the way people used to use tone tags in 2020 makes me laugh in retrospect because in what world would you need to tag “good morning” as nonsexual. hi friend! /gen /pos /srs /nsx /hello /smiling /happy
not to be That Person but male-bodied people experience morning wood on the regular so why would this be surprising.
Saying ‘good morning’ to a person is already a bit in the queerplatonic zone (if you said ‘good morning’ to every single person you were ‘merely friends’ with, you’d have like a dozen different threads going on- it denotes a special place in your sphere) and since a lot of people conflate emotional closeness with romance and ergo sex, this makes perfect sense as a clarification
esp if the two people in question were queer, esp bi or pan
we were talking about like DMing people ‘good morning’, right? Or were people saying ‘non sexual’ on like a public social media post directed outwards to everyone?
“there are cishet people more normal than this” > somebody doesn’t have very much experience with amatonormativity seems like. Yeah not EVERY SINGLE PERSON is like this, nobody said that.
Media literacy is dead yada yada
@heres-someart @justanotherrandommoth
and @felix-the-pup2 acting like they definitely know what goes on in the minds thar OP is actively puzzling over. Like you have no more concrete idea than they do, lol. Unless you’d like to offer a speculation? (that to remind again, you may or may not be right about? Everybody reacting to my post is just a reaction, or is not a true diviner.)
TBH extremely neurotypical behavior “if everyone believes a thing, or views a thing a certain way, it must be true”
Nobody knows how to analyze or use their words anymore, apparently.
Feelings are truth now, guys! Anytime a homophobe feels uncomfortable, that is a truth. This is the endpoint of being reluctant to examine preconceived notions or ‘vibes.’ Just because you have a reaction to something does not mean it’s not accurate.
the way people used to use tone tags in 2020 makes me laugh in retrospect because in what world would you need to tag “good morning” as nonsexual. hi friend! /gen /pos /srs /nsx /hello /smiling /happy
not to be That Person but male-bodied people experience morning wood on the regular so why would this be surprising.
Saying ‘good morning’ to a person is already a bit in the queerplatonic zone (if you said ‘good morning’ to every single person you were ‘merely friends’ with, you’d have like a dozen different threads going on- it denotes a special place in your sphere) and since a lot of people conflate emotional closeness with romance and ergo sex, this makes perfect sense as a clarification
esp if the two people in question were queer, esp bi or pan
You can tell people like this only have very limited interactions with people. Like, I'm not usually the type to text early in the morning but I absolutely would NOT assume that someone saying good morning had either a romantic or sexual intent behind it
But EVEN IF a sexual or romantic thought prompts one to say good morning, or hello, or anything like that, the recipient is SOOOOOO not entitled to know what kind of thought prompted a kind greeting lmao
People really are trying to reinvent new things to feel guilty about huh
I can finally post the comic I did for @chilshi-zine which you can still download for free and see everyone else’s art & writing! I had a lot of fun working on this and I’m excited to finally share it
fem!reader x arkham knight!jason todd: angst w/ comfort
into my arms.
you didn't know how much you could take until you scream into the grey sky. the sun hides behind the tall skyscrapers, adding to the misery of the city. the harsh wind slaps against your face with every tiring and steep step. you could cry when you think about tomorrow's tasks.
keys rustle.
there was no denying how shocked yet reliefed you are when he illuminates your room, cosmic yet out of place within your confined walls. "jason-!" no denying the timeless prayers for him.
none of his limbs moved, armor standing right before the window. the silence should intimidate you, make you embarassed and ashamed, yet you gulp again, "…arkham knight, sorry."
"spare yourself the formality." you hoped he would put an end to the generated voice and instead reveal himself. you had no choice but be grateful to even have him in front of you.
"…how are you doing?" all the wishes and thoughts from sleepless nights turned into dust. you didn't know how else to cope with the sickening silence.
he breaks into a fit of laughter, helmet pushing back as the fabric around his neck gets exposed.
your arms cramp up, fingers intertwined like a child who's being ridiculed by her teacher in front of the entire class.
"how i'm doin'? how delighted i am! couldn't get better than this." his hand moves down from his stomach. by how sarcastically he mimics your phrasing you can't recollect ever attending a stand-up.
it was betrayal - no, he was never yours to have the right to be mad at him. just a boy from back then, another prey of the dark knight's injustice. you know it. but whenever he opens his mouth to you, you are left with conflict.
"what's it that you want?" you finally inquire, desperately wanting to know what it truly is that fuels him to treat you this low.
"impatient now, aren't we?" you swallow down the lump in your throat as subtle as possible. showing him another sign of weakness would only make you a laughing stock. especially when sweat drenches the inside of your hands.
no matter how much you try, you can only understand him to a certain point. you can refrain from the thousands causes that have crushed his young soul to an inhumane degree, but not this.
"i don't get you- what you want. why come here and berate me?" you clench your teeth in unease, surpressing the shaky words that leave your lips.
the robotic voice is scratching the inside of your ears. "don't act as if you're blind… thought you were smarter than… this. oh, how mistaken i was."
you eyes widen. how dare he talk to you like this? adressing you like you are his enemy? comparing you to the men who inflicted harm on him.
"what the fuck is wrong with you jason? what the hell do you," your palms open up, "want?!" tears assemble between your eyelashes, your head heating up.
"what's wrong with me?" he takes slow steps towards you, the enormous suit making you hold your breath. "since when have you been this blunt reader, huh? what's wrong with me you ask? - tch, turning into the batman now, aren't we?"
your eyeballs could bulge out of their sockets. you pant for breath. "batman?" your jaw shakes under his shadow, eyes not knowing where to see through him. "s-so now i'm the batman? him… seriously?" you weren't sure if you were mad or just sad. out of everyone: the man who let him die.
"you don't make sense jas-"
"ohh, has anything ever made sense to you? after all, you haven't had it very difficult, have you?" he wittily remarks.
nothing has ever made sense indeed. "FUCK YOU JASON! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" your shoulders jerk forwards, face never this close to anyone before.
"shut it."
you breast heaves, the sharp edges of his words letting you relive another case of shame. you can only watch the pixels on his helmet. at this point you just want to chuckle.
"… now i'm bruce, no? are you also gonna fight me? do you ever think about pointing a gun at me, jason - wanna shoot me?" all you see are blue pixels. it's been ridiculous since the start, dumb enough to let it get to this point.
"i might."
sweat drops tickle down your neck.
it's been a very long time since you've lost hope in batman or the remaining vigilantes in gotham. here, away from the wealthy parts you're doomed to be stuck in this madtown. you curse bruce.
the tears escape.
you don't care anymore about his presence - you anticipate his departure through the window like on other occasions so he will leave you by yourself for once and all. you were delusional enough to feed into the lie of being able to fix him. there is no fixing when you aren't the cause nor the remedy.
you hand swipes along your cheekbone, escaping his gaze. the hatred has outweighed the compassion, the trauma that made you look out for him every night from the corner of your window. there is a slight glimpse of that broken little boy and you don't know what to do.
you must have really failed him before you could acknowledge it. oh, how naive and stupid of you. maybe you weren't meant to be in his story. it doesn't matter anymore.
it's all quiet as before when you walk to the door. he knows where the exit is after all.
a big hand engulfs your wrist.
"don't you touch me."
"or else what?"
it feels like another kick to your face. you try to yank him away from you, but it's a failure.
"look, this is my apartment. i don't want to have anything to do with you - so fuck off," you remind, brows furrowed.
your body jolts, the skin around your upper arms pinched. it's getting warmer, his helmet towering right in front of you. "mind repeating that again sweetheart?" the brightness burns your eyes and when you look down he squeezes you harder. "i demand an answer - i don't like rude girls."
something deep inside of you is denying to waste more tears. if this is the end then you might as well deliver your own part.
"i refuse. 'm not talking against a wall," you exhale, which should get you a blow against your skull.
it's blurry at first, but you listen to his cackle instead. "if that makes you feel better about yourself," the translucent shield comes off.
your lips quiver at the scar next to his nose, eyes widening at the J. idioms stammer into disjoined noises. you don't want to see anything anymore, your sniffs echeoing inside four dull walls.
how did it come to this? you have become consumed with rage, no empathy left for the little boy in him. robin. the news caught up with the dissapearance of boy wonder until every part of batman's dirt was swept under the carpet, forever. your past self wouldn't have pushed him away, not like this.
the root of your hair grinds against his armored chest, the picture of the ground too foggy. you have failed him, abandoned your principles. no matter how difficult it would get - you promised to stand next to him and make the child inside him feel safe.
both of you have gone wrong.
"look… at me." memories come back, the once juvenile voice shining through his deep one. blue orbs stare back. there is resentment in his expression yet his strained brows and mouth tell you otherwise.
the firmness around you is gone and he steps back. there isn't more space than before but simulates more distance. you don't know what's next.
you search for eye contact, which he denies with a turn to the window. you know his mouth was agape just seconds ago, arms floating around his thighs in an unsure manner.
he's leaving. what happened to you trying to help him? no words, no action, no sympathy. another unsolved day, the pattern has repeated itself too often to open your mouth now - to change this vicious cycle when it's too late.
the old curtain slides to the side.
his broad back is the only thing that's highlighted by orange light before he gets completely engulfed.
"jason," you say out loud and he almost pauses, but it doesn't stop him.
can you really allow this - another time? again and again? you know you won't see him for a long time after this. no, you won't ever catch him again.
"jason!" you run up. he slowly rotates until his profile takes you in, commentless. the tense skin around his mouth and half-lidded eyes scare but tell you everything you need to do, even if they aren't thought-out.
he observes closely as you get to the windowsill, your hand stretching out. he scrunches his face prominently, while following how you gently lay your fingers against his jaw. you forget about how it could trigger him. the day has been too invasive.
his face reminds you of a bunny, glossy eyes and tense brows. that's the ultimate signal - bending down to his level and at a leisure pace just watching each other. his dark lashes stick together, skin covered by perspiration. there is a mild tang of soap, locks sticking to his forehead.
his hair reminds you of the lucious curls from his teenhood, innocent and cute. the man in front of you hasn't changed much, lips seperated like a curious boy. his breathing haltens, eyes awaiting.
and then you just throw your arms around his shoulders, carefully as your own breathing excelerates. you are too caught up with calming yourself down, not noticing how he freezes. his eyes and mouth are wide open. he is frightened.
his wet hair presses against you. the warm feeling mixed with the material of his upper body is foreign. you want to squeeze yourself closer to him. you endulge it as much as you can, not knowing what will happen after this.
"you don't have to fear jason. it's over, i'm here. i promise you i'll be here with you," the sunlight penetrates your shut lids, its warmness making it feel less darker. you are now ready for whatever is to come. the sunset's red shades haven't been this freeing since years. it could be the last time.
but if this could last longer, you would be the happiest.
something vibrates against your side, guttural voices ringing in your ear. you can't make much out of it, until you hear sobbing.
you are at loss for words.
he's shaking, big arms hindering you from taking a glimpse at his face.
it's now that he needs you the most. your palm has turned numb from rubbing his back at a slow pace. sitting with one leg on the roof shouldn't be this sentimental.
"it's all right big boy, cry. it's okay."
something inside him snaps. he weeps like a child.
reblogs are very much needed
reblogs and comments are much appreciated!! feeling extra girlie sad after reading this :( doing this after escaping uni. i´ve already had a comfort fic with arkham jason so this is kinda diff.
♡⃕ — dick grayson, jason todd, wally west x reader
♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff & me not tryna go crazy with jason….
♡⃕ — a/n: the entire time I’ve wrote this, I’ve been thinking about cowboy wally with a sleeper build 😵💫. its 4 am and I wanna see wally in a fitted white shirt….
꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱
Ꮺ COWBOY DICK GRAYSON COWBOY DICK GRAYSON COWBOY DICK GRAYSON- my bad…imma calm down
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who has the girls swooning at his lil accent. his accent is the lightest out of all three boys, think of something mixed with texas with a very light midwest accent. however, it is heavier when he says certain words or when he becomes angry and raises his voice
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who has jet black strands blowing as he pushes them away from his face. his hair that glide against his shoulders as he takes off his cowboy hat. the slight curly strands blow into the wind, having him look like something out of a novella. it doesn’t help that he has it shaped somewhat in a mullet cause he thinks long hair and mullet catches women the most and he’s not wrong
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who is built so so beautifully, you would’ve thought he descended from heaven itself. he stands at 5’10, has broad shoulders with biceps that he flexes without even trying, dark-ish, but noticeable, blue eyes that also have the girls swooning his way. loves to get tattoos left and right, every other month he’s at the parlor getting another tattoo…fien
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who keeps his looks up mostly for the women. I’m not joking, he thrives on the attention of women, and he can never get enough of it. he never denies a photo opp, an autograph, anything his fan girls want, he’ll give them. soemtime’s he’ll give them a lil somethin extra ;)
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who, at competitions, sometimes goes shirtless at a competition. if it’s a competition where he gets down and dirty, or in his heart, it’s a serious one and requires more focus, he’ll take his shirt off. one, it signals his fans that this competition is not to be played with, and two, it feeds his ego when girls are going crazy. let’s not be shocked, it’s grayson
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who brings his voice to a deeper octave and laces his voice with a deeper tone to his voice when he says your name. he delights in the way your name rolls off his tongue, it’s something so alluring, something that he wanna says 24/7, and he has, he can’t help it
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who likes to add a lil bling to what he wears. he likes to rock a new necklace, some iced out chains, a nice watch from those luxury brands that are hard to pronounce, he likes flaunting his wealth soemtimes. he doesn’t do it often, but he does, he keeps it subtle
Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who, on his off days from competiton, he’s a model. his pretty boy face has landed him on the cover of many commercials, magazines, and numerous amounts of ads for men's cologne, his favortie thing to model for
꒰ JASON TODD ꒱
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who does not play anyyyy games when it comes to his competitions, he knows what he has to do and he is only determined to do just as he is needed. he’s not really into fanservice, however, he won’t turn a good time for a fangirl
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who has the thickest accent out of all three !!! I’ve said this multiple times but jason’s accent is sooooooo thick and you can tell he’s a native from his vocabulary. also, he differentiates how he talks to women and men; no matter who you are, he talks to women with more politeness and respect than he does around men. especially with older women, he’ll keep all his cursing to a minimum, out of respectability ofc
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who is the biggest and strongest out of the three. though, he and wally are the same height, he is much bulkier than wally. everything about him is enormous, and I mean enormous, starting from his biceps that flex when he’s working in his shop to his quads that sometimes poke in his jeans. his chest that has a lining whenever he wears casual clothing or pokes through when he leaves a few buttons unbottoned
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who has a bit of a mustache, a few tattoos, and a couple piercings. he once studied tattoos before getting his first and learned the best placements for each tattoo he owns. he has a lot of niche ones, a couple of typical cowboy ones, and one on his lower leg
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd, in his free time from competitions, he’s busy working on cars. he’s had a knack for fixing stuff, especially cars, since his teen years. the town usually comes to jason for any of their technical issues, it came to the point where he opened up his shop for it. though, please don’t expect to find him on competiton days cause he won’t be there
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who doesn’t flirt as often as wally and grayson, but when he does, it’ll make you melttt. he knows his way around having someone gushing over what he says, going back and forth with flirtatious comments that’ll have you on your toes, use his accent to his advantage, he knows how to play it well when it comes to flirting
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who is bilingual and can sometimes throw in a spanish accent when he flirts. not textbook spanish, but more so original spanish from places like argentina or puerto rico. though, I do like to think he has more puerto rican spanish instilled in him than other variations of the spanish language (shoutout to my twin kai)
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who would spend money on you more than often. but one of his favorite things that he gifted you was a beautiful jewelry set for you and your initials stitched onto his boots for himself
Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who always saves his money for a new truck, one of his greatest prized possessions. every few years he would get his truck replaced or modify it to his liking, whether it be a new paint job or a new motor
꒰ WALLY WEST ꒱
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who is extremely sweet to any and everyone. while, his best friend’s brother, jason, can be a brute and grayson can be found flirting with the women surrounding him, wally helps around the town. he can be found helping with the local farmer’s market, holding tutoring sessions, participating at the senior living, you name it, wally has probably done it
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who’s usually deemed as being the smallest out of all three. though, that might be the case when he walks around town, he sports a white tank and baggy jeans, showing off his sleeper build. he’s known for having an extreme amount of endurance and he would like to keep it up, so he works out and it has given him greater results than he could think of
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who keeps his appearance more bare than the other two, but he does enjoy sporting some extremely fine jewlery like a nice snake chain or a ring band. his facial features stands out more than his physique, the green eyes that are soft when first meeting you, the freckles that spread around his face, his pearly white teeth that he uses to charm others ;p
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west whose accent is laced with such refinement, his vernacular isn’t as country as dick and jason. his vocabulary can be said to have elegance, poise, some might say higher class as well
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who tends to have a bit of cockiness when it comes to his competitons. his time with competiton may not have been as long as the other two, but it still isn’t stopping him from making the top five in the rankings
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who can usually be found kissing a girl in the back of his truck. though, he can talk with elegance, he can also speak with enough eloquence that’ll have almost everyone agree to a fun time
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who is keep’s your safety as his top priority !! especially, around the arenas when he knows you can get easily, he’ll hold your waist and walk with you
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who has a great amount of polaroid pictures of all his loved ones. some in his wallet, plenty placed around his room, and a picture of him and you hanging from his rearview mirror
Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who likes to have his passenger side decorated to your liking of course. though, it’s his truck, who is he not make space for his lover ? whether it’s getting a cute hello kitty bobblehead for your side, a small compartment for your bag, or seat covers that match his and your aesthetics. ask and he will go great lengths to accomodate to it
♡⃕ COWBOY DICK COWBOY JASON COWBOY WALLY. I NEEEEEEEEED, NOT A WANT A NEEEEED
♡⃕ if yall want a pt 2, lemme know. I’m stuck on this concept and im scared I might get fixated
♡⃕ if yall have hcs for them as well, pleaeeeee slide. I wanna hear them ALLLLLL 😩
Fyodor x reader but reader got isekai to their universe (reader knows a lot about what bsd like what happened etc)? ^^
this was too fun to write ngl
Pairing: Fyodor x reader
Contents: SFW, bribing, that one scene of fyodor tied up but make him face an unexpected new player, Approx 2k words
“Help me secure him. Now.” The officer’s voice hissed, spurring you into movement.
There was no need for all the worry, really. It’s not like Fyodor was fighting back. Pulling the restraints around him was easy, his arms almost limp as both of you manhandled him into place.
Maybe it was his indifference or the way he observed you calmly as you worked... Your superior was having none of it, the beads of fat sweat rolling down his temple obvious as day. He wanted this done with quickly. Now.
Fyodor’s reputation exceeded him everywhere he went. It didn’t matter how pathetic of a circumstance he put himself in, it was obvious he was always in control.
No normal man would be this calm. Especially under the hold of Ace.
It was one thing to know of this moment playing out–the memory of it clear in your mind as can be.
But to be here.
It’s in those moments that you really reflected on your life—the absurdity of it.
“You’ll be dealt with later,” the officer said to Fyodor, voice rough. Violet eyes only regarded him cooly, a smirk pulling at his lips a second later.
A shiver ran down your spine, intrigue pulling at your heart nonetheless.
You handed the bag to your superior, watching as he roughly put it around Fyodor’s head. Not even a flinch, no word of complaint came from the bound man before you. There was silence for a moment, a shared look of relief between you as you stepped out of the cell and locked it in place. Your eyes didn’t leave Fyodor’s form as you walked away.
“I’m not dealing with this, that’s all from me,” your commander mumbled once you were far off into the corridor. “I’ve heard enough of this one to know we shouldn’t be meddling further. He’s Ace’s problem from now on. You alright, kid?”
“Sure,” you said.
But you kept that question spinning in your mind for the rest of the night. You found yourself checking the surveillance cameras in the cellars more often than you’d like. But you saw the exact same picture every time.
Just as expected.
Fyodor, bound and unmoving. Head obscured as he awaited the faith he so carefully planned out for.
It’s a shame, really. All that planning would go to waste; you highly doubted he had factored you into the equation. You still had to be careful about this though.
It’s been months now; no signs of your previous life coming back any time soon. This lack of control was maddening, and the desire to bring back what you’ve lost was gnawing at your gones ever since.
You made up a plan, yes. Duh.
But it was a stupid, downright idiotic thing to meddle with Fyodor of all people. At least Dazai would’ve been less likely to murder you. Yet you had no choice. Fyodor was your best bet at getting back home, his mania over reality and finding the truth of this world was the surest path to untangling you from this mess you found yourself in.
That is, so long as he complied. Which… well, risks were meant to be taken, right?
You turned off the surveillance for his cell. The leading corridor too, just for extra measure. It’s not like it mattered much, but it set your mind at ease as you took the walk to his confinement knowing no one watched you.
Fyodor heard your steps, head slightly rising. He waited as you set the keys in the lock and the screech of metal against stone echoed.
The door was unlocked.
It’s not like he was incapable of speaking under that hood. He could be doing this for dramatic’s sake, the bastard. Taking pleasure in revealing as little as he could while leaving you squirming with warry anticipation.
You felt none of that, though, stepping in with uncharacteristic indifference before shutting the door behind you. You expected more worry to be coiling in your gut, yet you found yourself observing him curiously.
Fyodor looked rather pathetic, to be frank. It never sat well with you how a man of such power and knowledge would put himself in positions like this. He could be deriving a sick type of pleasure from it; plenty of people adored playing the defenceless sheep–
–only to pounce with bared teeth upon their pray, the pretence discarded a moment later.
“Sorry to barge in on your happy time,” you said, standing right before him. “But I doubt you have much else to do besides shiver and be bored to death in here.”
You reached for the hood, lifting it carefully off his face. Wild dark locks spilt forth, and dark violet eyes locked into yours a second later. You weren’t going to back down now, keeping your gaze steady as you both considered each other.
Fyodor cleared his throat. “I see. Are you here to keep me company then?” He tilted his head.
Being this close to him felt a bit unnerving; like being involuntarily dissected.
“Kind of. Consider me your angel in disguise, here to raise you from perdition and all,” you said, tossing the hood on the floor. Fyodor followed the movement, eyebrow rising.
“I’m touched,” he said, voice blank.
Fyodor wasn’t impressed. No sign of surprise there either. His perfectly masked indifference was worrisome, but you couldn’t let yourself fall in doubt. You were nobody to him, the chance of knowing your secret were slim. Hopefully.
Besides, if Fyodor knew you possessed the knowledge of his ability–you would have been long dead.
Deep breath.
“Do you know why I’m here exactly?”
Fyodor smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be kind enough to tell me.”
Bastard. You came closer, hovering right above him as you said, “I’m here to offer you a proposition.”
“Oh?”
“I’m sorry to say it’d interfere with your plans a bit. I’m sure you’re capable enough to adapt.”
You waited. Fyodor leaned back, looking up at you as he considered. He breathed deep, his chest rising against his binds with every inhale. He was studying you, violet eyes boring into you soul.
You’d be a fool to deny how pretty this man was. It was always the morally ambiguous and undeniably dangerous types that drew you in, unfortunately. Fyodor was no exception.
At least he had the manners to compensate. Or that’s what you told yourself.
“My, you must think very highly of me. I wonder the type of rumours you’ve amassed about me in your little organization.” He hummed, looking all the more apologetic as he continued. “But as you can see–I’m quite in a predicament right now. I doubt I’ll be of much use to you now.”
Huh. You had your expectations but such an outward lie was not one of them. How unusual. He was fooling no one, he must surely know that? Fyodor didn’t want to share anything, playing it safe until you revealed more.
Fine then.
You reached out, revelling in the flash of confusion crossing Fyodor’s face as you took hold of his chin. You leaned down for extra emphasis, not feeling bad in the slightest as you rested a foot on the open space between his spread thighs. Fyodor didn’t flinch, but the air around you shifted. You weren’t here to play around with empty words, and he needed to be made aware of that. One way or another.
“You sure about that?” you asked, holding him in place. “Then it won’t be of importance if I told you that what you’re looking for is no longer in the vault, would it?” It wasn’t a lie. You made sure the files were discarded off the moment Fyodor set foot on this ship. Working here for months had its perks, the security palpable when it came to their own.
You fought hard to keep your smile at bay as Fyodor didn’t say a thing.
“I see you’re quite informed.” His voice was blank, completely devoid of any hints at how he felt about this. “What might it be you’ll want from me then? Considering you’re looking to make a deal here.”
Now we’re talking.
“Ding ding. That’s a fast learner.” Your finger tapped him on the cheek in thought as you formulated your statement. Fyodor did not look impressed. “Let’s see. I can’t really give you the files, you see. They kind of don’t exist. You’re welcome.”
“How terrible to hear.”
You smiled. He was surprisingly compliant til now. It was a good look on him if you were honest with yourself.
“But thankfully for you–” you tapped the side of your temple, grinning wide “–I’ve got aall the info you need up here. And more. But we’ll talk about that later. Now, all I want is for you to do me a tiny little favour, how does it sound?”
“Tempting,” Fyodor said, head tilting. “If you speak the truth. Go on.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Kill Ace.”
There. Simple and direct. Fyodor raised a brow, amused. “Oh? How unusual. I gathered you’re not a friend of the Mafia, but this–what cruelty.”
“I don’t mind the Mafia. It’s him that I’ve no need of.” His ability disgusted you, to put it frankly. Greed was a dangerous thing, and men who played around with other’s lives for the sake of it were no better than sewer rats. Karma’s face flashed before your eyes, the memory of what was to come tasting bitter on your tongue. “But–” you brushed a loose strand of hair behind Fyodor’s ear, voice seeping with sweetness “–don’t touch the others. If there is even one casualty, I’ll make sure there’ll be consequences.”
Fyodor didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. “So many demands. What am I to do but follow them? Yet I’m still tied up here, aren’t I?”
“I’m sure you can manage on your own,” you said. “I’ll find you when you’re done. I don’t mind getting you out either, so long as you don’t break the rules.”
Now something shifted, Fyodor’s attention seemingly caught. You wondered what went about in his head. You must be quite the novelty; even more so if he realized how much you knew of him.
…or of his plans.
“Interesting,” was all he said. Like there wasn’t anything else to be discussed.
You sighed, pulling away to retrieve the hood again. At least you got somewhere. You hoped his curiosity was enough to keep his end of the bargain. Fyodor was such an untouchable individual it would’ve been impossible otherwise to get something like this out of him.
Cooperation. Or you hoped, there was nothing stopping him from ending your life and everyone else’s here after he was done with you.
…
Fuck.
You needed a safety plan in case he had other ideas in mind.
You went back before him, hood in hand as you lowered it over his head and eyes before you spoke again. “And Fyodor?”
He couldn’t see you but his lips finally moved in answer. “Yes?”
You bent down, facing him directly. “I hope this works out for the both of us. I would really like to talk to you about things after.”
“I would love that too.” He smiled. You couldn’t tell if he was sincere or not.
You came closer, your breath ghosting over his cheek. Fyodor’s jaw tensed as you spoke quietly against his ear. “I’m quite… new to this place. You see, there are no ability users where I come from… and I would really love to go back there. I think you’d be willing to lend a helping hand. We’ll talk more, yeah?”
You moved slowly back, pulling the hood lower before you stopped again. He wasn’t going to answer, it seemed. Fyodor’s lips remained sealed, no doubt thinking over your words. Spinning them around his mind.
You smiled knowingly, leaning in to brush your lips against his a moment later.Just because you could.
There, maybe he’d have more to think about as he waited for Ace’s arrival. Fyodor certainly didn’t indicate it though, remaining still against your lips. You weren’t surprised. You set the hood in place, finally stepping back.
A lot of things were about to change in a few hours. The anticipation was building inside you; hope mingled with a sense of danger that only fueled your impatience further.
Yandere! Fyodor Dostoevsky x Female! Reader & Yandere! Dazai Osamu x Female! Reader [HCs]
Ahsbajdkans you’re spoiling me. I love this kind of request, so thank you! Drinking herb during period is based on my irl experience, which is why I manage to stay sane until now. I hope you don’t mind me including Dazai too.
[Edited]
You should’ve known he’d do something like this.
All this time, your ‘relationship’ had been created from an offer he knew you couldn’t refuse. A ‘threat’, you supposed, but it sounded too harsh and Fyodor wouldn’t have given you an illusion of choice otherwise.
And now, too, he provided you with that seeming freedom.
“Cease your resistance towards my affection once and for all, and I shall give you the herbal drink you so desire.”
You ground your teeth and sniffled, clutching your stomach. It hurt, and if he was a woman, you were certain he wouldn’t pull this stunt.
But alas, he wasn’t, and you bowed to the master manipulator.
Once and for all.
“Yes, yes, you can do anything you want. Just please, give me that drink…!”
Fyodor closed his eyes and smiled calmly. Smugly.
“Of course, my dear. Now, please wait a little longer. Your request is being fulfilled right now.”
You didn’t have enough shame to care about Nikolai’s teasing when he handed you the drink after he returned from his mission.
There should be a limit to how cruel someone could be.
But you supposed it didn’t apply to him, someone who challenged people’s intelligence and sanity daily. Because although Dazai did comply with your desperate request to buy a herbal drink for your period cramps, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t give it to you so freely.
“Dazai, please… It hurts so much…”
“I know, belladonna, I know.” he cooed, bringing your curled-up form close to his chest. He patted your back soothingly, almost mockingly. And had you possessed more strength and energy, you would’ve punched his stomach so he’d feel your pain. “But you tried to escape yesterday, didn’t you?”
You wailed at the implication, mourning your foolish yet natural desire for freedom. Had you complied with his seeming request to stay put, perhaps he wouldn’t toy with you now. Perhaps the pain would be more bearable.
But you didn’t know that you’d be having your period today, and you were getting even more desperate for relief.
Just as he wanted.
“I’m sorry! I… I promise I won’t do that again. Please, Dazai, I’m begging you! I feel like I’m… dying right now.”
“Well, won’t that be fun? We both can die together!”
When you merely cried louder, Dazai chuckled and patted your head.
This is the only yandere act I would never ever tolerate or find hot in a way 💀
(not like I wished any of this would happen to me or anyone else, I don't glorify yanderes)
Period cramps are another realm of pain, and as woman I found my self wanting to stab one of my favorite anime characters over a silly well-written headcanon 😐
Well, it's a talent to be able to infuriate every girl with your writing, please continue your great works
My name is Aya, and I am reaching out from Gaza, where my family and I are living in constant fear and suffering. Every moment poses a grave danger to our lives due to the ongoing war. The bombing never ceases, and we are running out of food and water.
Every passing minute increases our risk, and our hearts are filled with anxiety and pain. I urgently need your help to evacuate my family from this hell. We are desperately seeking a way out, but we need financial support to do so.😔😔
Please, extend a hand to save us and let the world hear our cries.💔💔
✅️ Verified by @gazavetters, my number on the list is (#217) ✅️
“Kunikida’s a bootlicker. He’s nothing but a boring goody too shoes.”
Kunikida stole a car. Kunikida broke into a meteorological bureau because they got the weather report wrong. Kunikida has been arrested 3 times.
Kunikida gave Junichiro, Atsushi and Kyouka weapons. Kunikida electrocuted Akutagawa and gained his respect. Kunikida’s best friend, Katai is a hacker.
Kunikida hates authority.
Kunikida threatened to break Atsushi’s arm when they met.
The fear people have that Kunikida could’ve become the Azure Messenger if he went too far. Not to mention the Azure Apostle, Nobuko Sasaki was the real life Kunikida’s first wife.
Kunikida set off a bomb and used Tecchou as a shield. Kunikida told Kenji to throw the Black Lizard out the window. Every time someone says Kunikida would be a good solider he immediately proves them wrong.
prologue. → some not so meet-cutes 😁 who said love was easy?
pairings. jjk x gn!reader
choso, toji, geto, nanami, sukuna, gojo.
warnings+. no curse/jujutsu au, slightly suggestive for toji's. attempted vehicular injuries but gojo's fine w/ it as long as he gets your number. some alcohol mentions. someone has a nosebleed.
word count. 6k!
song inspiration. let me in (20 cube) — enhypen
a/n. this is saur silly, and i wrote this super quickly so it's not proofread.
CHOSO KAMO ✶ just trust me bro ... ?!
there's a man in your apartment.
at first, your brain short-circuits with options. scream, call the police, throw your used dinner dishes. why not all three in rapid succession?
it's nine at night, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed with a cozy throw and a criminal minds marathon. instead, fate or your carelessness in leaving the door unlocked, has gifted you with this stranger who just walked in.
this man didn't sneak in, mind you. no, this stranger barrelled through the door, let out a soft groan as he ran into your dining table. he then muttered a soft and polite 'excuse me' before plopping himself down onto your couch like he'd paid three months of rent.
and now? he's sitting there, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed. like he's contemplating the futility of existence, or whether he left the stove on at home. you can't quite see his face yet, just the curtain of messy chestnut hair falling over it.
what you can see is that he's wearing an oversized violet sweatshirt that's swallowing him whole, and right over dark cargo pants and scuffed combat boots.
well, now what?
your heart is hammering as you edge closer, gripping a fork behind your back like it's king arthur's sword. he's muttering something, no. a name?
you lean slightly, straining to hear.
"...yuuji, when i c-catch you."
but finally, the stranger looks up at you, as if he's searching your face for this 'yuuji.'
big hazel eyes stare up at you, bleary and glassy, and his lips are pouting, pale pink and peeled raw from where teeth have gnawed into them. his cheeks are slightly flushed, and he smells faintly of cheap alcohol.
great, the strange man in your living room is also drunk. you wonder where your phone is.
"uh, hey. are you one of yuuji's friends?" and the stranger's voice is absurdly deep, but incredibly shy, "can you get him? is he in his room?"
your brows furrow, "huh, who's yuuji? what room?"
the man blinks slowly, and he hiccups. a tiny, almost cute sound — and then he frowns, "yuuji? my little brother? lives here, obviously?" he gestures broad hands around vaguely, loosely.
"no. i live here."
his wide eyes scan the room. your glossy magazine on the table, a cup of hot chocolate next to your laptop which still glows with the not-so-legal streaming site. but you can see the very moment that the stranger's face freezes, like he's just been slapped in the face, "oh."
"yeah."
the stranger groans, dragging his hands down his flushed face and this only makes his clingy strands stick up in strange places, "oh no. oh, man. i — uh, think i'm in the wrong apartment."
"you think?"
"i was just tryna' find yuuji's place," he mutters, his words slurred but earnest, "we live, like, two floors down. but it's all the same, right? like...layout-wise?"
you open your mouth to argue, then close it. technically, he’s not wrong about the layout, but that’s hardly the point. "why didn’t you check the apartment number?"
"because i’m…" he pauses, thick brows knitting together like they’re searching for answers his brain won’t provide. finally, he lands on, "tipsy. yeah, tipsy. i actually really hate drinking, by the way. it was some stupid bet with my little brother."
you lift the fork a little higher, its tines gleaming under the dim overhead light. "so you broke into my apartment."
"hey, i didn’t break in!" he protests, his voice thick with indignation that doesn’t quite match the circumstances, "your door was open."
"unlocked," you grind out, ignoring the mildly adorable pout on his flushed lips,"not an invitation."
the man has the decency to look sheepish, one hand reaching up to scratch at his neck. "uh… yeah. my bad."
his bad? that’s the best he’s got? not a sorry for terrifying you! or a sorry for making you think you’re about to feature in a criminal minds special! but before you can really get going on the lecture building on your tongue, there’s a soft thud.
you glance down. your cat, the fluffy little traitor, is rubbing affectionately against the leg of this random man, purring like an old motorbike. meanwhile, the stranger just lights up, crouching down to scratch behind your cat’s ears with absurd gentleness.
"hey, buddy," he says softly, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. and damn it, he’s got dimples.
"what’s wrong with you? traitor," you hiss at your cat, who just looks far too content in the man's arms.
the stranger looks back up at you with those wide, hazel eyes, his head tilting to the side. "i’m choso, by the way."
"i didn’t ask."
"you’re holding a weapon," choso observes, eyes flicking to your hand.
"it’s a fork," you snap. "and you’re in my apartment."
"touché," he mutters, slouching back into your couch like it’s his own. he looks too tired to argue before he starts rambling, words tumbling out in uneven waves, "look, i’ll leave, okay? sorry for...uhm, being here. it’s just been a rough day, y’know? my brother — he's my little brother, he dared me to drink, and i hate drinking. then the cab driver tried to scam me, and i kinda gave up on the bet and wanted to go home. i don’t even know how i ended up here."
he waves a hand around like the universe itself is to blame for the situation.
you should still be mad. and you are. sort of. but it’s hard to stay furious when the guy in your living room is practically drowning in a sweatshirt two sizes too big, cradling your cat like it’s a lifeline. there’s something weirdly endearing about him, even if your fight-or-flight response still has a foot on the gas.
"fine," you sigh. "but if you've left anything drunk and gross on my couch, you’re coming back tomorrow to clean it."
choso’s face brightens like you just granted him parole. "i didn’t, swear i didn't, but yeah. deal. you’re cool. what’s your name?"
you hesitate, fork still in hand. "why?"
"so i know who to thank when i hopefully sober up. i’m really sorry for scaring you."
"alright, choso." you point to the door. "out. and if i catch you here again uninvited, i’m calling the cops."
he staggers to his feet, towering but unsteady, still cradling your cat. "uh, can i…"
"no," you interrupt. "put mr pickles down."
he pouts but complies, setting the cat down like he’s handling precious cargo. as he shuffles to the door, he glances back, scratching the back of his head, "thanks for not stabbing me with the fork."
"yet, choso," you deadpan.
with that, he stumbles into the hallway, and you slam the door shut before finally locking it properly this time. it’s only then that you notice the little silver bracelet lying on the couch.
maybe when he's also sober, you’ll find him two floors down. not because you’re curious about him or anything. it’s just the responsible thing to do.
probably.
TOJI FUSHIGURO ✶ got a mean laugh, huh ?
you'd just wanted a burger. greasy, cheesy, unapologetically unhealthy — a perfect antidote to a day of endless meetings and passive-aggressive emails from your annoying boss.
what you didn’t want was to make an absolute spectacle of yourself in the middle of a restaurant.
but here you were, ever the universe's favourite clown and plaything.
it started innocently enough: you’d been sitting behind him in this faux-american diner, cheap enough that it didn't break your last paycheck.
minding your business and just sitting behind some two loud-talking men, one of them broad and terrifyingly large in a too-tight black gym shirt and the kind of wide-legged pants only men with way too much confidence could pull off.
then he started making strange noises.
at first, you tried to ignore it. who were you to interfere? but then it got louder — a gruff, guttural wheezing that sounded suspiciously like a man choking on his fries. your heroic instincts (and latent secondhand embarrassment) kicked in.
what can you say? you were a natural born avenger. you didn’t think. you acted.
scrambling out of your booth, you darted behind him, arms awkwardly looping around his absurdly muscular torso. it took more than one attempt — why was he built like a human brick wall?
but you managed to start the worst heimlich maneuver known to mankind, trying to remember your hazy first aid training from high school.
"hold still, man!" you grunted, struggling for leverage, and trying not to collapse backwards. "i got this!"
except he didn’t hold still. he started laughing. loud, throaty, barking laughs that only made the situation worse.
"stop squirming, you’re gonna end up choking even more —oh my god, are you fuckin' laughing?!"
"hey, i’m —" the stranger wheezed between gasps, not choking, just laughing so hard his voice cracked, "i’m not choking!"
you froze, mortified, arms still awkwardly wrapped around his incredibly chiselled torso. "you’re...not?"
"tch, nah." his voice was deep, almost lazy, as he twisted his head back to smirk at you, sharp green eyes gleaming with amusement. "but yer' real determined. if i was choking, i’d probably survive. maybe."
you stumbled back, cheeks flaming, trying to pretend the floor might swallow you whole. trying to pretend that someone didn't pull out their phone to record you.
the expensive-looking guy sitting across from him — a man in a sharp, well-pressed brown suit who clearly didn’t belong in a place with laminated menus and sticky booths, just sipped his coffee with an air of quiet disdain.
"i always said you got an ugly-ass laugh, toji," the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "could ya not traumatise strangers for five minutes?"
"hey, it’s not my fault i got jumped," toji said, shrugging lazily, and the motion made his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a scar slicing across his ridiculously defined abs. "not that i’m complaining. i got humped by someone gorgeous in public. call that a good day, hah."
your brain short-circuited, trying not to stare at the light dusting of hair over his abdomen, "i wasn’t - humping, oh my god, i thought you were choking! i was just trying to be be a good samaritan."
you backed away slowly, trying to act like the horrifyingly awkward scene behind you had not just happened. you didn’t even spare toji a glance, though the smugness radiating off his gorgeous, stupidly muscular frame was practically tangible.
you grabbed your milkshake, your only ally in this tragedy, and downed it with all the dignity of a medieval knight trying to poison themselves with wolfsbane. the cold, creamy sweetness slid down your throat, like you were trying to drown yourself in the sugary oblivion. which you were.
"well," you muttered bitterly, setting the empty glass down with a clink, "i'm gonna disappear from here forever. just gonna...vanish." you made the universal gesture of disappearing: both hands dramatically flailing as if you were casting an invisibility spell.
"wait, hey, give me your number!"
the voice, deep and annoyingly gravelly, floated over the booth like a warm breeze. you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes narrowing in disbelief. no way. no freaking way.
"you’re joking." you turned slowly to glance back at him, at this toji. the guy in the suit across from him — who had been watching this whole disaster unfold with the kind of expression you’d imagine someone gets when they’re asked to hold a million-dollar briefcase during a hostage situation, was now doing the mental equivalent of sinking into his booth like a man deeply embarrassed.
"swear 'm not," toji insisted, leaning back in his own seat, "what if i really do choke and i need ya to save me?"
SUGURU GETO ✶ love at first nosebleed !
you were exactly where you needed to be: right in the thick of the mosh pit at one of your favourite festivals of the year. one that you had scrounged together enough dollars for an overpriced ticket out, all perfect to spend a night out in the cool, desert night air.
the mosh pit was packed. like wall-to-wall bodies, as though you were wading through a sea of waving limbs.
without any warning, the crowd surged forward in a wave of bodies, just as the lead singer of this band threw a rose into the crowd and you squealed. throwing your arms up to steady yourself, and of course, you managed to send your elbow directly into the guy standing behind you.
at first, there's a sharp grunt of surprise, swiftly followed by a:
"hey, what the fuck!"
you turned around in a panic, your breath caught in your throat as you saw the aftermath of your unfortunate swing. oh, blood. it wasn’t just a little trickle, either. it was a full-on fountain.
the stranger's hands were pressed to his face, but you could already see the crimson streaks spilling through his fingers. and as much as your brain screamed oh my god, what have you done?, your first thought was also, holy shit, this guy is gorgeous.
tall. broad. jawline that could cut glass. his hair was jet-black, falling messily to his shoulders, and when he looked up at you, you saw it. his eyes, pretty.
they were a pale, unnatural shade of purple, sharp and disarming, the kind of thing you only saw in movies. or at least, you thought you only saw them in movies, because now you were staring into them, and the moral compass on your shoulder stomped some sense back into you.
"oh god, i’m so, so sorry," you stammer, your hands flying up in a panic. you just didn't know whether to offer him a napkin or your life savings, so you just stand there like a deer caught in headlights, doing the world’s most unhelpful impression of a living, breathing human being, "i didn’t mean to, i didn’t, oh, that's a lotta blood —"
he waves you off nonchalantly, and you immediately thought, what kind of person is so chill about being impaled in the face?
"don’t worry about it,” he said, voice smooth as butter, if a bit nasally, considering the massive nosebleed that makes you feel a bit faint. the kind of nonchalant tone that should not be coming from someone who had blood pouring from his nose like an open tap, "not your fault, really."
"i...i don’t know what to do," you mutter, your hands still flailing around awkwardly. you didn’t have a napkin, or a first aid kit, or any idea what you were doing. hell, you weren’t even sure if the guy was okay without medical attention.
"nah, seriously, chill," the man says with a chuckle, wiping his nose with the back of his hand like it was no big deal, "relax, i’m fine. it’s just blood. it happens."
just blood. just blood. you stare at him for a beat, trying to wrap your brain around the fact that he was genuinely not bothered. if you had a nosebleed like this, you’d be on the ground, crying for your mother and your entire bloodline, but here this guy was, an absolute unit of a man, all broad shoulders and muscular thighs — bleeding out in front of you, and acting like it was the most mundane thing in the world.
"are you sure?" you ask, your voice pitched too high from nerves. "i mean, i feel like — i don’t know, i feel like i should at least be doing something to... help? like, i can — oh! i can find you something!"
you start rifling through your bag in a panicked frenzy. who carries band-aids to a concert? not you. who carries tissues to a concert? definitely not you. all you could offer was a packet of gum, a half-melted candy bar, and some lip balm. great. you were the epitome of preparedness.
you frown, "fuck, i'm really so sorry, i was just kinda, -" and you wave your arms around in the air as a half-hearted impression, as he tentatively takes a step back. probably worried you're gonna bazooka his chin next, and leave him with a busted lip.
"hah, i get it," he says with a shrug, as if his nose was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, "practically an expected hazard of being in the mosh pit."
you looked at him, genuinely unsure whether he was joking or just that calm about it, "you’re really okay? i'd really rip part of my sleeve, i don't know, if that would help," but you tug the sheer fabric, "but this is kind of tough elastane. oh my god, what am i even saying?"
"eh, i’ve had worse." the stranger gives you a grin that only made the situation feel more surreal. he was smiling, smiling — despite the fact that he was actively leaking blood like he’d been in a fight with a giant squid.
damn, you kinda like your men when they look a bit unhinged.
“look, just —" he cuts you off, “i'm flattered someone this cute is flustered over me. kinda nice, hah."
your face goes scarlet. "i am not cute, i should be terrifying," you gasp, mortified. “i just broke your nose in a mosh pit, and i —"
and that’s when it clicked. your brain finally registered the fact that this guy wasn’t some random concert-goer. no, this was geto—the suguru geto, the lead guitarist of the band that was headlining the festival tonight. you’d been a fan for years, practically worshipping the man’s guitar solos and smooth stage presence. and now...now you had broken his nose.
god help you when stan twitter got their hands on you.
you stare at him, wide-eyed, and he must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised a pierced brow, "oh, i see it now. you, uh, a fan?"
"uhm," you squeak, still too mortified to speak normally, and trying to lower your voice to sound chill and unbothered. but it's just not working. "of course i recognise you! you’re — geto!"
suguru geto bashfully grins, as if pleased with your sudden realisation, though the blood dripping from his nose didn’t exactly lend him the aura of mystery he was used to, "i gotta say, you’re the first person to recognise me looking like this." he pauses, glancing at his nose with a casual flick.
you let out an awkward, nervous laugh. hoping that the divine powers have some pity for you, and you actually don't mess this up further, "i’m so sorry again. i really didn’t mean to —"
"seriously,” geto said, cutting you off again, "you don’t need to keep apologising. i get it, you're real sweet." then, after a pause, he tilted his head, his purple eyes glinting. "but, hey, next time i’m on stage? i’ll make sure to look for you in the crowd. you won’t be able to miss me. i’ll be the guy with the broken nose."
and just like that, it hit you. he wasn’t just being cool about the situation. he was flirting with you. the man was literally bleeding from his face, and he was flirting with you.
you open your mouth to say something, anything — but before you could form the words, geto flashes a wink, that same mischievous grin never leaving his face, "just gonna have to go and get this looked at. manager's gonna lose his shit, but see you around, yeah?"
NANAMI KENTO ✶ is it too late to turn this plane around ?
the plane shuddered just slightly as it levelled out, and you gripped the armrest as if your life depended on it, trying to pretend that you weren't ready to hurl the contents of your empty stomach over economy class.
it didn’t help that your armrest companion, sharply dressed, annoyingly calm, and with a face that could have been carved from marble — seemed utterly unbothered by the subtle turbulence. he didn’t even glance up from his boring ass magazine.
you had been stealing glances at him since he sat down. the suit caught your attention first, impeccably tailored, so he was probably some finance guy. his tie, a speckled shade of banana yellow that somehow still looked elegant, was loosened just enough to suggest this wasn’t his first flight today, though not so much as to appear disheveled.
well, just your luck that you were seated next to someone who looked like they could be a stone-faced nordstrom model.
his face, though. well, damn! it was the face that made him hard to look away from. angular features, strong jawline, and a slight furrow in his brow that gave him a perpetually exasperated look. the kind of face that probably made people think twice before asking him for directions.
you, however, were not most people.
"so," you began, forcing your voice to sound light and casual, even though your heartbeat felt like it was trying to escape your chest. "do you think we’re supposed to hear that sound?"
he finally looked at you, glancing up from his magazine with the slow precision of someone who was already regretting their decision to acknowledge you.
"which sound?" he asks, his voice calm but carrying a hint of weariness. his blonde hair was neatly slicked back, though a single strand had rebelliously fallen onto his forehead.
"uhm, you know. that sound," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the overhead compartments as if that explained anything.
his gaze followed your hand, and his brow furrowed further, not in alarm but in what looked like mild irritation. “the plane engine or the luggage settling. perfectly normal." his tone is clipped, curt.
"are you sure? i watched a tiktok that said that there was a one in a thirteen million chance of being a plane crash. that's like...too much for me," you press, trying to ignore the mild rattle of the window.
he sighs softly, the kind of sigh that said he was already dreading the rest of the flight. "yes. i’m sure. i would not trust...short videos made by attention desparate people on the internet."
“okay, but what if it’s not normal? like, what if it’s—”
"it’s not the plane falling apart," he interrupted, his tone polite but firm. "i promise you."
you blink at him, momentarily silenced by the sheer certainty in his voice. "well, that’s reassuring, i think," you say finally, "thanks, uh…" you glanced at the seat tag clipped to his bag. "nanami kento. i mean, just nanami, right? don't wanna full name you..."
he inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the unspoken introduction, then returned to his magazine. it didn’t escape your notice that he turns the page with the kind of precision you’d expect from a surgeon.
you sit back in your seat, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that you were currently hurtling through the air in a metal tube. but the silence didn’t last long.
"so, what are you reading?" you asks, craning your neck slightly to get a better look at the magazine in his hands.
nanami hesitates, like he was debating whether to humour you or not. finally, he said, "an article on japan’s economic trends."
you blink. "oh. thrilling."
the corner of his stern mouth twitches, just barely, as if he was fighting back an amused smile, "i find it...informative."
"sure, but informative and thrilling are two very different things," you point out.
nanami turns another page, still exuding that same infuriating calm, "you seemed like you needed a distraction," he says, almost reluctantly. "would you prefer i explain it to you?"
you tilt your head, surprised by the offer. "you’d...explain the economy to me? as a distraction?"
"you were the one asking about plane sounds, and you look as though you're going to pass out. i'm not keen on doing first aid if it can be avoided," nanami says, with a tone so dry that it grates over you.
"fair point," you admit, "okay, hit me. tell me something i don’t know about japan’s economy."
he adjusts his glasses, his expression unreadable as he snaps his magazine straight in front of him, reading off the page, "the yen has been under significant pressure lately, largely due to increased government spending and concerns over inflation. it’s a precarious balance, on one hand, stimulus is necessary to sustain growth —"
nanami gives you a stern glare as you stifle back a yawn but continues, "but on the other, it weakens the currency against global competitors. the nikkei index reflects this uncertainty, fluctuating in response to external factors like american monetary policy and global market trends.”
you stared at him, trying to process the flood of information. frankly, you've never given a fuck about economics, and you had been more busy staring at his smooth lips, "so.. don’t buy yen?"
nanami's mouth twitches again, and this time you were certain it was kinder. "that’s one takeaway."
"wow," you said, leaning back in your seat, "you really know how to distract someone."
"was it helpful?" nanami asks, his tone suggesting he wasn’t entirely sure himself.
you considered that for a moment, "actually, yeah. i mean, i don’t understand half of what you just said, but it was so boring i forgot about the plane noises. uh, i hate planes. in case, you couldn't tell."
his eyes soften ever so slightly behind his glasses, "i could tell. glad to be of service."
you found yourself smiling despite your nerves. there was something unexpectedly charming about his awkward attempt to engage you, even if it involved the driest topic imaginable.
"you know," you say, "you don’t seem like the kind of guy who enjoys small talk."
"not in the slightest," nanami admits.
"so why are you humouring me?"
he glances at you, "didn't want you to throw up over my jacket."
the plane lurches, and you look at him with panicked eyes, "i wouldn't be so relaxed yet! oh, fuck, pass me that plastic bag, wouldya?"
RYOMEN SUKUNA ✶ retail's worst nightmare !
working retail was a game of holy patience, and holy fuck, you were losing.
it wasn't just the holiday rush or the fluorescent lights buzzing ominously as spotify worked through the most overplayed songs of the year.
it was him.
the man who was always camped out in your section of the store, for at least thirty minutes. for each of your shifts, rifling through stacks of neatly folded shirts like a bored bear rooting through a cooler. you watched, jaw grinding, as he unfurled yet another oversized graphic tee. flattening it against his broad frame, against the washed denim of his thick jeans. holding it up like he was considering buying it.
only to toss it back onto the table in a rumpled heap.
occasionally, he'd slide down his red headphones and you'd watch him flex wide arms, tattoos crawling out of the neckline of his shirt as he huffed.
you hated this innocuous customer. hated how ridiculously good-looking he was, in a way that screamed danger. what, with the mess of blush-pink hair and deep, russet eyes. hated how little he seemed to care about the destruction he was wreaking on your display, and most of all, you hated how he smiled whenever you sighed audibly.
making eye contact with you as he tossed yet another tee into the ruined pile.
"are you gonna keep unfolding those shirts?" you snap finally, "or are you actually planning to buy something?"
the man turns, slow and deliberate, and his gaze slides down to your name tag before sharp teeth unfurl from the corners of a rosy mouth, "relax," he drawls, "i'm just browsing."
browsing. right. you stare at the disaster zone that he's created, the meticulously folded rows of band-tees now reduced to a chaotic mound of cotton.
"this isn't a library," you shoot back, hands on your hips, "either decide or move on."
he arches a brow, clearly enjoying himself, "why so tense? isn't this your job?"
you let out a cool breath through your nose, clenching your teeth to fine dust, "yeah. my job isn't babysitting grown men who can't pick a shirt size."
the stranger blinks, pink lashes fluttering over sharp, dark eyes. as though he's genuinely considering this. then, with an absolutely maddening level of confidence, he grabs another shirt.
a hideous neon green monstrosity, with some kind of skull prints, and he shakes it out right in front of you. letting the creases fall out, dangling it like a flag of triumph.
"this one's nice, heh," he says.
"if you ruin one more folded pile, i'm gonna stuff that shirt down your big-ass neck."
his laugh is sudden and loud, echoing through the department. a couple of shoppers turn to look, but he seems to not care in the slightest, "ya can't say that to me. but you got guts, i'll give you that."
"and you’ve got about five seconds to put that shirt down before i make you refold this entire table," you shoot back.
he doesn't move. instead, he holds your gaze, clearly testing your patience. his wolf's smile was now edged with something sharper, something that dared you to follow through on your threat.
"you’re serious, aren'tcha?" he asks, almost impressed.
"deadly," you replied.
for a moment, you thought he might actually comply. but then, with the same deliberate slowness, he dropped the neon green shirt onto the pile he’d already decimated.
you stared at it. then at him. you think you're trying to pour gasoline on him, and blow him up in your mind.
"what's your name?" you ask flatly.
"sukuna."
"i hope a thousand evil little bugs descend on your house tonight, sukuna. i hope they invade your dreams so you know i'm wishing a curse upon you."
"that's kinda hot," he replies, without missing a beat and turning to leave.
"you can’t just walk away!" you called after him, but he was already halfway to the escalator, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world, and already pulling his crimson headphones back up.
you groaned, grabbing the nearest shirt to start refolding the mess he’d left behind.
then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw sukuna pause at the top of the escalator. he turned, just enough to make eye contact, and called out:
"when's your lunch break? let's go out!"
GOJO SATORU ✶ you charge my particles :D
the emergency department smelled like antiseptic and awful syringes. you were perched on the edge of a very uncomfortable chair, hands clenched in your shaking lap. staring at the guy you had, accidentally, thank you very much, run over in a parking lot.
his leg was propped up, wrapped up in plenty of gauze and a ice-pack, and he also looked oddly serene for someone with a pretty nasty, bruised up limb.
when you had first gotten there, you had been sick with guilt and worry that this poor stranger had been knocked unconscious by the rear of your car. but to your absolute bewilderment, he was actually just...sleeping? dozing off, sprawled back with a soft and peaceful smile on his face like he was just happy to catch a good snooze. the most absurd shade of ice-white hair mussed around his head.
that was, until his eyes fluttered open.
"oh my god, you're awake!" you blurted, leaning forward, with regret pouring out of you, "are you okay? does your leg hurt? what am i saying, of course it does! i am so sorry —"
he turns his head to you, blinking slowly. his eyes were a ridiculous, striking shade of blue. like glacier water caught in the sun. and then he grinned, voice still a little rough from his nap.
"hey, cutie."
you stare, utterly thrown, "excuse me?"
"what's up, gorgeous? don't worry, i forgive you for attempted vehicular manslaughter."
"good god," you muttered, "i hit his head too."
the stranger stretches his arms above his head, and you try not to track your stare to ridiculously, circus-long legs that sprawl over the crumpled sheets of the wheeled bed. way too tall, lean and far too good-looking for someone who had just been brought via ambulance to the hospital.
"it's fine, i swear," the man says, waving a scraped hand dismissively, "i needed a day off, so you did me a favour."
"a favour," you repeat, utterly incredulous, "you're in the emergency department. i backed up my car into you!"
the stranger shrugs, wincing at the stretch. and utterly unbothered by your fluttering worries, "yeah. but think 'bout it. if you hadn't hit me, i'd be stuck in a lecture hall. i don't wanna explain newtonian mechanics to a bunch of half-asleep undergrads."
you stare at him, suspiciously, "you're a professor?"
"mhm, physics."
"you don't look old enough to be a professor," and you're squinting at white lashes that ring impossibly large eyes. he looks more like a famous actor that you can't quite place, or someone's beautiful sugar baby.
no, focus.
he smirks, pale and glossy lips quirking upwards, "saying i look too good to be stuck in academia?"
"what? no," you say quickly, worried that he's gonna think you're a freak who hits on their victims, "that's not what i meant."
"you can say it," the man interrupted, still grinning, "i get it a lot. oh, satoru, you're too handsome to be explaining thermodynamics. satoru, you should be on the big screen, not teaching string theory. it's a bit of a curse."
you rub your temples, trying to block out the nonsense coming out of his fast-moving mouth, "you're kinda...weird. satoru."
"you hit me with a car," he points out cheerfully.
before you can retort, or ask him if he has private health insurance, a nurse clicks over, a clipboard in her hand as she's tapping her pen impatiently.
"mr gojo? we're ready to take you back for another x-ray? we just want to make sure that we also get a good picture at some soft tissues, so an mri as well."
your poor wallet.
"great," satoru says, and then to your utter horror, he adds, "i'll just leave my stuff with my partner, right?"
the nurse raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. you feel your tongue go dry, "i'm not —" but satoru cuts you off, with a voice like silk.
"so shy, right?" and he's flashing the nurse a charming smile that makes your nose crinkle, "but i'm just so glad that they're here through this difficult situation."
the nurse looks mildly skeptical, and you can feel your face heat up as she sighs, and stares at you.
"i...yeah. gotta be there for my sugar pumpkin snookums, right?"
it's satisfying that the tips of satoru's ears turn an awful shade of pink as he glares at you now, "such a sweetheart," and he pats your hand.
the nurse seems more inclined to roll her eyes, clearly over what she assumes are the antics of a medicine-doped boyfriend, "right. let's get that leg checked out."
as she wheels him away, satoru winks at you over his shoulder, "don't go anywhere, pretty!"
what a fiend. grinning like he's having the time of his life.
