

049 had been moved to heavy containment after the incident.  The questionings were weekly, staff always being met with hostility and agitation.  Despite his insistent demands, they had denied him anything regarding Y/n.  Given the state of his current arrangements, he could only assume the barbaric cruelty she must have been met with.  The very thought of it made his blood boil, the sight of her fear-stricken face burned into his mind.

It was one he wished to never grace her features again.

Director Novak slammed his hands on the table across from him, clearly angered by 049’s antics. 

"For the last time, what do you know about SCP-2895?" He was practically seething at this point. 049 would have found his lack of composure amusing given other circumstances.  “You and that thing killed four men, you will answer for it!”  

049 was on his feet in an instant.  His fingers twitched, itching to rid this man of the disrespect that clearly plagued him.  To speak of her in such a manner.  He fixed a hard, cold stare on the director, holding his vile nature under a harsh and unforgiving gaze. 

For a moment, he saw a crack in the director’s exterior.  The flash of fear that made its way to the surface.

To think of putting such vermin in a position of power was completely asinine.

“You seem to be quite ill, doctor.”  

If Novak wasn’t nervous before, he certainly was now.  He knew just how much power that single statement held.  

The director rose from his seat, poorly trying to mask his panic.  “I assure you, I'm feeling just fine.  I certainly don’t need one of your so-called cures.”

049 practically doubled over, letting out a cold unsettling laugh.  One that was unnervingly out of character for his normally composed nature.

“You think I wish to cure you?  Surely you jest!”  He pressed his gloved palms flat against the table, leaning across the table until his face was merely inches from the directors.  His words were sharp and gritted, all rouse of laughter gone. 

“I would take great pleasure in crushing you beneath my boot like the pest that you are.” 

Novak didn’t linger long enough for the good doctor to make true on his words.  

His next stop had been even less helpful than the first.

Where 049 had been standoffish and aggressive, 2895 had become unresponsive to personnel entirely.  Any attempt made at questioning had been fruitless.  No matter who came in or what words were spoken, Y/n’s gaze remained fixed in the distance.  She seemed to stare straight through anyone who took the place in front of her.

Novak studied her from the other side of the observation glass, as if trying to pick apart her exterior to get to what he really wanted.  Dr.Leeward stood next to him, incessantly fidgeting as he looked over his notes.  He desperately searched for something he had missed; something that would give them answers and get the Director off his back. 

2895’s provocation had been easy to see, but what he didn’t understand was why 049 had reacted so strongly to it.  The entire series of events had left it acting extremely out of character.  

It left him gnawing at his inner cheek until he tasted metal.

His colleagues always said that he was too soft for this job.  Maybe it was weakness, but he couldn’t shake the mix of feelings that were being brought on by the situation.  There was something about the display of emotions coming from the SCPs, something that he couldn’t help but describe as so blatantly human.  It went against everything he had learned until this point.

It was that mix of feelings that led him to where he was now.  Standing outside of SCP-2895’s heavy containment cell in the middle of the night, furtive to the directors knowledge.  

Leeward looked both ways before quickly entering.

“Novak doesn’t know I’m here.”  He spoke quickly in a hushed voice, taking the seat across from her.  “I don’t have much time, but I need you to tell me what you know about SCP-049.”  

No response.

He racked his brain for ideas, before a thought hit him that left both he and all the other staff looking like bumbling idiots.  The two have never interacted within the foundation before.

“...Do you know the plague doctor?”

Her eyes suddenly pierced his with an intensity he had never seen before.  She was staring right through him just seconds ago, and now it was like she was staring directly into his soul.  He fought to keep his next words steady, suddenly feeling small under her gaze.

“This whole situation puts you both in a heap of trouble, and I can't help unless you give me something to work with here.”

Slowly, she leaned down, not breaking contact as she reached a restrained hand into the collar of her shirt.  As she pulled it out, something familiar dangled in front of him. 

A ring.

#step on him king #scp 049 x reader #scp049xreader #the crow and the mourning dove #scp 049 #scp 049 x scp reader #scp containment breach #scp foundation #scp049 #scp 049 x oc #scp

[kaylinlmao]

Finney x Reader Request: Reader has always had a crush on Finney, but was willing to let him go when he started dating someone else. Finney catches his girlfriend cheating on him with all three of his bullies and runs to Reader for comfort. During it, he realizes that he’s had feelings for Reader since they met ❤️

I love this! Ill get right on it! Thanks for requesting! Aged up to 17 because I said. Love ya!

I've known that I was in love with Finney Blake since we escaped the grabber when we were 13. We've been best friends ever since. What he didn't know is that I wanted to be more. So, when he got a girlfriend, I was understandably heartbroken. But I pushed through. I put on a fake smile, I was kind to his girlfriend even though I knew she was bad news.

But I was prepared to let him go if it meant he would be happy. So I did. I got over my crush and tried to go on dates with other people but I couldn't get Finn out of my mind. Every time I would go on dates I would see Finney glare at the boy I was going with. I would usually get upset. He doesn't get to be jealous! He has a girlfriend.

There would be moments when I would get flustered and just keep repeating, he has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend. I'm not cheater. I wouldn't let any guy with a girlfriend hook up with me. Girl code, y'know?

I was at my locker, putting my books away so I could head home when Finney and his girlfriend, Stephanie, walked over to me. "Hey, Y/N!" Finney said, smiling at me. "Sup, Finn. How's it going?" "Good. Do you wanna have a movie night at my house tonight at like 9?" "Hey, why didn't you invite me, boo bear?" Stephanie buts in. "You said you had to go to the doctor in the morning so you needed to be rested!" He was so cute. She didn't deserve him. I knew that she was cheating. I just didn't know with who.

And I've expressed that she's cheating to Finn but he doesn't believe me. It would spark a lot of fights between us so I just let it go. "I would love to, Finn. Let's do it at my house instead. Ill bring snacks. See you at 9!" I said, fake smiling and walking away. I knew what Stephanie was doing tonight. I knew. And she knew I knew.

I got some chips, popcorn, and candy from the Grab N Go on the way home. When I got home it was 5 and my dad was at work. He was a good man but a little bit of a workaholic. But he made it up to me by buying cool things for me. That's why I told Finney to come to my house. My dad had just finished the theater in the basement. Nobody knew it was even there but me and dad.

I went down there and set up little lights and stuff to make it pretty. Not romantic. Pretty. After I was done, I went up to my room to get ready. As I was working on homework on my desk, at about 8, I heard a knock on my window. I went to see who it was and it was Finn! He was crying. Uh oh.

I opened my window and led Finney to my bed where I layed down and he put his head on my chest and cried. I just let him cry. "Let it all out, Finney. Let it out." I whispered, rubbing his back. After he calmed down a bit I asked him. "What happened, Finn? I've only seen you cry like that a few times" Each of those times were grabber related. "She's cheating on me, Y/N." I nodded. "You told me that she was cheating and I didn't listen!" "I know Finn. Who was she cheating with?" He started to cry again. "Moose and his friends. They said they take turns with her." "Oh Finney. Honey. I'm so sorry."

"Those bully had made his life hell for 7 years! I was putting a calm exterior on for Finn but I was raging on the inside. I was gonna murder her!

Finney's POV

As I lay on Y/N's lap, I look up at her fuming. She's so gorgeous when she's mad. She so gorgeous at any time. Then the realization kicked in. I'm not in love with Stephanie. I never was. I just dated her to try to get rid of my feelings for my best friend. She's been with me through it all. I'm not in love with Stephanie. I never have been. It's been Y/N. It always has been. It always will be.

Back to Y/N's POV

"I love you, Y/N Y/L/N." I heard Finn say. "What? No you don't. You're just getting over Stephanie." "No. I'm not in love with Stephanie. I never was. I just dated her to try to deflect my feelings for my best friend. You've been with me through everything. The grabber, my dad, everything I've gone through since we were 10, you've helped me through. I'm not in love with Stephanie, Y/N. I never have been. Its been you this whole time. It always has been and it always will be you, Y/N. I love you, Y/N Y/L/N."

"I love you too, Finney boy."

Hope y'all like this! Love y'all! :) -Kaylin

#finbin #finney blake #finney x robin x reader #yandere finney blake #finney blake x reader #mason thames #the black phone #the black phone x reader #yandere the black phone #yandere the black phone x reader

[sapphyrebur]

block me out

wilbur soot x reader

chapter one:

I'll say whatever you want, but I've become such a liar

You tried not to spend too much time alone with your reflection, it never ended well and you knew it only fuelled the self destructive whirlwind in your brain. However, you couldn't help yourself, it  was late and the person in front of you was so unrecognisable you had no choice but to stare. To study the purple bruises under her eyes and the cracks that lay upon her lips. The woman in front of you didn't seem like a woman at all but rather a hollow exterior of the one she used to be.

Steam took over the mirror before you could slip any further, reminding you of why you had ended up in the bathroom at the dead of night. Your attention was turned towards the downpour of water beside you and the mist that had filled the room, telling you it was hot enough to indulge in. 

Since moving in with Wilbur this had become a routine. You could no longer spend days curled up in bed as you wept, mourning the person you used to be, you weren't able to lock yourself away from the world as you begged to be taken from it. He would notice. Of course he would, Wilbur was attentive and caring and would notice something was off with you within a second. It would kill him to know what you were going through, to know about the words that cursed through your head at every given moment. You knew that he would give up everything in his life if it meant that you would be okay which is exactly why he can't know. Wilbur was too good, too pure to be burdened by your problems. Everything had been going so well for him and you were not going to be the person to ruin that. You refused to be the source of his unhappiness.

So you turnt to this, late night showers when Wilbur had fallen deep into his sleep and the downpour of water was loud enough to silence your sobs.

 So here you are; sat on the shower floor (because standing had always been too much effort) with water droplets streaming down the curves of your face, whether they were from the shower or your tears you had no idea. You never could tell the difference these days. The water was hot enough to scorch your skin, burning violent red patches into the flesh. It didn't bother you the way it would most people, in fact it gave a sense of comfort. Sitting on the floor with your knees pressed hard against the tiles, skin blistering and muffled cries is the closest thing you've ever had to peace. Everything you feel in those moments is so heightened it drowns everything else out, every thought and every whisper disappears from your head and you are left with the silence you had been longing for. It was a vicious cycle, you knew that but it was one you repeated to keep sane.

But as they say, good things never last. 

“Darling? What's going on?” Wilbur’s words were accompanied by three ( very sleepy ) knocks on the bathroom door. Fuck. This isn't happening.  You had worked so hard to keep this up, to keep him safe and unaware and there is no way you're giving in now.

“I'm here, I'm here! Don't worry I'll be out in a minute, just let me finish up.” you called out, voice raw and scratchy, as you stood on shaking knees. Slowly, you stepped out of the shower and turned it off, watching the water flow down the drain taking your solace with it.

The next few moments are hazy, now having nothing to distract you, the buzz in your head grew louder and harder to ignore. You must have gotten through it somehow because moments after you found yourself fully dressed slipping out of the bathroom.

“Hey.” you whispered softly as you climbed into the empty space next to your boyfriend. His face blushed a delicate pink as you pressed a kiss to the skin before cuddling into him.

“Sorry if I woke you up, I had a massive headache and thought I'd jump in the shower to try and shake it off.” his face dropped slightly at the mention of you being unwell. “ Why didn't you wake me up, I could've helped you? Have you taken anything?” 

His rambling concerns were a reminder of exactly why you fell into this routine and had to lie to him about it.

“I'm fine Will, ” you huffed. “ I think I just need to sleep for a bit.” you buried yourself further into his side hoping he would believe that whatever was going on with you could be fixed with a couple hours of rest.

“Yeah, you probably do.” It worked. Wilbur pulled you into him, wrapping you in an embrace that was so tight it was probably more of a comfort to him than you. “You promise me you're okay though angel?” he pressed, placing light kisses along the top of your head.

“I'm fine.” you promised. 

Not because you were, but because he wanted you to be.

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x y/n #wilbur soot fluff #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #cc!wilbur #mcyt x you #wilbur mcyt