#I can probably fix with a reset | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iniquitousyearning · 10 months ago

Text

tom riddle. | everyone has their vices

summary: tom riddle tells you he jerks off (and more) to relieve stress. just….in typical tom fashion.

word count: 2k

tags: 18+, suggestive content, so much tension you’ll choke on it, frustrating subliminal tom riddle (though reader is just as stubborn), flirting, masturbation insinuation, make out sesh.

"But how?”

Tom inhaled sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he prepared to reexplain for what felt like the hundredth time. "Because, the slightest distraction or doubt can result in consequence—as I said previous. A momentary lapse in any of the areas we covered will result in splinching."

You blinked, staring at him like he'd spoken an alternate language. The late night and the relentless focus on Tom's face for the past four hours had blurred everything into a haze and dulled his voice into a monotonous hum, blending with the soft rustle of parchment and the distant lapping of the lake against the window. He could see it—your disconnection, the way his words slipped past you like water through fingers.

He exhaled, slumping back in his chair, a hand raking through his dark hair in frustration. "Should we call it a night?"

"Probably," you muttered, your gaze drifting to the window behind him, the surface of the Black Lake rippling under the moonlight. "You've overloaded my brain. I stopped comprehending two hours ago."

You felt Tom's eyes narrow slightly as he studied you—you must have looked a mess. Strands of hair had fallen out of your ponytail, your uniform shirt was half undone, and there was a dullness in your eyes that spoke of more than just exhaustion. A week bedridden with the flu had set you back, and now, despite Tom's best efforts, you felt like you were drowning.

He knew you were stressed beyond measure—you were normally not like this.

"You need to relax," he said, the words landing with the flatness of an undisputed fact. "You won't retain anything in the state you're in."

"How can I relax when I'm two weeks behind? And exams are next week?" Your voice cracked with the weight of your frustration as you leaned your elbows on his desk, burying your face in your hands. "I'm helpless, Tom. I know you know it."

"Would I be sitting here wasting my time if I thought you were helpless?" He watched you, almost clinical in his intensity as he spoke—tone matter-of-factly, devoid of any false comfort. It cut through your despair with ease. Tom Riddle never did anything without purpose; if he was here, it meant he believed you were worth the effort. "My suggestion is that you reset your brain," he continued, his voice steady like his fingers as he shut the textbook between you. "Take a walk. Have a cold shower. Jump in the lake. Whatever you need to do to decompress."

The simplicity of his suggestions almost made you laugh, but it was the kind of laughter that would easily turn into tears if you let it. Tom had a way of stripping everything down to its most basic form—of cutting through your stress and chaos and presenting you with a simple, unvarnished answer.

You were a mess, and he was telling you to fix it—no coddling, no pity, just a clear-eyed assessment of the situation. And somehow, that was exactly what you needed to hear. You appreciated him for it.

"Decompress, huh. I don't believe I've ever done such a thing." You leaned back in your chair with a lopsided grin, arms crossed. "Is that what you do? Jump in the lake?"

Tom let out a huff, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in what was almost—almost—a smile.

"Something like that."

Interesting—Tom Riddle, always so composed, every inch of him meticulously put together, as if the mere idea of stress was a foreign concept. You couldn't imagine him spiralling, not the way you did—frankly, you couldn't imagine him ever feeling overwhelmed at all.

The curiosity gnawed at you, wondering what he did to unwind—what rituals or habits did the untouchable Tom Riddle indulge in when no one was watching?

"Something else, then?" You pushed it further, gently, your eyebrow arching just slightly.

For a moment, his gaze flickered, something dark and inscrutable passing behind his eyes. You knew he was considering your words, debating whether to indulge your curiosity or keep you at arm's length. Such a fascinating creature he was—all brick walls and boarded windows—you had a feeling he was going to shut this down.

Until, he leaned forward.

"If you're asking if I have habits—I suppose I do," he said, your eyes drawn to the way his lips moved, the way his voice curled around each syllable. "Habitual things I do to—relax, let's say."

You hummed and pulled your lower lip between your teeth as you considered him—fighting to hide your amusement. That was the biggest personal moment you've had out of Tom Riddle since the day you met him in first year where he told you his name.

"Well, isn't that a revelation," you teased, toying with the edge of your skirt. "Just the mere insinuation that Tom Riddle has to do something to relax—as though he's not always cool, calm, and collected like he lets on."

His lips curled slightly at your words, his gaze dipping briefly from your eyes to your mouth, trailing lower in a slow, deliberate sweep that brushed over your chest before landing back on the desk.

Your brain buffered, tingles in the wake of his wrath. He picked up his quill, spinning it idly between his fingers.

"Everyone has their vices—if they don't, they end up like you," he said, his tone laced with an ambiguity that made you wonder just how deep his ran. "Perhaps it's time you found some."

You scoffed, leaning further back in your chair, the fabric of your shirt pulling tighter across your chest. You forced yourself to ignore the visceral reaction your body had as you caught the brief flicker in Tom’s gaze—the way his eyes darted up to the movement before he quickly masked his expression.

For a moment, you thought you might be imagining things, but the tensing of your thighs betrayed a reaction you couldn't quite shake.

"And what are yours?" You asked after a moment, your voice softer now. Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not a conversationalist—and yet here he was, indulging your curiosity instead of shutting it down. He was humouring you, and you intended to make the most of it. "Decompressing with bland tea and ancient tomes? Sneaking into the Restricted Section when no one's looking?"

“Mm, no.” Tom let out a snort, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips— "I’d say my vices are less...pedestrian, than all that."

The quill in his fingers stilled—the change in his demeanour was subtle, though you felt it in the air—electric, making your pulse quicken. He traced the edge of the feather with the tip of his thumb, the motion slow and deliberate, and you found yourself inexplicably distracted, fighting the urge to shift in your seat.

Why in Merlin's name was that so damn captivating?

"Less pedestrian?" You echoed, curiosity at an all-time-high. "What do you do, then, Tom? Dance naked by the light of the full moon?"

"I should hope not," he laughed—a low, rumbling sound that resonated in the pit of your stomach as you giggled alongside him. The quill twirled again in his fingers, the motion languid, almost hypnotic. "No, I'd say my vices are more...private. Less suited to polite company. Perhaps I should let you guess since the mystery of it seems to fascinate you so."

The look he gave you made you stiffen, a challenge—no, a dare—clear in his deep, dark eyes. Your thighs involuntarily reacted again—less suited to polite company?

"I believe I've already made several guesses," you tried to compose yourself with a shallow inhale. "I'm quite at a loss."

He shook his head, stifling his grin. "Clearly, you lack imagination."

"Clearly, you enjoy being cryptic." You shot back, unable to stifle yours.

At that, he hummed—it was obvious your stubbornness was as entertaining to him as it was aggravating. Perhaps you could say the same. He set the quill down, his eyes on yours as the fingers of his free hand began to tap idly on the desk—and then his gaze dipped again, tracing the curve of your lips before drifting lower, a slow, deliberate path that made you tense.

For a moment, you wondered if the tension in the air was all in your head. Was he always this adventurous with his eyes?

"When the mind is under strain," he began, his voice smooth, clinical, "it's a result of an excessive influx of neural signals. Synapses misfire, disrupting cognitive function. A basic physiological response." He watched your reaction closely, as though gauging the impact of his words. "To address such a state, one must reestablish control over these neural pathways. To be direct, I find the most efficacious methods involve tasks that stimulate the senses without being emotionally or physically taxing. A simple, repetitive action can suffice—something arbitrary enough to encourage the subconscious to lose focus."

You fought the urge to scowl at his change in speech—Tom knew damn-well just how overwhelmed your brain was—and then continued to recite scientific jargon as if it were his full-time occupation.

You’d almost be mad if it weren’t for the fucking words that stuck to the inside of your ears—stimulate, repetitive, lose focus—

"You're a walking textbook, aren't you?" You continued to play it off—you didn't want to make assumptions—you hated the way he danced around the edges of things, never quite saying what he meant. "Be specific."

Tom's grin grew as he leaned in slightly, his fingers stilling on the desk between you. "I find tasks that involve the hands particularly useful. Something that can be repeated in a smooth, steady rhythm, with little conscious thought required. The ability to lose oneself in the pattern is key."

Merlin help you—the atmosphere in his dorm had changed with those words; the air turned viscous, cloying, each breath sticking in your throat like syrup—hands, steady rhythm, lose oneself—the words pulsed with implication, even if it was buried under layers of his typical, infuriating ambiguity.

He was absolutely referring to—no—no assumptions—

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "So...knitting?"

The words tumbled out, a weak attempt at humour to cut through the tension, but they hung lifeless in the air—as hollow as the chuckle that rumbled from Tom's chest.

His eyes traced over you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle. "Not exactly."

"Hm. A different kind of needlecraft, perhaps." You shifted in your seat, trying to inject a semblance of nonchalance into your posture.

But you weren't fooling him—you never had—

"How much longer are you going to play coy?" He murmured, the amusement clear from light-years away.

Heat surged up your neck, the flush burning across your cheeks, betraying you—"how much longer are you going to continue holding your tongue?"

Your voice came out sharper than intended, laced with a challenge you barely felt capable of meeting. You and Tom had always been cordial, the slight suggestive comment here and there, mostly from your end. But this—oh, this was different—this was uncharted territory.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "Would you prefer I do something else with it?"

Oh, fuck yes you would—

"You're being obtuse," you practically choked out, though the words lacked the bite you intended. "Entirely vague."

"I'm being clear," he countered, his gaze never wavering. "But you're being obstinate—willfully ignorant to my meaning because you refuse to acknowledge it without me saying it outright."

The air between you dissipated—you tried to grasp for a coherent thought, something to regain your footing, but your mind faltered, stumbling over the implications of what he was saying. His eyes never left yours—and you watched them deepen in colour, black pupils eating away the rich brown of his irises, darkening with something that made the room feel unbearably small.

You could feel the heat rising in your body, pooling low in your belly. How did he do this to you? How did he turn you inside out with nothing more than words and that infuriating, knowing smile?

"Tell me," you breathed, hating how desperate the words sounded, "what do you do with your hands, Tom?...how do you use them to relieve...stress?"

The second those words left your lips you realized what was truly happening here—Tom Riddle never did anything without intent—every word, every pause, every smirk, was a thread in a web he was weaving, intricate and inescapable. He'd led you here, gently, subtly, with the barest hint of force, and now that you were caught, you realized that you wanted this.

Needed it.

And it was clear he did too. Otherwise you'd never have gotten to this point—he wanted you to push, to dig deeper—your stomach twisting as you watched Tom wet his lips, but there was no smirk on them this time.

Only something intense—jaw set, eyes focused—

"I think we both know what I do with my hands," he whispered, the double entendre clear in every syllable— "you knew exactly what I was insinuating the moment this started."

Your breath snagged in your throat, a tremor running through your entire body as the warmth pooling in your belly began to spread, sinking lower, threading through every nerve. Your vision narrowed, centering entirely on him—his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his presence seemed to devour the room, leaving no space for anything else.

And then, you nodded, the movement barely there—a subtle acknowledgment of your understanding.

"Do you touch yourself, Tom?..." the words escaped you, a soft, breathy whisper that you could hardly believe were your own. "Or do you touch someone else?"

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze, suspended in the intensity of those questions.

The world narrowed to the point of his gaze, the sharp line of his jaw—the reality of where you were, what you were doing, almost seemed to blur—trapping you both in a moment that felt surreal, like a scene caught in the still frame of a film. Never—never—had you imagined a conversation like this with Tom Riddle, hardly your acquaintance, the untouchable genius of the school.

And yet here you were, heart pounding, every nerve on fire, and Merlin help you, you were going to wring every drop of this out for as long as you could.

He swallowed, and you watched the movement, entranced. "Depends on my level of stress."

Tom's expression was unreadable—except for the subtle tension in his shoulders as he leaned back, spreading his legs a fraction wider, the fabric of his dress shirt straining against the flex of his biceps—

"...and how stressed are you right now?" You whispered, reckless, without a trace of restraint.

Tom's throat bobbed with another swallow, a gesture so simple yet so charged that it sent your pulse roaring in your ears.

"Quite," he murmured, his voice taut, stretched thin. "The past four hours have been rather taxing—wouldn't you agree?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up, escaping before you could stop it. You tried to steady yourself, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. You had never felt so intensely aroused and frustrated in your life, and you knew, without a bloody doubt, that he was perfectly aware of it.

"Are you trying to imply l'm the cause of your stress?"

"On the contrary," he said, his gaze raking over you, his eyes dark and hungry, as if you were something to be consumed, devoured whole. "I'm saying you've exacerbated it. Though I'll concede a fair share of the responsibility—as it is mine, after all."

"How kind of you," you whispered, voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "To admit your own fault in the matter."

"I'm a kind man." His voice was a low purr, the kind that seeped into your bones, making your blood thrum with anticipation. "I like to take responsibility for my shortcomings."

Yes, yes—so very kind—

"Then take it."

The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them, a challenge thrown into the thick, suffocating air between you. The tension was a living thing now, colled tight, ready to snap, turning your insides into a churning mess of want and need.

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"Take it?" He echoed. "And what exactly do you want me to take, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart.

The pet name rolled off his tongue with a casual ease that sent a flush of heat straight to your core— the simple word wielded like a weapon, striking you down with its intimacy. There was no denying the power that name held over you, especially when coming from his lips.

"The responsibility..." you whispered, the words trembling as they left you, barely more than a breath. "…for your..." you hesitated, your eyes locked onto his as you finally said, "…shortcomings."

For a moment, everything hung in the balance—until, oxygen extinct, Tom leaned forward, closing the space between you until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, mingling with your own.

Curse this fucking desk between you.

"My shortcomings," he repeated, his eyes flicking to your lips. "Is that all I should take responsibility for?"

"Are you suggesting..." you leaned in as well, the distance between you shrinking to a breath—your gaze drawn to his own mouth—the plush of it, how bad you wanted to feel it against yours, "...there's something else you wish to take responsibility for?"

Said mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile and witnessing the shift this close felt dangerously religious—as though you'd experienced something sacred not many have before—part of you knew you did.

"Many things," he whispered, the sound soft as velvet, dangerous as a blade. "The list is long and varied..."

The heat in your body was painful—you had never been this close to him, never felt the full weight of his presence bearing down on you like this. His cologne—faint, rich, and so distinctly Tom—overwhelmed you, the same scent he'd worn since you first met him.

It was infuriating, how everything he did was so subtle, simple—yet so fucking intoxicating, so irresistible.

"...I'm not quite sure where to start." His eyes flicked back to yours.

Every word that fell from his lips was a new form of torture, his dark eyes pinning you in place, searing into you. The heat radiating from his body made you want to retreat, to find air, to find space—but the thought of putting any distance between you was unbearable, the need to be near him overriding everything else.

You'd rather lose consciousness than pull back.

"Why don't you start..." you whispered, tilting your head, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. "By fixing the insatiable ache in my curiosity...the one you created when you mentioned how you use your hands...to relieve stress..."

He exhaled, the sound rumbling from his chest like a growl and you could almost imagine that if he parted his lips, you'd glimpse fangs behind them right now—you'd never seen him like this—his gaze predatory, fucking ravenous, and it was as though he could devour you whole if he so chose to.

But you knew better. Tom Riddle would never be so crude. His methods of torment were deliberate—Methodical. A slow depletion of your senses until you're gasping for something only he can give you.

Then, in a voice that was all gravel and silk, he whispered, "is that all that's aching...your...curiosity?"

"Gods no—"

But you never finished that thought—because in an instant, his hand was tangled in your hair, pulling you forward with a force that sent you careening over the desk and into him—Tom Riddles lips crashed against yours, and it was like drowning, his tongue invading your mouth, stealing your breath and dragging all ounces of your cognitive ability along with it.

You were half out of your chair, caught in the gravity of him, unsure if your legs were even working, or if it was his grip alone that held you upright. His free hand found your wrist, pinning it to the desk as his mouth worked you with a fervour that made your head spin. The kiss was incendiary, a wildfire scorching its way through every nerve in your body, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake—the intensity of it, the sheer, unrelenting pressure of his lips on yours, made you wonder how you survived this long without it.

All the heat in your blood pooled low, deep between your thighs, an ache so profound it threatened to consume you. Tom Riddle was about to show you precisely how he used his hands to relieve stress, and Gods, if that wasn’t the only thing you’d ever needed right now.

2K notes · View notes

mamawasatesttube · 5 months ago

Text

i keep thinking to myself, god we have got to put tim drake in a time loop. but also time loops just feel so perfectly like speedster bullshit, yknow? therefore lemme just smash these thoughts together like particles at cern aaannddd--

let's put tim in a time loop that bart accidentally caused. a tim loop, if you will :) specifically, tim loop where kon dies at the end and bart just kind of subconsciously went nope! and "if anyone can fix it it's tim right?" bc bart has. a normal amount of faith in his friends but also a normal amount of feelings about himself being useless to save kon bc he couldn't in infinite crisis.

and bam suddenly tim is having the worst tuesday of his life like 20 times in a row. yippee! it's bart-powered but he doesn't even know. he did it on accident. bart in the loop doesn't know what's going on. it just resets every time the ending is something bart can't accept (kon dies again). tim tries to sacrifice himself to save kon once but somehow that doesn't break the loop either (bart refuses to accept that). how long can tim go through a time loop before he goes completely bonkers bananas insane? only tim(e) will tell.

and, worse: how many times can tim watch kon die? how many times can he beg kon to value his own life, to get it through his head that being a hero doesn't mean he needs to die for the world, that there must be another way? how many times can he watch kon sacrifice himself to save others and know that if he stops kon, those people might die?

how fucked up would he be if he ever actually found out just how suicidal kon has been his entire life?

extra fun: cassie takes one look at him every time and instantly clocks that he's feeling like shit, but every time she forgets why, because the loop resets. tim is being perceived but it never lasts. this will drive him crazy so fast. he's gonna start acting out and snapping at her for being concerned because what's the POINT of talking about his feelings if everything resets ANYWAY. this will definitely not come back to bite him in the end or anything, right?

(kon-el dead wife giggling in the sunshine and playing under the sheets montage plays over and over for both tim and bart. this probably means nothing.)

#rimi talks #i will never write this fic bc i have too many wips already but like #kon and heroism as self sacrifice vs bart refusing to let him die so hard he breaks time a little bit #but bart is fucked UP by infinite crisis and doesnt think he can do it himself. like #its about the devotion between all 3 of them. timkonbart is real #and tim&cassie is also so fucking real its a cornerstone of this in a different way.#she knows him sooo well. she KNOWS what intense grief and trauma look like on him #but the time loop prevents her from actually getting through to him. because she did once. and then it reset #anyways. time loops fun everyone go play in stars and time im thinking about it again #tim #kon #bart #idiot trio <3 #cassie #core four

591 notes · View notes

obeymeluv · 4 months ago

Text

In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Idia Shroud x Reader #Idia x Reader #Ortho Shroud #Ignihyde

515 notes · View notes

prettieinpink · 5 months ago

Text

LITTLE WAYS TO LIVE HEALTHIER IN 2025

INCREASE YOUR N.E.A.T. Neat stands for non exercise activity thermogenesis. So, basically any daily activities we do when not exercising or sleeping. It's important for you to have a high N.E.A.T because it can be the difference between having a sedentary lifestyle or being moderately active.

Ways to increase NEAT is to do more heavier chores everyday (vacuuming, mopping, dusting), taking the longer routes when walking, stand for 10 minutes each hour, pace back and forth while calling someone, march while you’re brushing your teeth, etc.

DRINK HERBAL TEAS. Herbal teas can help you in a variety of areas of life, and are a great substitute for other processed beverages.

ADD SUNLIGHT IN YOUR MORNING. Exposing yourself to sunlight early in the day helps with resetting the circadian rhythm, which in return helps for waking up easier and going to sleep easier.

EAT WITHOUT DISTRACTIONS. You’ll savour your food so much more and it’ll be easier to tell when you’re satisfied.

CREATE A PLAYLIST FOR WHEN YOU WIND DOWN. Once you get into the habit of listening to this playlist, it’ll become like a trigger to your body that it’s time to sleep because listening to that playlist should be followed by settling into bed.

REGULARLY GO TO YOUR GP. Especially if you’re feeling a bit out of it. It is always better to make those regular visits and catch something before it becomes out of hand.

STOP WAKING UP SO EARLY. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but waking up at 5am is unnecessary if not required. While I do believe that waking up earlier does have benefits, that extra hour of sleep probably has more.

IF YOU’RE STRUGGLING, TAKE IT SLOWER. In this day and age, we don’t have time to process a lot of things. Everything is so fast paced, that if we fall behind, we tend to feel less than.

Especially if you’re someone who can’t keep pace with the crowd due to disabilities or mental health. Take things at your own pace, and do what you can will yourself to do.

GET SPIRITUAL. Lots of studies show that people who commit themselves to their beliefs are a lot happier in life than those who don’t. This doesn’t mean that you have to commit to a religion yet, but I would explore your spirituality side and see what resonates with you.

WEAR YOUR SPF. Skin cancer is no joke, and our earth is only getting hotter. Protect yourself, including your body!

SURROUND YOURSELF WITH GOOD PEOPLE. People who radiate love and are always looking for the goodness around them, that rubs off on you and in return you’ll develop similar traits. Being with them will stimulate growth in all aspects of your life.

I'm not telling anyone to ‘fix’ anyone, but it means a lot to other people if you can be that person in their life. It's a very rewarding and fulfilling lifestyle.

TAKE MAKEUP BREAKS REGULARLY. Give your skin a break from products, and ideally take a week off each month to spend it makeup free. You’re saving time and your skin.

ADD IN FRUITS, HERBS OR LEMON IN YOUR WATER. This will help with extra hydration and improve digestion.

PRIORITISE FIBRE. As much as protein is good for you, fibre has just as much importance but it's not as heavily prioritised. Ideally, half of your meal should be fibres. However, that can be a hard change for some people, so start with having it on the side.

It's great if you can incorporate ‘hidden’ fibre into your meals as well!

CURATE YOUR SPACE TO SUIT YOU. Add in little notes of reminders or quotes, place around photos or awards of your achievements, remove anything that impacts you negatively. You want the area that you’re in 24/7 to support that growth, not stifle it.

Keep your area clean and decluttered as well. Try to minimise the amount of stuff that you have. You only need one of each thing, two is one too many. Having too much clutter affects the clarity of your mind.

it is numbered oddly because of the way I pasted this from google docs to tumblr. apologies!

738 notes · View notes

papayainsectorone · 2 months ago

Text

Bad Day Fix

════════════════════════

request: can you write about comforting kimi antonelli after a bad race or hes sad

content: angst, fluff, vulnerability, healing, comfort, reassurance, bad race, established relationship

word count: 1,7k

pairing: kimi antonelli x fem!reader

════════════════════════

You know it’s bad before you even see him.

The broadcast cuts off and the silence that follows feels heavier than the race itself. You’re left staring at the black screen, heart caught somewhere between frustration and helplessness — that gnawing twist in your chest when things unravel, slowly at first, then all at once.

The race had been chaos. A strategy that didn’t work. A pit stop that went long. The car fighting him through every lap. You watched the whole thing unfold from the couch, gripping a pillow like it could somehow keep the wheels turning, keep him afloat.

But it hadn’t. And now he’s somewhere out there, probably still in his suit, still wound tight, unraveling in a paddock garage with too-bright lights and too many eyes.

You wait for the message. A text. A sigh. Even a single emoji — his usual heart or thumbs-down when he's grumpy but okay.

Nothing comes.

That’s the second sign.

By the time the hotel room door clicks open, the sun’s gone. You’ve been sitting on the bed for hours, pretending to read, re-reading the same paragraph until the words mean nothing. When Kimi steps in, it’s like the energy in the room shifts — sucked out in one breath.

He doesn’t say anything. Just drops his bag by the wall like it might explode if he touches it too long. His shoulders are curled inward, baseball cap tugged low, jaw set like he’s trying not to crack his own teeth from clenching too hard.

“Hey,” you say, soft and steady.

He nods. That’s all you get.

You close the book, setting it gently on the nightstand, and pat the bed beside you. “Come sit.”

For a second, he doesn’t move — eyes fixed on the floor, the silence stretching too long. Then he does. Slowly. Like every step is a weight. But he doesn’t sit on the bed. He lowers himself to the floor in front of it, elbows braced on his knees, cap still hiding most of his face. He stares at the carpet like it said something cruel.

“I fucked up,” he says, voice rough and low. “Everything. The strategy was shit, yeah, but I should’ve adapted. Should’ve seen it earlier. I should’ve pushed, saved the tires better. I don’t know. Something.”

You slide closer, shift onto your stomach at the edge of the bed until you can rest your chin gently on his shoulder. You don’t push. Don’t try to fix it. Just offer the truth.

“You did everything you could.”

His shoulders tighten under your touch. He doesn’t lean into it, not yet, but he doesn’t pull away either. That’s enough for now.

“I hate how it felt,” he murmurs, the words thick, like they cost him something to say. “Like I wasn’t even driving my own race anymore. Just reacting. Like the whole thing slipped out of my hands and I couldn’t grab it back.”

You stay quiet, the weight of your chin resting lightly against his hoodie. You can feel the tension radiating off him in waves — jaw clenched, fingers knotted together, legs bouncing faintly with leftover adrenaline.

“I tried to reset,” he goes on. “Told myself, ‘You’ve got time. You can still pull something from this.’ But then I came out behind traffic, and the grip was gone, and I just—” He cuts himself off, exhaling hard. “I don’t know why it messed me up so bad.”

His voice doesn’t break, but it dips. Frustrated. Fragile. Like he’s angry for even letting it get to him.

You shift slightly, letting your hand move until your fingers curl around his bicep. Just grounding him. No pressure.

“It matters to you,” you say gently. “That’s not a weakness, Kimi. It’s the opposite.”

He finally looks at you. Just a glance over his shoulder, eyes ringed with exhaustion, but something in them flickers — like maybe, just maybe, he hears you.

“I just keep thinking about what I should’ve done. I keep playing it back like I can undo it if I watch it enough times.”

“You’re not a robot,” you remind him. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. But one race doesn’t rewrite who you are.”

Kimi swallows hard, and for a moment, it’s like the silence is going to win — like he’ll shut down again, slip into himself and wall it all off. But then he exhales, rough and long, and leans back just enough for his shoulder to brush yours. Not fully leaning. Not yet. But closer.

“Everyone always says ‘move on’ or ‘learn from it,’” he mutters. “But right now I just feel…embarrassed. Like I let people down.”

You shift off the bed slowly, sliding down to the floor beside him. Legs folded, back against the edge of the mattress. You take his hand — still clenched — and gently pry his fingers open so you can thread yours through them.

“You didn’t let anyone down,” you say, firm but soft. “Especially not me.”

His jaw ticks again. His fingers twitch around yours. “You always say the right thing,” he mutters, but there’s a trace of warmth in it now. Quiet gratitude buried under everything else.

“I say what’s true,” you answer. “Even when you forget it.”

For the first time, Kimi lets his head fall sideways, resting against your shoulder. It’s not dramatic or loud. Just tired. Real. His cap shifts, revealing a bit more of his expression — flushed from the long day, brows still pinched like his brain won’t stop replaying the track.

You nudge his head softly. “Come on. Scoot up.”

He blinks like he didn’t expect you to say anything — like he forgot, for a moment, that he’s allowed to ask for comfort. But after a beat, he moves, slow and wordless, crawling up onto the bed.

You shift too, sliding back toward the headboard until you’re sitting upright, knees bent slightly. Kimi settles in between your legs, his head resting on your stomach, arms curled loosely around your waist. He exhales again, the sound quieter this time, more resigned than tense. His whole body melts into you, like gravity’s finally winning.

Your fingers move instinctively to his hair, slipping beneath the edge of his cap to run through the soft strands at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet sound — not quite a sigh, not quite a groan — and closes his eyes.

“There we go,” you murmur, barely audible over the room’s hush. “That’s better.”

He doesn’t speak, but his grip tightens slightly around you, just enough to say thank you again without words.

You let him stay like that, gently carding your fingers through his hair, the slow rhythm of it anchoring you both. The hotel room is still, the only sound the muffled buzz of the city outside and the occasional shift of fabric when he breathes a little deeper.

Time stretches. Not in a heavy way — more like a blanket pulled up over both of you.

After a long while, he speaks, voice thick with exhaustion but softer than before.

“Do you ever think it’s stupid? That I care this much?”

You look down at him, frowning. “No. Never.”

His cheek is warm against your stomach. He doesn’t open his eyes, just listens.

“Because if you didn’t care,” you continue gently, “you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t fight this hard. You wouldn’t have gotten as far as you have.”

He shifts slightly, pressing his forehead more firmly against you. “It just hurts. Failing like that. In front of everyone.”

“You didn’t fail.”

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either.

So you lower your voice even more, soft and certain. “You had a bad day. That’s all it was. A bad day. But you’re still Kimi. You’re still…you.”

Another beat of silence. And then:

“Keep talking,” he says, muffled against your hoodie. “I like when you talk like that.”

You smile gently, bending to press a kiss into his hair. “Good. Because I could say it a thousand times and it would still be true.”

#kimi antonelli #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #kimi antonelli one shot #kimi antonelli fic #kimi antonelli imagine #mercedes #mercedes x reader #f1 rookies #kimi antonelli x fem!reader #andrea kimi antonelli x reader #fluff #f1 angst #𓊆papayainone𓊇

237 notes · View notes

rudhira · 5 months ago

Text

More Animal Crossing: New Horizons conversions!

This time, I converted the Wall-mounted phone and Cordless phone. Well, they both ended up being cordless phones after I removed the cord from the wall phone, but I figured it would work better with Sims 2 that way.

Now, it turns out that making phones is probably the worst and least fun thing you can ever get up to! I tried my best, but there are still some issues. The Cordless phone clips a little with the thumb when held and the ring fx isn't well aligned (I did try to fix it!). The Wall-mounted phone looks a bit derpy while dialing, as there are no buttons on the handset. Also, the phone handset position for both phones gets messed up after they rings and needs to be reset by being picked up. However, that's an issue also present in Maxis phones.

Make sure you get both the phone and handset files. I used Numenor's Phone Clone Templates for this.

Download: SFS

Oh, you're still here? Well, there isn't more to this post, but maybe you'd be interested in @crispsandkerosene's Extended StandardMaterial Shader...

#sims 2 #s2cc #custom: objects #ac to ts2 #i am never making a phone again ever in my life #this aged me 20 years

275 notes · View notes

writesvani · 3 months ago

Text

coming down | 04

collegestudent! gojo x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: You and Gojo Satoru were once everything to each other, but now, the space between you is filled with nothing but silence and resentment. College is just a reminder of how far you’ve drifted apart, and every encounter only adds fuel to the fire.

You avoid him like the plague, but it doesn’t matter. You can still feel him in the shadows, always there, always watching, as if the past was never really gone. So what do you do? You (try to) keep your distance, pretending it’s easy to forget the history that’s weighed you down for so long.

But deep down, neither of you can let go. And as the tension between you grows, you’re forced to confront the truth: some things are never truly buried, no matter how hard you try.

best friends-to-friends with benefits-to-enemies-to-enemies with benefits-to?

TWs (for this chapter): manipulation, toxic friendship dynamics, arguing, back handed compliments, making out, sexual tension, substance abuse, explicit language, mentions of past trauma, emotional conflict, jealousy

comment HERE for Coming Down taglist;

SERIES M. LIST

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 7k // date: 17th of March

CHAPTER FOUR – In The Night; proceed with caution...

AN: okay listen. i know this was a slow burn chapter. but every single part of it was necessary. EVERYTHING is important. do you think i just write things for fun? no. every sentence, every stare, every word exchanged between gojo and y/n is intentional. calculated. y/n and yumi? the way they showed up wearing almost matching outfits? not a coincidence. the way y/n interacts with yumi and vice versa? telling. the way the toxicity seeps through her conversation with gojo? NECESSARY. you need to understand where they stand right now to fully grasp what’s about to happen next. there is a reason they are all still in each other’s lives. trust me.

and finally. GETO. HELLO. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT. he had no business being that hot this chapter. NONE. i was writing him like sir please be serious for once but no. he had to say things. he had to look like that. i hate him (i love him).

next chapter; after 100 notes <3

love, vani 🩷

You can feel the weight of your wallet in your bag, but it’s not a burden; it’s an opportunity. The mall hums around you, the fluorescent lights overhead making everything feel a little more artificial, but also a little more alive. You take in the scent of expensive perfumes mixed with the fresh leather from the bags on display. It’s like a hit of dopamine straight to the system, and you can almost taste the excitement on your tongue.

Yumi walks beside you, her eyes already scanning the racks, her steps slow but deliberate. She's in the same vibe today, quiet, but her attention sharp. You two aren’t talking much, but it doesn’t matter—sometimes, silence is just another form of conversation.

“Do you think it’s wrong to just...buy things for the sake of it?” Yumi asks out of nowhere, glancing sideways at you, her lips curling up in a half-smirk. “Like, not because we need it, but because...it feels good?”

“Fuck no,” you reply almost immediately, your voice louder than it probably should be in the middle of the mall. You catch a couple of people glancing over, but it doesn’t matter. “Anyone who says that is lying to themselves. Spending money is like hitting the reset button, a little personal therapy session in each swipe. I mean, have you seen these shoes? They're practically begging me to buy them.”

Yumi chuckles, her eyes falling to the rows of trendy sneakers on the shelf. She moves towards them with purpose, but you know she's not just here to buy. She's here to feel something, just like you. The thrill of walking out of the store with something new, the satisfaction of a decision that is all yours.

“Sometimes I feel like...if I just have something nice, it’ll fix everything. Like, if I buy this jacket, maybe everything will feel okay,” Yumi says, her voice soft, almost hesitant. You look over at her, catching the slightest crack in her usual nonchalant expression.

"Yeah, I get that," you reply, your hand brushing along a velvet dress on display. "It’s like, a temporary fix. But sometimes? It’s all you need to get through the day. You can’t tell me there’s a better feeling than slipping into something new and realizing you just made your own mood for the day."

Yumi glances over at you, her face breaking into a grin. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Let's make the most of this ‘therapy’ while we can.”

You both laugh, the sound mixing with the distant chatter of other shoppers as you continue to roam, leaving your cares and worries at the door with every step you take. Today is not about making decisions, it’s about feeling. And right now, you’re both just trying to feel good.

You and Yumi are dressed in the kind of outfits that could easily be mistaken for "mom chic"—but in a way that feels intentional and effortless. Think muted tones, soft fabrics, and the kind of casual elegance that says, "I don’t have to try too hard, but I still look put together."

You’re both wearing beige-colored pieces, like a warm, oversized cardigan layered over a simple cream blouse. The cardigan drapes off your shoulders just so, perfectly slouchy, like you didn’t even think about it. Your pants are wide-legged, a soft taupe color, with just enough volume to make them look chic but still comfortable enough to lounge in. You're not exactly pulling off a runway look, but you’re definitely pulling off an “I’m casually rich but low-key” vibe. You’ve opted for simple, white sneakers that look like they’ve been through a lot, but still hold their own in the aesthetics department.

Yumi mirrors you in a similar way. She’s got a beige trench coat hanging loosely around her shoulders, the kind of piece that makes you look like you’ve got your life together, even if you don’t. Her pants are slightly more tapered, a light khaki shade, but still relaxed enough to give off that effortless vibe. A simple beige scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, adding just the right touch of elegance. You notice she’s wearing matching beige slides, the kind that click softly against the floor with every step, but they have a casual, almost lazy feel to them, like she couldn’t be bothered with heels today.

Both of you have your hair pulled back into sleek, tight buns—nothing too fancy, just neat and low-maintenance. It’s a look that says you’re not trying too hard, but still trying just enough to feel put-together. It’s a mood. The kind of aesthetic that screams understated, but the more you look at it, the more you realize just how much effort went into making it look so effortless.

At some point, you break away from her, your eyes landing on a store that’s been calling your name for days. You head straight for the jeans section like you’re on a mission from God. And there they are. The perfect pair. The jeans. They practically shine in your peripheral vision, whispering your name. “Buy me, buy me, buy me,” they seem to scream. You grab your size with the kind of urgency that only comes from knowing destiny has just called your name, then practically launch yourself into the fitting room.

Once you’re inside, you slip into the jeans and instantly fall in love. They hug you just right, shaping your body in that effortless way that says, I’m so stylish. You glance in the mirror, nodding to yourself like you've just discovered fire.

“Yu!” You yell, probably a little louder than necessary, but you’re too excited. “Come here, I found something.”

“Girl, where’s here?” Yumi calls from outside, clearly in the middle of her own shopping-induced trance.

“The fitting room, hurry up!” You tug at the waistband to make sure it’s sitting just right. You can already feel the high of this purchase.

You hear Yumi’s footsteps approach as she huffs impatiently. “Step out, c'mon!” she calls. You laugh, rolling your eyes as you open the fitting room door, spinning out dramatically to show off your catch of the day.

“What do you think?” You strike a pose, a mix of sass and excitement.

Yumi blinks. It’s not the reaction you expected. Her eyes flick up and down you, but there's something off about her expression—something you can’t quite place. She pauses, the kind of pause that always means she’s about to say something she thinks will sound nice but isn’t. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger and scratches at her trench coat like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh,” she says, her tone flat.

“Is something wrong?” You squint, suddenly sensing the tension in the air. She can’t even look you in the eye.

“No, no, they’re great,” she says quickly, but it’s too fast. Too... fake.

You raise an eyebrow, giving her the look—the one that says, Really, girl? “Come on, be honest.”

She chews her lip, eyeing you again. “Well, I mean…” She lets out a breath, eyes sweeping over you. “I don’t think they suit you,” she says, as if it’s a casual observation. “They’re not really... the model of jeans for you. But hey, we can totally find you something else. Like, better.”

Your whole posture goes rigid. That familiar sting of frustration bubbles up, your brow furrowing as your stomach tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you shoot back, holding her gaze with a challenge in your eyes.

Yumi’s smile falters just slightly, but she hides it quickly, brushing a non-existent hair from her forehead. “Nothing,” she says, the fakest sweetness lacing her words. “Nothing at all. They’re still good... for you, I guess.”

You shake your head, the irritation trying to creep in. “Well, I don’t care,” you say, a little too firmly. “I’m buying them.”

Yumi’s expression softens, but there’s still that tiny edge to her smile. “Okay,” she says, giving you a shrug. “But don’t be all broody and moody when you realize there’s better stuff out there for you. Like, I’m just saying.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the jeans into your bag with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You’re not sure if you’re more frustrated with her or with the fact that her words still got under your skin. But you don’t care. You’re buying them. End of story.

Yumi gives you one last look, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. “Alright, drama queen. Whatever you say.”

You slip the jeans off quickly, tossing them over the little bench as you grab your regular clothes, avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. The tightness in your chest isn't from the jeans; it's from something else—something Yumi always manages to plant inside you without even trying. It’s that lingering feeling, the one that makes you question if you really know who you are.

You slide your old clothes back on, pulling everything back into place, but that knot in your chest only seems to tighten. Yumi’s words replay in your head, and they sting, a little too much. “They aren’t exactly the model of jeans for you.”

You don’t know why it hurts, but it does. Maybe it’s the way she always acts like she’s doing you a favor, like her opinion is the only one that matters. You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling. You’re not going to let her get to you. You won’t. Not this time.

You’re pissed – pissed at Yumi for acting like she has the right to call the shots when it comes to your life. Pissed at yourself for letting her get away with it for so long. The usual irritation bubbles in your chest as you grumble under your breath about her condescending attitude. This weird dynamic between you two – it’s been building for a while now, and it’s starting to wear thin.

You glance down at your phone, desperately hoping to distract yourself from the heavy tension in the air. And then you see it.

The notification.

Geto Suguru has just accepted your follow request.

Geto Suguru has sent you a follow request.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat. This is it. This is the moment. Like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush, your hands shake as you try to process it.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you squeal in disbelief, all thoughts of Yumi and her annoying behavior forgotten in an instant. It’s as if the universe just dropped a bombshell into your lap.

“What’s going on?” Yumi’s voice cuts through your excitement, her tone mixed with amusement and curiosity. You barely hear it. All you can do is stare at the screen, your mind racing between accepting the request immediately or savoring this moment for a bit longer.

“Geto accepted me and followed me back on Instagram!” You burst out, your voice a little too loud as you shove your phone in Yumi’s direction, too giddy to care about anything else. Your face is flush with excitement, like you’ve just won some major prize.

Yumi blinks at you, looking genuinely confused. “You followed him?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. Her disbelief only makes you smile wider.

“Yeah, like three weeks ago,” you say, your words tumbling out in a rush. “He never followed me back…until now.” You shove your phone even closer, practically forcing her to examine the screen like it holds the answers to the meaning of life.

“And you never told me?” Yumi’s voice is dripping with mock hurt as she places a hand dramatically on her chest. “Ouch. I thought we were friends!”

You roll your eyes. “Chill, Yumi. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” you reply, trying to brush off her dramatics. But you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. You’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, you’re just too damn happy to care about anything else.

“Well, you should’ve told me,” she says, crossing her arms and feigning disappointment. “I’m feeling so betrayed right now.”

“Just let me have my moment, Yu,” you snap back, your patience thinning. You don’t have the energy for her attitude right now. “I gotta call Ren. This is huge.” You murmur the last part mostly to yourself, your fingers already lazily scrolling through your contact list. Yumi’s voice rings out, suddenly sharp with curiosity.

“You told Ren and not me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in mock offense.

“Yeah, because he was there when I followed Geto. This conversation is pointless,” you say, your eyes not leaving the screen as you look for Ren’s name. “If this is a real problem for you, then I don’t know… Maybe touch some grass or something.”

“Whatever, forget it,” she mutters, her earlier drama fading away like it never happened. “So, are you gonna accept him or what?” Her voice now bubbles with excitement, the tension dissipating as she realizes what’s happening.

You look at your phone, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in your gut. You hover over the “accept” button, the thrill of the moment almost making you dizzy.

Without thinking twice, you tap the button.

Yumi gasps. “Oh. My. God. You actually did it,” she says, her voice filled with awe. She watches as you sit back, your heart still pounding. “You’re officially in. Ren’s gonna lose it when he finds out.”

A laugh escapes your lips, a little breathless. “I know, right?” You feel like you’re floating. This is it – your moment. Finally.

But before you get lost in your own excitement, you dial Ren’s number, your fingers moving with practiced ease. This is big. And you’re definitely calling him first.

You dial Ren's number, heart pounding like a jackhammer on a caffeine binge. The phone rings twice before he picks up, his voice muffled as if he's speaking from the depths of a swamp.

"Yo, what's up?" he says, sounding distracted.

"Ren! You won't believe what just happened!" you exclaim, barely containing your enthusiasm.

"Hold up," he interrupts, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing echoing in the background. "I'm on the can. Give me a sec."

You stifle a laugh, picturing him mid-transaction. "Take your time," you reply, tapping your fingers impatiently against your phone.

A few moments later, he returns, his voice clearer now. "Alright, I'm back. What's got you so hyped?"

"Geto Suguru accepted my follow request and followed me back!" you blurt out, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice.

There's a brief silence on the other end before Ren erupts. "No way! That's insane!"

"I know, right?" you giggle, pacing your room. "I can't believe it!"

Ren's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, okay. We need a plan. Like, a full-on strategy to get you two together. I'm talking meet-cutes, accidental run-ins, the whole shebang."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Ren, you're crazy."

He ignores your comment, already deep in his own world. "Picture this: you and Geto, a chance encounter at a coffee shop. He spills his drink on you, you both laugh it off, exchange numbers—classic rom-com material."

You roll your eyes, amused. "And what's next? The meet-the-parents montage?"

"Exactly!" Ren responds enthusiastically. "And then, plot twist—you both end up on a reality dating show together. The drama, the tension, the undeniable chemistry."

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. "Ren, you're out of control."

He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Okay, but real talk. This could be your big break. You and Geto, taking over the internet. The content would be insane."

You sobered slightly, considering his words. "Yeah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's just social media."

Ren snorts. "Just social media? Girl, this is the 21st century. Social media is everything."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "You're incorrigible."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Ren replies, his tone light. "The lore we could build around this—people would lose their minds."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Thanks, Ren. I needed that."

"Anytime," he says. "Now, go accept that follow request before he changes his mind."

You laugh,"Beat you to it bestie, it’s already accepted."

"Atta girl," Ren says approvingly. "Now, keep me posted. I want all the details."

"Will do," you reply, feeling a flutter of anticipation. "Talk to you later."

As you finish up your chat with Ren, you spot Yumi by the counter, already making her purchase for the shirt she couldn’t resist the second she laid eyes on it. You toss your jeans beside it, ready to pay for your own haul. “Yo, Yu,” you hum, flashing a playful grin at the cashier as you hand over your cash. She bags up your purchase with a smile, and you nod your thanks, slipping out of the store.

"So, what's the deal with Geto and his girl?" you ask, picking at your nails as you walk beside Yumi. There's a slight flutter in your chest—yeah, you definitely want him, but are you really ready to totally shake up his relationship? You can’t decide.

Yumi's expression shifts, her lips curving into a devilish grin that screams, I know something you don’t. "They broke up last week," she drops the bomb casually, her eyes practically sparkling with the excitement of sharing the gossip.

"Wait, seriously?" you blink, caught off guard.

"Yep," she says, her tone smug, like she just delivered the best news ever. "The man’s single now. Time for you to make your move."

A flutter of nerves rushes through you, but you push it aside. "I want to, but... where do I even start?"

Yumi taps her chin, the wheels turning in her mind. "Easy. Post a pic of yourself. See if he’s gonna like it. If he does... it’s game time."

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Not a bad idea, actually."

“I know, I’m a genius,” she says, almost too smug.

You scroll through your gallery, your finger hovering over the screen until you find the one. There it is—your mirror selfie from a few days ago. Your hair is perfectly curled, a soft cascade of waves that look effortless but just polished enough to make heads turn (courtesy of heatless curls hack you found on TikTok). You’re wearing the perfect balance of casual and seductive—oversized denim jeans slung low on your hips, paired with a black tube top that clings just enough to highlight your curves.

But the real magic? Your finger, softly grazing your lips, the tip of your manicured nail pressing ever so lightly against your full, plump pout. The angle's just right to capture the soft curve of your neck, and your eyes? Locked straight at the camera with that playful, irresistible spark.

You glance at Yumi, a devilish grin creeping onto your face. "Game on, Geto Suguru. Let’s see if you can handle this."

The rest of the day flies by in a haze of impulse buys, mindless chatter with Yumi, and forcing down yet another overpriced green smoothie that tastes like regret. You nearly block out Yumi’s oh-so-inappropriate remarks about you as you finally step into your apartment alone, shutting the door behind you with a sigh.

Silence. Finally.

Tossing your bags onto the couch, you make a beeline for the TV, flipping on Netflix like it’s muscle memory. Without hesitation, you scroll straight to Gossip Girl. The Thanksgiving episode is on, and before you know it, you’re gasping at every twist and betrayal—as if you don’t already have the entire script engraved in your soul. (But seriously, with every rewatch, it just gets better. No one can convince you otherwise.)

Mid-scene, you reach for today’s most questionable purchase—an unnecessarily fancy ashtray you bought for no real reason other than, well, aesthetic. You light a cigarette, placing it between your lips, the flicker of the lighter casting a brief glow against your face. Smoke curls around you as you stare at the screen, completely locked in, like Blair Waldorf’s next move is life or death.

Then, your fingers move on autopilot. Check story views.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Geto Suguru hasn’t even seen it.

Your eye twitches. Excuse me?

Dozens of likes, a couple of fire emojis in your DMs, and even a "damn who let you be this fine??" from someone you don’t even know. But the one person you want? Nowhere to be found.

“Dude,” you groan, flopping back against the cushions. “Throw me a bone here.”

With a sigh, you toss your phone onto your lap, take another slow drag of your cigarette, and let the smoke swirl lazily around you. The air in your apartment is thick with it now—probably should crack a window before your living room starts smelling like a nicotine shrine, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Then, just as you start spiraling into a self-pity session, your phone rings.

Ren.

You stretch your arm lazily, phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey, babe, you home from your little shopping spree?” Ren’s voice comes through, smooth and familiar.

You sigh dramatically. “Mhm. Just watching Gossip Girl.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. I have commitment issues, and this is the only way I know how to work through them.”

Ren lets out a knowing laugh. “Whatever keeps you sane, babe. But listen—it’s Friday, and I was thinking… I kinda want to go out. And you know Aiko—”

You half-listen, stretching your neck until it cracks in a way that probably isn’t good for you. 'Ouch. Love that for me.'

“—her roommate’s throwing a party, and Aiko invited me. And obviously, because I’m the best bestie to ever exist, I told her I’m not going anywhere without my ride-or-die.”

You let out a soft laugh, but your brain is already at war.

On one hand, you had the perfect night planned: sinking into your couch, rewatching rich people make messy life choices, rolling a joint (or two), and falling asleep in a haze of smoke and Blair Waldorf’s superiority complex.

On the other hand… getting a little reckless with Ren? That sounds dangerous. And fun. And exactly what you haven’t done in a long time.

You and Ren don’t party together. Your social circles barely overlap, and that’s always worked in your favor. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to shake things up.

And it’s Aiko. Ren’s childhood bestie, who goes to a different college but still lives in town. No drama, no nonsense—just good vibes. And honestly? New faces, new energy, and new distractions sound pretty damn tempting.

Because, let’s be real—who needs Geto Suguru to like their story when there’s a whole party full of questionable choices waiting for you?

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you finally answer, voice dripping with mischief.

“Let’s go cause some chaos.”

The party is exactly your kind of chaos—loud, reckless, and just dangerous enough to make you feel alive.

You catch a shift in Ren’s energy beside you, and when you glance at him, it clicks—this is definitely not what he was expecting. Poor thing probably thought he was signing up for a casual little get-together, a few drinks, maybe getting a little too tipsy and ending the night puking out Aiko’s window.

But instead? This.

Bodies packed tight, unfamiliar faces blurring together, the thick haze of weed curling through the air like a heavy fog. The bass from the speakers thrums beneath your skin, rattling in your chest, making the world feel electric. Someone spills a drink nearby, but no one cares. There’s a girl perched on the kitchen counter, her fingers tangled in a guy’s hair, pulling him in like she’s starving.

And—oh my God. Is someone actually moaning out loud?

'Alright, that’s a little much, even for me. Jesus. Please, for the love of God, take it to a bedroom. I don’t need to be reminded that I haven’t gotten laid in two months. Thanks.'

Still, the rest of this? Perfection.

You flick your gaze back to Ren just in time to watch his soul physically leave his body. He looks like a deer caught in headlights—half-hiding behind you, half-frantically scanning the room for an escape route.

And then—just like that—he’s gone.

Your eyes track his movements lazily, following him as he weaves through the crowd with surprising determination. Interesting. You watch as he approaches some guy—tall, broad shoulders, an easy grin. You don’t know him personally, but recognition sparks.

Aiko introduced them a few weeks ago and he is the one Ren showed you a picture of.

Oh.

Ohhh.

So this is why Ren wanted to go out so bad.

You roll your eyes, but there’s an amused smirk tugging at your lips. Cute. Puppy love.

Hopefully, the guy rails Ren by the end of the night.

You scan the room, taking in the dizzying mix of sweaty bodies, half-baked stoners, and preppy girls pretending they don’t secretly love this mess.

And then—you spot it.

Aiko has a bar. Or at least, something that resembles one. A sleek blend of wood and cool gray marble, standing out like a beacon of class in the middle of this absolute shitshow.

And—oh, look. An empty stool, practically begging you to claim it.

You mentally pat yourself on the back for securing the perfect spot—close enough to the action to people-watch, yet tucked away just enough to avoid being in it. A strategic retreat. A throne.

You already know the marble is going to be a dream for rolling, so you settle in, pull out your weed, and get to work.

Your fingers move on autopilot—muscle memory kicking in like a well-rehearsed performance. You unfold the paper, pluck at the small green bud, and absolutely massacre one of your cigarettes, so you could mix your joint with tobacco. A brutal sacrifice for a higher cause.

Once it’s done, you sit back, admiring your work of art for a solid thirty seconds. A true masterpiece. Leonardo da Vinci could never.

Then, rummaging through your bag, you fish out your lighter. Flick. Flame.

And just like that—the first hit of the night is here.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there. Time has melted away between the slow drag of your joint and the burn of nicotine on your tongue. One joint down, two cigarettes deep—it’s time for round two.

You bring the joint number #2 to your lips, ready for round two, when—

"Look at what we got here."

The voice is rich, velvety, dangerous. It spills down your spine like warm liquor, and then—the heat of his breath, so close to your neck, so intimate, you nearly shudder.

Fingertips ghost over your shoulder, then trace a slow, lazy path down to your waist. Barely there, yet enough to send a pulse of electricity through you, enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs press.

You inhale, slow and steady, masking the effect he has on you with a drag from your joint. “Didn’t think the place I’d see you again would be here,” you murmur, blowing out smoke in a smirk.

But then—fuck.

His fingers skate down your ribs, a teasing tap, so faint it shouldn’t do anything, but it does. A single touch, and your stomach tightens, heat pooling low.

You’re acting like a starved divorcée. Embarrassing.

“So you thought about seeing me again,” he says, stepping forward, pressing closer.

And ohhh, the way he moves—fluid, predatory, his body heat licking at yours like an unspoken promise. His elbow lands on the marble counter, muscles flexing, jaw sharp enough to cut.

Black shirt, grey joggers—so simple, so effortless, yet you know how dangerous that combo is. How easy it would be to just… tug the waistband down.

Then—the worst part. The part that makes your fingers twitch with the need to touch.

His hair—tied up in that messy, infuriatingly perfect bun.

You want to pull it loose.

You want to fist your hands in it.

You want to ruin him.

He flicks his tongue against his cheek, and your brain short circuits.

That tongue. That thumb. Fuck.

“Mm,” you hum, shifting slightly, just enough to brush against him. “What if I did, Suguru?”

His smirk deepens, something dark flickering in his eyes.

“Already on a first-name basis?” His voice drops—low, thick, laced with amusement and something even filthier. “You’re bad, peach.”

Peach.

Oh, he’s playing dirty.

“I can be a lot worse,” you counter, dragging your tongue over your lips—slow, intentional. And just as expected, his gaze snaps to the movement. His jaw tenses, his Adam’s apple bobs, and—ohhh, there it is. That tiny flicker of restraint slipping.

He’s so sexy it’s infuriating.

“Wanna prove it sometime?” His voice is like silk, wrapping around you, daring you.

You barely breathe out, “Yeah.”

And then, stupidly, recklessly, you extend your arm to hand him the joint.

Big mistake.

Because the second he takes it, that hand—the one burning your ribs, teasing, lingering, driving you insane—is gone.

And now?

Now it’s wrapped around the joint instead.

Your lungs seize.

Your thighs press tighter.

You’re already losing this game.

But even without his hands on you, he’s still too much for your own good. The joint rests between his lips like it belongs there, lazy and effortless, the smoke curling around his face in slow, deliberate swirls. His eyes—dark and low—trace over you, dragging like the lazy pull of a bowstring, like he’s memorizing every dip, every curve, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face.

He takes a slow inhale, lets the smoke pool in his lungs before releasing it in a sigh that feels too intimate, too heavy, settling between you like an invitation.

“So,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “what brings you here?”

Your fingers twitch at your side. Why does he have to be so fucking pretty?

“I’m here with my friend. He’s friends with Aiko,” you mutter, tipping your chin toward Ren—who, at this exact moment, is devouring THE guy in the corner like he’s trying to consume his soul. His hands are buried in the guy’s hair, nails digging in, like he’s trying to make sure this man never forgets him.

Geto follows your gaze, lets out a short, amused huff. “Subtle.”

You snort, then—maybe to distract yourself, maybe just to fill the space—ask, “What about you?”

“Jen is Yuji’s girl,” he says absently, fingers tracing the cotton of his shirt, and—oh.

So that’s the connection.

And then it hits. Yuji's girlfriend is Aiko's roommate. A slow-building dread that curls in your stomach and coils around your ribs, tight, suffocating—because if Geto and Yuji are here… then so is Gojo.

Your chest feels too tight. Your blood feels too hot.

You don’t want to think about him. You can’t think about him. Because the last time you saw him, he ruined you. Because his words are still a wound in your chest, still raw, still bleeding.

You flex your hands, swallow hard. Keep your voice even. “That’s cool.”

But Geto is too fucking perceptive for his own good. His eyes are on you, watching, picking apart every microexpression, every breath, every slight shift in your body language.

“Are you okay with that?” His voice is smooth, careful.

“With what?”

“C’mon babe. I know you already realized Gojo is here and last time I saw you and Gojo in the same room, there were fangs and claws.”

“I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, a little too quick.

Geto hums. He doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe yourself.

“As long as he doesn’t talk to me, I don’t give a shit.”

A pause. A twitch of his lips. “You sure about that?”

You shoot him a look. “I said I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers, heavy with amusement and something else you don’t want to name. The silence stretches, thick and charged, something unsaid crackling between you like static electricity.

And then you do something dangerous.

With slow, deliberate movements, you reach for the joint between his lips, plucking it free with a feather-light touch. His breath hitches—so quiet, so subtle, you almost miss it. But you don’t.

You never do.

You bring it to your lips, inhale deep, the taste of him clinging to the filter. Let the smoke swirl in your lungs before you exhale, slow, deliberate, watching as it curls between you like something intimate.

You learned a long time ago how easy it is to make a man forget about everything but you. A touch, a look, a well-placed breath—and they’ll unravel at your feet.

Geto is no different.

His pupils dilate, his eyes flickering between your lips, the joint, and back again.

“So,” you murmur, voice dipping into something just shy of teasing, “you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. His fingers—deft, warm, deliberate—trace over yours where they rest against his chest. His heartbeat is fast, just a little erratic, but his voice is steady when he hums, “Mhm.”

You tilt your head. “Then tell me—” You lean in, just close enough that you can make sure he tastes the next inhale of smoke, “—what am I thinking about?”

Geto pauses, the corner of his mouth quirking up, eyes dark and knowing. His fingers tighten over yours, just barely.

“You’re thinking about me,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft, rich, dangerous. “On top of you.”

And fuck—maybe you are.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your lips part—just slightly, just enough. And then you close the distance.

The second your mouth touches his, something electric shoots through you, like a live wire sparking against bare skin. You exhale the smoke into his mouth, letting the heat of his lips, the weight of him, consume you. Geto doesn’t hesitate. He inhales it all, deep and slow, before letting the smoke curl lazily from his nostrils like a fucking dragon.

And then—then the hunger wins.

Your fingers find his hair, twisting into the dark strands, yanking hard enough that he groans into your mouth—a sound that shoots straight down your spine, settling low in your stomach like molten heat. The joint slips from your fingers, forgotten, hitting the floor with a dull thud. It doesn’t matter. This is more important. So much more important.

Your lips press harder, claiming him, devouring him, like you’re trying to carve yourself into his bones. His hands are everywhere—sliding down your waist, gripping the curve of your hips, fingers sinking into your ass like he’s staking his claim right here in the middle of the fucking party. And then—smack.

A sharp slap against your ass echoes through the room.

A few people glance over, but you don’t care. You barely notice. Your brain is nothing but static, buzzing with the way he’s touching you, how his body is pressing you into the cool marble counter. You get it now. You understand all the couples you were rolling your eyes at earlier, making out like they were the only two people on the planet. You judged them, and now here you are—worse.

(You mentally apologize to them. You were wrong. You get it. You so get it.)

Geto licks into your mouth, deep and slow, like he’s savoring you. His tongue tangles with yours, his hands guiding your body against his in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, like he already knows exactly how to unravel you.

And he does. Fuck—he does.

"Real classy. Real, real classy, babes."

A voice cuts through the haze like a blade, slicing right into the heat of Geto’s lips, his hands, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Your breathing is erratic, your body still pressed against his, and when you finally tear yourself away, the hunger in his eyes mirrors your own.

But of course—because the universe hates you—there’s only one person bold enough, obnoxious enough to cockblock you like this.

Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed over his chest, lips curled into a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. His eyes gleam under the dimmed lights, twinkling like he’s enjoying every second of this. His white hair is a mess, like he just rolled out of bed—or worse, someone else’s bed. The thought alone makes your stomach turn, and you hate that it does.

"Did you really have to?" Geto groans, tilting his head back with a deep sigh, like he's asking the heavens why they let this happen.

Gojo's smirk only widens, his ears perking up like a damn cat that just found something new to ruin. "Well, sorry," he drawls, voice laced with insincerity. "Yuji disappeared somewhere with Jen, and I'm bored. I don’t wanna be alone."

He even pouts—full-on juts out his bottom lip like an overgrown, spoiled child. You swear he gets off on being the most insufferable person alive.

"Then go somewhere. Socialize," Geto deadpans, sounding like he's already debating walking out of this conversation.

Gojo scoffs, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Please. Let’s just chill,” he says. “Plus, I’m saving you from her, dude. As if anyone actually wants to be near her."

You snort. "Please. You’re projecting, baby."

His sharp blue eyes snap to yours instantly, and that goddamn smirk deepens, crawling into something more dangerous.

"You sure about that, sweetheart?"

"Well sweetheart, you’re the one wandering around all alone here. I have company."

Your fingers curl around Geto’s bicep, slow and deliberate, like a claim, like a shield, like you’re daring Gojo to say something about it. And he does. Of course, he does.

His smirk deepens, something sharp lurking beneath it. "Yeah? And your company just so happens to be one my best friends. What, you don’t have any of your own anymore?"

The words hit exactly where they’re meant to. Right where it hurts.

Your lips part, but there’s no quick comeback—because he’s not wrong. Not really. There was a time when your circle was bigger, fuller. But it collapsed. You burned bridges, walked away, let it crumble without a second glance.

Except for Ren.

So you nod toward the far-right corner of the room, where Ren is, mouth pressed against that guy’s neck, hands tangled in his hair. Your Ren. The one person you still have. The one person who still believes in you.

"I came here with Ren," you say, voice light, nonchalant, as if the words aren’t a loaded gun pointed at Gojo’s chest.

And then you fire. "It appears as if all your friends always choose me."

The moment the words leave your lips, you see it.

That flicker of something—something real, something raw—pass through his eyes. His jaw tightens. His fingers flex at his sides. You got him.

Because you and Gojo and Ren were everything once. A trio. A home. And then it all shattered, and when the dust settled, Gojo was left standing alone.

And Ren? Ren chose you.

Gojo stares at Ren a second too long. You watch the gears turn in his head, watch the muscle in his jaw tick, watch his body betray him in a dozen little ways. His throat bobs. His foot starts bouncing—an old habit, one you recognize. He’s pissed.

"Well," he finally says, voice low, strangled at the edges. "Looks like Ren’s occupied at the moment."

"He is," you agree, voice dipped in honey, in poison. You lean in, just a little, just enough to let him feel it. "But he’ll come back to me."

And there it is. The moment the knife twists.

You see it happen—see the way something dark passes over his features, the way his lips press into a thin line. His stare burns into you, unreadable and blistering and dangerous.

You crossed a line.

And you meant to.

The silence between you is thick. Suffocating.

Geto clears his throat, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "Okay, guys, let’s not kill each other, yeah?"

He glances between the two of you, trying to gauge what the fuck is going on. But he doesn’t know. He can’t.

All Geto knows is that you and Gojo slept together in high school.

That’s all he knows.

"Let’s…" Geto sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let’s drink something. Satoru, why don’t you bring us some drinks, hmm?"

For a moment, Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. His eyes stay locked onto yours, an invisible war waging between the two of you.

And then, like flipping a switch, he smiles.

It’s fake. It’s so fake. A bright, easy-going grin spreads across his face, his body relaxing, his tone suddenly light, playful, effortless.

"Sure thing," he chirps, eyes glittering with something unreadable. "I’ll be right back."

Then he turns, walking away like none of this mattered. Like you didn’t just tear him open.

But you know better.

You watch him disappear into the crowd, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

Because you finally hurt him.

And knowing Gojo Satoru?

It’s going to hurt for a long, long time.

"Don’t miss me too much," Gojo quips, his voice light, teasing.

But something about it feels… off.

You watch as he bounces toward the other room, easy, effortless—like none of this meant anything. Like you mean nothing.

And yet—

He turns. Just for a second.

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time tonight, they’re stripped of their usual bravado. No cocky smirk, no playful glint—just something heavy, something raw. Something that doesn’t belong to Gojo Satoru, the golden boy, but to Satoru, the boy who used to be your best friend.

For a split second, it looks like he wants to say something.

Like he needs you to understand.

And for that split second, you want to. You want to reach out, sift through the weight in his stare, get it the way you used to.

But those days? The days of understanding each other without words? The days of you and Gojo?

They’re dead. Long buried.

So you do what you’ve gotten so good at.

You turn away.

You laugh at something Geto says. You act like Gojo was never here. Like his presence wasn’t just buzzing against your skin.

But he was here. And you feel it.

Gojo Satoru might have walked away. But you know—deep in your bones, in the pit of your stomach, in the quiet part of your mind that still knows him—

He’ll be back.

Soon.

taglist: @zeunys @charmstarr @ovela @kur0mii3 @dabisdolly @17362939 @krispywhisperswhispers @mintcheery @kazupop @heh123321 @hanakotateyama @choppersworlds-blog @eneiyri @suniloli @44ina. @s4ikooo1 @blushedcheri @dishs0pe @rhea-sylvea

173 notes · View notes

sibillascribbles08 · 6 months ago

Text

Big Ol' Rottmnt Fic Rec List

Hi, I've needed to do this for a while, so here's a big bundle of fic recs from me !

I've broken it down between one shots, chaptered fics, and series. I'll try to mention what the character focus is along with a brief summary and some personal thoughts. If you need more details I encourage you to check the fics summary and tags for yourself! I will only include an author's tumblr account if it's easy for me to find haha

One Shots

Mama's Boy - ashtreelane: Technically two chapters but it feels like a one shot. Casey Jr. angst, involving him finding out that maybe you can fix kraang infections and that he failed to save his mother. I love when people really pile the grief on Junior after all the fighting is over and the fic does it so well.

Forget-Me-Nots - GibbousLunation (AKA @klunkcat ): Hi, oh my god??? Leo and Mikey centric angst, in which saving Leo from the prison dimension has an insane ripple effect. Mikey dying? Nah he's going to start getting erased from every timeline and Leo slowly watches it happen (and refuses to do nothing about it). I utterly adore how this fic handles this concept. You see almost all of it from Leo's POV, noticing the little changes but writing them off as memory failures, because of how subtle some of it is.

Fight or Flight - pickledcarrotsandradish: Leo centric, post movie, Leo keeps waiting for his family to start lecturing him about all the dumb stuff he did during the invasion, and they aren't, so it's getting to him. A very neat narrative about how self loathing can warp our perception of how others see us. A++++

The Friend Zone Sounds Pretty Good, Actually - Cryptvokeeper: Eating this, eating this. You probably already know I love aroace Leo and this fic is an INCREDIBLE exploration of that. Even as just an ace person it hit SO many notes where I was just like "Oh god... I've been there buddy". And as a bonus the dynamic between Leo and Yuichi is v sweet. Love this a lot I've read it like five times.

Pink in The Night - unnamedmystery: Incredible April/Sunita fic. Like seriously this author wrote April's crush so well I think I was starting to fall in love with Sunita. Just incredibly cute all the way through, and great April writing, adore it.

《 until then, matriarch 》 - chiangyorange: HI OH MY GOD A nice chunky oneshot about Karai, about her being a leader, and it's phenomenal. It hits and hits and does not miss, really going in depth about her emotions involving her father turning into something wicked and having to destroy him, and how it ruins all of her good memories.

The Kindness of Collision - SpoonerizedSwiftness (AKA @splickedylit ): Hi I still remember the fic and the art suddenly showing up in the tag and then I was thinking about it for the next like five weeks aslkdjf A very interesting idea that when the turtles reach the age they were in the doomed timeline before things got reset, all the memories of their other life more or less hit them like a train. All of them have to comb through that information and it's a wonderful and emotional ride.

Chaptered Fics

Hamartia - Punable (in progress): Hi this is one of my all time favorite rise fics, mainly because in a way, it helped me come to terms with my chronic pain. It's Donnie centric and smack full of angst in all the best ways. Shorthand summary, an explosion in Donnie's lab almost takes him out (or kind of DOES take him out) and the recovery is not only long and agonizing, it may only go so far, and Donnie doesn't cope well with that.

Kick It Up a Notch - Brokenpitchpipe (completed): Hi this is my other all time fav rise fic. Donnie centric separated AU in which Donnie is raised by Draxum. My love for it stems a lot from the characterization of Donnie though, and even Draxum in this case. Not to mention that in a lot of cases it matches the vibes of the show. And in spite of all the humor, there's a few really gut wrenching moments. 10/10 will re-read.

Lightning in Our Fingertips Today - DaFlangsLairde (AKA @daflangstlairde-art) (completed): Leo and Donnie centric, mostly angst, with body swapping between the twins which results in Donnie finding out that Leo's ninpo hurts him. Love love love the character writing in this, and also how the swap is written.

Under Pressure - ParvumAutomaton (completed): Not sure this is a single character focused fic, but basically April goes cave diving and is out for a while, and the turtles get worried and go looking for her. This might be personal bias but as someone who gets really into caving stories, this fic hits the spot for so many reasons. A really great emotional ride, and if you wanna see April go through it then I super recommend it.

Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don't say) - mad_and_thick_as_theives (completed): A lot of great fics by this author btw, but this one personally stood out to me. It starts of silly and light only to sweep in with the emotional weight. Turtles are all cursed with a truth spell, basically, but I think my favorite bit is who gets out of it first (and why). V sweet.

Creation of a Philospher's Stone - IgnisCanis (completed): Whoooo boy, if you want some Draxum centric character exploration this is a great one. It really fleshes him out as a morally grey character and also does a fantastic job at writing Mikey when he finds out.

The Ol Switcheroo - radishhqueen (AKA @radishhqueen) (completed): Haha not going to lie I have a few by this author (so I'll only tag them once) but MAN. Hands down my favorite take on future leo coming to the past, and maybe I'm biased because I like when those fics actually explore Junior's character in the process buuuuut I love it. Junior's already struggling to adapt himself to the present, and after getting caught up in a foot clan spell which summons his sensei to the present too it really doesn't get any easier.

Vigilantism for Fun and Profit - radishhqueen (completed): The Cassandra Jones fic ever. Zero contest. If you're uncertain about writing Cassandra because she had so little development in the show I encourage you to read this for inspiration (I know it inspired me a lot). It does such a great deep dive into her character post show and a bit of the movie too. Honestly anytime radishh has a Cassandra fic I am clicking.

Tried to Grow Up Good - Sroloc_Elbisivni (AKA @sroloc--elbisivni )(completed): The Casey Jr. fic ever. CRAZY in love with this post movie take on him. It's messy, it's fun, it's so so real and you get a good chunk of Casey Sr. in here too. Adore it.

Hold On (Or Three Times Donatello's Soft Shell Almost Killed Him, and One Time it Saved His Life) - dunk_on_em (AKA @spockazilla )(completed): If you ever want a bit of angst involving Donnie's shell this is my go to. Every chapter has an emotional swing, even the positive ones. And shows something most people might see as a disadvantage as a good thing, actually.

Atlas, My Brother - swampcryptid (AKA @the-name-is-rizzotherat)(in progress): Get your Raph angst, specifically involving him always shielding his siblings, this time via a curse. My guy is already going through it and I think it'll get worse if a solution isn't found.

I've Got You Under My Skin - Cass_Phoenix (in progress): More Raph angst, and some Donnie, a truly chilling exploration of the possible consequences to connecting with the kraang. This fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and constantly stressing for Raph.

What We Leave Behind (How We Start Anew) - iam57311 (AKA @iam-57311)(in progress): Any Baronjitsu fans here? An alternate take on canon in which Draxum and Splinter co-parent the kids since they're first born (made?) Hilariously while I love the Baronjitsu content in here, I think some of my favorite parts are actually with the sisters, Big Mama, and Draxum's sister who is so so cool I love her.

Proof of Redemption - iam57311 (complete): Another one of theirs! A short and sweet lil close to canon fic about Draxum steadily gaining the trust and affection of the Hamatos, with each chapter focused on a different character. I love how they're all paced out from each other, really hits how some are much slower than others to trust Draxum hehe.

No Crime* Only Brooches - OllieTheScribe (AKA @olliethescribe) (in progress): Well I have to get THE HypnoWarren fic in here. Such a fun take on these characters, I love love love the backstory they built up for Warren too, plus the dynamic between these two and the turtles after (eventually) become friends haha.

Minor Interference - bambiraptorx (AKA @bambiraptorx) (in progress): What can I say? This fic is delightful. Between the hilarity of the turtles going with Draxum just to mess with him, the lore additions for yokai and the Hidden City, HoH Donnie, and their slowly building dynamic, always eager for a new chapter with this one.

Series

A Butterfly with a Mechanical Wing - Amethyst_Goldenwind (AKA @amethystgoldenwind ): Donnie centric series about being a non-verbal autistic. I'm always fond of non-verbal/mute explorations of characters, and so far I really like how, because his family has grown up with it, all of it is very normal for them. The various forms of communication are delightful. Excited to see further entries.

Analogous Hues - alwerakoo (AKA @alwerakoo): It's a separated AU with similar titling themes as my own, needed to check it out. The titles are just about all they have in common though! This AU focuses a lot on the turtles (Raph and Leo with Splinter and Donnie and Mikey with Draxum). I love how this explores not only the dynamics of the two groups and how different they are, but also the dynamics between each of the siblings, also how some magic sibling connections can influence that. Not to mention the different home life in more ways than one. If you're into separated AUs that really dig into the turtles dynamics try this one out !

#scribs speaks #rottmnt fics #fic recs #rottmnt #long post #that's all for now #I may make another one down the line when I do a bit more catch up and find some new ones !#some holiday posts suggest showing fic writers appreciation #best way I got to do it rn #some of these fics are well known but I'm giving them a shout out anyway

232 notes · View notes