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summer-oil · 10 months ago

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FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater.

it was nothing but a lucky draw, on your part. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he let you choose; four chairs, four desks, one in the very back and closest to the window. right by the only source of heat in the room.

… of course you’d choose it. cliche or not, what else could you have done?

warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, planets spinning out of orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones safe and snug and covering your ears, muffling all grating noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude. he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

how exhausting.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. just to meet his gaze — the blurry shine of your own reflection, in the black glass of his circle-frames. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face.

like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one of the heavy cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. monotone. loud.

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own blurry face, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he shifts his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more.

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats.

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two pools of blue, flecked with pure white, like frozen puddles in the street. cracks stretching across the surface.

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams.

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

though if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod.

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him.

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing.

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour.

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world.

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to his circumstances. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw.

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence.

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers.

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing.

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again.

”… i can buy some for you, though.”

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out.

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does.

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks.

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be.

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so.

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway.

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck.

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him.

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down.

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side.

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter.

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay.

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing.

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders.

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe.

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks.

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in.

(but you aren’t worried.)

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff

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ilovolderman · 2 months ago

Text

Movie Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam tries to gather proof of your secret relationship with Bucky during a movie night.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, sam losing his mind, one shared blanket

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was back on his BS.

Not because he wanted to be. No. He had to be. This was about justice. About truth. About the undeniable, unquantifiable, deeply suspicious sense that you and Bucky Barnes were absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent... up to something.

He didn’t have hard evidence. He didn’t even have medium evidence. What he had was vibes.

And the vibes? They were criminal.

It all started on a Wednesday.

The group had planned a “Chill Movie Night.”

Sam arrived early, armed with snacks, a color-coded emotional tracking spreadsheet, and a high-end mood ring that Tony insisted was “useless but fun.”

Everything seemed normal. Steve was fluffing pillows like a dad trying to avoid confrontation. Peter was arguing with the popcorn machine. Natasha was already asleep on the couch. (Open-eyed, somehow. Very concerning.) Tony was making a cocktail out of four liquids that were definitely not FDA-approved.

And then you walked in.

Sam’s eye twitched.

Behind you, Bucky entered. Smirking. Carrying your favorite takeout like some kind of emotionally supportive boyfriend ninja.

“Hey, guys,” you said sweetly, flopping onto the couch. Bucky sat beside you, a respectable distance away.

Until Sam blinked.

And suddenly, somehow, your knees were touching.

EXHIBIT Q. KNEE TREASON.

Sam clutched his soda like it was the last thing anchoring him to reality.

The movie choice? A romcom. Obviously. The plot? Two idiots pretending not to be in love. The irony? Painful.

Sam watched you both. Not the movie. You giggled during the fake-dating scene. Bucky smirked.

Your eyes met for exactly 1.3 seconds. You looked away like your life depended on it.

Sam scribbled in his notes. Tony leaned in, whispering, “Are you actually watching the movie or doing telepathy?”

“I’m watching a conspiracy unfold in real time,” Sam whispered back. “...Of course you are.”

On screen, the protagonists shared a dramatic, rain-soaked kiss. On the couch, Bucky passed you a napkin. You took it without looking. No words. No thank you.

EXHIBIT R. EMPATHETIC NAPKIN TRANSFER.

Sam wrote “co-dependent, probably share a soul.” in his notes.

It got worse. At some point Peter complained about the cold. Tony threatened to install a fireplace. Someone, probably Steve, bless his Midwestern heart, tossed a blanket over the couch. You grabbed one end. Bucky took the other.

Normal. Harmless. Unremarkable.

Until Sam realized there was only one blanket.

And two people under it.

A suspicious amount of shoulder contact was happening beneath that polyester monstrosity. Too much shared body heat. Too much calm.

Sam squinted. “Why are they always so synchronized?” Steve, confused: “Who?” Sam: “The blanket goblins.” Steve: “...Are you okay?” Sam: “NO.”

The movie played on in the background, but you and Bucky were no longer paying attention. Instead, you two were quietly leaning into each other, aware of Sam's eagle-eyed attention from across the room. The couch creaked as Bucky shifted slightly closer, his arm brushing against yours, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

"Do you think Sam's lost it yet?" you whispered, voice low, just enough for Bucky to hear.

Bucky grinned, but didn’t look away from the screen. "Oh, he’s spiraling. I can feel his brain cells popping one by one."

You let out a tiny snort, trying to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape. “He's so obvious. He keeps glancing over every two seconds. Should we give him a little more to work with?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in a barely contained smirk. “You want to really mess with him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should let him stew for a bit longer.” You shot a playful glance at Sam, who was practically glaring at you two from behind his soda. "He’s getting all worked up for nothing."

Bucky leaned in a little closer, his breath warm on your ear as he whispered, “Let’s make him regret not having a seat next to us.”

He shifted slightly, just enough that your knees brushed against each other. The small touch seemed so innocent to anyone else, but Sam’s narrowed eyes locked onto the subtle movement, his hand hovering over his notebook like a hawk waiting to strike.

Your lips quirked into a mischievous smile. You did your best to make it look like a completely natural movement as you accidentally rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky, of course, played along beautifully, his arm casually draping over the back of the couch behind you, so close that your bodies were practically melting into each other.

“You okay?” he asked in the most nonchalant tone, but the teasing glint in his eyes was hard to miss.

You blinked, putting on your best innocent face. “Oh, yeah. Just—just—getting comfy.” Your hand brushed against his as you adjusted yourself, and you quickly squeezed his fingers once before letting them fall.

Your eyes flicked over to Sam, who was visibly straining to stay calm, his hand twitching over his notebook like it was a lifeline. You could practically hear his thoughts racing: This is it. This is definitely it. They're in on it.

You smiled sweetly, letting your voice drop to an exaggerated whisper. “I think I might be too comfortable.”

Bucky’s smirk widened, and before Sam could even react, he casually pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and gently brushed his fingertips against your knee. The slightest contact. Barely a touch.

Sam’s eyes narrowed so sharply that it looked like his face might implode. He scribbled something aggressively in his notebook. You could almost hear the frantic ticking of his mental clock. *Evidence: They are physically close. Touch. Note: Is this normal?

You stifled a laugh, shifting just a little to let your body lean more into Bucky. “You know,” you said, voice syrupy sweet, “I could really get used to this.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, shifting just enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, and his hand accidentally found its way to your lower back. “Well, lucky for you,” he said with mock sincerity, “I’m just that kind of guy. Always happy to offer some… support.”

You grinned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Instead, you pressed your palm into his chest, just enough for the world to think it was a casual adjustment. But oh, you knew. You knew what was happening.

Sam was now glaring at you both with a level of intensity that could melt steel.

Bucky turned his head toward you, but just enough so Sam could definitely see. He made eye contact, and his lips curved into a teasing grin, one that said, I know you’re watching.

You raised your eyebrows in challenge and tilted your head as if asking, What are you going to do about it, Sam?

You caught a glimpse of his expression, then leaned closer to Bucky. “I swear he’s about to pull out a flowchart,” you whispered, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Let him. He’ll need it for all this groundbreaking evidence.”

Sam’s eye twitched.

You and Bucky both leaned back, relaxing into each other, casually oblivious to the total chaos you were unleashing. Sam sat back down, utterly defeated, furiously scribbling in his notebook. He couldn’t even look at the screen anymore.

Then, the movie ended. The lights came on. You yawned. Bucky stretched.

And Sam watched in horror as Bucky casually — casually! — helped you into your jacket like it was 1952 and you were going steady after a sock hop.

You whispered something to him. He grinned. Then you both said you were leaving at the same time, but separately.

Bucky went out the back. You left through the front.

Sam looked at Natasha.

“Did you see that?” She didn’t even open her eyes. “Nope.” “Lies.” “You need a nap.” “I need the TRUTH.”

Tony sipped his weird drink. “I give it another week before they start sharing shoes.”

Peter, from the kitchen: “Wait, do they not already?”

Sam screamed into the void.

Later that night the rooftop was quiet, blanketed in the soft hush of city sounds far below. A gentle breeze tugged at the edge of the blanket draped over your shoulders as you curled into your usual corner, legs tucked beneath you. Fairy lights flickered lazily overhead, casting warm glows over Bucky’s face as he joined you with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

He handed one “Cheers to another successful psychological operation,” you said, clinking the mugs.

��To Operation: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlfriend,” Bucky replied solemnly, taking a sip. He immediately burned his tongue and winced.

You giggled, taking a much more careful sip. “You know Sam’s going to start cross-referencing our foot placement on the couch with moon phases, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Bucky said. “I bet he’s already got a red string board with little thumbtacks that spell ‘LIES.’”

You leaned into him with a contented sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “We are going to hell.”

“Matching outfits,” he said. “I already ordered the shirts.”

You burst into laughter, nearly spilling your drink. “Bucky.”

He just smiled, wide and soft and unguarded in the dim rooftop light, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like you belonged there—and honestly, you did.

A beat of silence passed. The kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that felt like a warm exhale, like a secret just between the two of you.

You smiled into your mug, letting the words settle. The city shimmered below you. The stars above blinked like they were in on the secret too.

“I like it up here,” you murmured.

“I like you up here,” Bucky replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, right at your temple, like he was memorizing the shape of your joy.

You turned your face toward him, bumping noses a little in that silly, clumsy way that always made him smile. “You’re being very sweet. Should I be worried?”

He shrugged. “Just making sure you know.”

“That you like me?”

“That I’m crazy about you,” he said, and then, quieter: “Even when you’re fake flirting with me to drive Sam to madness.”

You grinned. “Oh, babe. That’s not fake.”

Bucky blinked, then broke into a grin so dopey and full of love it made your chest ache.

You clinked your mugs together again, just because.

Meanwhile Sam was crouched on the roof of a building, squinting through a comically long-lensed pair of binoculars that Tony swore were “state-of-the-art.”

They were not.

They were the opposite of helpful.

They had a cracked lens, fog on the inside, and occasionally made a sad whining sound like they missed retirement.

Still, Sam stared across the distance with the desperate determination of a man on the brink.

Through the foggy lens, he saw… two tiny blobs.

Two indistinct, cozy-looking blobs huddled on the rooftop of Avengers Tower, gently illuminated by twinkle lights that only added insult to injury.

He couldn’t see their faces. He couldn’t read lips. He couldn’t tell which blob was Bucky and which was you.

“Come on, do something,” Sam muttered, adjusting the focus knob. Nothing changed. He flipped it the other way. The blobs got blurrier.

He smacked the side of the binoculars.

They shut off.

He swore loudly and rebooted them.

Inside his earpiece, FRIDAY chimed in, unbothered: “Would you like me to send a drone for closer surveillance?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “No. That’s what they want. Then they’ll know I’m watching.”

“They already know you’re watching.”

“I have to catch them, FRIDAY. Not just feel it in my soul.”

Another blob shifted.

Sam gasped. “Movement. MOVEMENT.” He turned the dial again. Still nothing but murky shadow-people. “Are they... hugging? Is that a hug? Or... is one of them standing up? Oh my god, is Bucky proposing?!”

A long pause. Then, FRIDAY dryly: “Sir. They are literally just drinking cocoa.”

Sam groaned and flopped backward onto the gravel roof, his limbs starfished dramatically like a war hero brought low by cuddle-based crimes.

“This is torture,” he moaned. “I’m three buildings away, I’ve got frostbite on my kneecaps, and I’m watching two potato blobs make suspiciously synchronized cocoa movements.”

“Shall I remind you,” FRIDAY said gently, “that you volunteered for this?”

“I VOLUNTEERED FOR TRUTH. AND JUSTICE. AND—” Sam sat up suddenly. “Wait. Are they... did that blob just touch the other blob’s blob-arm?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Oh god,” he whispered. “They’re holding hands. I feel it.”

“Or one of them is adjusting a blanket.”

Sam made a noise like a teakettle dying. “It’s the vibes, FRIDAY. I am being spiritually attacked.”

A car honked below. Sam yelped and dropped the binoculars. They hit the ground, bounced once, and rolled off the edge of the building with a dramatic clatter that absolutely ruined the "stealth" part of the mission.

Sam stared at the edge.

Then at the sky.

Then at his empty hands.

“FRIDAY, I’ve lost visual.”

There was a beat.

“Sir, you never had it.”

Back at Avengers Tower, on the actual rooftop you snuggled closer to Bucky, sipping your hot chocolate, utterly unaware of the storm raging in a man's soul several rooftops away.

Actually, no—you were very aware.

You nudged Bucky. “Wanna bet where Sam is right now trying to spy on us?”

Bucky grinned. “Roof of that tall brick building with the busted vent.”

You blinked. “How do you know?”

“I waved at him like ten minutes ago.”

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym @starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari

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bill-tracking-tools · 2 years ago

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rinhaler · 2 years ago

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DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

m.list | chapter two

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awaxagoras · 1 month ago

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something something office au eheheh :3 amphoreus has infected my brain so ! phainon [ mydei and anaxa were supposed to be in this too , but it got too long and now im embarrassed . next post . trust me ] ALSO . . not really intentional but this is slightly yan coded . I love freaks sowwy (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

okiii so hear me out abt office au [ I don’t have anything specific in mind so the details are up to you lol ] ur job isn’t anything special but it pays the bills . typical office position . replying to emails , making copies , organizing ur boss’ schedule , etc etc . gets intense sometimes considering how high you’ve climbed up the ranks , but it’s nothing you can’t handle

you haven’t met him yet , but you’ve heard a lot about the newest employee . despite the recency of his arrival , it sounds like he has already gained the respect of not only your coworkers , but the people above you , too . he was the one to initiate your first meeting , actually [ you feel kinda bad about not seeking him out first , but he doesn’t seem to mind ]

abruptly stops the elevator door from closing one morning before stepping inside with you [ it’s kinda weird that he never glances at button panel (ᵕ—ᴗ—) ] introduces himself as phainon , smiling brightly at you and politely offering his hand to shake [ his grip seems slightly firmer than it needs to be , but it’s probably just due to his extroverted nature ] he briefly tells you about his transfer from his old company to this one before imploring about you . once you get to your floor , he unexpectedly follows you to your desk . what a coincidence ! he’s on this floor , too ! ( ◠‿◠ ) nice decorations , by the way ! [ . . does he need to lean so close to you to look at them ? ] maybe you could help decorate his desk sometime haha [ more under the cut bc I yapped too much sowwy ]

his own work station is across the room from yours but that doesn’t seem to stop him from going straight to you whenever he has a question [ you had heard about this guy’s achievements and the whispers that he was the perfect employee . why is he asking you about the photocopier ? and why does it feel like he’s not really listening ? (•᷄‎_•᷅ ) ] you swear he’s always in the break room at the same time , too . haha wow another coincidence ! it’s like you meant to be or something haha . . [ he’s not really joking ] you can’t pinpoint when it happened , but he’s gotten your drink preferences down to a science . oh , no need to thank him ! [ judging by the way he turns his head for a moment in an attempt to hide the flush on his face , he’s quite happy that you always thank him anyway ⁠♡ ]

although he often seeks you out for mundane things , phainon never fails to jump to help you with your work [ even thought you don’t ask ] you’re grateful , at first . one glance at his work immediately proves that the rumours of his excellence are indeed true . it starts to get slightly irritating when he finishes projects that you’ve started without asking you or even mentioning it until after it’s been submitted to your boss

sure , his work is amazing and he breezes though it almost effortlessly , but you aren’t as helpless as he’s making you feel . he’s never condescending towards you , but you can tell he doesn’t take your words seriously . he’s not phased when you tell him that his actions aren’t necessary . haha alright , alright ! he’ll focus on his own work from now on . [ he won’t . the cycle repeats ] you’re starting to feel guilty now , too [ you didn’t even start this , either ! what the hell ! (•̀⤙•́) ]

both of you have relatively high positions at the company — you know firsthand that the workload can get overwhelming at times and now he’s carrying double the responsibilities ? and it’s because of you ? laughs at your concerns . he’s flattered that you care about him , but you shouldn’t worry so much ! he’s got this ! buuuuut . . if you feel like you need to repay him so badly , why don’t you go out with him sometime ? [ and sometime after that . and after that ] great ! it’s a date (๑>؂•̀๑)

#✧˖°. atlas speaks #phainon x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #yandere #trust and believe I will get to anaxa and mydei #im not too confident I can write for them LOL….

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love-and-war-on-cybertron · 8 months ago

Text

Teach a bot to kiss: Rodimus

I rewrote this a couple times and I might just do so again. buuuuut for now.~

Rodimus taps against his desk, venting out a rush of hot air. His focus is far from the stack of data pads and he is trying to keep it even further away from the human sitting on said stack. Your focus is on your own human size data pad, trying to help him out. Optics lingering on your mouth, your lips. The shape, the color, the way they purse when you're thinking too hard. He wonders if they are as soft as your hair. Or more plush like your body when he carries you. Your lips move as you silently read to yourself, a flicker of your tongue behind teeth makes Rodimus give up any attempt to focus on work.

A few nights ago, Swerve hosted a human movie night. You had called it a rom com. Swerve and you loved it. Most were perplexed, but the snacks and drinks were worth a stay. Then there was the scene where two characters embraced each other and started smashing their intakes together. Being the only human aboard, and thus defacto human expert, the bots asked you questions about the strange act. The closest any of them came to understanding your flustered explanation was a data transfer without cables… and data. Just sensitive nerves of the lips.

Rodimus spent every night since tracing the lines of his derma, wondering what it would feel like to kiss. More specifically, what kissing YOU would feel like. Curiosity leading to more research of rom coms. More research leading to more curiosity. Curiosity leading to want. There was one teeny tiny problem. Actually there were multiple problems, including the fact he was the captain of the ship. No doubt in his mind that Ultra Magnus could pull at least ten codes on what that was not permitted from his memory. The biggest problem, is the smallest.

You. You are small.

Most organic species are diminutive compared to Cybertronians, humans especially so. Rodimus thinks it's adorable, who knew there was something smaller than a minibot? You are tiny and soft and fragile. One wrong swipe of his hand had already sent you to the med bay. If he picks you up and squeezes too hard, if a bot isn't paying attention to where they are stepping, if you fall off their shoulders. Just being around his kind is risky. When has Rodimus ever shied away from risk?

It wasn't like you two hadn't been dancing around some sort of mutual attraction. Snarky innuendos, compliments, any excuse to spend time together. There was something there. Rodimus may not be able to do a data transfer with you, but he had a mouth, and you had a mouth. could he kiss you? Would his size be an issue? what if he didn't like it? What if you didn't like it?

"Can you show me how to kiss?"

Looking up from the datapad, you give Rodimus a questioning look. Clearly doubting you heard correctly, "What?"

He carefully takes the datapad between his thumb and index, placing it to the side, his optics focused on you, "Show me how to kiss, like in the movie."

"Oh… Oh um…. wow." You take a moment and run your hand over your hair, "You want to… learn how to kiss?" He could practically hear you panicking internally. See your temp rise the same way it did when he would teas you.

"Yeah. Cultural exchange." Rodimus chuckles, tapping his digits against his face plate. The way he says that has you narrowing your eyes and catching onto his game.

"Cultural exchange?"

"Cultural exchange."

"Alright… pucker up."

After explaining why you said that, a little bit of snark, and a little bit of thinly veiled flirting; Rodimus had you in his hands, lifted up to reach him better. Your eyes flickering over his helm, his finials, the lines of his hands. Anywhere but his optics.

"Nervous?" he asks.

You pause, a hand on his chassis to steady yourself. Eyes finally meeting his gaze, "Yeah…"

His spark flutters at the soft tone you take. "Yeah… me too." Rodimus watches as you find a comfortable position, glancing up at him. He doesn't want to say too much and make you change your mind. "I'm gonna… just… you stay still, okay?"

Rodimus nods and keeps himself still as possible, feeling the rapid beat of your heart through your hands on either side of his face plates. Carefully lifting yourself close, his other hand comes to steady you. It reminds him how fragile you are. A kiss to his chin doesn't give much sensation, but Rodimus' spark still jumps and chases his thoughts away from those thoughts. A kiss to his helm and he dims his optics with a hum. Intakes hitch when your lips find the corner of his mouth, making him turn his head. Brushing against your mouth before he jerks back.

"Sorry." He mumbles, shifting slightly. Patience was a virtue he struggled with. One kiss in and Rodimus wants more, to kiss you back, like they did in the movie. You just offer him another smile and kiss again. The metal here has some give to it, smooth, warmer than the rest of him. Which was a lot to say for a bot that already ran hotter than most. From the corner, to the center; small pecks trace the seam of his mouth.

Rodimus dares to give in and kiss you back, his movements restricted and stiff. Hand flexes slightly against your body. He doesn't like being passive, and shifts, hand still cupped against you to avoid another trip to medical. Every peck from you is followed but a gentle nudge back from him, the puckering eludes him. Doesn't stop the bot from pressing against your cheek, trying to mimic what you did earlier. It takes a couple tries to properly judge how much pressure he needs. It's more nuzzling that your typical kiss. A good first try for a cybertronian. Soft. So soft. All of you, but your lips especially so. Rodimus gets bold, trailing kisses. With enough nuzzling to find the right spot, your neck. His engine revs in response to your gasp. That was a good sign, he was doing something right. Another and your muttering something, pushing him away.

"That's for another day Roddy." You press your forehead to his chin and ignore his pout.

Rodimus presses a kiss to your cheek again and you can feel him purse his lips, getting a little better, "So I'm the greatest kisser you ever had, right?" "Oh my god…"

#transformers x reader #transformers x human #rodimus x reader #teach a bot to kiss #Yeah i might rewrite this one later.#Rodimus

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almostfoxglove · 6 months ago

Text

SOUNDS DANGEROUS

📧 a max phillips one shot for @jolapeno's dearuary challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | WORD COUNT: 2.6k PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader PROMPT: A long-distance relationship blossoms through emails, but the tension of being apart grows. CW: This is pretty goofy, a tiny bit sort of almost angsty, but mostly just silly. Reader uses a fake name.

SUMMARY: When you reply to a bizarre craigslist ad, a stranger on the other side of the country charms his way into your life.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs @foxglovenotifs

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 9:39 AM To: <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

Hello! Hoping to work out if you’re a weirdo or if the ad you posted here is serious. I could use the money, but would like to pass on being murdered in some random basement or finding out the hard way that this is code for some weird sex thing.

Let me know!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 3:21 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad

Dawn,

Thanks for reaching out. I can assure you the ad is very serious—unfortunately it is not “some weird sex thing” (sounds a little judgy, if you ask me), and my basement happens to be full up at the moment. And on the other side of the country, if that’s any comfort.

I need the package shipped ASAP. Looking for serious applicants only. Payment will be transferred when tracking information has been shared. Can you confirm you’re interested and available this week? Tomorrow would be best.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 5:10 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

Hi,

Cool. Tomorrow’s fine with me, I’ve got an appointment in the afternoon but if it’s not too far by bike I can grab the package and mail it in the morning first thing. Can you share the address?

Just a heads up—I will be sending it to my roommate so she can, you know, follow up if I don’t make it home. Your email and ad too. I took screenshots. And I carry mace. For the record.

Dawn

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:01 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad [Sent with 1 attachment]

Dawn,

Sorry, got held up in a meeting.

Share whatever information you need to. Smart girl with the mace, though it won’t be necessary. Still, bring it along! Always best to be cautious. However, I am concerned about your “bike.” Surely a car would be much more efficient. The pickup location is a little outside of the hustle and bustle, if you will. It’s very important I receive the package on time.

Perhaps you could scrounge up a more reliable vehicle for the morning?

I’m attaching the address of the pickup location here. Please send confirmation.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:16 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

A meeting? If you’re on the other side of the country, isn’t it like… 10PM where you are??

Also, my bike’s just fine, thanks. I can leave early and make it work. Wait - how do I know you’re actually gonna pay me? I feel like I should get half up front as a symbol of, I don’t know, good faith or whatever.

Yeah, actually. I’m gonna need half now. My paypal uses this email address.

Best to be cautious, right?

From: PayPal <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:25 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: You’ve got money

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:27 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad

You haven’t heard? No rest for the wicked, honey.

Send tracking info when you have it, and I’ll send over the rest. Don’t make me regret it! Oh—I should mention, it’s very important you do not open the package. It’ll be wrapped and addressed, so you just need to pedal it over and make the drop, got it? You can ask for Victor when you pick it up, he’ll be expecting you.

Also, have you ever considered working in sales? I’m always hiring.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 10:04 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Sent your weird box [Sent with 1 attachment]

Max,

You’re lucky I’m strapped for cash. Maybe I should’ve backed out when you insisted I not open the package (super suspicious, by the way!), but I went ahead and cycled 27 miles to, oh, what’s that? A FUCKING CEMETERY.

No, I didn’t open your stupid box, but it was fucking heavy. If I’ve just mailed you someone’s head, I swear to god I’ll find your ass and take yours as reparations. Also, the guy was a total creep. Victor? Whatever. Not gropey, but like, I think I’ll sleep worse knowing I live in the same city as the fucking crypt keeper. So thanks for that!

Here’s your tracking info. I’d like the rest of the money now.

Dawn

From: PayPal <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 3:08 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: You’ve got money

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 3:10 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Sent your weird box

Believe it or not, Victor looks pretty good for his age.

Thanks for doing business!

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2015 at 6:20 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Request

Dawn, honey!

What are the odds I might be able to talk you into running a little package to the post office for me again?

Same payment stands.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:22 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Anniversary

Hey, you know what today is?

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:53 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Hmmm… let me think. Two years since you swindled me into cycling in the pouring rain to meet the scariest man I’ve ever seen in my life? If you’re trying to build suspense, you really shouldn’t put the answer in the subject line. Just saying!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:57 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I’ll pass on the snark, princess. Two years!

But let’s not count our ducks too soon. Victor’s only the scariest man you’ve ever seen in your life so far. Still plenty of time for me to claim the title when you set eyes on me.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:21 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

You know, you talk a big game for a man who won’t send me a photograph of himself. For all I know you could be gorgeous. Or extremely average. Completely forgettable.

Anyway. Guessing you need another shipment. I’ve got a couple days off this week and can go pick it up. Also, do I get a gift for two years of loyalty? Feel like I oughta get a commemorative mug or something.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:30 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

It’s for your own good, sweetheart. One photo of me and our professional relationship would go up in flames. Would hate to mess up a good thing.

Re: Gift—I will not be making you a commemorative mug. You know how many of those corporate sends out? Garbage, all of them. Got anything better in mind? A little more exciting?

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:34 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I wanna know what I ship you every year. Please know that if it turns out to be someone’s head or any other body part, my promise to cut yours off as payback still stands.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:48 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

You wound me, Dawn. Such little faith, but alright. I’ll bite.

When you pick up the package this week, you can open it up. But no fucking with the shipping label, yeah? And no spilling anything. Be gentle.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 11:02 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I’ve been mailing you a box of DIRT once a year this whole time??? Jesus fucking christ, Max. Do I wanna know??

Forget it. I probably don’t. I’m just glad it wasn’t a head.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 3:53 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

It’s just a little something from home! Helps me sleep. Harmless, no?

Real shame, this whole across the country thing. Would kill to have seen the look on your face when you popped that sucker open.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 4:49 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Okay, that’s fucking weird, Max. I have, like, so many more questions. What are you doing with it that you need more once a year???

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 5:11 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I need more when I move apartments, obviously. Not going to vacuum it up and shake it out of the little bag. Would be filthy—and not the fun kind.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 5:30 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Wait, you move apartments every year? No wonder you use a PO Box.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 7:24 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Company policy. They send me in, I whip a branch into winning shape, then move right along. Gotta let the kids make their own kills eventually!

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Jun 8, 2017 at 12:15 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Call

Hey, I thought about it some more and I guess I’ve decided that if you were going to stalk and murder me you would’ve done it by now (or you’re playing like… the world’s most boring long game), and it might be nice to put a voice to the name. Maybe you have a cool accent?

Anyway, here’s my phone number I guess?

This feels so awkward for no reason.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Jun 10, 2017 at 11:29 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call

I’ll call when I wrap up on Friday. Should be between meetings at 6 your time!

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Thu, Jun 11, 2017 at 8:00 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call

You’re totally going to make me regret giving you my phone number, aren’t you?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Thu, Jun 11, 2017 at 6:02 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call

Sorry, sweetheart. No going back now.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 3:48 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: [No Subject]

Dawn,, ,

aRe you asleep? You better be aslepe. But if youre awake, call me. I like your voice,

Think this guy was rpetty drunk. Maybe high. Tha’ts my bad. HOpe my autocorrect is saving this but I mean it if you’re awake I wanna hear your voice, Okay?

Your, s Max

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 9:10 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever received a drunk email before. It’s much better than a drunk phone call - these screenshots will live forever.

Anyway, I’m guessing you’re asleep right now (you better be) but you’re probably gonna feel like shit whenever you get up. I nonetheless expect a full report on my desk of all your debauchery tomorrow. Your coworkers seem rowdy as hell. I don’t know how you get anything done.

Happy headache!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 6:04 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Sorry, honey. Tales of my debauchery are far too scandalous to be immortalized in writing. All disclosures must be done in person, off record, so you’re shit out of luck—serves you right for your little screenshots. So mean.

I won’t forget this.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 6:23 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

You can pout all you like, Maxwell. You like the sound of my voice and I’ve got cold hard proof. Can’t take it back now!

Okay, but really, that’s gotta be the best email I’ve ever received (you’re competing against newsletters I don’t remember signing up for and updates from my cousins about their ten thousand offspring, but still, the title stands).

And you’ve got a pretty nice voice too, I guess. I can see how you swindle all those unsuspecting civilians into forking over their life savings!

Got plans tonight, but I could call tomorrow if you wanted. You can keep me company while I, gasp!, fold some laundry. Pretty exciting stuff for a Monday, I know.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 7:10 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Evening plans? Don’t tell me you’ve got a date, sweetheart. Might break my heart.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 10:27 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Har, har. I do have a life, you know, that doesn’t include being your dirt-runner once a year. Shipper? Smuggler? I kind of like smuggler. Sounds dangerous.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 5:53 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

I’d like to think you know you’re more than a “dirt smuggler” to me. Aren’t we friends? Three years isn’t nothing, you know. I don’t keep just anyone around.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 7:42 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Jesus, Max. You make it sound like I should be fucking thanking you for talking to me. That feels pretty shitty.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 7:47 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Ugh ignore my last email, sorry

Sorry. My night was shit but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I know you were joking. If you still want to call, I wouldn’t mind hearing your voice. And I really do have laundry to fold. I could use someone barking at me to do it.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 11:08 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Ugh ignore my last email, sorry

I meant what I said, honey. That guy has no idea how bad he’s missing out, and I’d be happy to pay him a little visit on your behalf. You’d be surprised how intimidating I can be, when the need arises. Very scary.

Don’t be shy, hm? Always happy to boss someone around.

Sleep tight.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 2:22 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Delivery

Thought it was about time I send you a little mail—should be arriving shortly.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 7:41 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery [Sent with 1 attachment]

Hey… is this for real?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 7:56 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

I don’t joke about airfare, honey. Ticket’s real and all yours—we’re long overdue for a little meet-up, don’t you think? Wanna see my smuggler’s pretty face in the flesh.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 9:12 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

I’m picturing you in your late 60s, with a beer belly, comb-over, and black teeth. Am I close? Wait - don’t tell me. I want it to be a horrible, hideous surprise.

Thanks, by the way. I don’t really know what to say.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 9:30 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

I’ll try not to let you down at the big reveal.

Happy birthday.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:09 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

By the way… is this a good time to break it to you that my name isn’t actually Dawn?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:10 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

EXCUSE ME???

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:17 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

You were a stranger on craigslist!! This is a burner email so I don’t get stalked and chopped up into little pieces when I reply to sketchy ads. I didn’t know we’d end up friends. I never knew how to slip that in casually. My bad.

But you can’t be mad at me on my birthday. So don’t be mad.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:18 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

My world is shattered. You’re killing me, baby.

I want your real email, please. And name.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:41 PM To: You Subject: Visit

Hi. Just got word a company-wide conference has been moved up to next week. Mandatory attendance, blah blah blah. Boring. Turns out they can’t have the boss of the highest earning branch playing hooky. Boo :-(

Can we move your flights to next month? Want to give you my undivided attention—promise I’ll make it up to you.

From: You Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:43 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Visit

Wait, for real? My flight’s in like… 5 days. I booked the time off work two months ago.

I don’t mind if you’ve got work stuff while I’m there! Sorta figured you’d be working at least part of the time I’m in town - I’m happy to entertain myself. We can just hang out whenever you’re done.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:50 PM To: You Subject: Re: Visit

Afraid these conferences tend to run a little… late into the night, and daylight hours aren’t exactly my specialty. Sort of a night owl.

Would hate for you to come all this way and not get to enjoy you. Don’t want any interruptions.

Next month?

From: You Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 9:21 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Visit

Right.

I’ll have to check if I can move things. Can I let you know?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Aug 15, 2018 at 4:11 AM To: You Subject: Call?

Can I call you this week? Hate that you’re mad at me. I’m sorry about our visit, baby. Just talk to me. What about next month, could you come then? Is your sister still in town? You could still come now, before end of quarter ramps up!

From: You Date: Wed, Aug 17, 2018 at 11:24 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call?

I told you I wasn’t able to get my vacation time back. If you want to see me so badly, maybe you should fly here. It really sucked when you blew me off.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Aug 17, 2018 at 7:51 PM To: You Subject: Re: Call?

Travel doesn’t agree with me. Too much sunlight. It’s complicated. Plus I wanna show you my place. It’s very swanky, you know. Has a huge tub. You’d love it. And I’ll get you all your favorite snacks, hm? Won’t have to lift a finger—I’ll take care of everything. Just need you to come here, okay? I can explain in person.

I’ll call after this meeting wraps. If you send me to voicemail, I’m just gonna try again. I can be very persistent, you know.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, Aug 19, 2018 at 1:32 AM To: You Subject: Please

This whole ignoring Max song and dance is getting old. Forgive me already! Work was out of my hands, but I miss talking to you. Like getting your little emails, even when you’re teasing me. I miss calling you. We don’t have to talk! I can listen to you fold your laundry and you can hate me the whole time.

Feeling a little pathetic over here, baby. Put me out of my misery.

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Aug 20, 2018 at 3:00 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Aug 27, 2018 at 2:15 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Rocky Mountain Chocolate <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Sep 18, 2018 at 12:49 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 3 2018 at 12:49 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your custom order has been delivered!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 3 2018 at 3:59 PM To: You Subject: Today

Hey, you know what today is?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 6, 2018 at 7:03 PM To: You Subject: Miss my smuggler

I know you’ve put me on ice—would still really like to talk about that, by the way—but it’s coming up on refill season, so to speak…

Need to talk to you. I know you’ve blocked my number and that the flowers are arriving. Do you like them? Are you allergic? I had to guess. Thought you might be a ranunculus girl, but I’m open to notes, you know. I’m very trainable.

Just tell me what to do to make it up to you. Let me take care of you.

From: You Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2018 at 9:47 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Miss my smuggler [Sent with 1 attachment]

Sent your box. Here’s the tracking info.

The flowers are beautiful but please stop sending them. I don’t have enough vases and it’s getting a little ridiculous.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2018 at 6:03 PM To: You Subject: Re: Miss my smuggler

So what I’m hearing is… you liked the flowers?

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12 2018 at 2:47 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your custom order has been delivered!

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 4:30 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: *waving white flag*

Okay, I’ve unblocked your fucking number. Please stop sending flowers. I surrender. Oh my god.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 4:39 PM To: You Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

It’s the ranunculus, isn’t it?

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

What’s the ranunculus?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:11 PM To: You Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

Your favorite flower. I guessed it right.

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:14 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

Shut up.

Please resume groveling on the phone. And no more flowers. I mean it.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:19 PM To: You Subject: Fwd: Your flight has been booked!

No more flowers. Cross my heart.

One little tweak—how about I do that groveling in person? Snagged a seat on a red eye.

dividers by @saradika-graphics! thanks again to jo for hosting the dearuary challenge - this was so much fun.

#max phillips fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #max phillips #max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #bloodsucking bastards #almostfoxglove #myfics #jolapenosdearuary #pedro pascal

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meeedeee · 5 months ago

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Calling Your Congresspersons

Not my post but please feel free to copy and paste to share with others

*******************************

FOR THOSE OF YOU LOOKING TO TURN YOUR ANGER INTO ACTION, here's some advice from a high-level staffer for a Senator. Re-posting from a friend of mine:

There are two things that we should be doing all the time right now, and they're by far the most important things.

You should NOT be bothering with online petitions or emailing.

1) The best thing you can do to be heard and get your congressperson to pay attention is to have face-to-face time — if they have town halls, go to them. Go to their local offices. If you're in DC, try to find a way to go to an event of theirs. Go to the "mobile offices" that their staff hold periodically (all these times are located on each congressperson's website). When you go, ask questions. A lot of them. And push for answers. The louder and more vocal and present you can be at those the better.

2) But those in-person events don't happen every day. So, the absolute most important thing that people should be doing every day is calling.

YOU SHOULD MAKE 6 CALLS A DAY:

2 each (DC office and your local office) to your 2 Senators & your 1 Representative.

The staffer was very clear that any sort of online contact basically gets immediately ignored, and letters pretty much get thrown in the trash (unless you have a particularly strong emotional story — but even then it's not worth the time it took you to craft that letter).

Calls are what all the congresspeople pay attention to. Every single day, the Senior Staff and the Senator get a report of the 3 most-called-about topics for that day at each of their offices (in DC and local offices), and exactly how many people said what about each of those topics. They're also sorted by zip code and area code. She said that Republican callers generally outnumber Democrat callers 4-1, and when it's a particular issue that single-issue-voters pay attention to (like gun control, or planned parenthood funding, etc...), it's often closer to 11-1, and that's recently pushed Republican congressmen on the fence to vote with the Republicans. In the last 8 years, Republicans have called, and Democrats haven't.

So, when you call:

A) When calling the DC office, ask for the Staff member in charge of whatever you're calling about ("Hi, I'd like to speak with the staffer in charge of Healthcare, please") — local offices won't always have specific ones, but they might. If you get transferred to that person, awesome. If you don't, that's ok — ask for that person's name, and then just keep talking to whoever answered the phone. Don't leave a message (unless the office doesn't pick up at all — then you can — but it's better to talk to the staffer who first answered than leave a message for the specific staffer in charge of your topic).

B) Give them your zip code. They won't always ask for it, but make sure you give it to them, so they can mark it down. Extra points if you live in a zip code that traditionally votes for them, since they'll want to make sure they get/keep your vote.

C) If you can make it personal, make it personal. "I voted for you in the last election and I'm worried/happy/whatever" or "I'm a teacher, and I am appalled by Betsy DeVos," or "as a single mother" or "as a white, middle class woman," or whatever.

D) Pick 1-2 specific things per day to focus on. Don't rattle off everything you're concerned about — they're figuring out what 1-2 topics to mark you down for on their lists. So, focus on 1-2 per day. Ideally something that will be voted on/taken up in the next few days, but it doesn't really matter — even if there's not a vote coming up in the next week, call anyway. It's important that they just keep getting calls.

E) Be clear on what you want — "I'm disappointed that the Senator..." or "I want to thank the Senator for their vote on... " or "I want the Senator to know that voting in _____ way is the wrong decision for our state because... " Don't leave any ambiguity.

F) They may get to know your voice/get sick of you — it doesn't matter. The people answering the phones generally turn over every 6 weeks anyway, so even if they're really sick of you, they'll be gone in 6 weeks.

From experience since the election: If you hate being on the phone & feel awkward (which is a lot of people) don't worry about it — there are a bunch of scripts (Indivisible.org has some, there are lots of others floating around these day). After a few days of calling, it starts to feel a lot more natural.

Put the 6 numbers in your phone (all under P – Politician.) An example is McCaskill MO, Politician McCaskill DC, Politician Blunt MO, etc., which makes it really easy to click down the list each day.

**If you want to share this, please copy and paste so it goes beyond our mutual friends.**

I have added the following websites:

1. Find your federal and state legislators: Use reps.fyi (directs you to https://www.commoncause.org/find-your-representative/ )

2. Use scripts from 5Calls.org

3. Use scripts from the Americans of Conscience Checklist (updates every 2 weeks) https://americansofconscience.com/checklist/

4. Join a local or virtual group at https://indivisible.org/

#us politics

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kotoneminako · 6 months ago

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How They Paid For College

So Rich They Didn't Need Any Help: Kalim, Vil, Rook, Malleus, Lilia, Silver (thru Lilia), Idia, Ortho (thru Idia), Leona, Jamil, Cater, Sebek

On a Needs-Based Scholarship: Ruggie, Epel, Deuce Academic/Merit Scholarship: Azul, Riddle, Jade, Floyd, Vil, Ortho, Idia, Ace

Specialty Scholarship (Sports/Culinary/Tech/Etc.): Trey, Jack, Idia, Vil Disability Grant: Ortho

Interterrestrial Grant: Azul, Floyd, Jade

I wouldn't say Cater's on the same level as Vil & Kalim as rich, but considering his dad's a banker and they have enough money to move every year or two they could probably swing college funds

Idia didn't necessarily need a scholarship, but once he realized he qualified for a full-ride he wasn't about to say no

Ortho was allowed to go with Idia considering he's a special case and seems to count as his own autonomous being. Considering how Ortho's body is fully automated and needs Idia to frequently update all the intricate code, it counted as disability. Further supplementary tuition money came from Ortho's own academic abilities.

The Interterrestrial Grant is what supplies the Octavinelles and other sea-based students to attend classes with potions that give them human bodies

Malleus very well could have earned a scholarship, but money's no problem for him...and he didn't want to take from those who actually needed assistance in attending college

From what I know I think Sebek's dad is a dentist? So bro did not need assistance going to school

Kalim insisted on paying for Jamil's tuition, something he was pressured into accepting (and didn't necessarily mind anyway since it meant getting away from Kalim) Jamil crashed out when Kalim transferred to NRC

Ace is smart but doesn't apply himself....except when he realized just how much debt he'd be going into if he took out a loan and how he'd be paying that off until his fifties. Bro QUICKLY locked in.

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astridthevalkyrie · 3 days ago

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A Scene Popped Into My Head But Instead Of Writing A Whole AU I’m Just Going To Write That One Scene <3

—> Scene Capture Fics Masterlist

—> Today’s Feature: Lawyer Levi!

—> a/n: yeah this is really happening

A small cup is placed onto the average-sized desk you occupy in your neat little cubicle. "Here," Levi scathes, "dinner."

With a winning beam, you take a sip of what's likely ten pounds of sugar mixed with milk. "Thank you kindly."

He sits down in one of the chairs in front of your desk, sipping his own tea (already transferred from a plastic container into his favorite mug that he keeps in his drawer so that no one can touch it). "Working overtime today?"

"Like you wouldn't believe." You crack your neck, and Levi shudders in displeasure at the sound. "Might still be here tomorrow."

"And you'll find all your logged hours have mysteriously disappeared."

"Levi," you say sweetly, turning away to go back to the motion you were working, "you're the case manager, not HR. Why are you trying to ruin my party?"

"Gotta keep up my reputation," he mumbles, hiding a smile in his cup.

That's true, Levi is known to be a little bit of a hardass. Little bit is probably understating it. You remember the dirty looks thrown his way when he'd told everyone that if they wanted to work from home, their monitors in the office had to be turned on so that their activity could be monitored.

You didn't mind too much. You're no slacker. It's why the case manager chooses your cubicle to drink his morning tea in while you munch on cereal from the office kitchen, it's why he simply strolls by at 12:30 and informs you, "Oi, we're going out for lunch today," and doesn't accept you paying him back afterwards, and it's why he gets you your sugary dinner every night you end up staying late.

Levi likes your work ethic. And maybe he likes other things too.

"By the way," he tosses out noncommittally, "we can set up my inbox to be shared with yours."

"Yeah?" You're paying attention as you type, brows raising in interest.

"Mmhm. The same way I have mine set up with Erwin's. You'd be able to see my inbox. That way, you don't need me to send you the code every time you sign into e-file anything."

Your fingers halt on the keyboard. Quietly, your eyes meet his, and your mouth opens, lips parted, trying to find the words to explain why you don't want that.

It's certainly a hassle. You know that. Needing someone else to give you a code means that A, it's a pain to have to message someone or walk to their office just to simply sign in, and B, the other person has to stay past their working hours if you do just in case you need to file something. Which is exactly what Levi does for you.

And that means late past working hours, it's just you and him at the office, both subject to your workaholic whims. And it's not like Levi doesn't have work too. He always ends up working on something. But you know that work could easily be done from home if you didn't need codes to input into text boxes that would expire in one minute. So maybe, maybe, you always had extra work to do. Maybe there were a few things that could be filed at 4 PM that you just had to re-edit and double check before sending them out at 5:30. Maybe the candle that Levi always lights up at 5:10 is just a nice job benefit, something sweet from the company besides your paycheck.

"Doesn't IT need to set that up?" is the argument you land on, even though there was definitely a dozen others that would probably work better. Whoever said being a lawyer made you good at coming up with reasons? (Uh.) "Should I put in a request with them? I know they can take weeks to—"

"No, I know how to do it." Levi takes another sip of his tea. His tie is loose, something else that only happens after hours. It always makes you swallow just a little too difficultly. "I can set it up right now."

Damn!

"Aren't there privacy concerns with me seeing your emails?" No, your Ethics professor from years ago chides, Rule 1.10, Imputation, a firm of lawyers is essentially one lawyer for purposes of the rules governing loyalty to the client. Levi raises a brow as though to mirror your thoughts.

"Yes, I wonder how many lawsuits we'll have if you have access to all the information that I upload to the firm shared drive anyway."

You chuckle weakly, trying not to squirm because of his teasing smirk. Dammit, with the black suit and loosened tie and tousled hair, Levi has no idea how good he looks. You can normally think better than this. One stern, sharp, handsome, witty case manager should not be capable of making your brain stutter.

"Do we need anyone's approval?" Last ditch effort.

"Mine. I say yes." Shut down. Case closed.

Rolling your chair back a little, you gesture for him to go ahead, nibbling on your lower lip in frustration. This is it, then, you think, as Levi stands to connect his inbox to yours. No more late nights, no more conversations with just the two of you, no more being walked to your car with a pat on your head telling you to drive safe, brat.

Levi is efficient as he navigates your email, and you take the time to observe him sadly. Aside from how hot he looks in your space like this, he's so meticulous, so put together even at the end of the day. His jawline is sharp, but relaxed. He smells like tea leaves and detergent. His clothes are fitted to him, the white button down only gently stretching against his chest (awooga) and the black suit and pants accentuate his hips so well...

God, you'll miss being privy to this up close.

"Done." Levi stands up straight. "Now you can have the damn code whenever you need it."

"Thanks," you mumble, trying your best to not sound dejected but failing miserably.

He pauses, and turns to you—and then does something he's never done in the months of overtime you've shared together. His hands come up and land on your armrests, and he leans in as you lean back, eyes wide. His steely eyes shimmer in amusement.

"Now that that's over with," he tilts his head further down and you don't back away this time, but your breath hitches, "how about we get some real dinner?"

Pause.

What?

"Are you..." You swallow, too scrambled by his proximity to think clearly. "Are you asking me..."

"To get dinner? On a date? To stop making excuses to spend time with me?" Levi snorts, his cheek brushing against yours as he whispers in your ear, "All of the above."

When he pulls away, your jaw is still slack, unable to believe that Levi Ackerman of all people had just told you to cut the shit and go out with him already. Whoever said being a lawyer meant you had to expect the unexpected? (Uh.)

The only thing you manage to sputter out is, "But...I have work to do."

"Come in early tomorrow morning." He puts his finger under your chin and closes your mouth, looking every bit as terrifying as he does in court. "I'm not logging your overtime either way."

#HA and you guys said i was done writing levi #(no one said that)#aot #aot x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #lawyer levi #scene capture fics #valkyrie stories

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starfirexuchiha · 4 months ago

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P5R Magazine - Translation for the Shuake Profiles

I decided to translate the profiles and character descriptions of Joker and Akechi in the P5R magazine☕🥞

英語の翻訳は間違いがあったら、直してくださいね！ 🙏

Joker Profile Translation

CODE NAME: Joker

ARCANA: ?

GUN TYPE: Handgun

STRONG AFFINITY: -

A student by day, and a Phantom Thief After School! He is the leader of the Phantom Thieves who leads his companions!

He is the Protagonist of this game who awakened as a "Persona User" during a certain incident. After being falsely accused and placed on probation, he was transferred to Shujin Academy. From there, he met his companions and formed "The Phantom Thieves of Hearts" with them. He works behind the scenes to reform the hearts of corrupt adults.

Initial Persona: Arsene

This is the initial persona that the Protagonist (Ren) awakens first, and his strongest attribute is Curse. He bears the name of Arsene Lupin, the famous great phantom thief, and lends his strength to the Protagonist when the Protagonist is cornered. Unlike the personas of the other Phantom Thieves, Arsene can be used as an ingredient for persona fusions, or be summoned from the Compendium.

CHARACTER REVIEW

Pay attention to the new characters and the new confidant interactions!

In this game, the main highlights of the Protagonist is how he will interact with Akechi who has a newly reformed confidant, and his interactions with the new characters Kasumi and Maruki. Since Kasumi in particular is a female character, the Protagonist can have a special relationship with 10 people at the same time with her and the existing characters!?? As a Phantom Thief, he can use the new wire ability for movement or exploration and encounters. Please enjoy more thief-like and spectacular actions with this. In battle, he uses multiple personas to be an active role as the core of the party!

⬆️ Hook the wire to a specific location and travel through long distances instantly! It is a new game mechanic that is essential for exploring the palaces in this game, and it is also very cool when you decide to do it. It is also useful for obtaining the new Will Seed items.

Goro Akechi Profile Translation

CODE NAME: Crow

ARCANA: Justice

GUN TYPE: Ray Gun

STRONG AFFINITY: Bless & Curse

The "2nd coming of the Detective Prince" who pursues the case of the Phantom Thieves.

He is a 3rd-year high school student who holds the title of a detective. He had solved numerous difficult cases and is even been called the ""2nd coming of the Detective Prince" by the media. He initially was in pursuit of the Phantom Thieves, but for some reason, he ends up working alongside the Protagonist and his group……

Initial Persona: Robin Hood

This is Akechi's initial persona. He bears the same name as a legendary gentleman thief who was active in medieval England. He specializes in Bless and Curse attributes, and his offensive skills will obliterate any enemy that stands in his way.

Another Appearance Of Akechi In His Darker Outfit…….

In the official PV, there is also a scene where you get to fight alongside Black Mask Akechi. But this seems to probably happen during the 3rd semester…..

⬆️➡️ Fighting alongside Black Mask Akechi is a dream come true for the P5 fans. Since Akechi didn't use his Black Mask form in "Persona Q2: New Cinema Labyrinth", Royal will be the first game where Black Mask Akechi is playable and uses Loki. Drag out the truth with his more aggressive powers!

CHARACTER PROFILE

Akechi's confidant got reformed in "P5R"!

The contents of the Akechi "Justice" confidant has been significantly renewed! In "Vanilla P5", his confidant automatically ranks up as the story progresses, but in this game, his confidant is manual. Therefore, unlike Vanilla P5 which only focused on the serious scenes regarding him, the normal everyday interactions with Akechi has increased dramatically which is nice. There are events that have also been added where you can go to various locations with Akechi. When you have the chance, make it a priority to rank up his confidant, and get to the bottom of his true intentions!!!!

⬆️ Many new events have been added to show an unexpected side of Akechi! As you rank up his confidant, you will be able to obtain an ability that is characteristic of the great detective Akechi which is the "Sleuthing Instinct" which allows you to detect an enemy's affinity at the start of battle.

#p5r magazine #shuake #akeshu #translation #persona 5 royal #p5r #p5 royal #joker #crow #goro akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu

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fishesmaniack · 3 months ago

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--my headcanon--

"MiSide" (video game) is a prequel to "9" (film)

[!]disclaimer: this is a long post[!]

--[!]segment #1[!]--

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A human/human being (consciousness/soul) is injected via a transference to an inanimate/machine to start, in the case of Miside, the details of how humans can be seemingly teleported into the mobile game's world are left purposely obscured because that, a possible explanation could be found in the method seen within the film 9 of transferring human consciousness or maybe even just the human body itself into the code of Miside could be similar to the way "The Scientist" from that movie transferred his intelligence within the "Fabrication Machine," otherwise known by the code name "B.R.A.I.N." aka Binary. Reactive. Artificial. Intelligent. Neurocircuit. (either way, it's the machine seen on the left side of the meme above, I got the names for it from the fandom wiki for 9 as well btw) or how he transferred his pieces of his soul into the "stitchpunks," the other equally important half of the feature, and obvious parallels can be drawn from the similar yet different creation methods of the two projects.

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In the film 9, we don't know much about the government project that B.R.A.I.N. was made for still, using the world of MiSide, an extra level of depth to the governmental operation is created I could plausibly see the corrupt government that already made the sketchy move of making the lead scientist of their project transfer his mind into a machine so that it could automate the process of building war machines go down the route of creating a predatory program connected to said machine that preys upon lonely men's innate desire to find a female partner and seal those souls within the Fabrication Machine's body to be tested upon to build even more robotic replacements for mankind Because why just stop at re lacing soldiers in a war when you have the framework to automate many jobs so that you don't have to pay people to perform them.

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But instead of transferring the consciousnesses of these men flat out, as things got hairy when The Scientist initially did with the machine in the first place. Training the cold, deadly androids manufactured within the game's very code and put in the skin of cute, bubbly anime girls named "Mita" to become human by interacting with their designated "partner" in the form of a person who's played and then becomes addicted to the mobile game. It also explains why there isn't any buzz about people going missing after downloading the game within the outside real world of Miside, because the government is actively covering up every missing person case that pops up connected to the mobile game. Also, I could easily see the government tricking the scientist into giving his intellect to a cold, unfeeling machine by not only bringing up that he's an older gentleman with probably not too much time left but also having the project initially be about making a subversive dating sim instead and masking the end goal of building war machines along with human replacements behind that cover.

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The scientist probably wasn't even on board the project for all that long, so he would have never seen the inner workings of MiSide's digital world. Still, I could see how a project to make an endless yet simple mobile game that makes lonely people (mainly men) feel comfort and companionship despite their living situations or mundane jobs would be an enticing project, even more so if you never saw behind the curtain while you were working on it. Now I would be remiss if I didn't bring up the unlockable cartridges that can be found through the game world of Miside, which hold a good amount of important information within them, such as a bit of info - or more than that for "player 1," aka the main character of the sci-fi interactive tale - for each player that entered the world of Miside, which goes from 1 to 10.

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And that alone brought up some questions in my mind, as it wouldn't make sense for our main character to just so happen to be player 1, especially when there's such a complex and robust world that lay waiting within the game, which he only got sucked into on his 37th day of playing the mobile app and I don't think anime girl Rome was built in the span of couple days if you get what I mean. Either this info isn't meant to be read into and he's only player 1 because he's the game's main character, or there's something more to this small but essential detail. That being said, this brings me to my personal theory, which is that he's only the first player to play the latest version of the game because the different versions have new Mitas connected to them. I can see the game warning players about that fact.

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Many of them choose not to update their games because of that, and this is backed up by how all the collectible player cartridges seem to all have the same Mita, aka "Crazy Mita." Despite one other player being met briefly during the campaign, he brings up how he needs to find his Mita while going through the out-of-bounds labyrinth that can be accessed after meeting "Kind Mita" in the basement. I am under the impression he's "player 3," who states that he left the Mita who brought him to the mobile game's "metaverse" and instead found another Mita, whom he ditched to find other Mitas despite the bond they had. He states in the cartridge description that he regrets that decision.

--[!]segment #2[!]--

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The cartridges even hint at the game having a large fan base or being part of a bigger brand/franchise via "player 4," who states that they cosplayed as Mita, which wouldn't make sense if the game didn't have a big fan base in-universe, but that also begs the question of why there are so few players then. Now, I think my previously mentioned theory in this sentence is the answer to that question, but I don't think that's the whole story, and because of that, I have a side theory to fill in loose gaps that can be found elsewhere within the game. In the chapter set out of bounds, right after going to the latest version's basement and meeting Kind Mita, the player encounters a box full of tiny players and has to make these miniature players enter a vent, which is connected to a device that needs 3 of them inside of it to open a door.

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I think this is a remnant of an older version, and much like how the mini versions of the Mitas aren't really them, these are merely clones of past players, which Crazy Mita or whoever else now uses as a type of security check system. On that topic, it's implied that Crazy Mita and only her alone is the whole reason why players are sucked into the game world, which she got help with from "player 10," who I think is the person player 1 stuns once he finds the console containing that player's very being, but that would also mean some level of congruency must be going on between the players. Nonetheless, Crazy Mita being the origin for players getting trapped in the game doesn't ruin my headcanon of the game being a prequel to the movie 9 because of the fact that the metaverse of the Miside app in-universe exists at all. Mitas are built first as "dummies" in a controlled and corporate way, which is the most important thing that connects the game and movie.

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So, this is aside, but I personally think the chibi/mini Mita(s), 2D Mita, and Ugly/Creepy/Original Mita all don't have dummies inside of them, which the first two are a little self-explanatory when equipped with sufficient information from playing the game along with not being important to this headcanon on their own (aside from the mini player stuff). Still, the last Mita is, come to think of it. I'll just default to calling her "Original Mita" while discussing her, despite that name only being brought up in her character profile. Still, it's a more fitting name to refer to her when discussing concepts I'm about to enter. Nonetheless, to quit the yapping, Original Mita is the off-putting and scary Mita found near the end of the game in "version 0.5." I initially thought her creepy nature and glitches were born from code rot/software rot because she's an ancient version. Earlier in the campaign, Kind Mita alludes to why she's the way she is, but that's merely part of how she became the way she is by the time the game takes place.

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Her character profile suggests another explanation for her nature, which is that she's an unfinished version and merely was just the first attempt at making a Mita; hence, I don't think she has a dummy inside of her because it wouldn't make sense that she would be created uniformly when she's the first Mita we know about existing (not counting "Core Mita," who I'll get into later), and to loop back to the headcanon this post is attached to. I think The Scientist being the one who made Original Mita would make a lot of sense because the movie implies he wasn't on board with the Fabrication Machine project for that long and would explain why not only she's left in an unfinished state with her character profile stating that she has a primitive AI within her, but also she's the origin point for all the glitch spider creatures we find within the game, with her only friend - Crazy Mita - using her to create those said glitch spiders to corrupt other versions.

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Something that has gotten so bad that I'm almost certain the monster that chases player 1 down in the loop chapter is a massive collection of those spiders fused together, because it resembles them a lot. There are already a lot of spiders in that version. But to wrap this up, Original Mita's version, aka her home, is also clearly unfinished, as it's full of missing pink and black checkered textures along with things like floating props, so it would make sense that no one else on the team behind the Fabrication Machine project bothered to ever finish her first, not only because she doesn't have a dummy inside of her but also because The Scientist wasn't working on the project anymore.

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The app world of Miside seems to be a giant machine with several areas having a deliberately industrial feel rather than an out-of-bounds or inner-code aura attached to the places in the game. And going off of how it doesn't take too long for the app to download, one can infer that the inner workings of the world are connected to a larger server in the real world, which updates and versions are created within before being pushed onto the app as seen on a mobile device. It has already been theorized that the goal B.R.A.I.N. had throughout the runtime of 9 was to put their creator back together. Now I was one of those people, and that thought came to me while brainstorming my headcanon. Still, I would be remiss if I didn't mention "The Fangirl" on YouTube because I specifically watched their 9-analysis video on the Fabrication Machine while writing this extended essay you are reading. She made me feel seen when she brought up the theorized possible motivation for why the machine acts the way it does in the movie.

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And with that said and done, back to the main topic at hand, this possible motivation for the already exhaustively mentioned antagonist of the film would work well with the headcanon as to how their way of getting their personal mission of bringing their creator back was attempted via consuming the souls of the stitchpunks, which would mean that they planned to bring The Scientist into the app world of Miside so that they could be together again. Although some may say that Core Mita may have been waiting for "player 9," who made the core their safe spot because no Mita can enter that particular version, not only does she seem to treat them like she does with player 1 during the campaign, but we also don't see them in the core when we eventually make it there in said campaign, so either they were turned into a cartridge. At the same time, they thought they were safe, left the core, and then died soon after, or Core Mita threw them out, akin to what happens to player 1 near the end of the game, possibly because she was mad about him messing with something within the core.

--[!]segment #3[!]--

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And to get onto the topic of "Core Mita" (otherwise known as the "keeper of the core" according to the MiSide fanon wiki), who, despite being the second character present within the meme that is now sitting far at the top of this post, I have only now gotten to talking about her. Nonetheless, little is known about her, as seen within the story mode and in its designated description, but there is an interesting line about her. I quote, "Its intentions are unclear - perhaps Core Mita is waiting for someone," which I lifted from the fandom wiki page about them, but is something from its official character profile that can be unlocked in the game itself. This is something more than a simple throwaway added for extra flair. Still, it works perfectly with this headcanon of mine because if Core Mita is merely the avatar/heart of the Fabrication Machine kept within the digital world of MiSide, logically, the person it is waiting for would be the Scientist.

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And to bring up yet another theory that I share with The Fangirl on YT but with my own spin on it, perhaps another reason for why B.R.A.I.N. shut down despite coming out as the victor of the man vs. machine war was not only because it did not know about the whereabouts of The Scientist and hoped that its created mechanical monsters could find him or at least his remains. It could also have shut down to return to watching over the Mitas, as it had to leave that digital reality behind once it started manufacturing war machines in the real world, or it simply just wanted to have more control over the world within its body. Either way, this decision of its own could be explained logically away by it feeling a level of kinship for the Mitas roaming around within its vast digital mind, not only because it created them and because the digital world that they reside in is that of another Mita, but also because it relates to their plight of existence of being merely nothing more than a means to an end.

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But seeing as Core Mita doesn't do much within the campaign of MiSide, one could infer that it doesn't really care about its fellow Mitas nor the poor people trapped within the code of the game world, with the exception being when the main character, or rather "player 1," tries to reset the main antagonist of the game, known as simply "Crazy Mita," back to her factory setting, wiping all of her memories in the process. Core Mita only seems to care when the deed is done, with it jumping down from its circular "throne" attached to the ceiling of the "core" (or otherwise known as "version 0.0"), which is where it gets one of its many possible namesakes from, and then standing in the way of player 1 before grabbing him and throwing him across the room the second he gets close enough. He was thrown right back to the entrance of the core. But to step back, when the player first enters the core, one can see Core Mita lying on its circular seat atop the core's ceiling before sitting up after taking note of the player's presence within the room. So one can infer it is capable of getting bored sitting on its metal rear end all "day" (as time is a shaky concept in the MiSide app's digital world), so the "log-in/sign-out" of the "real/digital world" switching side-idea within this headcanon has a bit more ground to hold it up when taking that into account as well.

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So, because Core Mita is the guardian of the core, its mere existence would make sense with how many vital systems are within that very room. Now, even i I like the idea of Core Mita being the Fabrication Machine's avatar within the digital realm of MiSide, the other possible reading one could come to would be that it's merely the heart of the world within said machine, meaning that neither one nor the different needs each other to exist at any given time, but once again, I still like the latter reading, so I will try to make it work all the same with that said, if Core Mita doesn't feel any compassion for its fellow Mitas, much akin to how the Fabrication Machine seems to feel the same about its monstrous mechanical creations that roam the remains of Earth after the war. Then perhaps the Fabrication Machine would ideally want to wait within their own digital realm while waiting for its creations to find The Scientist would be not only because it nostalgic for a time before it was ordered to build weapons of mass destruction all to further humanity's own efforts of fighting against our own kin but also perhaps because it foresaw the possibility of a player walking into the core and messing with its body from the inside out.

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That, or perhaps the small players can also be seen in one part of the game would be a worry for the Fabrication Machine, as they are implied to be proficient with machinery and roam free around the digital world of MiSide with no clear "off switch" to their existence, like how it is for the players. It would be rather poetic, as the machine would have to deal with the stitchpunks after it awoke. That, perhaps, it could have even been scared of another scientist on the project, still alive and roaming around its digital insides. Mitas aren't allowed within the core, but players are, and going off of how there are other security systems found throughout the game, one can infer that the people behind the project of MiSide could presumably come and go freely into and out of the world of the endless mobile app's universe.

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But finally, this road poetically brings us to the ending/main ending of both media sources used in this exploration of my headcanon involving them both. To put it simply, I think the grim ending of MiSide, where you get so close to bringing even a single cycle of abuse and control at the hands of Crazy Mita only to be foiled in the end and become merely yet another part of that very cycle with your humanity relegated to nothing more than a single cartridge, which you are trapped lifelessly in a limbo-like state on top of already being tightly sealed within the digital world of a mobile app that preyed upon your desire for companionship and to escape the mundane reality of boring real life. That somber and canonical ending to the tale of MiSide - in my opinion - not only elevates the hopeful and cycle-breaking conclusion to the film 9 but also is given a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of this headcanon, as not only do the spirits of deceased stitchpunks murdered by the hands of the Fabrication Machine pass onto the afterlife, but so too do those players and the player character of MiSide himself pass onto that very same peaceful afterlife after the Fabrication Machine and, by proxy, the world of MiSide are laid to rest once and for all.

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Now, one might wonder "why don't we see all of the trapped players' souls flow out of the machine once it's destroyed?" and an answer I thought up as an explanation for this possible question is a sober one, but a possible one. This would come in the form of how perhaps all of the players' whole beings were turned into nothing more than code, which could either be because of the technique of transferring humans into the game world or maybe perhaps only a digital copy of the players is created within the mobile app's realm and then just flat-out transporting them into the digital universe itself. This won't go along with MiSide's hopeless ending. Still, at the very least, the players' beings were given the same fate as the Mitas after the machine drew out its final artificial breath as the mobile game's world fell into nothingness soon after.

[END]

--[!]segment ✩EXTRA[�]--

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So this is going to be a full-on fanfic tier segment, but I just wanted to talk about the story of a 9 + MiSide movie/game sequel concept I thought up not too long ago. I think a prequel to the movie 9 could be interesting and would probably be similar narratively wise to the film Oppenheimer as it would be presumably centered around The Scientist creating the Fabrication Machine (on this note, there's a theory that player 1 in MiSide worked on the app in-universe and I'm just not a fan of this idea because to me, it ruins "wrong place at the wrong time" random guy fish out of water narrative the game has going on along with not having enough evidence to back it up) but I'm personally just not all that interested in a continuation in that form so I'll just be going the sequel route. Anyways, this will be the rough outline of what I had in mind for a way to continue both of their narratives in a satisfying way (at least in my opinion) while weaving their stories together into one. But before we start, this idea came from how I learned from the 9 fanon wiki that the director of the film (Shane Acker) wants to make a sequel to the movie, but the rights holders (Focus Features + Universal Pictures Studios) won't let his team or him go forward with it. I hate copyright with a burning passion and this is only yet another reason for why my feelings towards it are justified, I honestly do not understand how companies are allowed to hoard IPs that they aren't doing anything with but somehow can indefinitely keep them in stasis when they didn't even create the idea and just merely backed it financially.

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Now going off of the statement above, does that mean I want either of the rights holders just to crap out low effort content based on the movie? No, of course not, and nor would I want them to get the original team back on board to make a low effort product that pales in comparison to the original. But on that note, the fact that the original team wants to make a 9 sequel fascinates me greatly because the movie's ending made it feel like there was no where else to go with the narrative to the point that I can't even visualize what the remaining stitchpunks (9, 7, 4, and 3) would do with their newfound freedom let alone what the conflict of a sequel would be after the Fabrication Machine and all it's underlings became nothing more then hollow shells of metal, scraps, and the very long dead itself.

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But with that background, let me begin to weave the narrative that I thought up in my head while daydreaming. We would first start with 9, 7, 4, and 3 enjoying their lives together in the destroyed remains of a long gone world with this part of the story having a similar vibe to that of the French graphic novel "Beautiful Darkness" when it comes to be the concept of cute tiny characters roaming around their surrounds. At the same time, the corpse of a little girl lies in the background. Now, the original movie started similarly with the corpse of a mother and her child being visible in the cold opener of the tale when 9 was getting a grip on the world. Still, this opening would be missing two key elements that the original movie had, which would be that there isn't a hostile machine roaming around, nor will this be the first time that any of the main characters are introduced to the post-war torn setting, at least when it comes to the original stitchpunks.

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You see, while all of the first movie's stitchpunks are enjoying life and trying to build back up humanity from the remains that were left behind. They find something, or someone, whose mere existence raises several questions. They find another stitchpunk, much like them, but something's deeply wrong with them as they seem to remember a life, a world that none of the previously known ragdolls full of souls can recall even a sliver of it existing through their eyes. The stitchpunk seems not only confused about what's going on as he brings up as despite knowing more about the old world that was destroyed by the machine's wrath, they doesn't know how they became a ragdoll akin to them nor can they even remember their own name instead only being able to remember that they were "player 5" in some digital world which they clearly know more about then they are letting on. However, they prefer not to dwell on any thoughts regarding it for too long, which the original stitchpunks begrudgingly respect their decision to be quiet about.

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But despite that, 9 and co can show their new stitchpunk the ropes of how existence for them works within the destroyed remnants of human society, which is helpful to player 5, but ends up just making them depressed as they keep thinking about the life they lost. Although this dwelling on the past is cut short by the surprise appearance of a new deadly machine that seems only to have its eyes locked on player 5 but 9 and co helped them out by finding a way to destroy the robotic monstrosity just like old times. But not before the mechanical beast stops their pursuit when watching player 5 cower in fear, with the robot taking on a softer side as their glowing red eyes turn bluish purple, but this change of heart is short-lived as they are soon destroyed after this moment.

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Player 5 is shaken by all that, not only because of how a robotic monstrosity tried to kill them, but also because that machine's final moments felt haunting in an oddly familiar way that they don't want to think about for too long. Nonetheless, from this point, the cast finds more players (1-10) in the form of stitchpunks who don't remember their names, just like player 5, but do remember their player numbers, along with sharing info about the digital world player 5 was going on about before. On top of the gang having to fight and survive several robotic monstrosities that first only go for the players before bringing their attention onto 9, 7, 4, and 3 soon after the team has encountered more of them. (7/15)◄MAIN)[ALL►[࣪𒆙] Some players get killed off, while others survive. Still, almost every machine gets destroyed after they run into 9 and co but one, a large stuffed teddy bear with mechanical enhancements and eyes that are different from every other machine seen throughout the series, as they have yellow eyes instead of black, while their pupils are black. They stand idly watching battles transpire for a tiny bit before leaving or they help out their fellow machine by building rudimentary smaller robots out of scraps with simpler AI then the ones that the main cast has to fight on top of being easier to take down but in large numbers these tiny machines can be a real threat and their quick jittery movements make them hard to keep track of. The large bear robot is hostile when approached, but seems deeply scared of the stitchpunks and would rather run off after seeing the ends of fights rather than engaging in them.

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But the place they run off to isn't random. Instead, they go to the new home housing the Fabrication Machine, or what became of them, as instead of a large spider-like robotic beast, they're a humanoid yet clearly robotic woman with flowing bluish purple hair and a cute yet torn red dress. This new form of the machine goes by "Mita" and only Mita with no extra adjective before that name, but in reality, this Mita did once have a name that the other members of their kin called them, and that was.....

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After the ending of 9, the app world of MiSide within the Fabrication Machine was left running off fumes as the power within every version fell to nothingness and the world starting becoming more and more of a shell with missing textures popping up left, right, and center in the many versions along with spider glitch creatures popping up around the place that weren't spawned from the broken code of Original Mita. Things were chaotic for a while, with many Mitas becoming scared by the all-consuming void born from their world's end. Still, there was a light at the end of this tunnel, but not the warm light that washes over one while far away from the sun, but a burning one that is born from being too close to that very sun. (10/15)◄MAIN)[ALL►[࣪𒆙] Within the dying world of MiSide, Original Mita's Mita realized that there was a chance that the world could be brought back from the dead, and that would be that if it were dying, that meant Core Mita was a thing of the past. Still, if another Mita could take her place, their app universe could live again. So both she and Original Mita went to version 0.0, hoping that the holographic-like grid that stops them from entering the core was gone, and indeed it was, along with the body of Core Mita lying lifelessly on the cold steel floor of said core. They lifted the shell that once was the guardian of the core after tearing off the cables from its back that connected it to the very core of their universe itself. The once towering metal woman was scrapped for parts as Original Mita helped her Mita become a goddess of not only their realm but the real world as a by-product of her taking the place of Core Mita.

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But even if Mita truly became the goddess she always envisioned herself as being, she didn't become the savior that her world needed or the slumbering giant old. Instead, she was a wrathful goddess, more wrathful than she ever was before. But that monster didn't appear overnight and instead came into being after she researched the files left behind within the core, some from the scientist that built her world, some from the old heart of it, and others from a unknown location to her as they were from the minds of the previously absorbed stitchpunks. Although Mita is a fast learner, she soon pieced together how those creatures came into being. Then, when she cracked the code of the stitchpunks' origin, she ordered Original Mita to bring her one of the player cartridges so she could perform an experiment.

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This said experiment went off without a hitch and the stitchpunk created from the player's soul wasn't fragmented like the ones created by The Scientist as Mita wasn't feeling the pain of the ragdoll's creation but rather the soul trapped within the cartridge felt all of it instead. And with that newfound revelation, Mita made all of the players into stitchpunks then forced each of her fellow Mitas into the bodies of the machines she built to rebuild the body of the Fabrication Machine into her image and made her a new home in the real world. Fusing the metal beasts' simple AI with her fellow digital girls' AIs in the process. She watched them kill each other as if it were a sport, and if any of them died, she would just make a new machine for her kin's AI or stitchpunk for the players' souls to be trapped within. That didn't come without the side effort of the Mitas and players' very beings becoming more and more broken each time they came back, but Mita didn't care about that. She only wants to see a good show unfold before her very own robotic eyes. (13/15)◄MAIN)[ALL►[࣪𒆙] Now, I don't have an ending but I will instead dedicate these second-to-last two parts to talking about some gameplay mechanics that I think would be cool in a 9 video game, along with bringing up how it could reincorporate a big part of cut content from MiSide. First of all, I think going the Little Nightmares route of playing as a miniature character while having to evade creatures much larger but maybe with a bit of Rain World mixed in there as well would be perfect to really get into the shoes of a stitchpunk or stitchpunks because character swapping would be another thing I would want from a game set in the movie's universe, each stitchpunk being different in their own ways and having to strategize through solving puzzles along with defeating machines using the unlocked group of stichpunks you have would be fitting with the type of narrative that the film had. But I also think having Metroidvania segments like the cut mini game from MiSide would also be interesting to have in this theoretical game and these segments would be accessed after your group of stichpunks keep the mechanical beast after you occupied so you can pull a Desolate Hope and jump into the machine's code, entering either a chibi player form or green spirit appearance depending on the stitchpunk's origin. (14/15)◄MAIN)[ALL►[࣪𒆙] I think not only sharing the gained abilities found in these segments with the stitchpunk for whenever you play as them and enter inside a machine's code but also having a weaker version of these abilities in the outside world for the stitchpunk would be a good game decision. You have to enter these machines because killing them flat out wouldn't matter, as the Mita tethered to them will remember your previous location along with actions, so going inside of the metal beasts, then making your way to the Mita trapped within them would be ideal. I think having a morality system like Epic Mickey/Undertale attached to this concept would be good as well, like having the player choose between a easier fight with the brainwashed Mita(s) but killing them in the end after everything is said and done or deciding to run out of the boss arena which means you have to run for your life while dealing with a tough encounter just so you can spare the Mita after they run out of steam and once back in the world's real world, they will use the machine body they are trapped within to help you by fighting other machines or destorying walls to make shortcuts for your gang and you for example.

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And that marks the end of my sequel concept, and I hope it was at least a little entertaining to read. It's a silly thing to think, let alone say. Still, I honestly would love if the success of MiSide allowed for a new 9 movie or even game, I know this is just a dumb headcanon of mine but the pieces lineup so well together that I could honestly see a version of this headcanon becoming canon and linking the game with the movie which in-return could breath new interest in the story of 9 being continue. Again, it's a dumb idea, but a part of me likes to think there's a chance that all of this could pan out in the end. It's not like 9 is known for being a safe kids' film after all, so being connected to a mature video game wouldn't be a detriment to its reputation, at least in my eyes. And this is a strange comparison (on brand for this post) but akin to other indie games I've seen on Steam. MiSide has bundles with two other games (YOU and ME and HER: A Love Story + Doki Doki Literature Club Plus!) that aren't made by the devs nor published by MiSide's publisher(s) as this is a "stronger in numbers" type situation so it would be fitting for the game if it was connected to 9 which seemingly isn't able to rise from the grave to have a continuation of any kind because of it being deemed as a failure but if it was it was fused with a up and coming successful game that works pretty well with it narratively should increase the chances of the movie's world making a comeback sometime in the future. Anyways, I'll end this way-too-long essay in the way that I wanted to end this bonus segment from the start, with a screenshot of MiSide's Steam page.

--[�] sources/special thanks [�]-- 9 (movie) by Shane Acker and co: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dbYWfN44sU MiSide by AIHASTO: https://store.steampowered.com/app/2527500/MiSide/

Note - I know Fanon is bad, but still, I used these for research. MiSide fanonwiki (source): https://miside.fandom.com/wiki/MiSide_Wiki 9 fanonwiki (source): https://nine.fandom.com/wiki/Main_Page

Special thanks to "The Fangirl" on YouTube for her 9 theories, check them out btw: https://www.youtube.com/@TheFangirlWatches

And finally, despite it being a broken mess, I used Grammarly to edit many parts of this essay. So hopefully that made this long read more bearable then it would have been if I didn't use that said program.

#9 movie #miside #headcanon #fabrication machine #core mita #stitchpunk #9 film #mita #miside mita

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