#villian he

[tojida]

📐 + 6’7 ( and don't think I won't grow 😤 )

Send 📐 + your character's height to compare with one or more of mine! || @villain-he

" tf ya eatin' ? sheesh. " pls dont grow bigger, Saint, he won't know what to do LOL

[tojida]

"Hi, yes, I need t'get a restrainin' order on a very tall, otherworldly, stinky being who is tryna touch m'asshole. Thank ya."

[tojida]

DKFJFLAJLKDJFLKSJDKFJKLSDf w/ @villain-he

[tojida]

❛ take yer shirt off. ❜ the goddess gestures to that bloody monstrosity shredded to hell n back, but still it sticks to the wounds in tattered pieces. there's a beat where they wait for him to do as they've said. they stare at one another instead. Saint knows there's something fuckin’ stupid skatin’ those knife thin lips’a his by the way the scarred membrane stretches thin, a grin growin’ over his idiotic face. they don't give him time to say something as stupid as to accuse them of something like wanting to get him naked. they point their index in his face. there's a clear warning on their face that they will make sure to make his wounds worse before they help him, if he even tries to play it off or joke with them. the goddess cuffs him on the back of the neck, bending this ridiculous broad body over and keepin’ him bent low there in their hand. ❛ you ⸻ take yer fuckin’ shirt off. now. ❜ they weren't asking anymore. they don't give him a chance to deny. (it's what he gets for being wounded and crawling his ass over to Saint to worry about).

unprompted ask || always accepting || *bites boTTOM LIP* @villain-he

Saint’s aura felt different than usual: wrong, almost. That honeyed accent that typically rolled so smoothly off their tongue — (even when they were hurlin' insults or some clever remark at him) — seemed absent now, stripped of its warmth. Their posture was rigid, their shoulders held tight instead of loose with that familiar ease, & those ruby orbs carried none of their usual shimmer. no glint, no spark of that ever-flowing playfulness that lingered even in their sharpest words. The smirk that pulled at his lips dipped, & his brows & eyes constricted with uncertainty.

Had they finally grown tired of him? Of the constant back & forth, the way he toyed the line just to see if it’d snap? Of the dirty thoughts he never bothered to filter, the vulgarities that rolled off his tongue like they were no different than breath itself? Maybe it was the way he kept showing up — ( uninvited, bloodied, barely held together ) — after every dangerous job that left him hanging on by threads. Always draggin' himself back to them to patch him up (again), like it was routine. Like he’d just keep surviving long enough to need their hands on him one more time.

Now they were demanding that he strip off his shirt. The first command, of course, sparked a coy thought; automatic & instinctual, but their posture didn’t falter. If anything, they grew more taut, shoulders tightening, jaw set harder. There was no tease in it, no playful lilt beneath the words. Just tension. Just a quiet, visible weariness of his behavior. “ Sain— ” The name barely had time to leave his mouth before fingers wrapped around his neck. He felt the grip ... firm & unyielding. Saint was a goddess, after all. Toji was strong, stronger than any other human, stronger than most curses ... but against a being who had lived for millenniums? Their strength was no joke.

“ tch … ” His lip twitched upward, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in it. He hated being forced ... hated the weight of it, the way it pressed down on his spine & curled something sharp in his chest. It dragged up an old, sour memory, the kind that never really leaves. Like shoving a dog’s face into its own piss just to teach it a lesson. Familiar ... Too familiar. Back when he was younger, when his family would force his head down, make him bow, make him yield, remind him exactly where he stood. Inferior.

Fushiguro complies. not out of submission, but because he’s grown accustomed to Saint, & he knows they only want to help him … no matter how hard he insists on makin’ somethin’ so simple turn complicated. " Then let go, Saint. ” His tone was chilled, edged sharp & steady, expression chiseled with defiance & yet beneath it lingered that quiet willingness to follow through with Saint’s demand.

[tojida]

❛ I knew you were doin’ the bending! ❜

unprompted || always accepting || @villain-he

“Y’really are insane t’believe I’d be bendin’ for anyone.” The words come out flat, edged with a scoff; the very idea offends him. Toji tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing with that familiar, dangerous calm. “Don’t happen. Ain’t happenin’.” A faint twitch pulls at the corner of his scarred lip. “So how ’bout ya wipe that off yer wishlist.”

[tojida]

❝ when I said I was going grocery shopping, that wasn't an invitation. ❞

unprompted ask || always accepting || @villain-he

“…what? I can’t jus’ go t’the grocery store?” His expression crunches up, head tilting slightly. “World don’t revolve ’round ya, Saint.” He puts on a mock sense of offense, exaggerated just enough to sell it before continuing, tone easing. “Can we get more’a those red bean–filled pastries? .... oh! & melon soda."

[tojida]

@villain-he || from post comment:

Toji vc; he just smirks, all lazy & sharp at once. “Beg? … nah, y’got the wrong man.” ( one step & he’s gone ) appearing right behind Saint moments later, fingers closing around their wrist, lifting it up with the bread still in hand. Pearly whites snag a bite [ a decent bite ] of their sweet treat before they can blink, a low huff of a laugh following after. “Yeah… I always get what I want ;3c"