#argus x reader

[friendsoup]

Southern Nights | Argus x Reader

Recipe: Something like Poetry, Night on the Desert, Detective!Reader, Partners to... Partners, Extreme Softness, Teeth Rotting Stuff, Neither of you are easily flustered but man ur trying

WC: 1k

Chef's Note: I LOVE WRITING ARGUS OKAY????? She's everything to me. My new wife.

It’s quite the night.

Despite it being mid-February, it was only 41° in the desert. Chilly enough for a sweater and blanket, but nothing like the northern winds you were used to. You’ve travelled all over the world, to places in the far corners of the Earth. But never have you seen a night like the ones in the middle of Texas. The orange sand seemed to spread on forever, with cacti and ferns peppering the hills. 

With how dry the desert was, it became hard to picture that there was an ocean somewhere out there. Far beyond the canyons and coyotes. You heard, once, that the desert was an ocean itself. That all this was filled with salt water and fishes. That it was dried a million years ago, leaving nothing but it’s bones.

“Here you are, sweetpea.” Argus says, pushing a cup filled with something warm into your hands. “Drink up, it’ll warm ya. It’sa cold one tonight.” She takes a seat next to you, close enough that your shoulders barely brush against each other.

The fire across from you two dances, providing warmth and something to look at while you talk. You want to tell her that this isn’t real cold, that you’ve endured things that’d send a chill to her bone, but you decide against it. It’s not worth it, really.

“What is it?” You ask, breathing in the steam. The cup burns your hands, but you press them closer to the metal, hoping to sap all the warmth from it. 

“Try it first, then I’ll tell ya.” Argus gives a lopsided smirk to you, wrinkles forming on the ends of her eyes as she smiles. When you raise an eyebrow to her, she pauses. “It’s nothing alcoholic. Or fishy. It’s good, trust me.” She pleads, looking expectantly at you.

It’s not that you don’t trust her, it’s just that you don’t trust her good taste. She’s gone on trails far longer than this, and has had to scarf down food far more sketchy than what you’d trust eating. She may have put dirt into a cup, boiled some water, and stirred the two together. She’d probably drink it all the same.

But with her look growing more eager, you surrender. Pressing your lips to the edge of the cup, and drinking in.

It’s coffee. A lot weaker than she usually makes it though, and paired with something else. Something sweet that mixes effortlessly with the bitterness of the drink. “Chocolate.” You say aloud.

“Now, it’s nothing fancy. I know it can’t compare to what you city slickers must drink by the gallon. That so-called coffee filled with sugar and syrups of all types. It’s just ground coffee mixed with hot chocolate. But it’s what we got, so I ain’t hearing any complaints.”

“It’s wonderful, Argus.” You give her a smile, so she knows your words are genuine. She looks to you, almost shocked that you’re enjoying something she made. But that quickly breaks, her normal smile returning, and the tension falling out of her.

“Well good. I’m glad you like it, cuz I’ve got a whole pot, and I ain’t finishing it by myself.” She huffs. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” You ask, lowering the cup into your lap.

“Hoo-ey detective, they don’t call you Sherlock for nothin’, huh?” Argus’s sarcasm brings out a laugh from you. “What tipped ya in on that little clue?”

“You’ve been on edge all day, almost as if you were waiting for me to say something. Every time we spoke, you’d get all flustered. And now, you’ve given me chocolate. In an unconventional form, yes. But still, a show of affection all the same.” You reply, giving a hum of satisfaction.

Argus lowers her hat, trying to hide her good eye. “Not the fact that it’s February fourteenth?”

“February fourteenth is just another day. It’s only Valentine’s Day if you celebrate it.” You state matter of factly. 

“Yeah?” Argus’s good eye looks you once over. “And are we celebrating it, detective?”

You weren’t expecting such confrontation. You give a small jump, holding on tight to your cup. The two of you have been on the trail for only a week now. With another week till you meet your destination. You hadn’t given a thought to romance before your little case together. It was something you came to her with, something you couldn’t go at alone. And though she stated that she had it covered, you insisted to go with her. You couldn’t leave it fully in her hands.

Over the last week, the two of you have grown close. Far closer than you would have ever thought. She’s kind hearted, funny, and has a wild but wise nature to her that you’ve grown well accustomed to. 

But after the case is solved, what will happen? Will the two of you simply return to your lives? She’s only just entered yours, but now you couldn’t picture it without her. The thought of leaving makes you nauseous. 

Your eyes make their way to the sky. To the endless abyss populated by nothing but bright lights, painting the sky in impossible colors. You were told once that the stars up there are far, far away. So far that their light only meets Earth long after they’ve died.

“Yes, I believe we are.” You push your shoulders together, bridging the gap made between you two. Argus smiles, before pushing back at you. The two of you playfully tossing soft jabs at each other. She breaks the silence by laughing, and you follow suit.

“Yer awfully pretty when you laugh.” Argus comments. “Like someone in a movie.”

“Movie, huh? Like a Western?” 

“Sure.” Argus shrugs.

“That makes you my heroic rugged cowboy, then.” You tease. “With a hard stare and a heart of gold.”

“My my.” Argus gives another hearty chuckle. “You give me too much credit.” You lean in closer, and then Argus follows. The two of you are so close, you can see the individual etchings of her scar. You raise a hand off your cup, tracing the scar with your thumb gently. She lets you, leaning into it.

“I’ve given you sugar, now mind givin’ me something sweet?” She mutters, you can feel her breath on your lips.

You kiss her. In the bones of what was once an ocean, in the light of what were once brilliant stars.

Everything becomes right with the world.

[frickingnerd]

love triangle with adrien & felix

pairing: adrien agreste x gn!reader x felix fathom

tags: romantic rivalry / love triangle, tons of jealousy (mutual), petty!felix, friends to lovers (adrien & reader), gifts (by both boys)

felix does have a lot of respect for adrien and cares about his cousin, but he can be an absolute menace at times!

adrien and felix know they both have a crush on you and while adrien wants to stay on good terms with felix, felix is far more willing to play dirty to win your heart!

after all, if felix wants something, he'll do anything in his power to get it! and felix wants you!

felix is very open about his feelings for you, trying to charm you with gifts and roses, as well as sweet words that you would've never expected him to be capable of!

adrien on the other hand tries to be your friends first and foremost! he loves you, but he believes that the best foundation for a relationship is friendship!

he hesitates to rush in like felix and often misses out on opportunities to flirt with you because of that. but he believes he still has an advantage over felix, since he's your friend!

adrien has a whole support system of friends backing him up when it comes to you, while felix is on his own in regards to getting help

felix always tries to one-up adrien at everything he does! adrien makes a handmade gift once, only for felix to buy you expensive things the next day, to make you forget all about adrien's tiny gift!

felix is very obviously jealous of adrien and while adrien isn't a jealous person, he makes an exception for felix!

adrien thinks felix is too mean for you and that he'd be the better choice for you!

and felix believes that adrien is too much of a wimp to date you, so you should be with him instead!

[sorinbds]

women of r1999 x fem reader

ʚ How do they react when someone flirts with you in front of them?

I know I have a request pending from Tennant and Argus 😭😭be patient 🙏

Sorry if something is written wrong, English is not my native language and I don't have my glasses at the moment.

sorry if the first 2 are too short

Tennant

He finds it funny that someone tries to flirt with you.

She will watch the scene with a smile because she knows that you are hers alone.

She will only interfere if she sees that she is being too pushy and making you feel too uncomfortable.

He would immediately put his hands on your waist while looking at the person with a smug smile.

Tooth fairy

She trusts your relationship a lot so she doesn't worry, she trusts you enough to let you take care of the situation.

Tooth Fairy shows affection in private, especially when there are children

If the person insists too much, they will come towards you and give you a hug.

After that, rest assured that they will leave you alone.

Eternity

Because they don't leave the house often these situations hardly happen and if they do they are interested in Eternity but this time it is different

Eternity is also someone who trusts a lot in the relationship and does not doubt that you will do something

If the person doesn't stop insisting even though you told them you were in a relationship, only then will Eternity do something

She would hold your hand while asking if you are okay with a small smile.

If the person does not understand this gesture and continues flirting with you, they will quickly distance you from that person.

Argus

The person must be completely crazy to even think about flirting with a mercenary's girlfriend.

Most likely it will be in a bar where the person has lost his mind and that is why he is flirting with you.

The person must be drunk enough to not realize that he is flirting with the girlfriend of one of the best mercenaries in Texas.

She has also drunk but not enough to lose her mind

The first thing you will feel is his arm wrapping around your waist while with his other free hand he holds a glass of Whiski.

Argus raises his hat and stares at the person

If the person continues flirting with you, you will have to prevent them from leaving it as a strainer.

After that he will put his hat on you to make it clear who you belong to.

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

OMFG ARGUS BRO UGHHHH RHEHDHEHFUDXJJXJDJDJETHEHEHEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH WOWWWW SISSOR ME TIMBERS FISNFJSKFNEJ I NEED A FIC WITH HER IN IT NOW

P.s Lati istg when u see her u finna have a bi/gay panic fhzjdjuxiecjdj

hehe as soon as i saw argus, i just wanted her to put me in a chokehold, i love a woman who could just straight up kill me ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ her design is just so yummy i love it so much jsakchshjvb,,

and omg argus scissoring you?? it's more likely than you think (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) in spite of her gruff demeanor, there's just something so clumsily intimate in the way that she griiinds herself against your slick pussy, her calloused hands finding purchase on your trembling body. >w< unnfhhhhh just the way argus watches you so intently as you desperately push yourself back into her already-rough ministrations, memorizing every lil' cute expression and reaction you give.

and who knows, maybe next time, she'll finally get her hands on one of those toys you always keep bringin' up <33

[togetherhearted]

Could we please get "I think I love you" with Anjo Nala and Argus please! (I hope hope hope I'm not too late!!)

The jokes are on me. I'm the one who's late 😭 I hope you'll like it!

ANJO NALA- ARGUS: I think I love you

This was the last night you could see the stars in São Paulo. Nostalgia hit you and you still had to leave. Years spent running these streets, soon to be a memory for who knows how long. Nala was sitting beside you;her eyes were up to the sky like yours, in quiet contemplation. You just had the feeling to say something. Something meaningful, to end this stargazing with a bang and you just bad the right words to say. In hope, they were reciprocated. -Nala, I think I love you - You broke the silence.  Her eyes widened, her head snapped towards you, like she was asking if you were serious. When she met your gaze and found nothing but sincerity, she smiled too. -Mh...same - Despite not saying much, she was overjoyed. You confessed under a beautiful starry sky, and you were going to join her in the Foundation. Life couldn't be any better right now.

-I think I love you- You dropped the bomb onto her just like that. Her grip on your hand tightened. What on earth were you saying? Why right now? Argus pulled you towards her, but the hotel wooden floor latched onto your waist like a pair of teeth. -This damned place!- Argus grunted, pulling some more. If it wasn't already wasn't disgusting enough to you, the carpet acted like a weird, fuzzy tongue and dragged over your body. This made you screech and open your hand, leaving her grasp. -No!- Argus was not fast enough to grab you and the floor closed like a mouth. You were nowhere to see anymore. The woman adjusted her hat on her eyes and took her gun from the floor. She took a deep breath, you had been startling her... Now she had to find you as well, other than the reporter Vertin mentioned.

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

I once again am asking for requests since I want to write more, so, if you have any ideas, pretty please send them to me, art ideas r also appreciated

Update : Damn that's a lot, sadly I'll have to close them for now bc I can't keep up with yall lol, so thank you for everyone who made a request <3

Characters & Ships list

[obsesssedblerd]

“Wahhh!” 

“Nooooo!” 

“Bwahhhhhh!” 

“I don’t care, she was mine first!!!” 

“WAHHH!” 

“AHHHHHHH-” 

“Satoru Gojo,” you snap and glare at your husband, who’s burying his face in the pillow to muffle his laughter. Your seven month-old son also begins laughing. It’s so cute that you almost forget that the two were screaming at each other just seconds ago. 

Satoru lifts his head up to grin handsomely at you, feigning innocence. “Yes, wifey?” 

“Why on earth are you screaming with your son at eight o’clock in the morning?” You ask. 

“Because,” he whines, pointing an accusing finger at your baby boy, who had begun cooing adorably for your attention. “He won’t let me kiss you! Watch what happens.” To demonstrate, Satoru gently leans in, only to be stopped when the baby uses his tiny hands to push against his face with a loud whine. You stifle a laugh when he pouts, squinting his eyes at your son. “Listen, just because you’re laying here, doesn’t mean that you can just keep me from giving my wife a little smooch.” 

Your son doesn’t budge. “Bwah!” 

“Okay, and?!” Satoru exclaims with a tilt of his head.

You roll your eyes. “I cannot believe you’re actually arguing with him.” 

“Kid’s got a mouth on him.” 

“How do you even know what he said– You know what? Don’t answer that. Anyway, he’s your kid. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t sassy.” 

Satoru gasps dramatically. “I am not sassy.” Next to him, your son matches his pout with a hmph, and since he was born with Satoru’s hair and eye color, he basically looked like a tiny version of him. “See?” He asks, gesturing to his mini. “Even he agrees with me!” 

“Sure he does,” you say, then turn your attention back to your phone, scrolling through a grocery delivery app so you can start ordering things for the week 

“And back to you,” you hear Satoru continue with your son, “I just want to kiss her cheek, and you’re just– hey, no sticking out your tongue at me.” The baby babbles, and Satoru scoffs. “No, I’m not cryin’. What’re you talking about?” 

You laugh quietly. If this was how it was now, you couldn’t wait to see what it’s going to be like in the future.

[thebookbutterfly]

One of Simon Riley’s love languages is just The Stare TM.

Multiple times a day you will turn around and be faced with this giant man, just staring you down. Entirely locked in. Pupils the size of dinner plates.

Sometimes he’s in the corner of the room, other times he’s just looming over you. He’s so quiet it’s like he just appears out of thin air.

The poor man is like a moth drawn to a lamp. He can’t help it, he likes looking at you. :( Doing anything really. It’s an addiction more than a habit.

You don’t mind it. It’s kind of endearing seeing how wide his pupils dilate every time he catches a glimpse of you. ❤️

[shotmrmiller]

asking kyle if you've wronged ghost somehow because any time you glance up his way, his gaze is always on you and wherever you are, he's there too, his thigh a breath away from your hip. does he not trust you? your skills? yeah, you're a green boot but you know how to follow orders. know which way to aim your gun. (whenever you try to move away, attempting to keep a polite distance, ghost is quick to counter and step in that gap.)

kyle clarifies that ghost's not watching, he's marking. claiming. keeping you where you need to be- at his side, and nowhere else.

and yes, the others are aware. they all just know better than to say anything.

(your very first mission with us, ghost had sharply told you that you were to be with him. do ya not remember, doll?)

[bunnybeaches]

Simon calls you his ladybug while he calls your daughter baby bug, or just bug.

[yuwuta]

satoru is the friend that always upstages your boyfriend, but he’s so good to you that your boyfriend can’t really complain without coming across as the asshole in the equation. your boyfriend sends you flowers after your promotion, but satoru sends an arrangement of roses in the shape of your favorite animal. your boyfriend suggests going out to dinner for your birthday and gets you the piece of jewelry you’ve been eyeing as a present, but satoru’s the one who books the michelin-star restaurant and surprises you with a $10k handbag. you car breaks down and your boyfriend offers to pick you up/drop you off at work for the week, but satoru steps in a loans you his car and then tells you can keep it. and when your boyfriend does get the balls to confront satoru, he’s awfully relaxed, very calm as he explains that you’re his best friend in the whole world, so he just wants to treat you right. no harm in that, right? 

[kenobers]

what would a bat do | jason todd blurb

or jason finds you crying and decides to shoot first and ask questions later. gn!reader a/n: could be read as romantic or platonic

Jason is a lot like Bruce. He does not see this as a positive.

To be fair, "You're acting like Bruce" is the verbal equivalent of hitting below the belt for him and his siblings. Being compared to your parent is a devastating below in any sibling argument, but with their...respectively unique relationships with Bruce, it's downright lethal. Especially for Jason, who still hasn't found complete security with their father.

So, Jason only compares himself to Bruce with blinders on. He does it every time he snaps at someone just to get them off his case. He cringes every time he decides to go off the grid and shut everyone out instead of confronting his feelings. "You're acting like Bruce" echoes in his head as he draws a mental Venn diagram and desperately fills the opposing sides.

The worst is when he catches his reflection glowering back at him; if he had a nickel for every time he mistook it for Bruce sneaking up on him…

He only sees his father in himself when he's angry. When he's so blinded by the nauseating need for vengeance that the line between Hood and Bat start to blur. When all he can see is the mission. When he realizes just how much he’s chosen to isolate himself.

One of the reasons he hides as much of his face as possible is because then no one can tell him he looks just like a bat when he bares his teeth. He wears his emotions on his sleeve instead of leaving it to anyone's guess. He makes absolutely sure that there's no mistaking him for Batman.

All of this to mixed results, of course.

Because despite all of his valid issues with Bruce, deep down Jason knows that Bruce Wayne is still a good man.

And although he doesn’t quite realize it, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to admit that Bruce Wayne raised Jason Todd to be a good man.

Bruce is why Jason always holds the door open for the person behind him. Every time Jason buys a coffee, he pays for the next handful of customers, something he consistently watched Bruce do. Whenever a child talks to him, Jason always crouches to their eye level…that’s Bruce too.

That’s not to give Mr. Wayne too much credit. Jason Todd has had a good heart from the moment he was born. He never needed anyone to tell him to leave the world a better place than he found it. Just because he has an anomalous method of doing so doesn’t make that any less true.

But there are certain things, instincts, that Bruce cemented in his mind. Like knowing when to ask questions first and when to ask them later.

Like when he finds you crying just now.

He’d sent you a text earlier in the day. Something completely unrelated to your well being, something incredibly unimportant actually. Still, your lack of response made him anxious, so he went to check on you. Just to make sure you weren't, like, dead or something.

There's a split second of awkward silence as you both stare at one another. But you hardly have time to wipe your tears and blubber out, "Oh, hey, what's up," before Jason's engulfing you in a bear hug.

That's when you know you don't need to hold it together. That's when you know it's safe to completely fall apart.

Jason doesn't need to ask questions just yet. You don't need him asking questions. You both know he'll get answers, whether from you or his own investigation. For now he'll stay quiet, sans a few whispered comforts. He could try being a man of many words. He’s more than capable of waxing poetics. It’s just that he knows he can come across as mean and abrasive, even when he’s trying to be kind and soft.

Another way he’s like Bruce.

Nevertheless, he’s got two big strong arms that can speak for him. They’ve got you. They’ll protect you from whatever’s got you feeling like this.

One large hand anchors you to him. It holds you steady as your body shakes with sobs. The other cradles your head, every so often moving to pat your back whenever you hiccup.

You can hide your face in his chest. Ride along with the subtle rise and fall of it. Let the gentle sound of his heart beat drown out the sound of your stressors. He doesn’t care about the damp spot you’re leaving on his shirt. He just cares about you.

Jason is a rock, an absolute pillar of a human being. He can stand there for as long as you need. He can support your weight and hold you up if you’re too exhausted to do it yourself.

When you decide that you want to talk about it, then he tries to be all ears. He sits you on the couch and wraps an arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Occasionally, his thumb drifts up to wipe your stray tears away.

He listens as best he can. He definitely would've dealt with your issue differently if he were you. In a different era, he would've let you know exactly what he would do - more likely, he would've just gone and done it for you. But he can recognize that this is probably a healthier way to deal with whatever upset you. And you know what, he can respect that too.

After you've vented until there's nothing left to say, Jason stays with you. It's that nagging voice that tells him that he has to make sure you're really okay, that you're not about to do something stupid as soon as he takes his eyes off you. After all, that's what he would do.

So he puts something on the tv. A show, a movie, a YouTube compilation, video essay - something he knows you like. He doesn't look away from you the entire time. He sits at the ready to catch any stray tears or soothe any sudden bursts of rage.

Until you fall asleep on his shoulder. He sits like that for another few minutes before he finally transfers you to your bed, tucking you in with so much care. The only sound he makes is a sharp gasp when he catches his reflection in your window.

Then he sits some more, still watching you closely. He watches until he's certain you're sound asleep, ignorant to the things that hurt you.

Then he slips out the window without a peep, off to get your justice.

That's exactly what Bruce would do.

[frickingnerd]

i hate everyone (but never you)

pairing: felix fathom x gn!reader

summary: you ask felix to your school's dance but your boyfriend isn't too keen about being around so many people...

tags: established relationship, felix hates people (except reader), asking felix to the dance (& felix agreeing), wholesome fluff

"pretty please, felix…"

you mustered up your best puppy eyes, looking up at your boyfriend with a pleading look. but no matter how much you asked or begged, his answer stayed the same. 

"absolutely not!"

felix had his arms crossed in front of his chest, glancing to the side. he was being as stubborn as always…

"but it's the school dance! everyone is going to bring their boyfriend along and i can't be the only one without one…"

everyone would attend the dance with their partner and you really didn't want to be the only one dancing by themselves… 

"you know i hate being around people…"

felix groaned annoyed, lowering his arms. 

"do you hate being around me too then…?"

his eyes immediately widened at your question. the cold look on his face faded away immediately and grew soft, almost sad, as felix gently cupped your cheeks. 

"no, never! i don't like people, but you're an exception. i could never hate being with you…"

you leaned into your boyfriend's embrace, softly smiling at his words. 

"then come along with me, please…" you pleaded. "it's just one night and we can leave whenever you get sick of everyone. then we can grab something to eat together or take a walk in the park or–"

you were cut short by felix softly pressing his lips onto yours, smiling into the kiss. by the time he pulled away again, the smile remained on his lips. 

"alright, i'm coming with you. i suppose getting to spend time with you doesn't sound that bad…"

[meownotgood]

a few anons asked me about an arcane!viktor and league!viktor fic. here it is. the machine herald and the herald of the arcane sandwich.

18+, arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

The recent influx of arcane anomalies is responsible for many, many things; the dysfunction of the Hexgates, the instability in several Hextech devices. And additionally, apparently, messing with anomalies often results in rifts, capable of bridging one universe with the next. 

You're assuming, anyway. It's the only option to logically explain why you're currently sandwiched between two Viktors.

"Are they always this… obedient?" Viktor — the menacing, Hexcore-infused, arcane-touched version of Viktor — hums, his voice deep and distinctive. It rumbles through you, threatening to displace your shaky legs with its boom alone, echoing several times before it settles in your eardrums. 

You take in a sharp breath, one you're sure the both of them can hear. The lack of space within the anomaly's pocket of unreality forces you to fall back against his chest. True to his assumption, when Viktor's hands find your waist, your limbs go limp. You pliantly allow him to lift you, until you're settled on his thigh. 

"It is difficult to tell." Viktor — the other Viktor, all metal edges and mechanical thrums — finds your jaw. With a firm, steel index finger, he guides it, carefully bringing your wandering gaze back to him. His mask is expressionless, glowing orange pools of light examining you blankly. 

But you swear, the thickness to the edges of his muffled accent, the way he grabs your chin hard, keeping you in place when your head threatens to fall back, as his counterpart's fingertips analytically skim your side — It screams jealous. 

Your eyes flicker all over his figure, unsure what to focus on. Unsure what to make of this. And Viktor laughs, maniacal and amused. His third arm, his Hexclaw-hand, reaches down towards your much smaller figure, settles on your head, and ruffles your hair in something of a playful, infantilizing gesture. Or, it would be playful, if his third hand wasn't capable of producing a dangerous, one-thousand temperature Death Ray. 

"I believe," Machine-Viktor starts, "We are intimidating them." 

Arcane-Viktor glides his palm over your chest, approving. His touch is foreign, neither rough, nor smooth. "Precisely." 

So much for trying to hide it. In this situation, how could you not be intimidated? 

Both of them are insanely intelligent, to the point it nearly scares you. They're larger, taller; you have to crane your neck up to continue looking at Machine-Viktor, gaze steady on him like he's instructed. 

And Arcane-Viktor is somehow even taller than his copy. It makes you feel helpless in his arms, with the way his figure dwarfs yours completely. You can practically feel the persistent glow of his eyes, boring into you. Examining you with a sixth sense of perception, that could only be defined as inhuman. 

The Machine Herald and the Herald of the Arcane are inscrutable. They're both impossible to read, you couldn't hope to determine what they're planning if you had a million timelines to do so. There's a strange sense of understanding between them. A form of matched intuition, perhaps, that comes with being one in the same. 

Truthfully, they've been arguing, bickering over every topic to be brought up since you got stuck here. Cosmological theories, conflicting assumptions, defining the line between the mechanical and the arcane — It's all flown over your head, honestly. Literally and figuratively. This is the first time they've focused on you since the moment you became pressed in between them. 

Yet, when you are involved, they seem to be on the exact same page. The Machine Herald gives a single nod towards the Arcane Herald, and without the need for words, they're switching tasks. 

Machine-Viktor takes your thighs, holds them instead, palms splayed underneath them to brace the weight. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, locked at the ankles, his metal armor smooth yet firm against your skin — and Arcane-Viktor steps in closer. Your back presses entirely against his chest, helping to support you. 

His outline digs into your shoulder blades, golden and rib-like. And his hands, purple-hued, rich with power, grasp your face to tilt your head back. To make you look at him, instead. You aren't sure which set of eyes to focus on. The claw jutting out from his back twitches, seemingly regarding you with its own element of sentience. The other Viktor stiffens, for a moment. 

But the position you've been placed in is deliberate; it leaves you wide-open. So, he takes advantage of the opportunity his counterpart has graced him with. His third arm hums mechanically as he moves it. He brings its hand to your mouth, and your lips part to let him press his thumb inside. 

It's more analytical than anything else. 

Arcane-Viktor watches, transfixed, as your tongue swirls around the faux metal digit. It's a curious lesson in mortal instinct. You whimper, your gaze grows misty as you try your hardest to focus on him, but you barely falter. You aren't giving up. Weak and desperate, your whole body shudders, enough to be felt on his palms as a tremble rushes through you. 

Oh, you want to be made to shudder, he realizes. This is a wealth of emotion and excitement and desire for you, an addicting amalgamation of new sensations to experience. Humans love to chase this high. They cannot be distracted by fear, when raw, depraved need clouds their judgement. His machine-equivalent understands this concept, surely. 

Your plush lips meet the artificial joints: welded with clean, steel pivots. Viktor would recognize his own handiwork anywhere. But the intricate assembly around each linkage — the other Viktor has improved the design, he's made each subdivision double-jointed. 

Intriguing. Perhaps he should teach his opposite self about the arcane, as reimbursement. 

Your tongue licks a hot, slow stripe onto the end of the Machine Herald's thumb, and he breathes a half-sigh, half-huff, causing smoke to pour from the sides of his mask. 

There's warmth, coming from both of their figures. Just two different kinds of warmth. For the Arcane Herald, it's electric, like stars and static, racing across your skin. For the Machine Herald, it's more stifling, artificial. Like standing over a hot stove. It's the heat of countless individual parts of machinery, internal and external, all working in unison to support his processes. 

And you're starting to sweat. 

"Marvellous," Arcane-Viktor murmurs, oddly inquisitive. "Are they not?" 

Removing his thumb from your mouth, the metal slick with your saliva, the Machine Herald gives a rumbling hum of approval. 

"Yes. They are." 

Your throat tightens, suddenly dry. From above you, the all-powerful Herald of the Arcane tilts his head ever-so slightly, adjacent to an interested cat. He taps his thumb against your puffy bottom lip, as though he's considering repeating the display himself. Lingering residuals of magic thread through you faintly, tingling on your lips with each idle tap. 

When he decides against it, finally letting go of your face, Machine-Viktor is quick to grasp your chin with his Hexarm. Roughly guiding your gaze back in his direction. Selfishly recapturing your attention. 

Unfortunately, your attention is everywhere. It shifts, placed between the budding heat in your body, the weightlessness of your limbs as you're held in place, the press of metal armor to your thighs, the tracing of confident fingertips up your stomach. Your vision blurs around the edges, you can barely focus when you're this overwhelmed. 

Arcane-Viktor's palm is beginning to trace up your chest, and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding, if either of them know how much you're enjoying this. Surely, they're well-acquainted. They fucking tower over you, and you're bare, you are pliant. For either version of them, for Viktor, you will always be just as they hypothesized. 

Obedient. 

"They are trembling. How curious," The Herald of the Arcane continues, but the deep, confident vibrato to his voice makes you believe your reaction is far from unexpected. "Theoretically, I could imagine this being too much for them." 

"No," The Machine Herald counters, "It is not." 

The Arcane Herald appears to express as much aversion as an unchanging expression is able to. His palm begins to trace back down, this time. With the same slow, methodical movements; possessive, in a way. Down to your stomach, stopping just above your pelvis. 

"You would truly place confidence in their ability to take us?" 

Hands suddenly grasping your thighs tighter, you're pulled closer, unintentionally grinding you against the ridges of his metal plating — you breathe a quick, pleasured noise, your thighs tremor hard, but you know his iron grip wouldn't let them fall — and the Machine Herald practically scoffs. 

"They will take all we give to them. Such is the essence of their potential." 

The Arcane Herald pauses, before he answers, "I believe in your own lingering sentimentality, Machine Herald, you may be vastly overestimating their limits." 

"It is not sentiment." The Machine Herald's voice is level. His thick accent curls around the words, tone rich with a downright ruthless sense of certainty. "Receptors in my central system have been allocated to measure their breathing. The pattern is not one of discomfort. They are rife with… eagerness." 

His Hexarm reaches for your neck, and your head tilts back submissively. As confirmation, your heart skips, your breath catches. Your gaze is heavy and pleading. He squeezes methodically, until your eyes are rolling back, and your arms are falling limp. 

Precise fingertips find your forehead, they muddle your every thought and function as their prying touch seeks to enter your mind. Your thoughts converge into a singular, tightly knit thread, pounding in echoes of pleasure. A hand brushes between your spread legs, finds where you are slick and aching — 

"Viktor-" 

Your voice is weak, desperate, shuddery from the lack of use. 

And to your delight, both of your overseers react. Machine-Viktor gives your thighs a firm squeeze, he caresses your throat fondly. Arcane-Viktor teases you. His fingertips purposefully prod your waiting entrance, and Gods, they feel like magic incarnate. 

They vibrate from the intensity of their own existence. You can feel every thrum, and each lush wave of the arcane, vibrating mercilessly against your sweetest spot. Then, just as you're beginning to believe you could come apart merely from this, his hand is delicately shifting away, and you're left to quiver around nothing. 

"Fuck," You're swearing, "Please- don't stop…" 

The Herald of the Arcane, as though he wasn't just mere moments away from sinking his fingers inside you, replies in a distinctly composed tone. "Humans can be such demanding creatures." 

The Machine Herald nearly sounds annoyed. "You have forgotten our initial objective. We may switch places, if you are convinced you cannot satisfy them." 

"Whatever occurred in your timeline, it is clear you never learned patience. We have time. Our research will prove most accurate when it is fleshed out to its fullest, not when it is rushed. Unless, perhaps you have discerned a solution to getting us out of this anomaly. Do share, Machine Herald." 

Machine-Viktor remains still. Utterly unreadable, as always. 

"Hold them." 

Everything happens so quickly, so flawlessly, you'd almost swear they planned this — Arcane-Viktor takes hold of your thighs, he keeps them spread while he leans your body against his chest. And Machine-Viktor grasps your face, squeezes your cheeks, his leather glove rough against your chin. He's so close, all you can see is the orange of his makeshift eyes. Bright and intimidating, clouding your view with polychrome shapes, like if you were to glance at the sun for too long. 

His touch is distinctly different, it is steady, resolute, determined. A single thick, metal finger drags through your arousal to first get the steel slick, and then he is pressing it inside; you can feel every small joint and deliberate ridge as he fills you. One of his manufactured digits is essentially the equivalent to three of yours. 

You're left to weakly slump against his copy, completely at his mercy as he fucks you open, completely at their mercy as the two of them watch you attentively. Focused on the way his digit disappears within you, how your chest heaves as you gasp and whine. 

"This is not enough stimulus," Arcane-Viktor ascertains. Matter-of-fact, his echoing voice perfectly stable. "Their thoughts are still clouded. Preferably, we would want them- their mind, and their body- to think only of us." 

"Not enough? I thought you believed they could not handle us both." Machine-Viktor scoffs. 

It's a challenge. An analytical assumption, and if his copy is anything like him, he knows it's a notion they'll enjoy deciphering. Together. With you as the subject. 

"Well?" The Machine Herald hums, "Are you willing to put your hypothesis to the test?" 

[kingkaisen]

CRUEL — Satoru G.

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: He screwed up. He knew he was going to die soon. Desperate to hear your voice just one last time, Satoru decides to call you.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ only || heavy angst, character death, descriptions of blood and injuries, brief mention of smut, canonverse, friends to lovers…

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2K

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: (Spoiler warning) just to clarify, this does not follow the way Gojo died in the manga!

As Satoru Gojo stared at the bright stars in the night sky, a sad smile formed on his blood-coated, dry lips.

This death was cruel.

Not just the nature of it — his internal organs scrambled to hell, holes decorating his body, or rather, what was left of it, leaving him no choice but to lay in a pool of his own blood that turned the back of his messy white hair crimson red — but the one thing Satoru often silently prayed to a god for, to the universe, to whoever was listening, was to not die alone. Please.

But no one was around. Even the uncut grass surrounding him that would serve as his place of death was void of insects.

How cruel.

It was his fault.

A team of the strongest special-grade curses and curse users he had ever seen ambushed him in what was clearly a thoroughly planned attack. After all, they couldn’t beat him with their own strength and power. Satoru Gojo was the strongest for a reason. But they knew about his weakness: you, his best friend.

One of the curse users started spouting off personal information they had gathered about you. Your full name. Your address. They even bothered to mention how you’d often go to the grocery store every Thursday evening.

Next came the threats — the brutal, unspeakable death they wanted to subject you to.

Satoru should have known better than to lose his temper. He knew — he knew — those bastards just wanted to get him all riled up, but his better instincts fled his exhausted brain and nothing was left except burning rage.

Adrenaline worked in his favor at first. He killed them all.

But he was careless with his own life, leaving himself open to attack. And now, here he was, paying the ultimate price. Dying, and dying alone.

Cruel.

Satoru didn’t understand why he was searching around for his phone at first, patting his ripped, wet clothes. The thing was bound to be broken or soaked in his own blood by now, rendering it useless, but it was worth a shot.

Pulling it out of his right pocket made him all too aware that most of his right leg was missing. But he couldn’t think about that right now. His final thoughts wouldn’t be centered around great concern over his own body, or rather, what was left of it. They would be centered around you.

His blurry blue eyes stared at the cracked phone screen he held above his face. His finger clicked the power button, and when he saw that dull screen flicker to life, he figured that perhaps, in some sick twisted way, his prayers had been answered.

Trying to find your contact was pure hell. He could hardly see, which pissed him off greatly, because he wanted to soak in every photographed detail of the picture you and him took at the Cherry Blossom Festival last spring that served as his home and lock screen.

It would be his last time seeing that bright smile of yours. It would be his last time remembering the sweet treats you both shared. He’d always let you have the last bite.

“Why didn’t I kiss her that day?” Satoru thought. “Why haven’t I kissed her at all? What the hell is wrong with me?”

A tear rolled down Satoru’s bruised cheek. The thought of dying without having kissed you was unbearable. He had found himself in the perfect First Kiss Scenarios several times but chickened out at the last minute, thinking that he had time . . . time to build up the courage to ask you to be his. To turn a friendship into something greater.

But it was too late now.

It wasn’t fair.

He couldn’t die yet, he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Not when he hadn’t yet told you he was in love with you. Not when his lips haven’t touched your soft ones in a deep, passionate kiss. He imagined it quite often. Pulling you close, his hands either on your waist or cradling your breathtaking face. The kiss would last until your lungs burned from a lack of significant air, or until both of your unwavering urges to smile interrupted it.

He hadn’t touched your body beyond the regular, friendly ‘hey, how are you?’ hugs and your cuddling sessions on the couch during monthly movie nights. What would it have been like? To have your warm figure underneath him, your faces inches apart, as you moaned his name softly?

Perhaps, having sex with you would spell the difference between hooking up with someone versus making love, because when he closed his eyes at night and imagined your first time together, those sinful thoughts were lust-filled, that much was true, but at its core, they were romantic. He vividly pictured the sight of your stunning eyes. Holding your hand during. Running a warm bubble bath for you afterward. All of those little, heart-warming things; he imagined it more than the sex itself.

But it was too late now.

It wasn’t fair.

At the very least, he hoped he could hear your voice one last time. You truly loved to ramble. Hearing you go on, on, and on about whatever crossed your mind was one of the circumstances that made him fall for you, as it always made his heart skip a beat.

Now, he wanted to hear you go on, on, and on about whatever crossed your mind as his heart started to give out.

Satoru dialed your number, pressed the speaker button, and rested his phone on his slow-rising chest. He waited. After a couple of rings, your voice, filled with blissful unawareness, came through his phone.

“Damn it, ‘Toru. Your phone call made me lose my game,” you said playfully. “What’s up?”

“Sorry.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse. Lower than usual. Lacking its usual enthusiastic tone.

“You okay?” You asked worriedly.

“I’m fine . . . just woke up from a nap . . . is all.”

“At this hour? It’s almost time for bed!” You paused. Satoru could hear you sip something — must’ve been another cup of that new, flavored tea you purchased last week and raved about on a daily basis, he guessed.

Continuing on, you said, “Well, anyway, if you want some company, you could come over and spend the night. You were coming over tomorrow for dinner anyway.”

“I won’t be able to make it.” A string of blood slipped from Satoru’s mouth as he spoke.

“Oh, well, no worries. You’re still coming tomorrow then, right? I got everything we need to try to make noodles from scratch. You wouldn’t believe how long the line was at the grocery store today. This lady tried to cut in front of me, claiming she had ice cream or something, and I was like, boo-fucking-hoo, I have ice cream too. I let her cut in front of me though ‘cause she handed me five dollars. That’s just how long the line was. People were paying other people to get in front of them. Let that sink in. Crazy, right?”

That was right. It was Thursday. Your favorite shopping day. If Satoru had the energy, he’d smile at the thought of you strolling around a store, smiling happily at the sight of your favorite snacks being on sale.

“Tell me more about . . . about your day,” Satoru asked weakly. He wanted to hear your voice. He had to hear you ramble to him, just one last time. God, he loved it more than anything.

“Hmm,” you shuffled around a bit. “Well, I didn’t do much. Aside from grocery shopping, I spent some time playing that game I told you about, walking around town, um, that’s about it I think. Oh! I found this cute shop selling mochi! I bought you some. It was a brand-new shop too. It still smells like fresh paint in there. The owner was nice as well. There was this other place selling lemon milk, which sounds kinda gross, but it’s basically just creamy lemonade I think, but I could be wrong. I think I’ll let you waste your money and try it before I do, just in case it’s disgusting. But yeah, that was my day. How was yours?”

“I’ve had better days. I don’t really . . .”

Satoru was cut off by his own choking. He coughed, then coughed again, coating his chin with that crimson-red fluid.

“‘Toru? Are you sure you’re okay? Are you sick or something? Is that why you took a nap?”

“Don’t you worry about me,” Satoru whispered.

He wasn’t certain you heard him at first, as you were quiet for a brief moment.

“No, no, I’m gonna worry about you. I’m always gonna worry about you,” you said. This time, it was Satoru’s turn to meet your words with silence.

“‘Toru?” You called out.

He tried to speak. He wanted to. But he could only cough and choke. Choke and cough.

“Okay, I’m on my way to your house. You sound horrible, like when someone’s drinking water and it goes down the wrong pipe, you know?”

“I’m not home,” Satoru responded.

“Where are you then?”

He could hear the worry in your voice.

“Satoru, where the hell are you? What’s going on?”

He coughed. More crimson-red.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m checking your location. You’re scaring me right now.” You paused for a moment, and when you spoke again, your voice was distant. Satoru gathered that you had put him on speaker as you checked your phone for his whereabouts. “You’re . . . it looks like you’re in the middle of nowhere. I’m on my way. What exactly happened? Were you walking to the store or something and passed out? When I get there, you’re going straight to the ER, I don’t care if you just have a small cold-”

“I’ll be dead by the time you get here, sweetie.”

The silence that followed his words snapped his slow-beating heart into pieces, because just as his heart was shattered, your world was as well, and he couldn’t stand being the reason for your suffering.

Another tear fell from his blue eyes, splattering onto the grass below him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so . . . sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe-” Satoru coughed again.

“You’re messing with me, right? This is some sort of prank or-or sick joke?” Your shaky voice softened. “Right?”

Satoru stared at the luminous stars above. They reminded him of you. Bright and pretty.

“Look up. The stars are bright and pretty like my sweetie,” he once said to you amidst a late-night walk.

You gave him a goofy grin that matched his own, swatting at the hand he pinched your cheek with. “Stop it, that’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard. And it doesn’t even rhyme.”

“Yeah it does, depending on how you say the word pretty. I’m the poet-in-the-making here.”

“It doesn’t rhyme, you fool.”

The corner of Satoru’s lips twitched as if his soul wanted him to smile at the memory. But he refused to waste his dwindling strength on smiling. He needed his strength for something else right now: to tell his sweetie the truth.

Because, damn it all, he refused to die without you knowing how he truly felt about you. It was the best he could do, seeing as he would never, ever get the chance to kiss you.

How cruel.

“Listen . . . I know we’re just friends, but . . . I’m in love with you. I wish I told you sooner, sweetie. But I kept it to myself ‘cause . . . I didn’t wanna fall in love with you. Loving someone means having someone you could lose, and the thought of losing you killed me . . . I couldn’t handle it. But now, there’s nothing about you that I don’t love. You don’t know what your smile does to me. And I could listen to you talk for hours, nonstop. I’m pretty sure I already have. I love hearing your awful jokes, and hearing you sing, even when you’re out of tune. It still sounds perfect . . . to me. I love the little frown you make when you can’t make decisions . . . the way your eyebrows would pinch together . . . then you’d always a-ask me. What milk to buy . . . if you should mop first or do laundry first . . . what to have for lunch. God, you’re just so-” Satoru coughed. Crimson red.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I know you never believe me when I tell you that, but you are. My eyes weren’t prepared to handle the sight of your pretty face the first time we met. I had a headache for three days. Three days. I swear it’s the truth. That’s just how gorgeous you are to me. And I wish I could see you one last time. No . . . no I wish . . . I wish I could’ve kissed you. I’ll never get the chance now, not in this life at least. I don’t know h-how any of this . . . afterlife mess works, but I hope . . . I’ll get to see you again. I really . . . I really . . . I re . . .”

His words were becoming incomprehensible. His eyelids felt heavy. The twinkling stars above seemed less like stars, but blobs of fuzzy light.

“Satoru? Please, keep talking. I need you to keep talking,” you said.

He could hear the rumbling engine of your car through the phone.

“. . . Trying,” Satoru mumbled, though uttering that word? It took more energy than it should have.

“This can’t be happening. Not you, ‘Toru, not you. I can’t lose you. I-I won’t be able to handle it . . . I can’t handle it.”

He heard you sniffle as you started to cry. He could imagine the tears streaming down the soft cheeks he wanted to stroke and kiss so desperately.

“Satoru?” You called out urgently when he didn’t respond.

“I’m here,” he whispered, but the words that rolled off of his red tongue were so low, you couldn’t hear him. He wanted to scream it, but he couldn’t speak above that pathetic whisper so easily carried away by the brisk wind.

How cruel.

“Come on, Satoru! Don’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me,” you cried. “Please don’t die, don’t do this to me . . .”

Satoru closed his eyes — an act that wasn’t of his own choosing.

It felt as if he was falling asleep. Falling asleep while floating in a pool or lake. But, in reality, he was dying in a pool of his own blood.

—

“‘Toru!”

The loud shout of his name made his eyes snap open.

Just how much time had passed?

He wasn’t staring at the stars above, but at you, his sweetie. Your face was right above his.

His breathing sped up. His heartbeat quickened at the sight of you, and more and more uncountable tears fell from his eyes. The sight of you alone was quite literally taking his breath away.

“Oh my god. I found you,” you fell to your knees in the blood-soaked grass, pulling his head in your lap as gently as you could. “The ambulance is right behind me. They can fix this, right?”

“You’re . . . here,” Satoru whispered. You leaned down, turning your head to the side until your ear was practically pressed against his lips, trying to hear his barely audible words. “I won’t . . . die . . . alone.”

“That’s right. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” you sniffled. You turned your head, your eyes staring at his lips.

You kissed them without a thought. Damn the blood, damn it all — this was not how you wanted your first kiss with your best friend to go, but you knew from his confession that it was his dying wish. You could feel Satoru use his little energy to kiss you back with as much passion as a dying man could. Your tears splattered against his cheeks.

When you pulled away and moved back a smidge, your face only an inch away from his, you whispered, “And I love you too. Do you hear me?”

His messy white hair — no, it was practically red now, crimson red — shifted as he nodded weakly, his hair tickling your face.

“Can you . . .” Satoru paused. You turned your head yet again, almost ear to lip. He tried to speak once more. “Can you . . . talk to me?”

“About what?”

“Anything,” he coughed. His blood sprayed across your cheek and nose. Crimson red. “Hurry. Sweetie, please hurry.”

His eyelids were getting heavy. Call it a feeling from his impaired gut, but he gathered that when his eyes closed this time, they wouldn’t open again. The faint sirens he heard in the distance couldn’t save him.

All he wanted now was to hear his sweetie ramble on, on, and on.

“Do you remember when we-we went on that trip to the beach together a few years ago?” You stroked his forehead with your trembling fingers, staring into his glassy eyes. “That stupid seagull took my sandwich, and you tried to avenge me, but the seagull won that fight. I’ve never seen someone run away from something so fast in my life. Remember that? You, um, bought me a new sandwich afterward and spent our entire beach trip trying to fight a bird. You wouldn’t hurt it for real, even though you could have. You’re too kind for that, even if it did yank your hair at one point. You probably didn’t get a chance to notice how beautiful that beach was, though. So vast and blue. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would have felt like to get married there. When I had that thought at the time, the only person I could imagine as the groom was you. That’s when I knew I was in love with my best friend. I knew that I’d . . . life . . . you . . .”

Satoru could no longer understand the final words you would ever say to him. He couldn’t hear you anymore.

His eyes closed. He couldn’t see you anymore.

The last thing he felt was your hand shaking his shoulder as if trying to awaken him from death itself, but as his chest rose and fell one last time, he couldn’t feel you anymore either.

How cruel.

♡ — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib @http-bell

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

Twirls my hair as I infeltrate your x reader/ ship Tags in a very nonchalant and attractive way

Hey~ I kind of am in the creative slumps, so if you want something to be written, send me a request~ please~

(I also write for ships)