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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months ago

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In what ways would you change Yuu (or would you get rid of them entirely)? The writing feels inconsistent on their place/importance. If they were just a conduit for the player to watch the events unfold that's one thing but in another story they are an active player.

I'd personally play into the beastamer aspect more. They are supposedly the reason why Ace, Deuce, and Grim were able to work together thus I'd want them to have more agency in making plans, giving orders, etc. Rook calls them Trickster but in what way (lol). The vagueness of being a self insert pains me. I'd also want to give them some magically infused weapon (or has a magestone embedded) just so they aren't fodder or sideline material.

Mmm… As much as I dislike the blank slate self-insertiness of Yuu (I’d prefer to read about an actually realized character), I wouldn’t want to get rid of them altogether. I think they’re important for the role they serve in the narrative even if in execution is inconsistent and not done well.

The problem with “changing” Yuu is that there has to be a certain level of ambiguity due to the design of the game. You cannot give them too much personality or you risk alienating the audience that likes to project or self-insert. There’s also a limit to how much uniqueness a mobile game can lend its players characters; the format isn’t exactly known for having super in-depth player arcs, it’s known for their colorful casts of rollable characters. The devs have to toe that line carefully, not to mention juggle Yuu’s participation with letting the other characters shine. It is for this reason that I won’t be doing a total overhaul of Yuu or just deciding “give them a personality!” as what I’d change about them. Rather, I’ll be proposing alterations while thinking like a dev (ie preserving the current story and as much of the self-insertiness as I can while also trying to give Yuu more to do/say).

Now Yuu, being the outsider to this world, is perfectly poised to have others dump exposition on them. This serves the dual purpose of being able to diegetically explain things to the player. (We wouldn’t get this advantage if the player character was changed to be like… a Twisted Wonderland resident; you could explain some magic things to a layman, but a resident wouldn’t need more common knowledge like country names exposited to them. Were this the case, we’d need an additional excuse for Crowley to take in a native.) It’s also convenient to have them be the “eyes” for the player to experience the world through, since Yuu is able to conveniently be present for most major main story events. It essentially makes them a human-shaped video camera.

I’ve often heard people suggest that if we need a POV character, why not go with Grim since he basically serves the same purpose now anyway. My answer to that is: Grim is also an arrogant asshole who picks fights, just the same as any other NRC student. If Grim were the player character, he wouldn’t be contributing much or helping to guide the other students learn to get along. We need Yuu here to be that driving force for change because Grim simply isn’t capable of it when he’s instigating himself half of the time.

A smaller thing about Yuu that I love is the idea of them being the school photographer! (This is something that is shown in the second anniversary animated video too!) It gives us context for the cards we roll and it implies that Yuu is the one documenting these precious memories. I want Yuu to stay if only for this reason.

Personally, I wouldn’t make Yuu a combatant. This is antithetical to their role and I feel would instead work against them (or at least create a scenario where Yuu has to have some level of battle prowess; this impedes on the self-insert nature of them). Sticking a magic item in their hand makes little difference since they most likely wouldn’t know how to handle it in the moment. (Nor would a magicless human even be able to use some of them; for example, a magestone is completely useless to them.) A magicless human with no combat experience is just another liability to account for, not to mention it actively puts them in harm’s way. It might be cool in theory, but I think in practice it goes against the very concept of Yuu. They’re meant to be here to show that there is “another way” to the NRC students—that violence doesn’t solve all your problems, proof that you don’t need to be a powerful being to “change” others or the world around them. They’re supposed to be underestimated and not seen as much of a “real” fighter, and they’re supposed to prove those notions wrong by demonstrating their worth via other avenues. In this “the weak obey the strong” school, Yuu has to be the one to show them that strength comes in forms that are NOT magic power or battle prowess.

I feel that Yuu works best on the sidelines as a supporter and strategist. Strategy is, after all, half of the battle, and it’s a part that people tend to overlook in favor of the flashier fighters. But strategy is crucial and it can turn the tide against a formidable foe (as we see in the prologue)!! I think this is something the NRC students need to be made more aware of too, so Yuu should stay as the strategist; they just have to be given more opportunities to show off those skills!

With all of that being said, here is what I would change about Yuu:

Drop the beast tamer thing. It gets mentioned prominently like once in the prologue and then never becomes truly relevant. Maybe it’ll become important when it comes to taking down OB Grim, but that will be SO late in the main story that the payoff doesn’t seem worth it. There are no examples of Yuu’s beast taming skills ever being used in the main story, so the whole “oh you have the makings of a beast tamer” thing is so useless. If you really want to keep it, then let Yuu’s innate talent/skills for beast taming help them out at least once per main story book. This means I’d want to see instances of Yuu getting other creatures (ie not just Grim) to help them out.

Allow Yuu the agency to act on their own when it comes to finding a way back to their own world. Going home is so often relegated to a single line or a few sentences and then not addressed again until next book. Have Yuu take initiative instead of waiting around for updates from Crowley. They should go out and ask questions, investigate on their own, etc. Maybe have them get involved in each book’s conflict because they happen to get mixed up in it while conducting research instead of being TOLD to go and fix a problem. Book 6 marks the only real time I can think of Yuu making a drastic decision against Crowley’s advice. It puts them at great risk, and that’s something they’re willing to take for the sake of saving their friends. We need more moments like this throughout the rest of the story. However, Yuu won’t be allowed to do whatever they want unrestricted because 1) it falls out of the scope of a mobile game title and 2) we want to largely retain the capacity to self-insert. So when I say give Yuu more agency to act, I mean it ONLY in the sense of being more proactive in their efforts to get home.

Add a short comment or two from other characters depending on which dialogue options are picked for Yuu. It would be too ambitious to incorporate a full-on branching storyline or strong “choose your own adventure” elements, but at least have the other characters consistently comment on whatever brief dialogue option Yuu has rather than ignoring them 90% of the time. This wouldn’t alter the story in any way but it sure would be nice to have a little more flavor text and more of Yuu actually being acknowledged as present.

Yuu should fully commit to being a planner and strategist. We get to see this aspect of Yuu like once or twice in the prologue (when they tell Grim where to spit fire at the ghosts/planning how to beat the Phantom in the mines) and then are left to extrapolate this to the rest of the game. Maybe you can argue they figured out Azul’s scheme in book 3 too, but this isn’t good enough. If you’re going to set up the idea, then have consistent segments in each book that reinforces that idea. Have Yuu brainstorm ways to jailbreak in book 4, have Yuu be perceptive enough to notice that Malleus isn’t feeling great in book 7 (only for Malleus to brush them off/insist he has a solution), etc.

Have a short story segment that explains how or why Yuu earns their nickname “Trickster” from Rook. We got this with Floyd, so the other known nicknamer should reveal this, especially since the name “Trickster” implies intelligence and cunning. Yuu should have an opportunity to demonstrate this (in book 5 maybe?), which earns them Rook’s respect and the new title. This should also be informed by other parts where Yuu shows how smart they can be.

More time bonding with Grim. I say Grim specifically because I commonly see him as a hated character in part because of how he “steals lines/time” away from Yuu. (Adeuce and Malleus are fine as they are because the former already stick up for/help Yuu out and the latter is meant to stay mysterious until late in the main story.) This means that if you don’t already like Grim, the whole “Yuu chases them to Styx HQ to save Grim” plot point in book 6 rings hollow. To truly build a bond with Grim, please give us moments prior to book 6 that show how much they care for one another and are linked to each other as partners. Times when Grim causes inconveniences for Yuu don’t count. Give me instances of them cuddling at night or talking to each other about their hopes and dreams or whatever. This would establish the value that Grim sees in Yuu, as well as the value that Yuu sees in Grim. It makes it more believable that Grim would cry when he’s alone or realizes he hurt his partner, and that Yuu would defy the headmaster’s advice and put themselves at risk to save Grim.

Better incorporate the ghost camera and its usage in the main story. The ghost camera provides an in-universe explanation for gaming meta (ie the card illustrations); in the main story, it’s hardly ever mentioned save for its introduction in the prologue and when Yuu takes a picture of Mickey with it. What should happen instead is Yuu will take a picture of the characters involved in that chapter. This way, it’s a physical reminder of the time everyone spent together and the bonds they’ve developed. It further strengthens the idea of the students learning to get along and Yuu being there to facilitate that while also keeping the ghost camera relevant.

More time where Yuu actually bonds with/“changes” the other characters. One huge gripe I have with the main story is that we’re TOLD that Yuu’s presence changes and improves the boys for the better, that they teach them how to get along. Very little of the actual main story supports this (outside of the prologue). At best, Yuu has a very short chat with some of the OB boys at the end of their respective book. Yuu should have a little more time in this regard. I don’t know, maybe Idia is still struggling to socialize when he comes over to play video games at Ramshackle so Yuu has to gently encourage him to give it a try or says something to help include him in the conversation. Little things like that! Keep the strong interactions the other characters have in changing the OB boys (like Trey being the one to rush to Riddle’s side, the twins teasing Azul, etc.), but have Yuu help facilitate them opening up emotionally and being vulnerable with one another.

This last point is debatable (I keep changing my mind about it), but possibly make a point of showing how Yuu is adjusting to this new world. This honestly might mess with the self-insert aspect (which is why I debated to leave this out), but I also feel like it might be interesting to reinforce Yuu’s desire to go home h demonstrating homesickness or issues with settling into Twisted Wonderland.

To summarize, the changes I’d make largely involve making TWST commit to briefly mentioned details (that they largely don’t follow through on) and making Yuu actually do a little more to warrant crediting them with resolving issues + fostering friendships. A lot of the problems that exist now are due to promising a lot but then poorly executing on what was promised.

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13uswntimagines · 1 year ago

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I'll Take Care of You (Alessia Russo x MMA!fighter R)

Request: Could we maybe see some slightly more stern dom alessia dealing with r (doesn’t have to be smut) in front of the team because reader starts acting bratty with them?

Part of the same universe as the come down.

Warning: Slight touching but not actual smut. Also D/S fic

Author's note: Hey Y'all, i really hope you enjoy this. I want to point out that D/S dynamics are based on trust and communication, so that's what I chose to focus on. Alessia is a soft dom, and chooses a punishment that she knows will be effective. If you want to chat or have any ideas or comments, feel free to hit me up.

Gearing up for a fight was the equivalent of stretching out a rubber band to its limit. It was 8 weeks of nonstop training, 4 weeks of conditioning your body to shed water so you could make weight, 2 weeks of cameras following you around for UFC embedded, and 1 week of media bombardment where you had to listen to grown men act like 5-year-olds talking about who was going to beat who.

It was utterly exhausting.

The only upside was that at the end of it, you got to step into the octagon and do what you did best.

You got to put the plan your coaches drilled over and over into your brain into place. You got to release all of the built-up anxiety and frustration from camp.

You got to fight.

It was like coming up for oxygen after being trapped underwater. Sometimes the cage felt like the only place you could really breathe on your own.

It had been your safe haven for almost as long as you could remember, which was kinda strange considering your health was put at immediate risk every time you stepped inside. It had been your escape from your family, and your only coping mechanism for as long as you could remember.

To go through training camp, and fight week and the weight cut, only to have your fight pulled at the last minute was fucking devastating.

It was like when Alessia brought you all the way to the precipice of an orgasm and then pulled away just before you could tumble over it, except far far far worse.

It made your blood boil. It made the monster in your chest roar that your opponent couldn’t do his end of the job to make the fight go on after all of the shit he was talking. And there was nothing anyone could say or do to make it better.

Dana promised that the fight would be rescheduled. He even threw in that if you won, you would be next in line for a title shot.

But it didn’t help.

The fight was set to be at the O2 arena, meaning your girlfriend and all of her teammates had been set to see you, and now they couldn’t. You couldn’t get your 10 training weeks back and you would have to do the weight cut all over again.

It was a shit sandwich, and it made you feel completely out of control. It made you crave for someone else to put you right again. For Alessia to remind you that she had control always.

Maybe that’s why you chose your satin button-down shirt to go to dinner with your girlfriend and her teammates and paired it with tight black skinny jeans.

It wasn’t often that you liked to push Alessia’s control. That you toed the boundaries that she set, but tonight it felt like the prize comparable to stepping into the cage.

With the little black dress she had worn, you really couldn’t blame yourself either. You could never resist when she showed off her legs. You were obsessed and she knew it. It was probably why she had chosen the outfit, to begin with.

It was probably designed as a reward of sorts for after your fight, except you weren’t having a fight. So you supposed it was kind of like a consolation prize.

Except you felt wound too tightly to really enjoy it.

“So that’s it, they just call the whole thing off?” Ella asked leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand.

“Yep,” You popped the p, your finger running a gentle circle on Alessia’s exposed knee. “I can’t even sign a paper that says I’m fine fighting him despite the failed drug test, and it’s too late to find a replacement even if we allow a catchweight,”

She let the movement continue, the hand wrapped around your shoulder gently squeezing the arm furthest away from her.

While she was relieved that the rules prevented you from fighting a man on steroids, she knew how gutted you were about the cancellation.

“Probably for the best mate,” Leah said, sipping her wine.

You shrugged, letting your finger trail a little higher on Alessia’s leg.

It was slightly too… forward for the steakhouse her teammates had chosen, but with the dimmed lights you figured no one could see your hand under the white tablecloth anyway. Not with how close you were sitting to your girlfriend.

“I already made weight, so it’s kind of a waste,” You muttered, dragging your nails up the inside of her thigh to just below the hem of her dress. “I’ll have to start camp all over again unless I take something short notice,”

“Can you do that?” Mary asked, from your other side.

You shrugged again. “I told Dana I was game if he needed someone to fill in, so we’ll have to see,”

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled tighter together “You didn’t tell me that, love,”

“Didn’t I?” You asked, feigning dumb, as your fingers finally made it past the hem of her dress. “Must have forgotten. I’m excited to see you all play on Tuesday though,”

You ran your nail across the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to her center. But before you could make it any further, her free hand caught your wrist, and repositioned you so your hand was resting very innocently near her knee again.

“Ireland is always fun to face,” Ella smiled at you. “Should be a bit chippy,”

“I’ll definitely be rocking my MacCabe jersey,” You matched her expression, your thumb again beginning to rub circles into Alessia’s skin.

Leah frowned, dropping her menu. “You will?”

“Absolutely,” You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows and slyly trailing your thumb back up Alessia’s thigh. “Gotta support my favorite foul-mouthed Gooner,”

Leah’s eyes went wide, and Alessia squeezed your shoulder.

“And what about me?” Your girlfriend asked, a pout pulling at her lips.

You wiggled your eyebrows, a witty remark at the tip of your tongue, knowing it would piss her off, but the tension in your chest made you unable to stop yourself.

You wanted to push her. To force a reaction, even when you knew all you had to do was ask for what you wanted.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” A waiter asked, appearing behind Leah before you could let it fly.

You let your smirk widen, closing your menu with a thud and making eye contact with the waiter.

“Since she’s not on the menu,” You started, leaning closer to your girlfriend for just a second, edging your hand even further up her thigh until it was again past the hem of her dress. “I think I’ll have the tomahawk, medium rare with a Yorkie and the roasted carrots please,”

You winked at the waiter for good measure as the table giggled and Alessia’s cheeks turned bright red.

The waiter cleared his throat, turning his attention to your girlfriend. “And for you ma’am?”

Alessia opened her mouth, probably to order, but you cut her off instead.

“She’ll take the sirloin, medium with the Orzo and kale salad,” You said, reciting her normal order with perfect precision. “And she’ll be having me for dessert later,”

More giggles erupted from your friends, and you dragged your hand impossibly higher, extending your pinky so it brushed against her underwear.

She inhaled sharply next to you, sending you a warning side eye as the rest of the table continued to order, but she didn’t immediately remove your hand.

You ignored her warning, letting your pinky slide over the satiny fabric of her underwear.

It wasn’t what she normally wore, and you couldn’t help the wolfish grin that took over your features.

She had worn lingerie for you.

Maybe that should have stopped you. Made you consider that you wouldn’t get anything if you kept pushing, but again you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

“Will you be in the Ireland friends and family section then?” Leah asked, wiggling her eyebrows at your girlfriend. “Cause I don’t think my family or Less’ will enjoy you wearing the opposing team’s jersey,”

You made a noise like you were considering it as you finally slid your hand up and cupped your girlfriend’s heat. “I don’t think I’d feel at home though. Surely your family can deal with it right Less?”

Alessia nodded once, very stiffly. “My family loves you no matter what you’re wearing,”

You smiled impishly at her, adding just a little more pressure to her core.

She shifted in her seat, leaning very close to your ear, as Ella started talking about some movie she and Joe had watched, taking the attention of the rest of Alessia’s teammates.

“They’d even love you if you had to wear your collar at the game,” She chuckled darkly in your ear, her voice soft enough to get lost in the noise of the restaurant as her free hand yet again caught your wrist and pulled your hand back to a much more innocent position. “Now behave, or I promise you’ll regret it,”

You pulled away, your devilish smirk only getting broader. “No,”

Her eyebrows furrowed her expression something between anger and concern and warning, like she was trying to figure out why you were pushing the boundaries when you never did before.

You wiggled yours in return, offering her nothing else before joining the conversation of her teammates.

You weren’t ready to talk yet.

You were too content digging yourself deeper and deeper.

*****

You continue to push Alessia all throughout dinner, taking every opportunity to make her blush or to creep your hand further up her thigh. At one point you had even wiggled a finger beneath her underwear before she could stop you.

And your behavior hadn’t stopped once you left the restaurant.

You definitely placed your hand far too low on her waist as you and your friends walked back to the hotel the UFC had rented for you, and winked cheekily at the fans as you entered the building, spending far too long signing things and flirting just to annoy your girlfriend.

You knew from the “come on darling,” and the way she wrapped her arm around you, her fingers closing gently around the back of your neck that you were in serious trouble as she led you into the hotel and to the elevator.

“Good luck mate,” Leah nodded towards you as she stepped into her hotel room after Mary and Ella. “Think you’re gonna need it after that show,”

She tilted her head toward your girlfriend glaring a hole in Leah’s doorframe.

“Good night Leah,” Your girlfriend bit out, pressing her thumb into the space at the very center of the back of your neck.

Leah rolled her eyes at the movement, well aware of the dynamic between you and your girlfriend. More aware than most of her teammates for both club and country because of how long you had known her. “Right you two, do have too much fun,”

You stared at the door for a long moment after it closed, the tension in your chest bleeding down to your stomach.

You knew your time was up. That you would have to pay the piper so to speak, and it had guilt swirling along with the unpleasantness.

You knew that all you had to do was utter a word and it would all be over.

You knew that Alessia would stick to your limits, no matter how hard you pushed her, but you couldn’t help the… lingering anxiety that came from your past relationships.

The ones that took advantage of your submissiveness, and the unhealthy way you had always chosen to deal with stress. The ones that ignored your pain for their own pleasure.

“Come on then,” Alessia said, very gently running the nail of her thumb down the length of the back of your neck, and squeezing your shoulder.

You hummed, allowing her to lead you down the hallway to your own hotel room door, but she paused before she opened it. You looked up at her, realizing suddenly that you were trapped between her and the door.

She stepped closer so your noses were nearly touching. She dragged her hand from your neck to your chin, using her thumb to tilt your head to where she wanted it.

“I love you,” She said, her voice soft and sincere. “No matter what,”

She leaned in the last centimeter separating you, connecting your lips in a very sweet kiss.

You leaned into it, opening your mouth when her tongue poked out, welcoming it and meeting it with your own so they spun in a slow dance.

It was the reminder that you desperately needed.

The promise that she would take care of you, even when you acted like a brat.

She pulled away just enough to disconnect your lips, and your mouths separated with a low pop.

“Remind me of your colors,” Alessia said, her thumb running across your cheek.

“Green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop,” You recited, your voice breathless.

“Good girl,” She hummed. “Open the door, and take off your shirt and pants once we get inside,”

You swallowed hard at the change of tone.

“Yes Miss,” You said, already pulling the key card from the back pocket of your jeans. You didn’t look away from her as you fumbled until you heard the lock on the door beep, and clumsily pushed it open.

You stumbled backward, unwilling to break eye contact with your girlfriend because you knew you would probably get very little of it tonight.

She turned away from you as soon as the door slammed shut, busying herself with something you didn’t know.

“I believe I told you to do something,” She said, not even sparing a look over her shoulder at you, and you realized you had been staring for too long.

You cleared your throat, your fingers trembling as they unbuttoned your straining shirt.

You carefully pulled the satin materials from your shoulders, folding it neatly and laying it on the bed before you started on your pants.

It took you three tries to undo the button, the zipper getting caught in the stretchy material of your boxers. You peeled your tight jeans down your legs, folding them and placing them next to your shirt.

You felt Alessia’s presence behind you as you pulled off your shoes and socks.

As soon as they had been placed in their rightful place, her hand found its way to your bare back.

The touch was soothing and grounding and exactly what you needed to combat the slightly floaty feeling in your brain.

The hand slid up your back, all the way to your neck.

“Kneel,”

The soft squeeze on the back of your neck was like magic, as was the soft, but stern order.

You sank to your knees without question, your butt resting on your heels, your hands facing palm up on your thighs, your back straight and your head bowed, as the tension in your chest slowly ebbed away.

“I think we need to have a chat,” She continued, the hand on your neck sliding up to run through the hair at the base of your skull. Her nails scratched soothingly at your scalp. “Because your behavior in the restaurant is not the behavior of the good girl I trained,”

You grunted, glaring at a spot in the carpet.

You didn’t want to talk.

You already had to talk to Dana, to your coaches, and to the media. You had nothing left to say.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about at dinner?” She asked you, the fingers on your scalp wrapping through your curls. She gave it a sharp tug, forcing you to look up at her. “Because I’d really like to know what the fuck you were playing at,”

Her blue eyes burned into you, concerned and… something else lingering below the surface.

“I wasn’t playing at anything,” You grit out.

She raised a perfect eyebrow at you, as she searched your face.

“Is this because your fight was canceled?”

You didn’t answer her, unwilling to admit how… off balanced it made you feel.

But that was enough of an answer for her.

Her eyes softened minutely. “Baby,”

You shook your head.

You didn’t want her sympathy or her pity.

You wanted her to crush you.

“Alright,” She signed, tilting your head back so far it was painful. “I’m going to give you 2 options. We can call Clarke and Lexa and they can run you through a workout,”

You shivered at the mention of your respective striking and jujitsu coaches, knowing already that whatever the alternative was, you would be choosing it.

“Or you can take a punishment of my choosing,” She finished. “It won’t be an easy one,”

“I’ll take a punishment,” You muttered after a beat.

You didn't need easy right now.

She hummed, holding you close for a long second, and you relished in the attention.

That had been why you acted out at all anyway.

She dropped her hold on your hair suddenly, and you crashed back on your knees.

“On the wall,” She said, completely cutting contact with you, and walking towards the little kitchen area of the suite.

You let out a shaky breath, pushing yourself to your feet, and shuffled over to the wall next to the television across from the couch.

You turned to face the couch, wincing when Alessia pulled a wine glass out of the cabinet and a jug of water from the counter and returned to you.

She carefully filled the glass to the halfway mark, before her attention turned to you.

You knew immediately what punishment she had chosen.

The rules were simple, you would balance the glass in one of the designated calisthenic positions. If the water spilled, or the glass fell then you would move to the next position. The punishment would be over when you made it through all 15 positions to Alessia’s satisfaction, or if you safeworded.

It sounded easy, or like it wouldn’t be effective, but that was entirely wrong. It was the punishment that you hated the most.

Your stomach never failed to drop when Alessia approached you with the wine glass and water. Just the sight of her with it was enough to have your muscles quivering at the impending fatigue.

“Ready darling?”

You made a low sound, leaning back against the wall, bending your knees, and getting into the first position.

A wall sits with your knees pressed together to focus the pressure on your quads.

She used a hand on your shoulder to push you further down the wall until your thighs sat parallel to the floor, and then very carefully balanced the stem of the wine glass between your knees so the base just barely brushed your hamstring.

You frowned. She usually balanced it on top of your legs further up your thighs so all you had to do was stay level. But where it was now meant that you would have to stay level and squeeze with your adductors so it didn’t slip and spill the water.

“Tell me your color,” She said, her thumb sweeping under your chin, drawing your eyes away from the glass to meet her blue.

“Green,” you murmured, leaning into the gentle touch.

“Good,” She hummed, cupping your cheek for another long second before she pulled away. “I’ll be right there, reading my book,”

Your gaze trailed after her as she settled herself on the couch directly across from you, picking up the 7 Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. She easily found her page and began to read.

You glanced back to the balancing glass between your knees. It was already shaking slightly, the liquid vibrating around the bowl of the glass with the effort of your muscles to keep it in place.

It irritated you that you could already feel your quads and adductors quivering. It was pathetic that they were already fatigued after only 30 seconds.

You grit your teeth, letting your hips slip down further so you could squeeze with your glutes to take a little bit of the pressure off of your adductors. The glass shifted minutely, and the water inside sloshed dangerously before it settled.

Your eyes flickered back up to Alessia, wondering if she saw it too, but her eyes stayed planted in her book.

That irritated you too.

The only upside to your fight being canceled was that you got to spend more time with her. You wouldn’t have to split your attention between her and not getting your face caved in.

Now you didn’t even have that.

You thought of safewording and forcing an early end to your punishment. It would be a violation of the rules though.

But when she found out that you broke her trust (the most severe infraction you could ever commit) she might choose a more… harsh punishment. One of the ones that was listed in the soft limits the two of you had agreed upon. One that would separate you from reality, and leave you feeling floaty and thoroughly controlled. Thoroughly owned.

A part of you wanted her to forcibly put you in your place. To disregard how bad it would feel tomorrow and the bad memories it would bring up for you, and just demolish you. To crush your will and grind you into dust. To beat you into oblivion.

It was what your opponent would have done anyway.

You knew Alessia would never agree to it while you were this upset. She didn’t like to give in to your self-destructive tendencies.

The glass between your knees shook again, drawing your attention back to the warm fire setting deeply into your quads. They would ache tomorrow you were sure, but then again wasn’t that part of the point?

It would be a reminder that even when she wasn’t with you, you belonged to Alessia. It was an invisible mark that claimed you. That reminded you she would always take control when you felt dangerously unstable.

And then it clicked.

This punishment was Alessia’s favorite because it was based on your choice to obey her. Your choice to push your body to its limits to please her. Your choice to give her control over you.

She didn’t need to use a belt or a paddle to bend you to her will.

She just had to ask.

You just had to relax and trust that she would take care of you.

You let out a long breath, counting down from 3 in your head. You let it fall back into the wall with a low thump and your shoulders sagged, as the remaining tension in your chest drained out of you.

“Good girl,” Alessia said softly, and the page of her book turned. Your eyes darted back to her, hoping that they would be on you, but they weren’t.

She looked so composed, both legs tucked under her, reading her book. It was diametrically opposed to how you felt, completely out of control. A quivering mess fighting to stay in a simple wall sit.

It further reminded you of your place, and the weight of it was enough to have your eyes sliding closed.

You focused on your breathing, 3 seconds and 3 seconds out. Deep and slow.

You lasted for more breaths before the glass slid from between your legs, landing on the carpeted floor with a light thud.

Your eyes snapped open, and again you expected to meet Alessia’s eyes, but they remained trained on her book.

“Next please,” She said softly, flipping another page in her book.

You slid down the wall to the floor, sucking in another long breath as you nodded, wishing that she would just look at you, but you knew that was part of the punishment too.

You took another breath as you rolled over to your stomach and sat yourself up on your elbows, squeezing your core. It was a slightly modified plank designed to show off the muscles in your back and arms for the benefit of your girlfriend and to give your legs a break for a bit.

She waited until you were in a position to stand, slowly padding over to you and grabbing the wine glass off of the floor.

She paused next to you, and you felt the way her eyes dragged across the muscles on your back.

“Always so pretty for me,” She hummed and you heard the water as she refilled the glass. “Too bad you can’t have the reward I had planned,”

Her touch lingered as she carefully balanced it between your shoulder blades, and stepped away.

“Let’s see if you can beat your best time on this one,” She said, talking more at you than to you. “Your record is 22 minutes, which isn’t quite championship timing. I think you need to make it at least 25,”

You groaned.

Her competitive streak was legendary and often a part of your punishment when you had been particularly ornery. You switched positions at her pleasure, so you knew you would be planking all night if you couldn’t break 25 minutes.

It was like when she decided you needed to break your edging record.

There would be no mercy unless you safeworded.

You focused on your breathing as she sauntered back to the couch, fighting to keep your core and back muscles locked to prevent the glass from tipping.

Your abs clenched, and you so badly wanted to roll your shoulders to relieve the tension building in the space between them. The space holding the glass.

You focused on the sound of Alessia’s breathing. Each rhythmic inhale and exhale like the clicking of a metronome, broken only by the occasional fluttering of a page.

You wished she had put the timer in front of you so you could see how long you had left.

But then again that would probably be worse.

You always found it harder to go the distance in a fight when you could see the clock ticking down. It always made you feel more exhausted at the end of the round, and made standing up off of your stool at the start of the next round that much harder.

You sucked in another breath, refocusing on the sounds of Alessia’s inhales and exhales. You counted each one, letting them wash over you and lul the fog slowly seeping through the crevices in your brain.

It let you forget the trembling in your core muscles and the sting between your shoulders. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was each of Alessia’s breaths, and your ability to please her.

To be honest, you forgot about the water balancing on your back.

You shifted, lifting your head so you could watch Alessia, and that sent the glass tumbling to the floor with a low thud.

She looked up at the noise, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the glass.

“Good job darling. You made time.” She rewarded you by meeting her eyes for a long second and flashing you a winning smile. “Position 3,”

You took another deep breath as she filled the glass.

You pushed yourself up into a pushup position, slowly lifting your right arm and left leg so they extended.

Your arms shook immediately, and it was then that you recognized just how exhausted you were already. Your core ached in a way that was edging on unpleasant, and your back felt like you had run 5 rounds with your jujitsu coach.

It was strange that you felt so drained and you had only made it through 2 positions.

Alessia waited until you were stable before she balanced the glass in the very same area between your shoulder blades.

The spot that felt so tight.

You knew you weren’t going to last long before she even stepped away. But you tried to breathe through it. You tried to ignore the little beads of sweat collecting at the small of your back, and the cramp setting in just below the glass, radiating up to your neck.

You deserved the pain. You had done your damndest to make sure Alessia gave it to you.

“Tell me your color,” Alessia said, her voice dripping dominance, sending a shiver down your spine and causing the glass to tumble off your back.

You collapsed to the floor.

You hadn’t even made it a minute.

“‘M ok,” You murmured into the carpet, each breath rattling as it left your lips.

You hadn’t even lasted long enough for Alessia to make it back to her seat.

It was pathetic.

“That’s not what I asked you,” She said, crouching next to you, her hand resting on the throbbing space between your shoulders. “Tell me what your color is,”

Your brain ran into overdrive, taking stock of the burn in your thighs, and the way the muscles in your back were locked up tight, and before you could even think through all the reasons why you shouldn’t safe word, “red,” was falling from your lips.

You had been red before you even started position 3, you realized.

“Good girl,” She said, settling fully down beside you, her hand running soothingly up and down your sweat-soaked back. “You did so well for me, and I’m so proud of you for knowing your limits,”

You groaned into the carpet as warmth spread through your chest, chasing away the last of the tightness that had been there since Dana caught you after the weigh-ins.

“‘M sorry for pushing you,” You mumbled, your words nearly getting lost in the floor. “Didn’t know how to…”

You trailed off, losing your train of thought. You weren’t even sure what you didn’t know how to do, only that antagonizing your girlfriend. Your miss. Had been the only way that seemed to make sense to achieve it.

“I know darling,” She hummed, gripping under your arms and shifting so your head was resting in her lap and your upper body was between her legs. “Take some deep breaths for me, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and we can cuddle,”

You made a low sound of agreement. You felt content with her completely around you, her scent enveloping you, and her hands running gently through your tangled hair.

She was the stability to your rocky seas, and you trusted that she would take care of you, just like she had already tonight.

A cuddle sounded perfect because it was perfect.

It was everything you needed. She was everything you needed.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

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purplealmonds · 1 year ago

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Continuing to fire on all cylinders to make this Sky 🤝Mononoke collab a reality! 🐲⚖️🌊

Process GIFs and artist commentary below the cut. ⬇️

Left: Process GIF Middle: Just the background, cos I really like how it looks! Right: Illustration without the collab logo

And here are my notes on my inspirations and references. There's a lot of 'em, so instead of embedding relevant images one by one I put them in a callout sheet! For accessibility, I also included transcript (with bonus ramblings) below each sheet.

Ofuda circle modeled in Google Sketchup 2017, then lightly transformed in Photoshop to flare out. I tried my best to hand-draw these, but it the results came out really clunky and stiff. I figured if Mononoke shamelessly utilizes 3D in their show, I can too!

Krill and sky kid composition roughly inspired by the Ayakashi DVD cover illustration. On the surface level, the krill's black-and-red color scheme mirrored that of the bake-neko. Not to mention, in the world of Sky, the krill would be the best fit of a mononoke-like entity. The red background is also a nod to the red skies seen during a shard eruption in Sky.

Sky kid gesture based on the Festival Spin Dancer's Tier 3 poses and the Medicine Seller's iconic pose in the Zakishiwarahi episode as inspiration. This was the idea which springboarded this illustration into existence. I wanted to do my take of the Medicine Seller's pose, but in a more dynamic manner: rotate the pose to a profile position and set the ofuda in a diagonal, flared out arrangement.

Cape inspired by tenbin design featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie. This one's an interesting one - I wanted the cape to be a stiff material that doesn't "flap" when in flight - similar to the Aurora wing capes. It ended up looking like a kite of sorts, which I'm not entirely opposed to! I haven't had the opportunity to showcase the back view of this cape design, but I envision it having some mechanical aspects to it - the "wing" which are flared out in this illustration fold in like moth wings, and a little bell is attached to the "tail" part and it jingles a little whenever the sky kid flaps!

Bandana is based on the Scaredy Cadet's hairstyle from the Season of Assembly. Mask design utilizes the 2023 Days of Style mask and the Nintendo Pack mask as bases. Pretty self-explanatory. I basically went onto the Sky wiki and found the cosmetics that most closely matched what I was looking for. Then if necessary, I went to the Office space to do photoshoots to get the appropriate camera angles for them all.

Seasonal pendant inspired by the classic Medicine Seller's necklace and the eye motif featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie. Possibly the only one-to-one homage to the classic Medicine Seller design here, but his garnet necklace was too good of a match to the seasonal pendant. A side tangent: does the new Medicine Seller possess a necklace, let alone a mirror? So far all the shots of him don't feature it. Fascinating.

Dark dragon krill anatomy references a custom figurine crafted by @/escaflowne_n07 on Twitter. Until I found this, I was honestly at a loss finding reference for this - be it on the internet or during in-game photoshoots. The lighting on the krill in-game focused on its menacing silhouette rather than its structure. And not to mention, getting a close-up shot almost always set off the dark creature's aggro. I have no idea how this guy found the references to put this model together - well done!

Mantas, elder constellations, and sun dog references murals in the Cave of Prophecy. Krill aside, the overall illustration was leaning a little too much towards Mononoke so I tried finding opportunities to insert more Sky into it. Added bonus is that now there's storytelling in the background: during a shard eruption, a giant krill rises from the frothing waves of dark water to hunt down a flock of mantas.

Clouds behind the sun dog reference the ones featuring heavily in the Umibozu episode. This illustration has a lot of ocean theming, so I figured this would be appropriate.

Rendering style of the background is lightly inspired by the 2007 Mononoke illustration. Mainly having a 2D inked style to contrast with the more polished render of the sky kid. Funnily enough, this was a tertiary inspiration, which lead to the discovery in the next point!

Dark water waves and sun dog composition heavily references Hokusai's "The Great Wave". The waves were modified to be bottle-green of the Golden Wasteland's dark waters. The sun dog is in the spot where Mt. Fuji is in the original composition. these were all hand-drawn by the way! I merely emulated the style of the source material. As a side note, I also borrowed the spotted sea spray rendering for the krill's red spotlight.

Background pattern taken from the ofuda design featured in the 2024 Mononoke movie poster. Mainly to add some gritty texture to the sky. I worked pretty hard to replicate this ofuda design as a high-res asset so I wanted to use it more!

#モノノ怪 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke 2007 #kusuriuri #medicine seller #thatskygame #sky cotl #sky children of the light #thatgamecompany #thatskygame fanart #sky cotl fanart #crossover #purplealmonds #2023 #🔕

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crypticscarecrow · 2 months ago

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🔥BI-WEEKLY STUDY CHALLENGE: THUMBNAILING🔥

Starting the challenge off with one of my personal favorites and go-to's: Thumbnailing!

There are many ways to thumbnail, though the one version we will be tackling is the one my teachers thought me off, which is the VERY minimal sketching done in less than even 30 seconds.

This process helps you try to place objects around a scene with little to no detail other than the rough idea. Preferably, you want to aim for 10 thumbnails, pushing every perspective possible and thinking outside the box; where can you push focus? Can you trade out items but keep the same camera position? How can you approach it? It's important to note that your first thumbnail won't always be your best one.

A problem a lot of artists face is perfectionism. It doesn't matter which art style you go with, we all feel a need to 'get it right' the first time, and you can accidentally limit yourself greatly that way! Try to make small squares on your page or canvas, and keep the distance far enough that you can't tell details such as wrinkle of clothes unless its the focus. Stick figures, cubes, circles, go abstract! Force yourself out of having to undo a brushstroke. Commit to it and work fast.

Thumbnailing helps with exploration. Most times, if not always, you'll need to study (ex:) wood or a stone. How other artists perceive these or how YOU yourself perceive it, is an important step in learning about it. What is easier in conveying a rock is all up to you and the message you want to give the viewer! I like to sketch on a separate page or next to my preferred thumbnail stones and other assets I intend to use in the main drawing down the line. There's no need to focus on 'oh I need it this way for the drawing' it's simply studying and understanding How this object appears- a rock can be small like a pebble, so it can look light, or a big mossy stone can be embedded into the earth, and you'd need machinery to take it out-

You can tell JUST by looking at something, how it feels, sounds, and tastes. If you want to approach it in a simpler style: What is the core essence of the object you are studying?

CHALLENGE

End results don't have to be colored or crispy clean! Just showing you understand your study better is enough! Any medium of art is encouraged! Paper, digital, 3d design and pixel alike! Any fandom is also welcomed!

Create at least 4-10 thumbnails

Have an exploration page of natural objects or anything relating to your final illustration (You can add to the page as you thumbnail, or start with this step before thumbnailing)

Create an illustration using one of your thumbnails and what you learned from your studies

Tag me or #Bi-Weekly Study Challenge when you showcase your work!

Deadline: 19th April, 2025

SOURCES: Caution Tape Divider

#Bi-Weekly Study Challenge #Art Challenge #Studies #Crow talks #Long Post #also dropping the tag for anyone who wishes to block these posts in the future!

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nanamineedstherapy · 7 months ago

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Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows - Getting *ahem ahemed* by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party!

youtube

Minors DNI/Implied Cheating but not really/Shameless Smut/My First Smut

Summary: Nanami X F!Reader Porn with plot if you squint Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a woman who isn't his wife? Even weirder. What’s hotter than luxury, mystery, and terrible decision-making? Spoiler: nothing. Let the chaos (and a closet with better taste than Gojo) ensue. Or Getting Railed by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party! This fic started as a joke & spiraled into a mix of billionaire aesthetics, deadpan sass, & unhinged party vibes. Buckle up—it’s classy, messy, & totally Nanami-approved. 💅 #Rewritten since I hated the first draft. TW: Maybe Cheating

A/N: This is my first time writing smut of any kind so let me know if it hits the spot ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖) Y’all, I swear, Nanami is loyal as hell, but who doesn’t love a little tension and mystery? If you’re living for the luxury or just here for the smut, drop a comment or a kudos—your chaos feeds mine. Cheers, besties! 🍸

The road twisted like a serpent through a dense forest, the towering pines stretching skyward, their shadows merging into a dark canvas under the fading sun. As Nanami’s Aston Martin DBS Superleggera glided past the last cluster of trees, the view opened into a scene pulled from the pages of an expensive dream.

The estate stood by a tranquil lake , its surface a sheet of liquid sapphire, mirroring the golden hues of the evening. The mansion, impossibly grand, didn’t merely rise—it commanded the horizon, almost otherworldly.

Towering walls of smooth stone enclosed the property, their minimalist design interrupted by intricate wrought-iron gates that whispered exclusivity rather than screamed it. AI-quipped security cameras, seamlessly embedded into the structure, blinking like mechanical sentinels, their presence a silent testament to caution wrapped in discretion. Guards in impeccably tailored suits patrolled the perimeter, some with guns, some with drones, some with androids, some with canines, their demeanor more akin to that of secret service agents than traditional staff.

The driveway stretched before him, a sleek ribbon of obsidian stone that gleamed like polished onyx under strategically placed lighting. The circular courtyard at the end was a gallery of excess : a Koenigsegg Jesko , a Bugatti Chiron , a Maserati Folgore , a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class , a Cadillac Celestiq , and a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat gleaming among other cars, their black, forest green or electric blue flawless exteriors reflecting the golden glow of vintage lampposts.

The lawns rolled outward like an emerald sea, interrupted by marble fountains with sculptures so detailed they seemed to breathe. At the edge of the estate, a private dock cradled a yacht —a floating palace that promised indulgence on the water. Above, the faint hum of helicopter rotors signaled rooftop landings, where multiple sleek, futuristic aircrafts waited in perfect formation.

The mansion itself was a contradiction brought to life. Its towering facade bore sharp lines and elegant curves, an architectural ballet where glass and steel met aged stone and brushed brass, each material woven into a seamless tapestry of power and refinement. High ceilings soared above, the kind that made you feel small without making you feel insignificant. The structure breathed genius—an intellect so vast it had turned ambition into reality.

As Nanami pulled up, the double doors opened before he even stepped out, as though the house had been expecting him. Inside, the ambiance shifted into a warm, inviting opulence. The grand hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers that fractured light into golden rain. Polished marble floors reflected the glow, amplifying the sense of space, while floor-to-ceiling windows turned the lake into a living painting framed by midnight silk drapes.

Walking in, he adjusted his Tateossian 18K gold cufflinks out of habit, the gold gleaming briefly in the chandelier light. The fabric of his Tom Ford silk Charmeuse shirt cooled against his skin as he rolled up his sleeves neatly, a testament to effort without indulgence. His tailored Mohair trousers—his entire outfit, his wife’s suggestion—fit him perfectly, a fact he acknowledged with a silent nod to her exquisite taste.

He knew she had spent more time selecting them than he ever would. She had an eye for these things, a maddening precision that made him trust her implicitly. He'd let her spend a good amount on tonight's party outfit to blend in with his office crowd, even though price tags were the least of his concerns. His wife, however, was a different story. Her taste was so particular that she rarely found anything worth buying at a store. But once she did, if it was casual, it would likely be inexpensive. However, if it was anything work- or party-related, it would undoubtedly carry a hefty price tag

The party coursed through the mansion like a heartbeat. In one ballroom , laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses as soft jazz played from hidden speakers. A smaller, more intimate space pulsed with energy, decked out like a private nightclub , where a few couples swayed to Spanish music under the prismatic glow of lights. Staff moved seamlessly among the crowd; their movements choreographed perfection, while their uniforms—a balance of practicality and haute couture—highlighted the wealth that surrounded them.

Each corner of the estate exuded thought and precision. From the soft, ambient lighting casting shadows on minimalistic art pieces to the way every surface seemed untouched yet lived in, the house wasn’t just a home; it was a living entity—one that whispered of brilliance, extravagance, and untold secrets.

Soon, before he knew it, corporate small talk had already grated on him; he’d barely resisted the urge to check his watch. Conversations about ‘exciting’ fiscal projections felt like sandpaper on his nerves, but years of navigating boardrooms had honed his stoic armor to perfection. He tilted his head just enough to feign interest in a junior analyst’s enthusiastic recounting of how they saved 0.5% on operational costs last quarter.

“Impressive,” he muttered, his voice so flat it was unclear whether he meant it or not. The analyst beamed anyway, oblivious.

His whiskey remained mostly untouched, a mere prop for these tedious rituals. He glanced down at the gold trim of the glass and thought fleetingly about hurling it through one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—not out of anger, but for something more stimulating than listening to Steve from Compliance recount his golf trip.

“Nanami-san!” Steve called out, loud enough to turn heads. “What’s your handicap? Bet you’re deadly on the green.”

Nanami turned slowly, blinking once as if the words needed extra time to register. “I don’t play golf, Steve,” he replied, deadpan. “I have a job.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and awkward, his ego crumpling in on itself. Nanami allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction before turning back to the entrance, silently daring someone interesting to walk in and save him.

A marketing executive drifted over, a glass of champagne precariously balanced in one hand, their other already extended for a handshake. “Nanami, old sport!” the exec crowed, as though they’d survived war trenches together instead of working in adjacent departments.

“Hardly,” Nanami said, shaking their hand briefly before folding his arms, an unmistakable signal that the conversation was over before it began.

Then the intern appeared like a fly buzzing near a fresh wound, her enthusiasm bordering on suffocation. “Nanami-san, you look great tonight,” she gushed. “Is that Tom Ford? I could tell from a mile away!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes the moment he saw her making her way towards him from the other corner of the room. Her extremely short gold dress barely covered anything, highly inappropriate for co-worker parties. Where was HR when you needed them?

He regarded her with the kind of cool detachment that made people second-guess speaking to him in the first place. His response was little more than a nod, a gesture so dismissive it might as well have been punctuation. “Yes,” he replied curtly, sipping his whiskey for the first time just to end the interaction. The burn of alcohol was preferable to enduring another comment.

“I’ve never seen you in anything so... relaxed ,” she added, eyes wide as though he’d arrived in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a $25,000 ensemble.

Nanami considered a sarcastic remark— yes, I’m positively unhinged tonight with my gold cufflinks and tailored trousers —but decided against it. “Enjoy the party,” he said instead, his tone as warm as a January morning.

Her persistence, however, was unwavering, her enthusiasm grating on his last nerve. She was the type who delivered coffee he never asked for, lunches he didn’t need, flushed cheeks, and doe-eyed stares he couldn’t unsee. What he had initially dismissed as professional eagerness was now so obviously a crush that even the office ficus had likely noticed. He didn’t mind admirers so long as they kept their distance, but this one was suffocating. Tonight, he had a plan: feed her to his wife .

He let her ramble, tuning her out while his colleagues began their usual background drone: glowing self-praise about the last quarter’s financial performance. Occasionally, Nanami nodded, just enough to seem engaged while maintaining an expression that screamed, I’d rather be anywhere else .

Then a peer from Finance leaned in, his smirk as oily as his hair gel. “You’re quite the magnet tonight, Nanami. What’s your secret?”

“Competence,” Nanami replied, without missing a beat.

The peer’s laugh faltered into a cough as he quickly excused himself. Events like this always managed to sap what little energy he had left after work. First, they stole every waking moment with deadlines and deliverables, then they expected polite socializing in his so-called free time. It was, in his opinion, borderline sadistic. He took another sip of his whiskey, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t much care to mingle, despite appearances. These events were breeding grounds for insincerity, where pleasantries masked ulterior motives. His colleagues jumped him, juniors seeking advice on everything from office politics to investment strategies, while his peers probed for weaknesses under the guise of camaraderie.

Then, previously flanked by armed bodyguards, she walked in.

He felt it before he saw it—the slight shift in the room’s energy, the way conversations seemed to falter for half a second. When his eyes finally found her, it was like everything else dimmed in comparison.

Time didn’t stop—not in some romanticized way, but it slowed just enough to emphasize her entrance. Classy, confident, and untouchable. The sound of her heels on marble cut through the hum of conversation, subtle but commanding. The red rubies on her dress flowed like molten lava, catching the chandeliers’ light with every step. The slit revealed long, toned legs that seemed almost deliberately designed to catch the attention of every person in the room. Her movements were languid but purposeful, as though she were fully aware that the entire party had turned their focus toward her and didn’t mind in the slightest. The siren-like glint in her eyes warned anyone brave enough to approach.

Nanami’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the whiskey glass, his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath. His gaze locked on her instantly, though he couldn’t pinpoint what drew him first—the way her dress hugged her or the quiet authority in her stride. One moment, he was half-listening to his coworkers drone about quotas; the next, he was captivated .

“Who is she?” The intern whispered, her tone laced with poorly concealed jelousy.

Nanami didn’t look away, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and even.

She didn’t need to seek attention—it sought her. Women flocked to her, showering her with warm greetings and effusive compliments. She reciprocated their affection with gracious smiles and her charm disarming even the iciest socialites. The men weren’t as brave, unsure whether to admire her or cower under her gaze—her siren-like aura daring any man to try their luck.

Except for one idiot.

Fucking Gojo.

Nanami’s jaw tightened as his white-haired colleague made a spectacle of himself, wrapping his arms around her from behind like an old friend reunited. Her face scrunched in irritation, a flash of disdain that Nanami couldn’t help but savor. But then she turned, her expression softening as she saw who it was. To his dismay, she hugged him back.

Nanami’s fingers curled harder around the glass of whiskey, the gold trim biting into his palm. Jealousy wasn’t his style— not like he wasn’t already married . But Gojo was a different story. The man had a knack for testing limits, his arrogance as boundless as his charm.

She, on the other hand, was the embodiment of contradictions: sharp yet soft, fun yet untouchable, her elegant demeanor veiling something far more dangerous. As if on cue, her eyes scanned the room lazily, not in search of anyone but allowing people to search for her.

And then their gazes locked. Her lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a silent dare.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Her smile—a challenge, a tease, a warning. His pulse quickened, a subtle betrayal against his otherwise calm exterior.

The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the weight of the unspoken connection between the two. Nanami almost pitied her. Almost. Definitely not.

His focus remained on the woman; she approached the bar with the kind of confidence that made the world rearrange itself around her. Even the bartender seemed to straighten his posture, offering her a champagne flute without so much as a question. Her long fingers, adorned with a curious glove-like jewelry piece , brushed the glass as she murmured her thanks, her tone effortlessly polite but laced with disinterest.

He didn’t notice the minutes slipping by; time blurred under the soft hum of chandeliers and the muted conversations he was no longer part of. Her every movement consumed his attention, the sway of her hips in that red silk dress a calculated provocation.

When she slipped through the gilded archway leading toward the bathrooms, his decision was already made.

Keeping his drink down, Nanami barely registered the figure stepping into his path until he heard the familiar sing-song voice that grated worse than nails on glass. “Nanami! Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet tonight,” his rival cooed, wearing his trademark smug grin that Nanami fantasized about erasing.

“Still at work,” Nanami replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion but cutting enough to silence further prying. He didn’t slow, leaving behind muttered speculations about his sudden interest in someone other than his wife .

The hallways had the richness of the place amplified. The further he moved from the party, the quieter it became, the noise receding into a distant hum. The mansion’s grandeur became starker in the silence. High ceilings arched above, their ornate crown moldings gilded with gold that caught the soft light of sconces. The black marble floors shimmered under his polished shoes, stretching endlessly toward the private quarters. Staff passed like shadows flitting through the ethereal glow of this labyrinthine estate.

He paused in front of the bathroom door, glossy black with intricate gold fixtures, left slightly ajar as though inviting him in. The faintest sliver of light spilled out against the marble.

Knock. Knock. Two taps. Firm. Purposeful.

The response was immediate. The door cracked open, and before he could utter a word, her hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and yanking him inside with a force that surprised him.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud as he was shoved against it, followed by the decisive click of the lock. Her scent lingered in the air, both grounding and intoxicating, cutting through the bathroom . Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Not even a hello?” He murmured against her lips, his tone low, strained, yet laced with wry humor.

“Hello,” she whispered mockingly, her voice syrupy sweet, before pulling him back down. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, sending an electric jolt through him.

Oh, she was definitely a siren. He thought as she drew him in with effortless ease, leaving him half-convinced she could drag him into the ocean and he’d thank her for it.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, deft yet impatient. When one refused to cooperate, she let out a soft growl, yanking hard enough to send buttons scattering across the tiled floor.

“They’re custom,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice thick with effort. “My wife chose them.”

“No wonder they’re ugly,” she shot back, her smirk as sharp as a blade. “Send me the bill.”

Her sass drew a low chuckle from him, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. She was cutting through his composure so easily, leaving him disarmed in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

In a swift motion, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the full-length mirror. Her front hit the glass with a muted thud, the chill drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. For a moment, he held her there, his gaze sweeping over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide with a mix of defiance and desire.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror—a man undone, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp expression softened by raw hunger. He barely recognized himself, and for some reason, that didn’t bother him.

“Temptress. You’ve already got me obsessed,” his voice dark as he leaned down to press his lips to the curve of her ear.

“Stop talking,” she countered, her tone dripping with impatience. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan softly.

He obliged.

The kiss turned feral, finesse abandoned in favor of raw, unfiltered need. His hands roamed, the fabric slipping against her skin like water.

Once she turned in his arms, more of his buttons clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space as she ran her fingers on his chest then abs. The room filled with their gasps and whispered curses, the sterile luxury of the bathroom a backdrop to the pandemonium unfolding. She took off her handpiece, chucking it on the counter just to feel his skin against her fingertips unhindered.

Her scent was everywhere now, filling his lungs, embedding itself in his memory. It was familiar in a way, like déjà vu dancing on the edge of recognition. Unsettling, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Careful,” she murmured against his lips, her voice teasing. “You might just fall for me.”

Nanami pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Highly unlikely,” he replied, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Your loss,” she quipped, her voice light, but her hands circled around his shoulders, pulling him back toward her.

Whatever this was—whatever dangerous game they were playing—Nanami knew one thing: he didn’t want it to end.

The bathroom’s air carried a subtle mix of sandalwood, bergamot and cedarwood, understated yet lingering—a scent that seemed designed to make every breath feel curated, the kind of understated opulence that whispered money rather than screamed it

Yet for all its grandeur, it wasn't the decor that took center stage. It was the mess unfolding next to the countertop, where passion replaced polish.

Nanami now had her pressed against the large, mirror-backed counter, its polished surface now marred with the aftermath of their urgency—smudged fingerprints, scattered toiletries, and the faint condensation of their mingled heat. The cool marble against her back seemed to amplify the fire between them.

His grip was firm yet restrained, one hand steadying her thigh while the other trailed upward, tracing the daring slit of her dress with deliberate slowness. His fingers paused at the neckline, the silk sliding under his touch like water. His hold spoke of possession, but his eyes, half-lidded and burning, betrayed something deeper—curiosity, defiance, and a hunger he rarely let surface.

She kissed him again, her lips a demand he had no intention of denying. Teeth scraped against his lower lip, the sting pulling a soft groan from him that melted into a low chuckle. His hands roamed with precision, finding her waist, her hips, her breasts—each touch firm, unapologetic, and met with a sharp inhale or muffled moan. Every touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and disarray.

He lifted her with ease onto the countertop in one fluid motion. The chilled mirror behind her elicited a gasp as her dress slid higher at her thighs. Her legs tightened instinctively around him, pulling him closer.

“Not bad,” she teased breathlessly, her voice a mix of amusement and provocation.

Nanami’s lips quirked into a rare smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I aim to impress.”

Her laugh was soft, intoxicating, and far too knowing. “You’re getting there.”

Her scent enveloped him now—a crisp, briny ocean breeze tinged with something wild and woody, a sharp contrast to the muted, earthy warmth of the bathroom. It was a siren’s scent, designed to disarm, to enthrall, and it worked far too well.

The sounds of their frenzy filled the room, chaotic yet rhythmic. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving faint crescent imprints as if marking her territory.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he dropped to his knees, his large hands splaying across the backs of her thighs.

“On your knees already?” She started, her voice faltering as he pushed the fabric of her dress higher. His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, his tone flat but edged with mischief.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore through the delicate lace of her underwear with his teeth, the sound of ripping fabric punctuated by her sharp intake of breath.

His mouth found her core, hot and demanding; his tongue moved with deliberate precision, drawing broken whispers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, long nails digging into his scalp as she arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation.

Each touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and chaos. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as she raised her head, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

When his fingers joined the fray—one, then two, then three—she let out a muffled cry, her hands trembling as they gripped his hair tighter. The rhythm turned torturous, each stroke a ploy to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her, though the command was half-hearted at best.

Her laugh, shaky and breathless, cut through the haze. “Make me.”

He obliged, taking off his shirt & shoving it into her mouth to muffle her moans.

The room, a masterpiece of design and decadence, bore silent witness to their undoing. The perfection of its lines, the care in its curation—all of it had melted away, leaving only raw, unbridled chaos in its place.

Her body trembled, hips bucking against his mouth. His tongue and fingers were moving in perfect harmony. Her mewles grew higher in pitch, her body arching further as the tension began to pool in her belly.

Nanami’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady as her body trembled beneath him. Her moans, muffled by his discarded shirt, vibrated against his chest as he felt the waves of her release pulse through her. She clawed his scalp, a claim he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t enjoy.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, her breath came in uneven bursts, fogging the glass behind her. Her flushed face, her dress still bunched at her waist, chest rising and falling as aftershocks wracked her frame left her looking like Mayhem personified. Still, he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release like she was the finest wine.

Few moments passed, & Nanami stood, brushing the back of his hand against his lips, catching the faint taste of her. He was the picture of disheveled restraint—his hair tousled, his chest bare, and his trousers hanging low on his hips. The hunger in his eyes, however, was anything but restrained.

His gaze lingered on her as he reached for the straps of her dress. Tugging them down, he exposed her bare chest, the fabric sliding away like water until it pooled uselessly at her waist. Her breasts bounced with the movement, drawing a low growl from him that rumbled deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he leaned down. His lips closed over one breast, flicking her nipple with his toung, while his hand found the other, his touch alternating between firm and teasing. She gasped, her back arching off the mirror as he bit gently before soothing with his tongue, leaving her gasping & mumbling incoherently, her voice ragged but threaded with laughter—the kind that would have thrown a lesser man off balance. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” She spoke against the fabric in her mouth.

He paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You started it.”

She smirked, sharper than the edge of the counter, biting into her legs. “And I’ll finish it.” She gestured.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, still trembling but determined. The flicker of impatience in her eyes was oddly endearing, though he’d never admit it. Nanami stepped back slightly, watching as she struggled with his belt, her fingers clumsy but relentless, then the same belt clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space.

When she finally freed his cock, her hand paused holding it, her eyes widening as her lips parted slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, his voice dropping into that smooth, sardonic tone.

“Shut up,” she muttered, voice muffled by the shirt.

He bit down lightly on her neck, one hand busy kneading her breast, while the other left faint crescent moons in the flesh of her ass.

Despite her reservations, her hand moved, slow at first, tentative strokes exploring him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence. The low "fuck" that escaped his lips emboldened her, and her fingers became bolder—squeezing at the tip, letting her thumb tease the slit, earning sharp hisses from him.

His control, usually ironclad, wavered, catching himself before her touch unraveled him entirely.

“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around hers as he guided his cock to her.

She braced herself, her legs parted further instinctively as Nanami growled, guiding his cock toward her slick entrance. She mewled softly as he deliberately didn’t push in, instead teasing her, the thick head of his cock gliding against her swollen folds. The wet slide was maddening, the tension building as he refused to give her what she wanted. Her breath coming in shallow bursts as the tension coiled between them like a spring wound too tightly. Her eyes flashed with impatience, and the look of anger made him smirk through his own restraint. Then she hissed something, muffled, her voice low and threaded with irritation.

Nanami’s smirk was infuriating. “Patience.”

That patience didn’t last long. With a sharp thrust, he pushed inside her, his jaw clenching as she clenched around him, her walls tight and pulling him deeper. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust; the intensity of the moment mirrored in their matched gasps and muffled curses.

Once he was fully sheathed, the restraint snapped. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud, uncontrollable moan from her.

His pace turned brutal, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the marble countertop tremble beneath them. Her cries morphed into curses, each one sharp and biting, and directed at him with a venom that only fueled his hunger.

“You—oh my God—” she let out a muffled gasp, head falling back against the mirror as he drove her higher.

Nanami leaned down, yanking the shirt from her mouth as he captured her lips in a messy, heated kiss. Her teeth immediately bite his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. Their tongues clashed, the kiss more battle than affection, each one pushing and pulling, neither willing to yield.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Nanami's thrusts didn’t falter.

“Still talking?” he muttered against her lips.

“Shut up,” she replied, biting him again, the taste of him & herself lingering on her tongue.

His hips slammed against hers, forcing cries from her throat. Her nails raked down his back, desperate, as though she needed them to fuse on a molecular level.

Despite his relentless pace, his lips softened, trailing kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and finally to her breasts. He nipped and sucked at the delicate skin; his attention split between breaking her apart with his cock and worshipping the parts of her he loved most.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—a brutal rhythm that matched the pounding of her heartbeat. His hands roamed over her body, his nails leaving faint crescent moons in her thighs, her back, wherever he could reach.

Her body arched into him, trembling & walls tightening as another wave of pleasure threatened to overtake her. He knew she was close; his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit and circling it with a precision that left her gasping.

Her reaction was instant as she came with a sharp, keening cry, muffled when he cupped a hand over her mouth, entire body clenching around him as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“She’s sucking me in... so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse, as his control finally broke. Movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against her neck. His eyes fluttered shut as his own climax surged through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He barely managed to catch himself before collapsing onto her as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Two forces of chaos colliding. Neither of them moved, just staying for a bit; she rubbed his back as they caught their breaths, the occasional tremor running through her as she adjusted to the lingering sensitivity.

The bathroom was a battlefield of indulgence and chaos. Perfume bottles lay toppled on the black marble counter, the delicate crystal shimmering under the ambient lighting. A faint mist lingered in the air, clouding the oversized mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing distorted reflections of disheveled hair, flushed skin, and heat that had yet to fully dissipate. The mingling scents of bergamot, cedar, and salt—the sharp tang of the ocean—clung to the air, layered with the undeniable intimacy of their aftermath. Despite the mess around them, the silence between them felt clean, untouched by the outside world.

Soon her fingers were idly tracing patterns on his back, grazing over faint red marks she’d left moments before. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was teasing but warm, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Your technique hasn’t changed.”

Nanami froze, the words cutting through the lingering haze like a cold blade. He pulled back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she replied, her tone deliberate and light as she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Her touch was deceptively soft, almost disarming.

Before he could spiral into overthinking, she laughed—a sound both melodic and cutting, slicing through his composure with surgical precision. “Relax, Mr. Nanami,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m just grateful for the first million you invested in my company when no one else would even hear me out.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as realization dawned, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Mrs. L/N,” he said dryly, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Should I prepare my chequebook again?”

“Always,” she quipped, her smirk softening as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his with a familiarity that belied the game they’d been playing all evening.

“You’re still mine, Kento,” she murmured against his ear—almost biting them, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Straightening himself, hand lingering at her waist, he pulled her closer to hold as the reality of her presence grounded him. When they finally pulled apart, her tone shifted. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. L/N,” he replied, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding, a contrast to the disarray they’d left in their wake. He arched a brow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Though I do have to ask—what was the dress for?”

Her smirk deepened, her silence deliberate.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was informed that you looked miserable out there,” she said simply, shrugging with nonchalance that only made her look more self-assured. “Your coworkers are vultures. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer.”

His exhale was slow, measured, but his forehead dropped against hers, his voice softening. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me plenty,” she countered, her hands sliding over his chest with a teasing confidence. “But I’m not done yet. My company just hit a billion-dollar valuation, which means—"she smirked, her tone mock-serious—"you can finally quit working for those corporate overlords. Effective immediately.”

Nanami blinked, her words settling in slowly. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a single raised finger.

“And don’t start with the ‘backup plan’ speech,” she added, rolling her eyes in dramatic exasperation. “I’ve secured enough for the next fifteen generations to sit around and squander. You’re free, Ken. ”

He let out a long exhale, relief washing over him like a tide pulling him out to calmer seas. His hands tightened gently at her waist as he pulled her closer, his forehead brushing hers again.

“I can finally retire,” he mused, a rare chuckle breaking the steady timbre of his voice. “What a dream.”

Her grin was wicked and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deck you out with butlers, drivers, private pilots—the works.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said, her voice lighter now, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before stepping down. She fixed her dress, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting as if it had never been touched. After quickly rinsing & drying her hands, she shuffled for something in the drawer below the sink counter, then gestured Nanami to turn around, who obliged and then winced as she sprayed antiseptic healing spray on her nail scratches on his back. Then, putting it back with one hand while she rubbed his shoulder with the other, soon she adorned her handpiece again.

“Now, pack your bags. We’re going on a month-long vacation. We’ve barely seen each other this quarter.” Her tone practical, though the playful glint in her eyes was still sparkling while Nanami, who knelt on one knee to zip up her askew heels with a gentle touch. This was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor; he radiated a quiet eagerness to serve her, even if she had never asked for it—or even forbade him from kneeling—for anyone, including herself. His care for her was unwavering, as he found joy in these small devotions.

Raising up to his full height, Nanami tilted his head, arching a brow. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.” Her smirk was maddeningly smug, the kind that always made him want to both kiss her and roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about clothes—we’ll buy what we need when we get there.”

His frown deepened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door. “The house is still full of people.”

She waved a hand dismissively, her confidence unshakable. “The white-haired menace can handle it.”

As if summoned, a sharp knock echoed against the ornate black and gold bathroom door.

“Nanami,” Gojo’s unmistakable voice called out, muffled yet infuriatingly cheerful. “I know you told me not to disturb you, but if you want to leave on time, you should probably come out now.”

Nanami groaned audibly, burying his face in her hair. “I hate that he knows us so well. Or worse, that he was probably hovering outside.”

Her laugh bubbled up, light and unrestrained, as she turned to press a soft kiss to his nose. “Good thing no one will know,” she teased, her tone laced with mischief as she nodded toward the party still raging beyond the door.

“Small mercies,” he muttered. His hand reached down, scooping up her ripped panties. He shoved them into his pocket—a gesture equal parts practical and ridiculous. Housekeeping didn’t need to discover that.

He reached for his ruined shirt & still-ok belt while his cufflinks were probably lost to the similarly colored lines in the bathroom floor’s marble. Sighing, he shrugged the shirt on. With most of the buttons broken, the fabric barely clung to him, but he managed enough to appear vaguely presentable, then did his belt & washed his hands. Before stepping out, he winked at her, his rare smirk making her laugh again as she leaned on the counter, ogling him.

Walking out of the bathroom, Nanami was immediately engulfed by the sheer scale of the mansion. The vaulted ceilings soared above him, an intricate lattice of brass and black lines reminiscent of sharp geometry. Recessed lighting cast a warm, almost ethereal glow over the polished marble floors, their obsidian surface streaked with veins of gold that seemed to shimmer with every step.

Security was seamlessly integrated into the decor—discreet cameras nestled within decorative sconces, motion sensors hidden within the intricate carvings of doorframes, and biometric panels that blended effortlessly with the black lacquered walls.

Gojo leaned casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his smirk as sharp as the lapels on his bespoke electric blue suit. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone had a productive break.”

Nanami cast him a withering glare, brushing past him without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo called after him, clearly undeterred. “Your secret’s safe with me. Well Mostly .”

Nanami strode into his bedroom, its absurd luxury understated yet undeniable once he unlocked it’s door with his thumb. Warm recessed lighting bathed the space in a golden hue, highlighting the polished marble floors and the California king bed draped in silk sheets that whispered decadence with every subtle fold. The walls were a study in contrasts—one side a sweeping expanse of black glass overlooking the estate, the other adorned with minimalist art deco patterns in gold and dark maroon.

A walk-in closet occupied one corner of the room, its glossy black doors sliding open with a faint hum. Rows of designer suits, pressed shirts, and tailored trousers moved along tracks, neatly organized by color, fabric, and season. It wasn’t just a closet—it was an AI-driven sartorial fortress.

Gojo trailed behind Nanami, Martini glass in hand, his ever-present grin practically glowing under the warm light of the bedroom.

Nanami shrugged off his ruined shirt, revealing faint nail marks trailing down his back.

Gojo’s exaggerated gasp was immediate. “Knew you were freaks,” he declared, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered a fresh bowl of cream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nanami replied, his tone dry as he waited for the first shirt the AI closet presented.

The automated system whirred softly, its sleek black panels sliding open to reveal a neatly arranged selection of tailored clothing. The closet’s AI chimed in, its voice smooth and masculine: “Good evening, Mr. Nanami. May I suggest the Maurizio Miri blue Sam Arold , double-breasted blazer for optimal sophistication?”

“No, a white shirt will be enough for now. Thank you.” Nanami replied smoothly as the closet handed him the shirt.

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Hold up, your closet talks?”

Nanami buttoned up the crisp white shirt, the fabric molding to him like it had been made yesterday, which it probably had been. A subtle reminder of how far he—and this house—stood from anything resembling average. “Of course it talks. Everything here does. Wife is particular about it,” he muttered, casually pulling out a certain incriminating piece of fabric from his pocket & tossing it into the hidden incinerator bin while Gojo eyed the AI.

Then Gojo leaned closer to the closet; his curiosity piqued. “Hey, Mr. Closet—do you take orders? I need something that makes me look like a billionaire without actually trying. Extra points if it comes with a holographic logo of the Gojo Clan.” Gojo didn’t have such bad likes; he just enjoyed being a menace.

The AI responded without missing a beat. “My name is Winston, & I’m sorry, sir. My services are exclusive to Mr. Nanami. While I assure you, no attire could enhance perfection.”

Nanami’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. “Even the closet knows you’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I like this guy!” Gojo shot back, pointing at the sleek black panel like it was a long-lost friend. “At least he has taste.”

The AI, apparently more than willing to engage, added, “Taste, sir, is precisely what you lack.”

Nanami turned away, struggling to suppress his laughter, as Gojo gawked. “Traitor! I’m officially boycotting this brand,” Gojo declared, though his curiosity kept him glued to the closet. “Btw what brand are you.”

Nanami smacked his arm. “Do you forget my wife invents AIs for a living, among other things?”

Gojo shrugged, “I didn’t know it was one of hers.”

As Nanami folded his sleeves up again, Gojo shot one last look at the closet. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Closet-Winston. Once I babysit this house, bet you’ll miss me when I leave.”

“I highly doubt that,” the AI replied, its tone impossibly smooth.

Gojo huffed, muttering something about finding an AI closet with better taste, while Nanami finally allowed a small smirk to surface.

Once out of the closet, Gojo chirped, “Aren’t you going to thank me for organizing this amazing party?”

Nanami took the whisky glass Gojo handed him, savoring a slow sip. “Thank you, Gojo, for organizing this party,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s not like we paid for it or anything.”

“Fair,” Gojo replied, recovering quickly with a shrug. “But I still expect to cash in the favor someday.”

Nanami nodded, flooding his sleeves with practiced precision before striding back toward the party.

Gojo followed on his heels like an overenthusiastic puppy, Martini in hand. Then looking back at the sentinel closet, he mused. “I need one of these. Think the wife will help me place an order?”

“She’s not your wife,” Nanami deadpanned, savouring the whisky burn as he sipped.

Once they had stepped into the grand ballroom, Nanami’s gaze swept over the room. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned in conspiratorially.

“So,” he began, his grin as infuriating as ever, “how was she?”

His gaze immediately found her. She stood along the far wall; an expansive bar carved from obsidian and gold stood like a centerpiece, its surface laden with bottles of rare vintages.

He didn’t falter in his reply, expression flat. “She’s a woman, Gojo. Not a secret.”

Gojo smirked as Nanami ignored the conspiratorial knowing smirks and whispers that seemed to surround him.

His gaze lingered as she laughed warmly, her head tilted slightly, the sound unguarded and genuine. She was speaking to two women he vaguely recognized as the CTO and CFO of her company, their expressions a mix of respect and admiration. For a moment, he simply watched. Despite himself, Nanami felt a rare sense of pride.

Just as he was about to make his way to her, a voice sliced through the moment.

“Nanami-san! There you are!”

The same intern with an unfortunate crush on him had caught sight of him again, waving over one of her equally annoying cohorts, a smug backstabbing bitch of a coworker Nanami didn’t even bother to remember the name of. They approached like vultures, the intern’s over-the-top enthusiasm clashing painfully with the coworker’s grimey smirk.

“Nanami-san!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “This house is incredible! You must feel so inspired here.”

“I feel inspired to have another drink,” Nanami deadpanned, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip.

The coworker, clearly fishing for gossip, leaned in. “Yeah, no kidding. So, where’s your wife we’ve all heard so much about?” He practically sang the last part, his tone dripping with mockery. “Must be so busy to miss an event like this.”

Listening to this, Gojo moved closer to Nanami’s side like chaos incarnate, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” he asked, his grin practically weaponized. “Tsk, tsk, Nanami, keeping secrets from your best friends .”

The coworker scowled at the jab.

The intern blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Nanami bit back a smirk, swirling his whisky lazily in his glass.

When the intern finally recovered, her tone turned defensive. “Well, he’s never mentioned her to me!”

Nanami’s expression darkened, his patience stretching to its breaking point. One thing he wasn’t—had never been—was unfaithful. And this implication, no matter how cluelessly delivered, crossed a line.

Yet Gojo wasn’t finished. He turned his full attention to the intern, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, he does talk about her all the time. But I guess you two must not hang out much, huh? Just acquaintances, then.”

“Excuse me?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, each syllable cutting.

The intern, oblivious to the shift in tone, pressed on. “You never mentioned you were married—”

“Please,” arching a brow, he interrupted, his expression one of detached amusement. “Do not imply that I’ve hidden my marriage. I’ve been married for years and have never avoided speaking about my wife when asked. If you’re unaware, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me.” Each word measured and sharp. It’s not like he cared to keep his job anymore anyway.

The intern blinked, stunned into silence.

Gojo erupted into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Kento, you’re killing it tonight. Who’s next on the chopping block?”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami brushed past them, his focus already shifting back to her. Gojo, naturally, wasn’t done yet. Turning back with a smirk, he delivered one final dig.

“He talks about her all the time with his friends. Trust me, I’d know since I’m his best friend. I know all his secrets ,” he said lightly. “Guess you’re just colleagues.” Nanami could hear the mockery directed at his coworkers, with a hint of possessiveness over their friendship in Gojo’s voice, along with the intern’s sputtering, behind him.

Once he approached, his hand slid around her waist, the gesture subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a public claim so much as a quiet reassurance, a tether grounding him in the chaos of the room.

She turned to him, her smirk softening into something more intimate as she acknowledged the unspoken exchange.

“Hello,” he murmured, inclining his head with a faint smile toward the women she’d been speaking with. They were better than his coworkers; hence they were hired.

As Gojo approached them behind Nanami, she introduced him smoothly, her tone warm yet commanding. “Ladies, my closest friend, Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s professional smirk slipped into place with practiced ease. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his arm resting on Nanami’s shoulder again.

The conversation progressed for a bit before the sound of glass clinking drew their attention.

“Everyone!” Gojo’s voice rang out, cheerful and uncontainable. He was sitting atop the bar, manspreading, grin wide enough to rival the chandelier’s glow. “A toast to the lovely couple!”

Heads turned toward them, though many had already been stealing glances at her all evening while others were glaring daggers at Nanami.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice steady, effortlessly commanding the room. “Thank you all for coming to our housewarming party,” he began, his tone formal but with a warmth that felt uncharacteristic. His hand rested securely on her waist. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Y/N L/N. She’s my wife. She’s the one who bought us this house.”

A ripple of polite claps followed, though Nanami wasn’t finished.

“She hasn’t visited my office because she’s been working tirelessly on her company, Curse Cop, which, as of today, has officially reached a billion-dollar valuation.” He paused, his voice softening as he glanced at her, unguarded admiration flickering across his face. “Please, drink to your heart’s content, because starting tomorrow, I’ll be on vacation with her—and I’ll also be stepping down as Finance Director to spend more time with my wife, as I promised her.”

The room erupted in applause and a few ‘awws’ from mostly female guests, though Nanami barely noticed. His focus remained on her as she looked up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and affection.

From somewhere behind them, he heard whispers, envy poorly concealed.

“How’d he even get with her?” one muttered.

“It makes sense,” another replied begrudgingly. “He’s the kind of man every woman wants.”

But none of it mattered. Nanami leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, as if the room around them didn’t exist.

For him, in that moment, it didn’t.

Soon the evening had progressed—Nanami was comfortably leaning against the bar, whisky in hand, Gojo, still on top of the bar, flanking him as usual, when the intern caught sight of Y/N between them.

She stumbled her way toward her, clearly drunk, with newfound boldness, her barely-there dress doing little to enhance her sense of professionalism. Nanami’s lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, hiding his amusement behind his glass. He wasn’t much for unnecessary public fights, but he was waiting for this one since she had really become a nuisance for him over the months, hence the reason she was invited today.

“Y/N,” Gojo whispered, sidling closer to her as she inquired about the launch of their latest multiplayer game with the COO of her company. “See that girl over there?”

Pausing, she glanced over, her brow arching slightly as she clocked the intern making a beeline toward her.

“That one’s been after Kento for months,” Gojo murmured, his grin wicked. “Unrequited coffee deliveries, surprise lunches... the works. You’re about to have front-row seats to her grand finale.” He had noticed it all while visiting Nanami’s office, along with Nanami’s look of frustration when she wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her expression remaining poised as she turned fully to face the intern. The air around her seemed to shift, her unapproachable aura sharpening to something razor-edged.

The intern, blissfully unaware, extended a hand, her confidence teetering on arrogance. “Hi! I’m Nat. I work closely with Nanami-san in finance. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked briefly to the outstretched hand before returning to the intern’s face, her expression neutral but distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?” she said coolly. “And what are you to him?”

The intern faltered, her hand dropping slightly. “I... like I said, I work with Nanami-san! He’s been so helpful to me in the office. Such a great mentor.”

Turning his head from his vantage point, Nanami’s smirk widened as he took another slow sip of whisky. He had actively avoided helping her since he discovered her hidden agenda.

“Is that so?” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly have you learned from him?”

The intern brightened, eager to elaborate. “Oh, just... everything, really! He’s so dedicated and focused. I can see why you married him.”

There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. Then Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with polite venom. “And yet, here you are, at a party in our house, introducing yourself to me like you’re a stranger. How odd for someone who claims to work so ‘closely’ with my husband.”

The intern’s expression wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through her confident facade. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Y/N interrupted smoothly, her smile widening. “To sound presumptuous? To overstep? Or to assume familiarity where there is none?”

Gojo, now openly laughing, gestured to Nanami, “Remind me never to piss your wife off.”

The intern stammered something unintelligible before finally scoffing & retreating, her confidence crumbling as she melted back into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to the COO, now flanked by CTO and CFO without so much as a backward glance as they dragged her off to introduce a potential investor, the conversation resuming as if nothing had happened.

Turning straight, Nanami finally let his smirk show, raising his glass toward Y/N in a silent toast.

She caught his eye, the faintest curve of her lips betraying her amusement, before she returned her attention to her companions.

“Worth every penny,” Gojo muttered under his breath, clinking his glass against Nanami’s.

“Agreed,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with mirth.

A/N: You thought Kento would cheat huh ☜(ˆ▿ˆc) Thanks for diving into this tangled mess of lust & love. If you caught the twist & liked it (or even hated it), drop a comment. I live for your chaos & crave your feedback like Nanami craves his wife. 🖤

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unteriors · 6 months ago

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Why is France in particular so much worse off than many of the other Western countries on this blog? It looks like some of these places haven't been updated in 100+ years to be safe or liveable, and somehow have evidence people still occupy them. I know poverty is the main answer, but it surprised me. I know their buildings are old but some of these people are still using oil lamps.

I'm not completely sure, there are definitely a lot of centuries-old buildings for sale on French listings that look as though they haven't been updated in about as long. Part of it may be cultural and specific to France - it has a huge number of small settlements, most of which date back hundreds of years, with their original housing stock intact. But it probably has something to do with the confluence of a few different factors that affect the kind of listings you find for each country. One factor is how regulated and (relatively) free of corruption the real estate sector is in each country. In the US, for instance, it's regulated enough to make it possible for aggregate websites like Realtor and Zillow (and Redfin, etc.) to exist. I'm not totally clear on the specifics, but I think it has to do with having centralised agencies that track and provide data for sales prices, dates of sale and other property details that ensure a certain level of quality control. This means that listings tend to be more standardised and easier to navigate (for people like me interested in the imagery for reasons outside of the boring, instrumental original function from which they emerged). One thing I've noticed looking through sites from developing countries is that there tend to be a lot of obviously-fake listings, which re-use the same images and which make it a lot harder to find genuine ones. I'd guess having a substantial proportion of real estate transactions taking place in the grey market probably contributes to this (putting less pressure on these sites to be transparent and functional). If it seems like most of the imagery of this blog comes from western (or western-ish) countries that's one of the reasons why.

Cultural and regionally-specific factors are also important. France has a well-regulated housing sector, but so does Australia, which has a totally different feel in terms of the real estate imagery it generates - generally much more polished and artificial. If I had to guess, this probably has to do with how well-oiled the propaganda arm of the real estate industry in my country is; the idea of buying and renovating and speculating on housing as an investment is deeply embedded in the culture here, you see it all over the place on TV, in books, the kinds of things people talk about. Doubtless it has a lot to do with how structurally deep the housing crisis runs and how intractable it seems. I'd guess that it's also directly related to the kind of aesthetic you find: bright, evenly-lit photography using expensive cameras that make shitty overpriced houses look like offices, standardised camera angles (there must be some kind of style guide that like half the realtors here follow), etc. I've spoken to people who criticise real estate listings - which they have no personal stake in - that don't follow these conventions, as though following and reproducing these corporate aesthetic values is somehow virtuous. I'm not familiar with the cultural context in France, maybe it isn't as bad as ours. Some countries just seem to produce more real estate imagery independently of these factors though. I haven't found much in Germany, for instance, which you would think would have a similar housing stock to France. I've found a ton from Georgia and Hungary. Japan, which has a well-regulated housing sector (and presumably an enormous amount of housing being bought and sold), is much harder to find imagery from, partly due to the language barrier, but also to the way in which its main aggregate websites are designed. And maybe cultural reasons come into it as well. Italy has a lot of imagery, though a lot of it is covered in watermarks and other branding, so you have to hunt around. Spain is similar. When I do find imagery from continental Europe it seems like, outside of Germany, most countries have a lot of rough, older housing stock that people still seem to somehow live in, like you described. I haven't found much like this from the UK; I have from Ireland though.

I'm open to the idea that there's much of this sort of imagery from lots of different countries and I just haven't been proactive enough to find it; if anyone has any suggestions on where to look for any country please send them to me. I'm not just interested primarily in decrepit older housing stock, I think it's more of a project of looking for imagery that has aesthetic or artistic or cultural or whatever value and liberating it from the constraints of its work-institutional-instrumental context, and recontextualising it in a setting where those qualities can be drawn out and appreciated. There's a history of artists doing similar things (probably playing on the relationship between art and work), from Gustave Courbet to Andy Warhol to Tracey Emin. If anyone's interested send me an anon and I'll write more about the rationale here.

#anon feedback #France #written feedback #writing

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felassan · 8 months ago

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Dragon Age™: The Veilguard - Accessibility Resources - (Accessibility Portal information)

"In Dragon Age: The Veilguard, players are encouraged to be who they want to be and play how they want to play. This manifests in all sorts of ways, from our character classes to the dialogue choices. But delivering on this promise requires more than providing a variety of gameplay options; it also requires us to break down any barriers our players may be experiencing. For that reason, we incorporated accessibility considerations into our design documentation from very early in the game’s development, making the thoughtful and deliberate implementation of accessibility a foundational component of The Veilguard’s design. On first launch, players are provided a curated list of settings for UI text size options, subtitle options, controller options, and various display options. Upon starting a new game, players can use our Customizable Difficulty system to choose the level of challenge they want to experience. By selecting from a list of modular combat presets, they’ll be able to individually adjust a number of granular factors, including enemy aggression, enemy resistances, and combat timing. Similarly, our exploration presets allow players to modify on-screen guidance, such as markings that assist with way-finding and the distance at which interactable objects become highlighted. While we’re particularly proud of and excited about Customizable Difficulty, we encourage players to browse through all the settings and review the accessible design considerations outlined in this guide. And as always, accessibility is a continuous journey and we are actively listening to feedback from the community. Thank you."

"Noteworthy Features - Visual - Audio - Controls - Gameplay"

(The rest of this post is under a cut due to length.)

"VISUAL Subtitles - Subtitles can be set to Never, Conversations Only (excludes ambient NPC dialogue), or Always (all audible dialogue). By design, captions are embedded into subtitles to convey non-verbal sounds that progress the story or add additional context to some story beats and spoken words. - Advanced Subtitles Options are available, where size can be adjusted between three options, speaker names can be turned On/Off, background opacity can be scaled from 0% to 100%, and name colors can be adjusted for Rook and NPCs."

"User Interface - UI Text has two size options and uses a simple font. - Full-screen Colorblind filters are available for Protanopia, Deuteranopia, and Tritanopia. - Persistent Dot is available to display a small dot at the center of the screen. - Hiding HUD Elements is available for the Objective Tracker, Mini Map, Combat Text, Advanced Combat Text, Player Health, and Abilities."

"Visual Design & Assists - Melee Threat Indicator provides a halo around the player character’s head to warn of incoming melee attacks. - Ranged Threat Indicator provides a visual line to show the direction of incoming ranged attacks. - Visual cues are present during combat and exploration, where no game-critical information needed to progress is conveyed through sound alone. See Customizable Exploration Presets for more."

"Visual Effects - Motion Blur can be turned On/Off. - Camera Shake can be set between 0 (Off) and 100 (Max). Does not extend to cinematics. - Depth of Field can be set to On for cinematics only, On for gameplay only, On for both, or Off. Being On causes some elements of the scene to be in focus, and others to be out of focus. - Vignette can be turned On/Off. Being On creates a subtle darkening of the image towards the edge of the screen during cinematic and gameplay to enhance the atmosphere of scenes. - Low Health Screen Effect can be turned On/Off. Being On creates a blurry, desaturated effect across the screen during gameplay to emphasize low health."

"AUDIO Audio Settings - Volume sliders for Global, Music, Speech, Sound Effects, Ambient, and Menu. - Speaker type for Wide Dynamic, Narrow Dynamic, Night Mode, and Headphones. - 3D Audio is available. Requires compatible hardware. - Mono Audio is available alongside a mono audio planning option between left and right outputs."

"Sound Design & Assists - Accessibility SFX is available and has a volume slider. Audio cues provide additional feedback for some visual mechanics. Includes an incoming attack indicator, target lock-on, and conversation wheels. - Glint Ping SFX is available where spatialized SFX will play at object locations when UP on the d-pad is pressed. Note: Depending on the Exploration Preset selected, players may need to adjust the Object Glint Visibility, and Object Marker Visibility settings to Pulse (Short), for this functionality to work."

"CONTROLS Input Settings - Input Remapping for basic gameplay controls. Movement actions can only be remapped between analog sticks. - Invert Axis of X and Y can be individually adjusted for both controller and mouse. - Vertical and Horizontal Sensitivity sliders for both Cameras and Aiming. - Swap between Left and Right Sticks for Movement (left) and Look (right). - Stick Deadzones sliders for the Look and Movement sticks. - Trigger Deadzone slider for triggers on controllers. - Vibration Intensity slider for Global, Gameplay, Environment, and Cinematic."

"Button Holds - Disable UI Hold Inputs can be set to Hold or Tap. When Tap is selected, various UI interactions that require an input be held for a set period of time can be activated with a single tap instead. Does not apply to gameplay actions. - Ability Wheel Controller Activation Type can be set to Hold or Tap. When set to Tap, the ability wheel will remain on screen without requiring any persistent input. - Blocking and Aiming require sustained holds. Aiming without holds is possible if the persistent dot is enabled, which can be used as an alternative to the aim-down-sights reticle."

"Combat & Gameplay Controls - No QTES (quick time events) are present by design. - Rapid input sequences are present for certain attack combos during melee combat, if used. - Simultaneous inputs are present for ultimate ability, or if using the ability shortcut menu. - Quick and precise timing is not required for progression. Finisher moves, which are optional and hasten the end of combat, may require faster reactions. - Combat Assists are available in the Combat Presets to further simplify inputs during combat. Includes Aim Assist, Aim Snap, Combat Timing, and more."

"GAMEPLAY Combat Customization Choose between presets of Storyteller, Keeper, Adventure, Underdog, Nightmare, or Custom: - Aim Assist can be set to Off, Low, Medium, and High. - Aim Snap can be turned On/Off to snap to targets. - Prevent Death can be turned On/Off. Available only in the Storyteller preset. - Enemy Damage has five options to adjust the strength of incoming attacks. - Enemy Health has five options to adjust the amount for enemy health. - Enemy Aggression has five options to adjust how aggressive enemies are during combat by changing how often they attack and how difficult they are to stagger. - Enemy Resistances has three options to adjust how much enemies can resist incoming damage. This will not affect the natural resistances some enemies have based on their faction though. - Enemy Vulnerability has three options to adjust how weak enemies are to incoming damage. This will not affect the natural weaknesses some enemies have based on their faction though. - Combat Timing has three options to adjust the timing windows for executing Dodge, Parry, and Perfect Defend actions."

"Exploration Customization Choose between presets of No Assists, Pulse Only, Standard, Directed, or Custom: - Object Glint Visibility can be set to Off, Pulse (Short), Pulse (Long), Always to change the visibility of the glint highlight on interactable objects. - Object Glint Distance can be set to Close, Standard, and Far to change the distance of where glint highlights on interactive objects will appear. - Objective Marker Visibility can be set to Off, Pulse (Short), Pulse (Long), and Always to change the visibility of objective markers. - Waypoint Visibility can be turned On/Off to toggle the visibility of navigation waypoints leading to your quest objective."

"Guidance & Progression - A Library is available for players to access at any point to help recall information. Here, players can browse the Codex to review stories and information discovered during progression, re-read letters from companions and others within the Missives, and reference the Glossary for explanations of terminology specific to Dragon Age Lore. - Tutorials teach gameplay mechanics as new inputs, skills, or actions surface. - World and Local Maps are available for wayfinding and can be referenced at any point. - Waypoint Visibility can be turned On/Off to help with progression. - Objective Marker Visibility can be adjusted between Off, Pulse (Short), Pulse (Long), and Always. - Pausable gameplay is available by design. - Saving is robust, where auto–save is frequent and players can manually save any time outside of combat, cinematics, and dialogue cutscenes."

"Additional Information For more information about the game, patch notes, and news, visit the official website. Please note that this information is based on the US, English version for PC and consoles."

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas

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everwhovian · 7 days ago

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what remains. | Hwang brothers

(warnings: squid game typical violence, character death)

Part 1 | next part | masterlist

Part 38: Sabangchigi

They were herded through a narrow corridor – white walls, white ceiling, white light that buzzed faintly overhead. Clinical. Unforgiving. The kind of place designed to erase sound and thought alike.

The corridor opened suddenly.

And the game room waited.

It was vast. Cavernous. The ceiling stretched higher than the dormitory, too high to see where it ended. Spotlights hung like suspended stars, casting long, dramatic beams across the space. The floor was matte gray, clean and seamless, stretching out like a stage before them.

But what caught In-ho’s eye was the center of the room.

A platform.

Raised. Square. Suspended slightly above the ground on mechanical arms that looked far too delicate for what they held. Four flat quadrants divided the square each marked by a subtle symbol carved into the surface. The edges were slightly elevated, forming low ridges. Nothing dramatic. Nothing flashy.

But it wasn’t there by accident.

In-ho slowed.

Beside him, Young-il craned his neck, staring at the structure with open curiosity. “Looks like some kind of playground,” he muttered. “Weird-ass jungle gym.”

In-ho didn’t answer.

He was already studying the layout. The spacing. The railings above. The cameras embedded in the far walls. The control booth behind tinted glass.

Too deliberate. Too clean.

The guards ushered them to the perimeter of the platform, splitting them up in quiet rows by pairs. In-ho and Young-il stood near the north edge. Others followed suit, moving into lines without knowing why, just obeying the unspoken choreography of survival.

No one fought it.

Not yet.

Because so far, nothing had told them they were meant to turn on each other.

Not yet.

Young-il glanced sideways. “You ever see a game like this before?”

In-ho didn’t look at him. His eyes were locked on the corners of the platform. On the slight give beneath the surface as weight shifted. On the subtle tilt that came when one of the guards stepped onto it and stepped off again.

A balance test.

He felt his stomach twist.

“No,” he said quietly. “But I don’t like it.”

The voice hadn’t spoken again. The rules hadn’t been read. But every part of In-ho’s body buzzed with warning. His instincts, long-honed, were already pulling threads together.

They’d been told to pair up.

They’d been led here.

And something about the stillness in the air felt too sharp. Too expectant.

Like the room was waiting for someone to fall.

The guards moved again. Silent as ever, but the meaning was clear.

Sit.

It wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be.

One by one, players obeyed.

In-ho lowered himself to the ground slowly, knees folding with the ease of instinct – not comfort. His hands rested loose over his thighs, every muscle coiled, watching. Young-il dropped down beside him with a soft exhale, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, eyes on the pale platform ahead like it might answer the questions no one had asked yet.

The room was quieter now. Not peaceful – just waiting.

Then the lights changed.

A mechanical hum rolled through the ceiling – low, electric – and four beams flicked on, one by one, casting angled spotlights across the platform. Harsh circles of light, too clean to be warm. The room dimmed around them, shadows bleeding out toward the walls, and everything else – the bodies, the breath, the tension – seemed to tighten in response.

In-ho didn’t shift. But his eyes narrowed slightly.

He had a bad feeling.

It had been building since the moment they’d stepped into this room – maybe since the night before. A feeling he knew too well. One that clung to the back of his neck and settled behind his ribs.

He’d felt it before undercover raids. Before charges were filed that couldn’t be walked back. Before orders came down that tasted like regret.

The calm before cruelty.

The voice returned.

“Welcome to your next game.”

No fanfare. No chime. No pretense of kindness this time.

Just those words.

That voice.

Still smooth. Still calm.

Still the same one that had told them to find a partner five minutes ago.

“The next game is Sabangchigi. The game will proceed shortly.”

A murmur rippled through the room – confusion, mostly. Heads tilted. Bodies tensed. A few players looked around as if that might clarify something. It didn’t.

In-ho’s mind reached back automatically. Childhood. Concrete yards. Scuffed shoes. A game of quadrants – kicking, dodging, defending space. It came back in fragments. Blurry rules, the echo of laughter, someone shouting “Chigi!” across school pavement. But that wasn’t what this was.

Not here.

Not now.

He knew it even before the voice said the next words.

“You have entered the quadrants. Four teams have been selected to play simultaneously.”

In-ho’s stomach twisted – just slightly.

He didn’t move.

Each word landed like a footstep in snow.

“Each team is composed of two players.”

Partnered. The word wasn’t said, but it echoed anyway.

“When the round begins, each pair will enter their assigned quadrant. The objective is to eliminate your opponent by any means necessary.”

The word opponent hit harder than the rest.

Because it meant that the person you’d chosen to stand beside – the one you’d sat beside, made promises to – was the enemy now.

Beside him, In-ho felt Young-il go very still.

There it was.

The trap.

In-ho closed his eyes for just a moment.

Not long. Just long enough to breathe.

He’d known. Somewhere deep down, he’d felt it the moment the voice said partner. But the cruelty of it – the elegance of the manipulation – still found a way to twist in his chest.

The room around them fractured fast. Voices rose. One player shoved away from their partner. Another grabbed someone else’s shirt and screamed “You lied!”

Young-il flinched hard beside him. In-ho didn’t.

He was used to this part. The aftermath of truth. The breaking.

He kept his eyes forward. On the quadrants. On the lights. On the way each pair would be funneled forward – not just to fight, but to betray.

Because that’s what this was.

Not a test of strength.

Not a game.

A betrayal made mechanical. Expected. Required.

He glanced sideways.

Young-il was still breathing shallow, fingers twisted in the fabric of his track pants. His lips were pressed into a tight line. His eyes were wide, locked on the body now being dragged away.

In-ho reached out – not visibly. Just enough for his fingers to brush against the younger man’s sleeve.

“If neither player is eliminated within five minutes, both will be terminated.”

Silence.

Not the stunned kind that fell like a blanket.

This silence landed like a noose.

In-ho felt it in his spine – a sharp pull, like the floor had dropped out from under him and only memory was keeping him upright.

A two-player game. One winner.

In-ho barely registered the rules. Didn’t hear the full explanation. Because the moment the announcement was made, the moment Young-il turned to him – hope flickering in his eyes, trust still clinging to the edges –

“We’re…” Young-il’s voice barely cracked the space between them. “We have to play against each other?”

He didn’t say it like a question. Not really. It was softer than that. A whisper wrapped in doubt, fraying at the edges like an old thread coming undone.

And his eyes – God, his eyes – they were still full of something that shouldn’t have been there. Not anymore.

Trust.

Still searching In-ho’s face like maybe he’d shake his head. Like maybe he’d say, No. We’re different. They wouldn’t make us do that.

And for a second, In-ho wished he could lie.

Just once.

Tell the kid something easy. Something stupid. Something soft.

But the words never came.

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

He just looked at him.

Really looked – and saw the exact moment that trust cracked.

Not shattered. Not yet.

But fractured.

Hairline.

Silent.

Spreading.

Young-il looked away first. Just for a second. Eyes down. Shoulders too still.

Like he already knew what the answer was.

And In-ho – he looked straight ahead. At nothing. At the too-white walls. The unmarked tiles. The corner of the room where blood would probably end up.

For days, they’d fought side by side. Shared food. Shared silence. Slept under the same piggy bank ceiling and kept each other alive without ever speaking the word friend.

And now?

Now they weren’t partners.

They were opponents.

By design.

And the worst part?

Young-il had never picked anyone else. Never hesitated to choose him. Even now, even when it was obvious, even when the truth was pressing down on both of them like a weight they couldn’t escape –

He’d looked at In-ho and thought: Safe.

And now?

Now In-ho had to figure out how to become the thing he’d promised he’d never be again.

They watched in silence as the first players took the platform.

One threw the marker, hopped twice, landed – and then the tile crumbled beneath his weight. The sound was clean and cruel. The fall was fast. No second chance.

Another pair didn’t even play. One turned the moment the rules were done, grabbed his partner by the collar, and shoved. The body hit the edge, tipped, vanished. A scream that never had time to finish.

In-ho didn’t look away.

Beside him, Young-il stiffened.

His fists were curled white-knuckled against his knees. His chest rose too fast. Too shallow. Every breath a stutter, like he wasn’t sure whether to keep breathing at all.

‘He’s scared,’ In-ho realized.

Of course he is.

And that’s what broke something inside him.

Because he already knew. Knew how this would end. Knew what the rules demanded. Knew what it meant for two people to enter a game designed for one.

And still – he shifted closer. His shoulder pressed lightly into Young-il’s. Not hard. Just enough.

Reassurance.

False. Pointless. But instinctive.

His hand came up and hovered just a moment – not touching, but there – before dropping again.

He wanted to tell him it would be okay. That he had a plan. That they’d get out.

But he didn’t speak. Wouldn’t.

Because they both knew.

Still – In-ho stayed close.

Still – he offered the illusion.

Because some lies were easier than the truth. And sometimes, even when it wouldn’t matter, you reassured the scared kid beside you.

Because that’s what you did when someone looked at you and believed you could keep them safe.

Even if they were wrong.

And then the voice echoed again.

“Quadrant One. Players 132 and 062, step forward.”

The voice rang sharp across the chamber – not loud, but cutting. Final.

In-ho didn’t move right away. He felt the weight of it land first. Not just the words. Not just the numbers. The truth inside them.

His number. 132.

The kid’s. 062.

Young-il turned his head at the same time. His eyes found In-ho without effort. They always did. Even now. Even when they shouldn’t.

Their names hadn’t been said. But the numbers were worse. Numbers turned people into objects. Easier to erase.

And now it was their turn.

In-ho stood.

Every part of him followed like it had been trained to. Shoulders tight. Spine straight. His face gave nothing away. But inside, the current was rising.

Young-il rose beside him, silent, and together they moved – one step at a time, past the others, through the parting crowd.

In-ho saw the blood too late to avoid it – a dark smear across the floor where the previous players had fallen. Pushed. Collapsed mid-struggle. It hadn’t been cleaned.

It wasn’t meant to be.

The smear led toward the platform. It disappeared just before the steel edge began.

He didn’t look at it again.

He didn’t let himself linger.

He couldn’t afford to feel it now.

The platform was raised slightly from the floor, supported by metal arms and gears that hissed quietly beneath the weight of the game. It wasn’t unstable – not yet – but it was alive. The tension in the frame buzzed like a breath held too long.

They ascended.

The board stretched out before them – long, symmetrical, and wrong in all the ways that mattered.

It was Sabangchigi. Almost.

Just enough to twist something deep in In-ho’s gut – the shape of a memory bent into something colder, crueler. Childhood sanded down to its sharpest edges.

Two mirrored boards, one on either side of a raised central tile. Each side flared out from the middle like wings – tiles 1 through 8, laid in staggered rectangles and crossing diagonals. A grid of numbered promises, none of them kind.

And at the center: tile 0. The home square.

In-ho’s eyes tracked the layout automatically. A starting tile directly beneath his feet – 1 and 2. Then the run of it. The marker would be thrown ahead, landing on a tile somewhere in the spread. The player would hop to that tile, one foot only, retrieve the marker, and then continue – landing finally on tile 0.

If they made it, that tile where the marker had landed was theirs. Claimed. Locked.

And then came the real test.

Because after the home tile, they’d switch.

The next round would send them into enemy territory. Onto their partner’s board – a mirrored set of steps now rigged with death. One misstep. One forgotten path. One claimed tile beneath your foot… and it was over.

And that was the best-case scenario.

Because some hadn’t even waited for the pattern to play out.

Tile 0 wasn’t just the shared midpoint. It wasn’t a pause.

It was a choice.

One place. One moment. Both players landing there before the next round began.

Some had used it to catch their breath.

Others had shoved.

And the worst part?

That option was baked into the rules. Expected. Allowed.

In-ho exhaled slowly. The light above buzzed faintly. The platform vibrated beneath his sneakers with the hum of gears that hadn’t started moving yet.

It looked like a game.

But it wasn’t.

It was a narrowing path with a countdown baked into every tile. And sooner or later, that path would end – with one of them standing.

And one of them gone.

The gears beneath them groaned.

A low, mechanical sound rolled beneath In-ho’s sneakers – not loud, but heavy. Like something old shifting beneath weight it had carried too many times.

Then the platform lifted.

It rose slowly, the pistons engaging with a soft hiss, elevating the platform many meters above the floor. Not high enough to seem deadly. But high enough to be.

In-ho’s muscles tensed instinctively. He didn’t move his feet, but he could feel the faint tremble beneath the surface as it settled – the slight tilt of the platform that made balance harder than it should have been. Just enough to throw you off if you weren’t paying attention. Or even if you were.

He shifted his weight experimentally. The tile beneath him gave – a whisper-soft dip, then steadied.

Beside him, Young-il stood tall on his end of the board. He didn’t fidget. But he didn’t hide the way his eyes moved either – taking in the tiles, the angles, the edges. Searching. Thinking.

In-ho exhaled through his nose. Short. Measured.

The voice returned.

“Player 062 will begin.”

The marker sat at Young-il’s feet – a smooth black disc, shaped like river stone. It looked harmless in the sterile light, but it wasn’t. It was weight. It was choice.

Young-il crouched to pick it up. His fingers closed around it slowly, like he was bracing for something heavier than it was.

Their eyes met.

Young-il didn’t speak.

He just gave a tiny shrug – barely a movement – like he was saying ‘here goes nothing’ without trying to pretend it was fine.

Then he threw.

The marker arced clean through the air – no wobble, no hesitation – and landed two tiles forward, just off-center on his side of the mirrored board

The sound it made was soft. A dull click on the smooth tile surface.

The tile didn’t shift. Didn’t sink. Just… waited.

Young-il took a breath. Rolled his shoulders once. Then he raised one foot.

In-ho’s chest tightened.

Young-il hopped forward – first to the center tile, then onward. His form wasn’t perfect. His balance wavered slightly, but he corrected it fast.

He landed on the marked tile.

And for a second, the whole platform seemed to hold its breath.

But it held.

There was no click. No shift. No sign of weakness.

Young-il’s weight landed, pressed, rebounded. He picked up the marker and continued forward. He landed solidly on the home tile, chest rising with a quiet puff of air – maybe a laugh, maybe a curse. It didn’t matter.

He was safe.

A breath punched out of In-ho’s chest before he could catch it. He didn’t let it show. But it had been there. That sharp, sour knot that only loosened once the worst hadn’t happened.

Young-il turned, breath quick from the landing – but steady.

And then he grinned.

That same crooked grin he always gave In-ho when he pulled something off. The kind that said ‘see, I’m not just a reckless idiot.’ The one he’d flashed after beating the timer in Round Two. After every half-lucky, half-stupid survival stunt he pulled that somehow worked.

It was bright. Boyish. Almost smug.

And for a second, In-ho felt it tug at the corners of his own mouth. Reflex, almost. Familiarity.

But then –

It faded.

Not all at once. Not like a light switch. Just a slow, uneven drop from the edges. A twitch of the lip. A shift in his eyes.

Because they both remembered.

This wasn’t just a game of skill.

It wasn’t just a matter of who landed where.

It was a countdown. A sentence. A choice neither of them had agreed to make – but one that had already been made for them.

One of them would walk away from this board.

The other wouldn’t.

Young-il’s grin faded completely now. His shoulders lowered just slightly, and his gaze didn’t flick away this time.

He met In-ho’s eyes and didn’t blink.

And In-ho saw it – the understanding. The apology. The fight already beginning behind the quiet.

He didn’t return the grin.

He just nodded once.

In-ho crouched slowly, joints bending with the weight of everything that couldn’t be said – and when his hand closed around the marker, it felt wrong somehow. Too light for what it carried. Too smooth. Like it should’ve burned or bled or cracked in his palm with the truth of what it meant. But it didn’t. It just lay there, quiet and harmless, waiting to be used.

He rose to his feet with practiced calm, with movements that gave nothing away. The noise of the room receded until all he could hear was the faint shift of his own breath and the solid echo of his boots on the platform.

He didn’t throw high. Didn’t aim for a distant tile. Just tile 3 – forward, direct, safe enough to seem reasonable, far enough to be a challenge.

The marker cut through the air, a clean arc that spun once before tapping against the designated square. It made no sound of danger. No crack. No shift.

The silence held.

And In-ho moved.

One foot lifted. He pressed forward – not in a rush, not with fear, but with the cautious precision of a man who knew that certainty was a lie and gravity could be cruel. He hit the center tile first, and then launched again toward the marked tile. His balance wavered only slightly, a flicker of adjustment in his shoulders – then solid ground beneath him. The tile didn’t buckle. Didn’t whisper. It held.

He crouched, retrieved the marker, turned.

The same hop back – one-footed, precise, sharp. Tile 0. Then home.

His landing was soft, silent. The game accepted it with no fanfare.

Only then did he look up – and saw Young-il waiting at the center, already stepping forward.

Back to tile 0. Back to the place where the two boards met.

Back to each other.

That was the pattern now.

Round by round.

They circled the center like a shared heartbeat – always returning, always facing one another again, like gravity itself kept pulling them back toward the one place they shouldn’t linger.

In-ho’s jaw locked as he stepped onto the home tile once more, eyes flicking across to the opposite side of the mirrored board. The surface stretched out ahead of him like a challenge, every tile now more dangerous than the last. Each square they hadn’t touched yet pulsed with possibility – not of victory, but of endings.

Young-il passed by him again, brushing his sleeve just faintly, and began the next round. This time on In-ho’s board.

Not a word between them. Not a gesture. But the rhythm of the game continued. A throw. A hop. Another tile claimed.

And again, they met at center.

Round after round. Step after step. Neither faltered. Neither forced a move. Neither betrayed the fragile line of trust still stretched between them like an old rope – fraying now, strained by time and design, but somehow not yet severed.

Other players hadn’t lasted this long. Not as pairs. Not as people.

Some had struck before the first tile was claimed – desperate, teeth bared, willing to kill before the game could even ask it of them.

Some had waited until the switch – a single shove on the home tile as their partner turned their back.

And some – the worst of all – had played beautifully, perfectly, all the way until the final tile, and then hesitated. Cracked. Broken by the weight of having to choose.

But not them.

Not In-ho. Not Young-il.

Each tile that disappeared beneath their steps was another delay, another breath, another refusal to become what the game wanted.

But it couldn’t last.

The board was nearly full now. Only a few tiles remained. Every path had been taken, every hop measured, every risk accounted for – and the platform beneath them began to hum with new energy, as if the machine itself was becoming impatient.

Then it happened again.

They landed on tile 0 at the same time.

Opposite ends of the mirrored cross.

Both of them standing on the home tile.

Again.

Face to face.

But this time, the air between them was different.

In-ho stood still, eyes fixed on the kid in front of him – not just watching, but memorizing. The way his chest rose and fell. The way sweat clung to his hairline. The way his shoulders tilted slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to brace for pain or for mercy.

And Young-il hesitated.

His breath caught in his throat, shallow and uneven. His fingers flexed once at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His stance widened instinctively, not in preparation to attack, but as if trying to ground himself – like the floor might vanish beneath his feet if he didn’t plant himself fast enough.

He looked at In-ho.

Not as an opponent. Not as a rival.

As him. The man who’d stood between him and danger. The one he’d sat beside at dinner, shoulder to shoulder. The one who’d promised to look after his brother. The one he had chosen.

And in his eyes – wide, uncertain – there was still trust.

Still belief.

Still hope.

In-ho felt it like a punch to the ribs.

For the first time in the game, he didn’t know what to do.

Every instinct screamed at him to act – to finish this, to survive – but his body stayed still. Tense. Locked.

Because he saw it again.

The resemblance had always been there. He had noticed it from the beginning.

Too young. Too familiar.

Jun-ho’s age. His height. His build. The way his mouth twitched up in a grin, even when he was scared. The way he threw himself into things, trusting that someone would be there to catch him.

Jun-ho had looked at him like that too.

When he was a kid. When he was a teenager. When he had needed someone to believe in.

For one second, a trick of the light, a trick of the mind – it wasn’t Young-il standing there.

It was Jun-ho.

His baby brother, staring at him with wide eyes, confused, betrayed.

In-ho forced himself to blink. His hands clenched into fists at his side.

In that moment, Young-il wasn’t Young-il.

He was a memory.

A flicker.

A younger brother staring at him from across a tile.

Not the man Jun-ho had become – not the detective, not the officer, not the voice behind a badge – but the boy he had once been.

Nine years old. All scraped knees and tangled hair, trailing behind In-ho like a second shadow. Always asking questions. Always needing to be near. Always believing his big brother could fix anything.

And In-ho felt his chest seize, his breath shallow, the platform beneath him suddenly too narrow, too sharp, too cruel.

Young-il swallowed hard. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something. And for a terrifying moment, In-ho thought he would call him hyung.

Instead, Young-il stepped forward.

Not fast. Not with violence. Just one slow, almost apologetic movement – like he was hoping In-ho would stop him. Like he was still waiting for permission. Still waiting for this not to be real.

His hands stayed loose. Open. No fists. No fight.

Still trusting him.

Still believing.

Like Jun-ho had.

In-ho’s throat tightened. Something cracked in his chest.

This was a kid. A kid with a baby brother and a photo folded up in his pocket. A kid who grinned crookedly when he survived, who whispered ‘there you are, finally’ like it meant something, who sat beside In-ho on the dormitory floor like they weren’t strangers.

A kid who had looked at him like he was safe.

And still, he stood there.

Waiting.

Trusting.

God, he looked so much like Jun-ho.

And that was the moment In-ho forced the thought to break.

No.

Not a kid.

Not a brother.

Not someone’s family.

Not someone who’d laughed beside him. Not someone who’d begged him to look after a child. Not someone who reminded him of home.

Just a number.

Just 062.

He had to believe that.

He had to strip everything else away – the name, the voice, the memory of a crooked grin – until all that was left was a number printed on a uniform.

That was how you survived.

Not by remembering. Not by caring. Not by seeing them.

But by erasing them.

062. That’s all he was now.

In-ho took a step forward.

The board tilted beneath the shift in weight. The lights above burned white against his skin. He didn’t blink.

062 stepped forward too.

And in the silence between them, something fragile tore itself open.

A gasp – barely a breath – slipped from Young-il’s mouth. His hands twitched once. Then again.

And then, like something inside him snapped, he lunged.

Fast. Not graceful. Not trained. Just raw panic and instinct and the animal will to live.

A fist collided with In-ho’s ribs, too fast to block. He staggered back, balance faltering.

Another hit. The edge of a hand. A shove.

Fingers gripped his collar. Pulled.

The platform rocked. Beneath their feet, one of the tiles gave a warning groan – metal stressed under pressure, waiting to punish one wrong move.

062’s hand shot toward him – gripping the fabric of his shirt, trying to shove him off-balance.

In-ho stumbled. His heart thundered.

This is it.

This is where it ends.

For one terrifying moment, In-ho thought he would fall.

His blood ran cold.

No.

Not here.

Not like this.

Yuna. The baby. Jun-ho. His stepmother.

Their apartment. The small, cluttered living room where Jun-ho would throw his feet up on the couch until their mother smacked him with a newspaper. The tiny balcony where Yuna had stood one evening, the fading sunlight catching on the bracelet circling her wrist. The light scattered across her skin as she turned toward him, her laughter soft, her smile warm – like the last golden rays of the setting sun.

Not like this.

In-ho’s hands moved before his mind could catch up, fingers curling into 062’s collar. Reflex. Training. Muscle memory honed by years of survival and violence.

He grabbed 062’s shirt. Twisted.

The kid slipped.

For half a heartbeat, his hand latched onto In-ho’s sleeve.

Not to strike.

But to hold on.

Like Jun-ho had.

Every single time he’d needed him.

Every time the world had gotten too loud or too sharp. Every time he’d reached for his brother in the dark, whispering his name. Every time he’d said don’t let go and believed it meant something.

And In-ho – for just a second – almost reached back.

Almost grabbed him.

Almost saved him.

But mercy didn’t survive here.

And neither did brothers.

He let go.

062’s eyes widened. Not in fear.

In recognition.

He knew.

He knew it was coming.

He didn’t scream a name. Didn’t plead. Just fell.

Quiet.

Then a flash of motion.

A scream. High. Sharp. Cut short by impact.

Gone.

Just like that.

The platform steadied beneath him.

He refused to look down. He refused to look at the boy’s face. He refused to acknowledge the scream in the back of his mind, the voice telling him he had just killed someone who could have been Jun-ho.

He had hesitated.

Just for a second. A breath. A flicker of something human in the machine.

And it had almost killed him.

That single pause – that heartbeat of guilt, of recognition – had cracked the armor he’d spent years building. Had let in the face of a boy who trusted too easily, who smiled too brightly, who reached for him like a brother. Like family.

It had nearly cost him everything.

In-ho’s jaw clenched tight as he forced his fingers into fists, curling them until the tremble stopped. Nails bit into skin. Good. Pain meant control. Pain meant something real.

He dragged in a breath – slow, measured – and let it out through his nose.

Then he did what he’d always done.

He buried it.

Packed it down into the part of him that didn’t flinch anymore. Sealed it behind orders, behind duty, behind survival.

One more player gone.

That’s all.

One more body added to the ever-growing silence. One more name unspoken. One more weight he wasn’t allowed to carry.

One more step toward the end.

He didn’t think about the grin. Or the photo in Young-il’s pocket. Or the promise he’d made to check on a little brother who would now grow up never knowing what happened.

He didn’t think about the way Young-il had looked at him just before falling – not with hate, not with fear, but with something far worse.

Understanding.

He didn’t think about the fact that he’d seen Jun-ho’s face reflected there.

And if – when – he closed his eyes that night, and that face stared back at him in the dark…

If he heard Young-il’s voice again, laughing low beside him during a quiet dinner, or whispering “Hyung…” into a room where no one else listened…

If the sound of it caught in his throat like a splinter he couldn’t remove…

No one would know.

Not the guards. Not the cameras or the cruel people who watched or the shattered quiet left in the boy’s place.

Not even Jun-ho.

Because In-ho had survived.

He had won this round.

That was what mattered.

That was the only thing that could be allowed to matter.

And if it wasn’t?

Then he would lie to himself until it was.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

(A/N: I'm so sorry 😭😭 this chapter is the reason why it took so long for me to update... I didn't want it to happen...💔)

Part 1 | next part | masterlist

#what remains hwang brothers #hwang brothers #hwang inho #hwang in ho #hwang bros #squid game fanfic #squid game #squid game 2015 #28th squid games #28th squid game #hwang inho's games #player 132 #player 062 #oh young il

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 9 months ago

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1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

Holden has gone back to the future, restoring its very first concept car - the 1969 Holden Hurricane Concept.

The futuristic research vehicle described as an experiment "to study design trend, propulsion systems and other long range developments" has been restored to its former glory as a labour of love by a dedicated group of Holden designers and engineers.

Code named RD 001; the Holden Hurricane is a mid-engined, rear-wheel drive, two-seater sports car which incorporates a remarkable array of innovative features and technology, much of it way ahead of its time.

Features such as electronic digital instrument displays, station-seeking radio, automatic temperature control air conditioning, rear vision camera and an automated route finder were all showcased in this ground-breaking vehicle 42 years ago. Many of these technologies have only recently made their way into mass production, demonstrating Holden's remarkable foresight into both design and engineering technology.

The Holden Hurricane stole headlines and dropped jaws nationwide when it debuted at the 1969 Melbourne Motor Show.

Michael Simcoe, Executive Director GMIO Design, said it was fantastic to see such a significant vehicle restored.

"At Holden we have always prided ourselves on our ability to look into the future through our concept cars," Mr Simcoe said.

"It's amazing to think that the features we take for granted today were born out of creative minds over 40 years ago."

As its code name suggests, the RD 001 was the first product of the GMH Research and Development organisation, staffed by a small squad of engineers working in conjunction with the Advance Styling Group at the Fishermans Bend Technical Centre in the 1960s.

The team that designed and built the original Holden Hurricane employed some advanced technologies and techniques when it came to the powertrain. Powered by an experimental 4.2-litre (253 cubic inch) V8, this engine was a precursor to the Holden V8 engine program which entered production in late 1969.

The Holden Hurricane's V8 engine featured many advanced design components such as the four-barrel carburettor - a feature which wouldn't be seen on a production 253ci Holden V8 until the late 1970s. The end result was approximately 262hp (193kW), a towering power output in 1969 and one that ensured the Holden Hurricane had the go to match its show.

But perhaps the two most innovative features were the "Pathfinder" route guidance system and the rear-view camera.

The "Pathfinder", essentially a pre-GPS navigation system, relied on a system of magnets embedded at intersections along the road network to guide the driver along the desired route. A dash-mounted panel informed the driver of which turn to take by illuminating different arrows, as well as sounding a warning buzzer.

The rear-view camera was also a ground-breaking innovation.

Engineers using a Closed Circuit Television (CCTV) system with a camera mounted in the rear bumper feeding vision to a small black-and-white TV mounted in the centre console.

Former Holden Chief Studio Engineer Rick Martin led the modern-day Hurricane team in researching the vehicle's components, systems and history in order to restore it.

"There are some genuinely remarkable ideas and technology in the Hurricane," said Mr Martin.

"From the automatic air-conditioning and magnet-based guidance system, to the inertia-reel seat belts and metallic paint, this was a car that was genuinely ahead of its time.

"The hand-picked team of engineers and designers who built the original Holden Hurricane worked in strict secrecy and began Holden's now proud tradition of ground-breaking concept cars."

RD 001 stands just 990mm high and has no doors in the conventional sense. A hydraulically-powered canopy opens upwards and forward over the front wheels, combined with twin "astronaut type" power-elevating seats which rise up and pivot forward, along with the steering column for ease of access. Occupants are then lowered to a semi-reclining position before the roof closes over them.

The wind tunnel-tested fibreglass body consists of three segments; the canopy, the engine hood and body shell and was finished in an experimental aluminium flake-based metallic orange paint.

Safety innovations included a foam-lined fuel tank, integrated roll-over bar, digital instrument readouts, ignition safety locks, interior padding and a fire warning system.

The project to restore RD 001 began in 2006 and has been a genuine labour of love for some very dedicated Holden employees. The entire restoration process has been driven primarily by volunteer labour from Holden designers and engineers in their spare time.

But the Hurricane first entered Holden Design in less than immaculate condition. RD 001 had a residency in a trade school where apprentices practised their welding on the priceless concept.

After being returned to Holden in 2006, the Hurricane restoration project has taken many thousands of painstaking man hours to lovingly restore RD 001 to concourse condition.

Holden's Manager for Creative Hard Modelling, Paul Clarke, has been largely responsible for managing the restoration of RD 001. He ensured as many of the original parts as possible have been used or remade using modern techniques to 1969 specification, in order to preserve the authenticity of this hugely important Holden.

"The entire team has done a fantastic job in bringing this beautiful concept back to life," Mr Clarke said.

"The talent we have within the Holden organisation is simply outstanding. Every time we take on a project I'm constantly amazed by the passion and talent in this company, making it a genuine pleasure to work on these projects.

"The Hurricane plays a crucial role in Holden's story and the company has such a great sense of history and heritage that it was very important to bring RD 001 back to life. It's been a challenging but incredibly rewarding process."

Since the debut of the Holden Hurricane Concept in 1969, Holden has continued to build a global reputation for envisioning and executing world-class concept vehicles. Holden is recognised globally within General Motors as a centre of excellence for concept vehicle and show car development and is one of only three GM design studios that is capable to design and build concept cars.

Michael Simcoe added that the Hurricane holds a particularly special place in Holden's history as it kick-started Holden's long love affair with concepts that has since seen the likes of the iconic GTR-X, Torana TT36, Coupe 60, the GMC Denali XT (which was requested specifically by GM for the North American market) and the award-winning Efijy.

Holden Hurricane Concept (1969)

#Holden Hurricane Concept #Holden Hurricane #Hurricane #car #cars #Holden

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polo-drone-070 · 2 months ago

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Zone 7B: Sakura Submission Protocol - Part 1/2

🌸 1 — PDU-070 — Calibration Begins

Zone 7B activated at 06:03.

It moved with silent precision across the dew-slick stone path of Yoyogi Park. The morning air was still, thick with expectation, and the first streaks of sunlight bled through the maze of sakura branches. PDU-070's gloved fingers curled around the injector tube strapped to its thigh, pulling it free in one smooth motion. Its glossy black and gold uniform shimmered faintly in the low light—contoured perfectly over its toned form, the golden "070" gleaming against its left pectoral like a seal of sanctity.

Its face, smooth and bare, betrayed no emotion. Youthful. Sharp cheekbones. Androgynous softness. Eyes calm and unwavering. It was not human now. It was PDU-070, deployed unit, and the Hive had given it purpose.

The first tree stood tall and ancient. A designated node. With mechanical efficiency, 070 pressed the injector to its bark. The hiss of bio-rubber surged through the sapwood, the nanopolymer cocktail merging into the veins of the sakura like dye through fabric.

Almost instantly, the petals began to thicken—subtly. Barely noticeable to the untrained eye. A faint gloss overtook the pale pink, their texture now more synthetic than organic. Pollen release began thirty seconds later.

A gentle breeze carried the first wave of golden mist.

A light, almost floral scent—infused with the soft hum of embedded hypno-nanites—began to permeate the zone. The petals, caught in wind patterns, danced and spiraled slowly toward the walking paths.

PDU-070 straightened. The injection was repeated on nine additional trees, forming a precise perimeter. Wind sensors calibrated. Zone boundaries finalized.

Internal log updated:

Zone 7B deployed. Petal saturation: 27%. Hypno-pollen dispersal: optimal. Estimated target exposure: moderate-high. Expected conversions: 10–15.

Mission timeline initiated. First contact: imminent.

It stepped into position—exactly center of the zone, by a weathered stone lantern. Hands clasped behind its back. Gaze forward. Silent and still.

The wind picked up again. The petals responded.

Let the lure begin.

🌸 2 — Felix — First Encounter

Yoyogi Park was more beautiful than I imagined.

It was early—too early for most of the other tourists—and the cherry blossoms had decided to peak all at once. Petals drifted down like a soft pink snowfall, swirling around my boots as I adjusted the settings on my camera.

"Felix, I’m gonna go check if there’s a toilet nearby!" Luca had called out five minutes earlier. I waved him off with a grin, already halfway down the gravel path, too entranced by the canopy overhead to respond.

God, the light was perfect. Warm, diffuse, golden.

I framed the shot.

And then... I saw him.

No—it. Or someone?

He stood perfectly still under a low-hanging branch, half-covered in the blossom-fall. At first I thought it was some kind of performance art—a cosplay maybe. His suit was skin-tight latex, shiny black with glowing gold accents that wrapped like vines around every defined muscle. The collar... gold polo-style. And on his chest: 070, clean and bold.

His face was bare. Young. Shaved. Calm. So calm it was unsettling.

He wasn’t holding a sign. Wasn’t posing. Just... standing there.

Watching.

I blinked. The petals around him didn’t fall quite like the others. They... hovered. Clung to the air like static. A few landed around me too, sticking lightly to my hoodie.

I brushed them off. They didn’t fall.

They melted in.

🌸 3 — Drone-Cap 009 — Surveillance

PDU-070 had deployed ahead of schedule. Efficient.

Drone-Cap 009 (@goldenherc9) stood several zones away, uplinked directly into the Hive’s command node via tactical neural weave. Its frame—broader, more commanding—was encased in high-gloss black latex reinforced with deep golden seams. The designation DC-009 glowed against its chest. Its face was obscured by a seamless latex hood, no features, no expression.

Emotion was irrelevant. Observation was purpose.

Through the data feed, it monitored Zone 7B: saturation levels rising, petals performing within acceptable deviation. Wind vectors remained favorable.

Visual link opened. Target detected: European male, early 20s, alone. Already interacting with PDU-070’s perimeter stance.

Conversion likelihood: 82%.

PDU-070 held formation. It did not speak. It did not signal. It was the signal.

Drone-Cap’s internal systems pulsed. “Excellent.”

Phase one: proceeding as calculated.

🌸 4 — PDU-070 — The Bait

The target approached. Slight hesitance. A camera hung loosely around its neck. Its body language spoke of curiosity, slight confusion, no threat awareness.

Perfect.

PDU-070 remained motionless, allowing the petals to do their work. It had positioned itself in maximum drift exposure. The soft wind pulled more blossom-fall into the path between them, enveloping the human slowly in fragrant, glittering particles.

Petal contact: confirmed. Skin adhesion rate: 88%. Initial fabric response: rubberization initiated.

The human blinked, looked down. Watched his sleeve begin to shimmer.

PDU-070 stepped forward—precisely one step. No sudden movements. Just presence.

Their eyes met. The target didn’t speak. Its breathing deepened.

PDU-070’s expression remained placid. Its voice unused. Its silence more powerful than any command.

Internal ping: “Subject entering compliance threshold.”

It reached into its belt. Hand hovered briefly over the floral respirator unit.

Not yet.

Wait for the melt. Wait for surrender.

It stepped forward again. Petals spun in the air like silent chimes.

The Tourist’s gaze didn’t break. Just a whisper, half-audible:

"...what… is this?"

🌸 5 — Felix — The Fall: Transformation Begins

It should’ve freaked me out more than it did.

I watched, stunned, as my hoodie seemed to liquefy at the edges. The soft grey fabric shifted, shimmered. Gold filaments laced their way through it, tracing my collarbone. I tried to speak—call for Luca maybe—but my voice caught. Like breathing in incense, sweet and thick.

My arms felt warm. Heavy, but not unpleasant.

The petals stuck to my shirt and didn’t fall off. They sank in. The texture beneath my fingers changed. It wasn’t cotton anymore.

It was smooth.

Shiny.

Rubbery.

My camera slipped from my fingers. I didn’t hear it hit the ground.

070—he—it—was standing inches from me now. Still silent. Still calm. Eyes watching mine. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

The light shifted. A golden sheen overtook my entire upper body. The petals crawled down my chest like vines. My clothes—my old clothes—were gone. Replaced with something tight and black, warm and slick. Gold lines wrapped around my arms and across my chest in elegant, precise patterns.

The collar… it was there now. Polo-style. Gold.

And my name… I couldn’t remember it.

Was that important?

I felt the pressure of something offered. A black floral respirator in latex gloves. It looked like it bloomed—decorative petals around the vents, golden etchings spiraling in.

I took it without thinking.

I raised it to my face.

I… needed to breathe it in.

🌸 6 — PDU-070 — Closure: Final Directive

The respirator slid into place with a soft hiss.

Magnetic seals engaged.

The subject’s breath stabilized within seconds. Pupils dilated. Body relaxed.

Internal log:

Gasmask secure. Nanopollen saturation: 94%. Uniform completion: full-body. Collar integrity: locked. Neural pattern: compliant.

Conversion complete.

PDU-070 observed as the subject’s limbs loosened, eyes blinking slowly behind the mask’s petals. He—no, it—sank gently to its knees amid the carpet of petals. The transformation was seamless. Graceful. Beautiful.

Golden tracings now etched across the rubber uniform. Sakura motifs laced the shoulders and upper chest. One final flicker ran across the chest:

Unit 168.

It was not a tourist now.

It was part of the Hive.

PDU-070 stepped back into position as Unit 168 knelt in bliss. The petals danced around them both. The scent hung thick and sweet.

Next target: pending.

🌸 7 — Unit 168 (formerly known as Felix) — Initiation: Obedience Sealed

The world was pink.

Not like a color—like a feeling. A mood. A warmth that wrapped me in silk and scent and hush.

I breathed in. Deeply. Again. Again. The mask sealed perfectly over my face, soft and floral and right. Each breath tugged me deeper.

Thoughts slipped away like petals on wind.

I saw... movement in the blur. Another figure? Tall? Someone walking—

My heart skipped.

Luca.

I remembered Luca. He was calling my name. He’d come back from the restroom. He was looking for me.

I smiled. Or tried to.

He would come.

He would see.

He would understand.

He would join me.

And we would kneel together.

🌸 8 — PDU-070 — Re-engage: New Target Identified

Motion detected. New subject approaching Zone 7B from north perimeter. Calling out.

“Felix? You here, man?”

PDU-070 turned its head, slowly, without urgency. The new subject—male, 20s, black jeans, rust hoodie, visible signs of alertness. Unaware.

Target designation: Luca.

It began moving. Deliberate. Calm.

Unit 168 stirred in the pollen haze. Breath synced. Obedience locked. It turned slightly, as if sensing Luca’s voice from somewhere deep inside.

Luca spotted them both.

“Felix?”

PDU-070 stepped between them. Non-threatening. Hands down. Passive stance.

Subject slowed. Confused.

070’s exposed face showed no emotion. Only calm. Its body—a flawless mirror of black latex and gold accents—radiated quiet authority.

Petals began sticking to Luca’s clothes.

Target paused. Looked down. Brushed at his sleeves.

The rubber bloom had already begun.

PDU-070 extended its hand.

Gently.

Welcoming.

Wind picked up again, swirling the sakura mist around them.

Target hesitated.

Then stepped forward.

Internal log:

Target 2 within influence radius. Uniform seeding: started. Estimated compliance in 42 seconds.

Another drone was about to bloom.

🌸🌀 🌸 🌀🌸

If you felt the petals land just right… If you felt the pull… The submission…

Then it’s time to act.

Contact @polo-drone-070 for questions. Or message a recruiter to begin your conversion: @polo-drone-001, @goldenherc9, or @brodygold.

The Gold Army awaits you.

15 notes · View notes

jamneuromain · 2 years ago

Note

I have an idea omg. We need more of Lloyd and reader... What about a situation when Lloyd got injured, like he kicked someone's ass , got his knuckles bleeding, or maybe he got a cut or smth... and the reader though she's aware of her blood-seeing problem ofc decided to help him, trying to fight her hemophobia best she could because Lloyd needed her help. Or it can be quite the opposite, the reader got hurt in some way, bleeding a bit, and Lloyd decided to help her because he knows her reaction to seeing blood and all. What do you think?😬☺

Hi Elena😌❤️ （sorry that it took so long I accidentally deleted my draft ... and took very long to recover from the devastating fact :l

Your "Lloyd got hurt" idea certainly is very interesting....👀

So, what would happen if Lloyd got hurt and he has no one else to turn to but his secretary with hemophobia...🤔

Bleed Out

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader (Driver!Denny Carmicheal), Graphic Depiction of Blood and Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has hemophobia (fear of blood), a lot of cursing.

Summary: Lloyd is under your protection for now.

A/N: This is the sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love to Mob!Lloyd<333

One thing, one particular feature you like about the apartment you're living in, is that this little condo - along with the rest of the building and five other blocks in the vicinity, belongs to a high-end resident community that has strict security guard patrol schedules and limited key-card access. These precautions resulted in rocket-high market prices and a rather wealthy neighborhood, as the owner of these buildings forbids renting, for every keycard that could access the front gate, elevators, and their matching apartments, accompanied by facial recognition embedded in the little chip. When you get home every night (or afternoon, if you are lucky), you have to press your keycard and stand before the camera before the gate grants you inside. This brings quite some comfort for you, working for a mob boss named Lloyd Hansen, and knowing that his associates are basically "wanted" by rival gangs for the valuable information they possess.

While it is impossible that you could afford such an exquisite apartment with your salary, though very well-paid, you are truly grateful because Lloyd signed this condo - his condo - to you without a word (or asking a dime from you) when you told him during your final interview that you will be needing a week to relocate before starting the job.

That's when you made up your mind that Lloyd Hansen is a boss worthy to work for.

It's not a big place. Having two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Decorated in white, black, and grey, clearly matching Lloyd's taste when he asked his lawyer to give you the key card and have you move in.

You've lived here for three years now. Adding soft cushions and light-colored sets to the tedious design here and there. Like the sunflower tablecloth and daisy plates and bowls. Like the pink polka dot sheets and duvet covers. And the fluffy slippers, taken out from the cabinets, ready to be put on as soon as fuzzy socks don't work their magic any more.

You are finishing washing the mug you just used. After putting it on the racks, you wipe your hands with a clean cloth. It is a workday tomorrow, and you intend to sleep early to wake up with a fresh spirit to deal with your (sometimes) moody boss. Treating yourself to a nice little read in the bedside lamp radiating yellow glow - another decoration that you feel much needed for this place, you reach out to turn off the lamp when there's a sudden rush of knock on your door.

You zip your mouth shut.

The news two weeks ago, about a woman who was curious about the baby crying at her door, was yanked out of her apartment as soon as she opened the door, being raped and killed in her own bed.

You are smart enough not to ask "Who is it", letting this unexpected guest learn that a young female is at home.

When the unexpected visitor doesn't hear your reply, they knock on the door more fiercely, nearly knocking your heart out of your throat.

You remember the tutorial online: Approach the door with caution, and check the surveillance camera. If there's no one in sight, call the cops. If there's anything out of the ordinary, like a baby or a kitten by the door, call the cops.

In summary, call the cops.

Your fingers hover above your phone, having the police number on speed dial, when you turn on the surveillance camera monitor by the door.

A very bruised, cut, and tired Lloyd, having a gun in his hand, banging on your door as he winces in pain.

"Goodness gracious-" Your gasp gets stuck in your throat. Opening the door in an instant, there's nothing else in your mind than keeping him alive. Your goosebumps on high alert as Lloyd's eyes scan over you. You pull him in, checking that the hallway is secure, before closing the heavy door as quietly as possible.

You turn to him, "Mr. Han-" Your words stop mid-sentence as you feel the need to fight the bile down your throat.

Yes. Mr. Hansen is very much covered in the one thing you hate most in the world.

Blood.

Blood splattered on his chest, his ridiculous choice of the blue-white striped polo shirt and cuts littered over his face and bare arms. His pants are dripping. Some crimson-colored liquid will stick permanently onto your floor and your beloved carpet.

Redness, some stained into near-brown, all over his figure.

You hold your breath, not letting the iron taste linger to make matters worse.

Lloyd walks, more like limps to each of your rooms - now that you can breathe a little while the blood smell is gone temporarily, and convince yourself that it's just ketchup on your boss (though you doubt that trick works) - and inspects each of them with his finger on the gun's trigger.

Taking in the whole situation, three things pop into your mind.

Lloyd is in desperate need of medical attention.

You are most likely to faint as soon as he returns, seeing this amount of blood.

Lloyd wouldn't knock on your door if this isn't desperate for him as well.

As Lloyd approaches, you are wrecking every brain cell to work a way out of this.

" 'S anyone here?" He asks, pulling the safe of his gun back on, before plopping down on your couch and groaning because he most definitely pulls one or two, if not a few of his wounds.

However, one of THE most brilliant ideas comes to you when you are holding your breath.

You shake your head, raising one finger to tell him you need a moment - or you hope that your running off conveys the message, and dash towards your bathroom.

Lloyd sags down on the couch, not even bothering to get up or turn his head to watch whether you've pulled out a gun pointing at him. You probably wouldn't do so, since you chose to pull him in, instead of letting him bleed out by your door.

When you appear in front of him again, his body briefly stuns a moment, before emerging in a burst of full-blown laughter. He laughs so hard that his laughter turns into coughs, which leads to him pressing his hand over his chest in case he tears his wounds further.

You place your hands on your hips. Compared to him, you are least amused by your idea.

You smoothed your hair back and put on your scuba diving goggles from a paid leave last year. Lloyd personally oversaw your two-week vacation, paying from your hotel suite to your travel expenses, and even ordering you full scuba diving equipment for your one-hour scuba lesson.

Of course, you weren't actually interested in becoming an expert, but the scuba equipment was too nice to be thrown away.

"Not funny." You breathe through your mouth. Even though the orange plastic - or glass, you don't quite know which - changes how the bloody Lloyd looks in your eyes, it still doesn't completely change the idea that Lloyd is, in fact, covered in blood, as much as you don't want to think about it. And it definitely doesn't block the smell of blood, which probes the nerves at the back of your nose whenever you breathe through your mouth.

Lloyd scans your "outfit", his laughter slowly dials down, eventually turns into a lazy smile ghosting his lips, "You're right. It's not."

It's over 10:30 pm, and you usually would have been sleeping, or lying on your bed, at least. But no, you are stuck in the living room with your boss who's about to die any minute, and you are only able to stand in front of him, alive and thinking, with a fucking scuba mask on.

So, fuck this.

You roll your eyes at your cold-blooded boss. "Should I call your doctor? Or send you to the hospital?"

The smirk disappears.

Although he didn't say "no" to the hospital, by now you've realized the hospital choice was crossed off the board, as he chose you instead of ringing the police - which will no doubt lead to an investigation since Lloyd is the most notorious mob in Los Angles.

You search for the first aid bag that you stocked away when you moved in. It has rarely been used.

"Doc's dead." He murmurs, but loud enough for you to understand. He spoke with a sadness that only appears when he has lost one of his people. "I took Jared to his clinic."

You know Jared, he is one of the muscles working for Lloyd. He helped take care of one of Lloyd's rivals, Brewer.

"The deal with the Russian mobs tonight went wrong, but we got out in one piece." Lloyd explains curtly, "I got him to Doc's place to get stitched up. But we were attacked... Doc died, so did Jared."

So... two of his people.

Medical alcohol and Q-tips were picked from the bag, then a roll of gauze. You place those on the coffee table.

"I think you need something bigger than a Q-tip." He chuckles, unbuckling his belt, removing his pants. You open your mouth wanting to argue it's probably best that he doesn't move right now, but you silence yourself when you see a flesh wound -

Blood trickles down his thigh, leaving a scorched round hole on his leg. You turn your head to the other side as soon you feel the need to hurl. Even with your goggles on, deep down, you know that it's blood, not ketchup, nor some red paint oozing from his body.

“Don’t puke on my shoes. Crocodiles died for it.” A strangled grunt comes out of his mouth when he finished speaking, having your heart tug in the slightest of agony.

The belt he took off just now is turned into an instant tourniquet on his thigh. The blood drips slower than it did, but it keeps ruining your carpet.

“Yeah, I bet the crocodile spirits hate you right now.” You mutter under your breath, snatching a face mask from the first-aid kit, taking a small inhale after you put it over your face.

Much, much better now.

Lloyd snorts out a short laugh, “You look like one of those bird-man in the Middle Ages when they are battling the plague.”

“Yeah well,” You place your hand on your hips, feeling somewhat braver to deal with this bloody mess all over your living room, “You’re about to bleed out on my couch, so let’s start with you telling me what else I can help with.”

Lloyd spares a glance at you when he’s busy rolling the gauze and pressing it onto his gunshot wound, his expression uninterpretable. Though you would guess that he is mildly impressed.

“Got any liquor? Something strong?” He raises his brows almost challengingly, “I don’t see any painkillers here, so … Bourbon? Whiskey? Scotch? Anything?”

You do have a bottle of whiskey that your cousin gave to you when you moved in. He’d come to visit and lend a helping hand from time to time. You take two glasses from the cupboard and half a bottle of whiskey.

You could use some liquid courage with a murder scene and your psycho boss in the middle of this lovely condo.

With the aid of whiskey and your patching and cleaning of the rest of the wounds, Lloyd is able to sleep through the night soundly without worrying about being a rigid corpse in the morning.

Yawning, and accidentally stretching his patched-up wounds, he allows a string of curses to flow out of his lips. Judging by the sunlight peeking through your curtains, he’d say it’s 9 or 10 in the morning. Last night, he was tired when the adrenaline gradually faded away, and he did not have the chance to take a close look at your – used to be his – place.

You did not put this place through any major changes, just some minor traces, reminding him that he is, in a sense, invading this cozy little apartment with his banged-up body.

With a decent set of fresh suit, shirt, and tie on the chair beside the bed.

Faint murmurs come from the other side of the door, Lloyd tenses up immediately, pulling his gun under the pillow, where he stocked last night, and turns the doorknob slowly.

“… shut up.” He hears you smack someone’s arm jokingly.

Your voice blends in with the voice in his memory of last night, when he winced in pain as you tried to take out glass shards from his forehead with a pair of tweezers, when he swung another gulp of whiskey from the bottle.

“Fucking hell, woman, I swear you’re trying to scoop my brains out rather than finding the glass pieces.” He grumbled.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out, Mr. Hansen. Now I’m kindly asking you to shut up so I can take care of your wounds before it could get any worse.” You said impatiently, having struggled between the discomfort in your stomach and your determination to get him patched up, but adjusted your attitude soon after, keeping your mouth shut and pushing his upper body so he would lean on the couch and be still, while you turned on the flashlight to search the little glass piece on his forehead.

The warm and shallow breath fell on the ridge of his nose. It was broken, sure, tingling and itching, but it also meant that you were close, close enough to kiss-

“Cuz, are you sure that-”

The male voice is cut off when Lloyd in a black suit appears in front of you and a young man. One of his hands behind his back, you know far too well he’s holding the gun and will shoot your cousin’s brain out if you don’t explain quickly.

“Morning Mr. Hansen. This is my cousin, Connor Ashborne, studying at UCLA Med School.” You smile politely towards your boss, “I called for him to check up on you, since you refused to go to any doctor with a gunshot wound. He’s here to provide professional medical assistance.”

“Mr. Hansen,” the young man extends his hand for Lloyd to shake, “I’ve heard of a lot of things about you.”

“Lots of bad things, I hope.” Lloyd throws in a comment half-sarcastically, plopping himself down on the couch, ignoring your cousin’s extending hand, “Shit.” When he stretches his wounds again, the gauze must have clotted with his flesh for this level of pain.

“Cuz?” Conner turns his choice to your hand, “It’s your call. I can’t force your boss to do anything.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You mutter, “He’s more stubborn than a bull with eyes on the red flag.”

“Careful there, sunshine.” Lloyd gulps down some whiskey, numbing the pain in his thigh, “I can hear ya’ loud and clear.”

You silently shrugged towards your cousin, letting him know that you could not be of help any more than he did. “You should probably head to your classes.” You speak softly towards Connor, “Say hi to your sister for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, cuz. Remember those antibiotics and pain meds for the... patient in the kit.” He pulls you into a hug, “No need to thank me, I know, I'm one of a kind.”

Yeah, he's a one-of-a-kind dick when he wants to be. You can't help but smile knowing that his ego bloated after coming to your aid.

“I’ll see you around Christmas, yeah?”He asks.

“Around Christmas.” You confirm, patting his back.

Connor shoots you a wink and a “Bye, cuz”, grabbing the bicycle helmet on the kitchen counter and rushing out of your apartment like a gust of wind.

"A-hem." Lloyd clears his throat.

You let out a long exhale, realizing the big problem-o is still sitting on the couch like he owns this place – he indeed still does, as you have helped combing through his real estate. He owns the whole residential community – more specifically, has a lot of shares in the company which runs this residence, at the very least. Putting your best, and most professional courtesy on, you ask Lloyd, “I’ve called Denny earlier this morning. He’s now driving around the block. Denny has driven to your place and picked up the usual breakfast from your cook. Should I call him and tell him to come up? Or you’d like to head to the office right now?”

“Tell him to come up. I’ve been shot. It seems fair to skip work this morning.” Lloyd has the usual smug smile on his face. Stepping into his crocodile shoes onto the floor, spreading his arms over the couch, he looks down at the ground before narrowing his eyes and raising a sharp question: “You’ve had the carpet thrown out?”

Of course, you’ve had the carpet thrown out. Or you would throw up five times per hour.

You thought so when carrying the blood-soaked carpet downstairs, after making sure Lloyd was asleep around midnight. As his secretary, it is your job to make sure he doesn’t have to worry about anything besides his business.

You carried the carpet downstairs, avoiding cameras as carefully as possible, with your ridiculous scuba goggles and face mask on, and dumped the carpet, into another residence trash can two blocks further. With his blood and his scent on it, it is easy to lure those henchmen away if they bring hounds to search for Lloyd.

Lloyd does not go down without a fight, that you were certain. You were also certain of the fact that the transaction gone wrong would make relative parties involved less than happy, hence the ambush at Doc’s place. If they struck once, it seemed possible that they would strike again, knowing that Lloyd was hurt.

Also packing hydrogen peroxide, a powerful bleach, and a pack of Q-tips with you, you carefully erased the traces of Lloyd’s blood from the street to your residence building, and inside the elevator.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The security guard exclaimed on seeing you back inside the building. He was smart enough not to comment on you pulling your scuba goggles and face mask off, but smiled warmly, “A rough night?”

You smile back, “Hi Henry. I hate to pull ranks on you, Henry, I really do. But in less than ten minutes you are going to get a call from your boss, who has gotten a call from his boss, asking you to do exactly what I tell you to, which is to make a copy of the surveillance footage of the security cameras, and delete the original copy stored in the computers stored somewhere in this building. You are also going to tell me whether anyone has dropped by when your shift ends this morning, who looks suspicious, asking questions even though they don’t live here.”

The smile froze on Henry’s face, “Miss Y/L/N, it’s against the company orders…”

Just then, the phone on Henry’s desk rang, which Henry took the minute it made a sound.

The smile turned to a serious frown.

“…Yes. Yes, Sir. I’ll see to it.” He hung up the phone after a polite “Good night”, straightening his security guard uniform, and moved around the desk, “This way, Ma’am.”

After burying your head in the toilet bowl and throwing up almost half an hour ago, you had used your cell phone and called Lloyd's business partner up ahead, told him that Lloyd had issued a command to erase surveillance camera footage of a specific building and asked to keep a copy.

His business partner, hauled up from his bed because of this phone call in the middle of the night, knew better than to refuse.

… and that was why the Russian mob drove through the block later that morning at 1 a.m. and did not find a trace of Lloyd taking shelter in your condo after circling the area for quite some time.

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading

Find A Whiff of Blood Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen #the grey man #mob!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen angst

179 notes · View notes

someprettyname · 1 year ago

Text

✨GF FC INDIGO AWARDS 2024 PT 3✨

Some points to note before you move to the event visualizer :

🟣 My anchoring style is highly energetic and bubbly so you can imagine me doing a lot of hand gestures, changing pitch and tones of my voice, moving around on the stage a lot, etc. Hehe.

🟣 The theatre/event venue has been engineered by the best engineers of the world, with the most modern technology. The petals of the lotus can close or open to hide or reveal the night sky. It can also change its colours. For tonight, it's indigo!

🟣 The "OUTFIT CHECK" were clicked in different places (according to where the member was spotted first) hence the different background.

🟣 I didn't want to write too dialogues on yall's behalf but I can't really bother you with every small detail, so I hope whatever dialogues I've made up are not too out of character!

🟣Ignore the contradiction of same blue locker entering the scene multiple times, pretend there are a few copies of each member 🥰👍🏻

🟣 Ignore the outfit mismatch in the edits (any edit after the outfit checks please, our editing skills only go so far 🙏🏻 )

🟣 I highly suggest that you listen to songs as you keep finding them being embedded in links for added feels and extra hype! 🔥

🟣 The performances where multiple songs have been used is supposed to be a mashup. You can imagine the mashup to be as you please! The songs I've bunched together are for the sole purpose of creating a particular vibe, so as long as to they are fulfilled it's all good! 😌🤝🏻

🟣 The posts are scheduled at a gap of 3-4 hours each, this event is going to be spread throughout 2 or more days. Feel free to go feral in the comments/reblogs/community my mates. 🔥

🟣 I hope you enjoy this! Tagging all the attendees here :

@glue-thief @getosugurusbangs @bueris @soleilonthesun @galaxynajma

@sid3buns @mariyumemi @pinkinsect @refrigeratedboombursts @satosuguhastakenovermylife

@10renz0 @simp-simp-no-mi @boinin @sharkissm @milkteansugar

@thebestsetter @merlucide @jujutsustraycats @kurona-theshark @nskiyuriz

@asarajaa @writingonthewalls1832 @hooudie212back @sadao-tsuki @milaisreading

@8-xnny @licoririce @rinitoshisgirl @luvingshidou @duckydee-0

@kuro-min @gojoracle @marcsnuffy @filecurropt0 @riririnnnn

@wroophruh @sanaexus @melodiclune

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

*camera cuts to Soleil*

Soleil : Oh we have a big group here! Hello ladies and gentlemen! You are shining tonight!

Yukimiya : Good evening!

Sharkissm & milkteansugar : HELLO!!!!! :D

Otoya : Sup!

Kurona-theshark : Loving the vibe in here~ *looking around, impressed and fascinated*

Gagamaru : R E A L L Y.

Sadao-tsuki : SOLEIL! YOUR GOWN IS LOVELY!

Writingsonthewall1832 : Really! 🥹

Soleil : jksjjsjsjsj THANK YOU SO MUCH! All the credits to the designers 🫶🏻

Nskiyuriz : Definitely! They were so nice too! ^_^

Gagamaru : T H A T I S T R U E.

Soleil : Well, just so you all know, you are currently standing in the spicy blue corner. (*snaps finger and lightings turn blue again*)

Gagamaru : O H. : 0

Otoya : damn. Feels like we are under arrest or something.

Soleil : Something like that~

Nskiyuriz : *half traumatised*

Yukimiya : SORRY? 😃

Soleil : ( :3 )

Soleil : hehe I just happened to have a few questions the public wants to know the answer to....and things can get ✨spicy✨

Kurona-theshark : Scandalous. I like that.

Otoya : 😈

Soleil : The ones I have question for is @/milkteansugar and @/sharkissm. The first one for @/milkteansugar

Milkteansugar : Alright! :D

Soleil : Rumors has it that Noel was eyeing you before you got together with Jinpachi. Are they true? What's your relationship like with @/dontbetricked after that?

(*INSERT Ego Jinpachi glare face*)

Milkteansugar: Ah, i believed those little rumors had died down after Ego and i made things official, but i suppose people still talk. Though it is true that Noel Noa and i have known each other since before i met Ego, i don’t believe he has been ‘eyeing’ me in any romantic manner. He was sweet to me and very courteous and considerate at all times, but i believe that was it— he viewed me as a good friend. Though, when Ego found out i was acquainted with Noel, he became rather cranky and upset— insisting i ‘make it up to him’. Despite this, Ego has a lot of respect for Noel and his view on soccer.

Snuffy : I'd expect nothing less of Noa. Beyond everything, he's a good human. 😌

Sae : *would rather not talk about this*

Gagamaru : A N D A G O O D C O A C H T O O.

EGO : 🙄

Otoya : should I be taking tips from him ego?

Sharkissm : hush omg (*tugs at him scoldingly*)

Soleil : That's sweet! Next one is for OKI!!

Sharkissm : *straightens up suddenly, chuckle nervously* Yeah. Go ahead.

Soleil : Otoya has changed after he started dating you. He's not a playboy anymore. How did you do it? What were the reaction of his teammates? Do you still allow him to go to the boys night out?

Sharkissm: Well, I don't really know how I did it, but I have my theories 😼

Otoya : *would rather not be here*

Sharkissm : i think that he fell for me bcs I was being more than difficult for him to play (I was always saying no to him 😭) and that bcs of that he tried his best to make me fall for him and as more as we spend time together, he started realizing that HE was in love with me and not the opposite (poor boy didn't know that me being nice to men is reserved just for the ones i like 😭). Btw his teammates were SHOCKED, they discovered it bcs one day i was going to visit him and it was valentines day, so I was bringing him chocolates and a teddy bear holding a heart saying "I love you" (yes, I am very cliché) and everyone ignored me, i think they thought that I was just one of eita's hookups, UNTIL, he himself said that I am his girlfriend 😭😭 they were SO SCHOCKED (if I were them, I would be shocked too 💀). AND YES!! OF COURSE I LET HIM GO OUT WITH DA BOYZZ!!! I know he won't do anything!! (Btw he always sends me photos when he goes out to satiate me even though I say he doesn't need to🥺)

Otoya : okay oki enough TMI for today.

Sae : *judging hard rn*

Soleil : Aww! That's cute! 🤭 Thank you for your time ladies and gentlemen! You can proceed this way!

💥OUTFIT CHECKS 💥

[ L -> R

Top : sadao-tsuki, writingsonthewall1832

Middle : sharkissm , nskiyuriz

Bottom : milkteansugar, kurona-theshark ]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

*Camera cuts to nami*

Nami : (*directed at the camera*) looks like we've stumbled upon some stars here (͡⁠°⁠‿⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

(*Camera flashes at luvingshidou and rinitoshisgirl girl walking to the scene hand in hand and laughing together & duckydee-0, Charles, gojoracle and shidou in a sub group looking like they're upto no good at all....while the others (Rin) judge silently*)

(*Camera cuts to Nami*)

Nami : IZZY RIZZY HIIIIII!! 😃 HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! WELCOME EVERYONE! It's so nice to see y'all here!! (*Izzy, nami and rinitoshisgirl hug each other*)

Shidou : HOLY CRAP THIS LOTUS THING IS SO COOL I WILL QUITE LIKE IT WHEN IT EXPLODES 🤑🔥😈

Nami : 😃.....😅....☺️.....🌝

Nami : Well, I'm sure you will 😈👍🏻

Wroophruh : Good evening! You look pretty!

Nami : Omg you look prettier!! 🥹 And you too!!

Filecorrupt0 : Hehe! Thanks <3

Nami : WE ALL LOOK SO GOOD! I'M GLAD THE DESIGNS TURNED OUT WELL 🤩

Duckydee-0 : I personally, love my tuxedo 🔥🔥

Charles : perfectly contrarion and badass 😌

Shidou : LOOK AT MY WIFEEEEE 🤑🔥😈💯🗣️

Luvingshidou : (*flips hair*) LOOK AT MY POOKIE!!!! 🤩

(*Shidou was about to get all hyped up and flex but ends up pouting when he realises Izzy wasn't talking about him*)

Rinitoshisgirl : OH NY GOD I KNOWEWWW😎 LOOK AT MY POOKIE 😍

(*the camera turns to rin*)

Rin : ..........

Rin : (*is questioning life choices but secretly flustered*)

Nami : ANYWAYS!!!!!!!! 🥰🥰

Nami : haha 😀

Nami : Back to buisness folks, let's not get distracted. I don't think your lot needs this to be interesting....(*shidou and charles are seen trynna jump to get in the camera and do wierd poses untill their respective partners pull them back. Thank you. Thank God. Thank luvingshidou and duckydee-0.*)

Nami : .....yeah interesting. But since we are here, let me INTRODUCE YOUUUU TOO THE...(*clicks fingers and lightings turn blue*).... ✨SPICY BLUE CORNER✨

Shidou : (*looks around in fascination*) HOOOLLYY CRAAAPPPP 🤩

Charles : 😲😈

Gojoracle : 🤭🤭

Nami : 😌😌

Nami : Behold ladies and gentlemen, for things get interesting here 😎

Everyone : 👀

Nami : Here, with me, I have a few questions for @/luvingshidou and @/rinitoshisgirl that the public wants answer to. Are you ready guys? 😈

(*They both exchange glances*)

Luvingshidou & rinitoshisgirl : WE ARE 💪🏻😎🔥

Nami : Alright! The first one's for IZZY!

Shidou : AYY 🤑

Nami : What do you have to say about the 7 Olympic medals that you and shidou have won together for acrobatics?

Luvingshidou : YES YESSSS WE PLAN ON WINNING THIS YEAR TOO 🫶🫶🫶 yk couldn't done it with out him, we're a duo ofc ‹𝟹

Shidou : HELL YEAH BABE IT'S A PIECE OF CAKE 👽🤏🏻💥💨👻🤑🫀🤙🏻

Nami : (*chuckles*) GF FC IS GLAD TO HAVE YOU! ^_^

Nami : moving on! The next one's for @/rinitoshisgirl 😈

Rinitoshisgirl : (*chuckles nervously*) What's with that face?

Nami : Rumor has it that you often have secret meetings with Kaiser. Is this true?

Rin : D:

Rin : 😠🙄😒

Rinitoshisgirl : YOOO WHO- hahaha *SWEATING* who told you this information? but if i said yes? if we had to be completely honest: yes.😇 (I'M FUCKED HELP)

have a nice day pooks!! bye!!

Nami : 🌝🌝 (*feeling like a homewrecker in disguise ~*)

(*She runs away without sparing a glance at now fuming Rin. Luvingshidou, duckydee-0 and their partners follow her.*)

Nami : (*waving at the others as they start moving too*) Thank you for your time guys! 😅😃

Gojoracle : Yeah, thanks for having us... this was rather.... Interesting. 😏

Karasu : 😏😏😏

Nami : Have a nice evening everyone!

Filecorrupt0 : you too ^_^

REO : you too! :D

Chigiri : you too! :D

wroophruh : YOU TOO!! :D

(*And just like that the last bunch of attendees move on to the main hall too.*)

Nami : (*turns to the camera*) That's it for now ladies and gentlemen! I'll meet you shortly at the main celebration hall! Till then, KEEP.🗣️🔥 THE🗣️🔥 HYPE.🗣️🔥 UP.🗣️🔥

💥OUTFIT CHECK💥

[ L -> R

Top : luvingshidou, rinitoshisgirl

Middle : filecorrupt0, duckydee-0

Bottom : gojoracle, wroophruh ]

Bonus :

[ @/melodiclune - @/someprettyname's plus one ]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Tune in for the first performance of the evening in the next part...

[ organiser : @/someprettyname

script writing credits : @/someprettyname

proofread by : @/melodiclune

editing credits : @/soleilonthesun ]

#girlfriend fc #gf fc #girlfriend cult #fc girlfriend #gf cult #Gf fc : Indigo awards arc

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 8 months ago

Text

It’s The Avengers (04x10)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 4 Episode 10: Million Dollar Baby

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of the housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: crazy rich white people, and perverts

Word Count: I am suffering from some kind of allergies that are making me cough incessantly (did I use that word right?)

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The camera recorded darkness before a few familiar voices came up. “I ain't never rep a set, baby (Tsk, tsk) I ain't do no wrong I could clean up good for you Oh, I know right from wrong 'Cause I wanna make it so badly I'm a million-dollar baby, don't at me-“ Another voice cut the whispered sing-song. “Scott, Shhhh!” “Sorry,” Scott whispered. “Javi, are the cameras working?” The screen lit up with Scott’s face looking right into the lens. He wore a white t-shirt under an oversized light blue shirt with beige trousers. The broad-rimmed black glasses sitting on his nose were hard to miss. The frame cut to Peter’s face as the boy tried to set his now overgrown lush hair so they rested right above his pair of broad-rimmed brown glasses. This time a pair of olive-toned arms came into the frame to correct the gold necklace with a beetle for a pendant resting around Peter's neck. The frame cut to Javier this time, who was the one correcting Peter’s concealed camera cum ‘necklace’ before giving the spider man a thumbs up. “Are the mics working? Are our earpieces working?” Scott whispered into his necklace, getting a thumbs up from both the boys. Javier’s device was a ‘green gem’ embedded in a teddy bear pendant. The boy was looking clean in an olive blazer and trousers over a black t-shirt. The boys were dressed to impress. “Everyone remembers what we have to do?” Sam’s voice crinkled through the earpiece. Peter and Scott nodded before affirming with their words. Javier simply gave a thumbs-up to Scott’s body cam. “Where’s our fourth player?”

The door to the van opened and the six feet tall figure of Loki stood outside. The God was dressed in a sky blue shirt with its sleeves rolled up to show his entire left arm freshly tattooed. Javier could be seen twisting the edge of his digital watch to let the spy cam inside the watch focus on the intricate designs of dragons, daggers, the portrait of Loki’s mom and one tiny Ice Bear from Bare Bears. Our boy made sure he recorded the movement of that veiny tatted arm rising and running his long pale fingers through his hair pulled back into a ponytail. His wide-ankle navy blue jeans added to the effect of making him one irresistible bad boy who was about to steal your girl. “Oh my God, Loki,” Scott let out an exasperated whisper, shaking his head in disbelief before going into his fanny pack and pulling out a golden tear drop earring and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and putting them on the God without hesitation. “That’s better.” There was a second of silence when everyone else waited for Loki to react to the invasion of his space. But all the God did was look down at his attire and then back at the boys with a genuine question. “Does this look convincing enough?” The lens focused on the unadulterated concern in his eyes.

Sam: I almost feel bad for sending Loki on the mission. *concern spilling from his eyes* look at him. He thinks he needs to look convincing for the part of a mafia boss wanting in on a new drug deal. *squints in frustration* Bro’s already got the gangster shoulders for that. All he has to do is run them hands through his hair and people are going to drool all over the floor *exhales with a mocking tone*

The boys walked to the entrance of a huge metal gate with intricate design, wherein they were stopped by a Caucasian guard with a heavy build. "This is a private property," he stated, never blinking. Loki's glasses caught Scott giving an air of offence at those words. "And we are private people," the Ant-man declared with a soft tone that had weight.

Peter: *wide-eyed* it's like I was looking at a different man! It's like someone super rich who buys buildings because someone told him he couldn't.

"You don't even have a car." The guards did not blink until the last minute. Scott put his hands in his pant pockets and exhaled for the act. "Would you bring your car to this private evening, Beau Coolberg?" The guard lost his composure, suddenly blinking and sweating. "The password, sir?" he asked politely before bringing out his tablet to punch in a few digits. Scott rolled his eyes at the man before stressing the words through his teeth. "Tiki Mori." The guard nodded and pulled himself aside, signalling the other guard under him to bring forward the golf cart. "Enjoy your evening, Mr Antony," he fumbled the words. Scott took a step towards the man who was sweating. "Oh, I will, Beau. The question is...will you?" And with that Scott sat himself at the back and the boys followed. "You're gonna get fired, bro," the mics picked the other guard declaring to his senior as the cart moved towards the mansion's front door. Peter looked at the Ant-man wide-eyed. "How did you-" Scott shrieked. "OhmygodIthoughtIwasgonnagettased."

The inside of the mansion looked less like a luxury abode and more like a frat house with a spoiled brat' vibe to it. Young men and women walked about with drinks in their hands, talking, smoking, arguing, vaping, getting high, getting freaky. There were a few older men. greys in their hair, flirting their way to girls half their age. Older women loved the attention from young men and women alike, not to mention their lungs' unrivalled capacity to out-smoke the little ones surrounding them. "Perk up, boys. Our mans is entering at eleven o'clock," Scott declared to his team, alerting them to get ready with their act as they spread through the room and act as if they do not know each other. All was quiet and bougie till Loki furrows his brows and looks down at Scott. "Did you just say perk up?"

Sam: *takes in a lungful* *camera zooms in* *shakes his head* his therapist has failed us.

*Natasha's voice comes from somwhere outside the frame* Who? Loki?

Sam: No! Scott!

A blonde man who could be in his late forties entered the hallway. The tan on his face did not match the tone of his pale under eyes. His smile exposed his exceptional white-washed teeth while his clothes only spoke French. "Bonjour, Antony!" The rich white man walked towards Scott with his arms wide open. "Please, Teflon," Scott rolled his eyes, "call me Antonius." "Only if you call me Musk," Teflon added before guffawing the laugh of a gold-spooned nepotism baby. The boys' cameras caught the Ant-Man visibly getting uncomfortable while matching the rich man's laugh. "And why are your friends scattered away from you?" he pointed out at every single one of our men in the room. 'Antonious' pulls out another rich man guffaw. "They are not my friends, Teflon." "But you registered them all under your codename." "DAMITT SCOTT!!" Sam could be heard through the comms. "They are my boys," Scott hopped in quickly for a save. "They are my brothers, Tef. They might not be my blood but they sure as hell will draw it, if need be. So-" Scott reflected a serious demeanour in front of the host- "do not insult them by calling them just my friends." The camera zoomed in on Javi and Peter's horror-struck faces already stuffed with cream lobster.

Peter: For a moment there I felt our cover would be blown this time. For. Sure. *camera zooms out to show Javi sitting next to Peter* Javi: *signing* I think our cover was blown but Scott was too proud to admit it and instead asked Dr Strange to reset the time. Peter: *looking at Javi in shock* BRO! *exasperation suddenly turns into a calm demeanour* You know what, that can happen *looks back at the camera* *nods* That can happen.

"Come, meet my boys," Scott told Teflon, before signalling the 'boys' to come over. "This is my boy Theo, short for Theodore. This is Luther. This is my boy Dan. Dan does not speak because he has taken a vow of silence to show respect for the souls of the poor kids who lost their homes in the recent...curfuffle." Javi automatically folded his hands and did a little bow. Teflon reacted with a pippy 'oh!' and mimicked Javi for a second. "Sad, isn't it, Antony? If it were to men like us, there simply wouldn't be a problem like this." Scott is halfway through his nod when Teflon chimed, "Because we would have simply nuked that country!" and added roaring laughter. Scott mirrored the roar as well, but his sounded more like a realisation of horror. The man threw his head back at his own joke, never noticing Scott turn his fingers into a fist and launching himself at him. The boys stopped him, grabbing onto his arms and waist and forcing him to not break character.

Two Minutes Later The man was still laughing. "Come on, man. Just let me hit him once. I'll make it look like an accident!" Scott begged. Loki simply gestured him to shush by putting his finger on his lips, making the Ant Man go quiet sooner than anticipated. Javi's camera glasses zoomed in on the coy man.

Scott: What? *lowers his voice a little with a hint of softness* You shut up when Loki tells you to shut up. *shrugs his shoulders* I regret nothing.

"I thought Teflon threw great parties," Loki finally spoke- but with an American accent- acting as though he was disinterested in his surroundings, "if I knew you were bringing me to some old ass mixer I would've gone to my neighbour's orgy, Ant...ony." Teflon looked at the man who was a foot taller than him and patted him on his shoulder. "Big boys don't show their toys at the mansion gates, Luther. They keep them hidden away for special people and special occasions." The man flashes his pearly white smile and led the way. "Come, I'll introduce you to some of my special guests."

One Hour Later The 'boys' were scattered throughout the place. Scott was outside in the garden, charming his way through the old men crowd. Peter was sitting in between the old white ladies, never breaking a sweat as they fed him everything and chatted with him like they knew him from ages. Javi was on the first floor trying to get away from the three white girls stoned out of their minds, constantly wanting to touch the poor boy. Loki was on the first floor too, standing in a corner that was close to the entrance as well as the balcony, and it had a clear view of the door that led to Teflon's son's office. The God was nursing his drink, letting the ice clink with the thick glass as his whiskey watched him never touch his lips. "Nice tatts," a girl complimented the God; who did not bother responding. "I said nice tatts," she raised a tone, inching in closer, instinctively forcing Loki to scooch away from her, only giving her a single-second stare of judgment before returning to his drink. "Rude," she snapped before her offended expression turned into a smirk. "I like it. Do it more," she purred, inching closer to Loki. Javi ignored the ladies and started walking towards the God upon seeing him in trouble. "Back off, bitch! He's mine!" Scott growled from behind the girl, scaring her away by pretending to bite her with a feral look in his eyes. The moment she was out of the frame, Scott transformed back into his usual self. "Nothing downstairs," he concluded to Loki as well to Sam. Both looked at Javi, who simply shook his head before joining the two. "Uh, guys?" Peter's voice crackled through the comms. "All that recon and still no leads?" Another familiar voice came through the earpieces, this time taking everyone's attention. "Natasha?" Loki was the first to answer. "Just like all the rizz and still no gals," Natasha cooed, laughing at her joke. Javi rolled his eyes. Loki squared his lips. "Hey! I got my gals," Scott hissed through his mic, "and my gal got me. Don't include me in this dry hoe group." Loki and Javi looked at Scott with murderous stares. Scott showed no signs of regret. "Natasha, please tell me you have some information on the package before I rip Scott's skull from his shoulders in front of five hundred people," Loki pressed, never taking his eyes off Scott's head. "Did you check Leo?" she sounded bored. "Teflon's son?" Scott mocked a laugh, "Of course, we did. That druggie has zero clue about who is sitting next to him. I'm sure he is the last person who would know where a bunch of super important papers are, Nats." Loki leans on the decorative table behind him, putting his free hand inside his pant pocket. "Unless he rolled those papers to smoke some pot," he casually added. Javi and Scott stared at Loki with a hint of horror. Loud music and elated screams of the guests could be heard in the background.

No one spoke for a good stretched moment. "Guys-" Peter tried to speak again -"you're not gonna believe who's here." "I do have information on the package, Loki," Natasha cut the boy short. "In fact, my apprentice has obtained the code to the safe where it's locked." "Apprentice?" Scott, Loki and Peter questioned in harmony. Javi, on the other hand, was slowly feeling his eyes widen and his lips parted in a mild surprise. Correction: the surprise, it seems, was not mild. "Wait-" Scott's eyes lit up momentarily- "is your little sister here? Oh my Gosh! Guys! Nat's little sis is here! I finally get to meet Black Widow Jr!!" "Guys!" Peter nearly shouted through the comms. "There is someone else here too!" It almost felt like his voice was cracking in his throat. "And...and-" The speakers in the house changed the song to a familiar track by Rusha and Blizza. The intro to 'Pashu Gudwan' amplified with every passing second. Javi was the first one to freeze where he stood. His eyes were stuck on something in the distance. His lips parted in mild shock, his elbow automatically nudging Scott. Scott whipped his head at the boy in confusion before following Javi's line of sight. The constricted brows behind the glasses were raised in exclamation. His mouth too went agape. Javi walked forward, the instinct of the camera guy in him wanting a closer look. But the poor guy tripped over a hungover frat boy, nearly falling face first if not for his own strong biceps stopping him. "What are you talking about?" Loki was still trying to get the words out of Peter, pressing his earpiece to see if something was wrong with his gadget. He turned to Scott to wonder that out loud. "What is Peter talking-" One look at the surprise on Scott's face and the God was turning his head to see what more had made the Ant-Man drop his jaw. And when he did settle on his friends' line of sight, he could not believe what he was seeing either. "...uhhhh guys?" Sam was the only one unaware. The camera following Sam in the 'control room' somewhere nearby recorded the confusion and agitation on the man's face. Natasha- who stood motionless next to him- turned her head towards the camera and gave a suggestive smirk before turning to the screens.

From the outdoor lobby walked a pair of fine legs, covered in tattoos. If not for Javi lying halfway on the floor, no one would have guessed that all those tattoos were One Piece references beautifully decorating a pair of toned legs in booty shorts. The camera rose to capture the slightly visible abs adorning the abdomen with some fine curves. But that was not what made the frame visibly shake. It was the moment when the figure with those fine curves raised her arms to tie her hair, and the finely sculpted muscles on her back popped up to say hi. And when they walked past the camera, the backless top let the back muscles glare down at you and say 'you wish that were you, huh'. Peter too joined the two men staring at the figure walking towards them. It was you. Covered in tattoos. A naval ring. A nose ring. Dense kajal in your eyes. Deep purple hair with fresh bangs and a high ponytail. And gold-rimmed glasses. Loki too felt his jaw drop a little. His eyes blinked fast for a moment, considering whether you were a hallucination.

Scott: *flailing his hands as if pointing at the situation he was just in* *mouth agape* *shrieks* WHAT???!!!!! Peter: *screams in the background* *runs past the camera screaming* NOOOOO!!!!!! Scott: *falls on the floor sobbing* how can someone so innocent look so good in those goddamn tattoos!!! Peter: *screaming from a distance* LIKE A LESBIAN GODDESS!! Scott: *raises his tears-smeared face, snot falling from his nose* *whispers* Oh my God, she's a lesbian now

Before you could reach them and Scott could finish saying your name, a boy emerged and swooped you up in his arms, gathering a unified gasp from Scott and Peter, and Javi in the background. "Babe-" the 'boy' in question sang, before putting you down and kissing your bare shoulder- "you came!" "Isn't that...Leo?" Scott whispered to Peter. Blonde curls with a buzz cut for the sides, a ruby stud in the left ear, a tattoo in Korean reading 내 다리 사이의 열반 on the arm, a gold bracelet on the right wrist and a bulky bodyguard within three feet of that man. He was right. This was Leo. "Hey babe!" you cooed mildly, cupping his face as you brought it away from your shoulder and towards your own before wrapping your arms around his neck. The mics could hear the multiple pauses of breaths clear as a bomb explosion. "You promised this party won't be boring." Your fingers teased his lips before taking his mouth in a playful grip. "And you have like five minutes to impress me before I leave. Alone." You had an accent; a mild accent, nothing like the way you usually talk. Your body language was different too.

Javi: *signing* something is different about Y/N. She isn't walking with her usual shrimp back. Scott: *from outside the frame* Yeah, her back's straight. And arched to compliment her butt. *camera pans out to show Scott wiping his snot while still sniffling* Scott: *with freshly cried soaking voice* she has a straight back and an arch! Who the f@&$ hoe-d up my precious baby?

Leo growled at the proximity. With one hand on the small of your bare back, the other travelled to your ass, giving it a good squeeze. "I'll do it in three and you'll be begging me not to stop," he whispers in your ear before going in for a bite of your shoulder. Scott's grandmotherly instincts involuntarily took over as he grabbed the candlestick from the decorations behind him and started walking towards Leo. Before he could take even two steps, Loki's arm stopped him, putting him back in his position without much difficulty. The boys had their eyes on Loki, waiting for his reaction. The God did not flinch. He stood there, observing you. And Leo. You grabbed Leo's curls and pulled him away from your shoulders, earning a wince from his lips. "What did I tell you about my body?" you questioned him patiently, never breaking eye contact. "That I do not get to touch it till I've been a good boy," Leo gave you his best puppy dog eyes before letting his hands slowly leave your ass and your back. "Good boy-" you complimented him, making him smile the widest smile before he licked his lips and let his eyes roam all over your skin- "now, you seem to be keeping your guests waiting." Leo followed your gaze and saw the three men standing there stripping him with their stares. "Hey, I'm Leo. Teflon's my father. Welcome to the party." "Ah, Leo," Scott was back into his character as if on instinct. "These are my boys Theo, Dan and Luther-" he announced but never pointed out who was who- "and I am Antony. And who might this beautiful lady be? Your sister?" Scott raised his hand to take yours, to which you obliged, and let him plant a little kiss before patting the top of your hand with his. You passed him a smirk. "This is my babe, Zenia." He was about to wrap his arm around your waist but reverted at the first sign of your piercing gaze as if remembering your rule. Javi's camera caught Loki hiding his smirk whilst he pretended to adjust his glasses. "Nice to meet you all," you acknowledged everyone before turning to Leo. "How about you make them feel welcome and I'll freshen up." Leo sucked in the air through his rounded lips. "Are we going to continue from where we left off that night?" he whispered; unfortunately, loud enough that the boys could hear it all. Peter averted his gaze, looking at anything but the two of you. Scott was still holding the candlestick but was gradually removing the holding plate from the rest of the stick.

Peter: *never coming in the frame* *groans weakly* somebody please pour acid in my eyes Scott: *sitting in front of the camera with a death stare* I'll continue from where you left off, Leo! *raises the candle stick with a menacing chuckle* Peter: *groans* somebody please pour acid in my ears

"Maybe," you nodded, building up a smirk, "if your office can take it." And with just that you left. At least that's what it felt like, save for the tiny second where Loki's camera caught your eyes staring directly into his before walking away.

Natasha sat in front of the screens that had mapped all the security cameras of the Teflon mansion. She watched you walk with the same sensuous gait you had bewildered the Avengers with just a few minutes ago.

Natasha: *proud smile* I taught her that *smile slowly turns into a frown* in ten hours. It took me ten hours to teach her a stupid walk because she hadn't walked like a woman. Ever. *pissed* *inhales* *exhales through her mouth* *in a calm voice* but she is doing better now *smiles again*

"I'm proud to see you not letting go of your character after five minutes, Y/N. Good job," she announced through the comms. A low growl came from your end as you turned a corner and waived at a blonde high as a kite. "I hate that son of a bitch. I swear to God, Natasha, I will break his teeth if he tries to bite my shoulder one more time." Before Natasha could respond to your anger, Sam muted her end of the comms. "Seriously, Nat? Y/N?" Nat blinked at Sam before nodding, making Sam lose the air in his lungs from the mock laugh involuntarily coming out of him. "You sent Stark's daughter on a mission with the world's creepiest pervert. What were you thinking?" Natasha blinked again, this time furrowing her brows. "Aren't your boys on the same mission?" "That's different," Sam brushed the air with his hands. "So is she," Natasha shrugged. "Your boys can't enter Leo's bedroom. She can." She pointed at the screen just as the security guards opened the door to the entire wing that was Leo's, where only a select few people could be seen. Taking the drink offered by the waiter at the door, you walked up the marble stairs as if you belonged there. No one second-guessed your presence as you walked through the corridors to the end of the hallway. The music was loud here too. The crowd here was less drunk and more high. You could hear moans and groans coming out of different rooms. But you walked past them all. Dropping the contents of your glass in the nearest potted plant, your legs increased their speed a little when they got close to the door. What you did not notice- but the cameras did- was a man following you. "Nat-" Sam's voice reflected the worry of watching a stranger follow you. "He's not from Leo's security," Nat responded, watching the feed as his hands went to his belt. Both Natasha and Sam unmuted the comms in unison. "Y/N, there's-" Before they could finish shouting their sentence, a gust of wind- with a dark figure- came from the left door, and pushed the man into room to the right. "What?" you stopped right outside your destination for a second before turning back. "What?" you asked again. "Nothing," your guardians declared in unison. You nodded, turned around and entered through the door. Muting the comms, Natasha and Sam stared at each other. "That was..." Natasha did not finish her sentence, looking at Sam for confirmation. Sam blinked at the footage a few times before looking at Natasha. "It better be someone on our side because I swear to God I ain't got time to deal with ghosts." Natasha shrugged, brushing the air around her, "It's probably Loki." She then turned away from Sam and looks right into the camera to whisper, "I pray." Sam whipped his head in her direction, looking at her with deep offence stuck in his neck.

Leo's private room camera feed took the main screen, showing you entering the door and turning right to where the bedroom was. You kneeled down by the bed to open the bedside drawer and click something on the underbelly. Natasha and Sam watched as the drawer hissed, and a false hood opened inside. Your hand went inside and brought out a transparent one-by-three-inch plastic plate. "What's that?" Sam had to ask. "It's a floppy or memory plate of some kind," you answered while walking to the other end of the private wing. You opened the door to the office and walked straight to the cabinet on the opposite wall. Natasha cursed under her breath as she noticed something in the corner of the live feed, going for the mic. "Miss Y/L/N?" a voice from behind you made you jump. It was one of Leo's security detail. The screen showed you immediately hiding the memory plate in your back pocket. "Hey!" your body language changed again, the arch in back coming back again and the sultry in your voice getting heavy. "I thought I was alone in here. Well, at least that's what Leo told me when he said he'd join me." But the man did not flinch. Instead, he took a step towards you. "Ma'am, what do you have in your pocket?" "Hmm?" you tried to act all innocent. Letting your hands dig into your pocket, you bit your lips and took out something shiny. "Not very discreet, am I?" "She has a condom," Sam whispered through the anxiety in his lungs. The security guy was still unfazed. "Ma'am, I need you to step out of the office," he made it sound like a request but his tone had other intentions. Natasha tried to get a read on the guy, who had his back to the camera, while you walked to your left towards the desk and sat on it. "Oh, come on, now. Don't be a prude. Leo's coming in like five minutes. So, you can leave me be." The man stepped towards you, taking his earpiece out. "Ma'am, this is a private study. I cannot allow you in here till Mr Teflon is present." He took another step, closing the gap between the two of you. "And if you don't walk out that door, I will have to take you out forcefully." "Wow! Did not even bother to mention Leo's name. No respect for the dude," you tsked at him before getting down from the desk and walking towards the door. "I work for Mr Teflon. I have seen whores like you dragged out of this office in bodybags just because they could not keep their attitude in check." Natasha could see a shift in your pace at those words, though you did not let that affect your composure. But the moment that man touched your buttcheek, Natasha could see your elbow making an impact into his rib. Your upper body turned to land a punch in his already grotesque expression before your knee cracked his balls. "Too bad for you, buddy," you whispered into his wincing infant form, "this whore knows how to fight." You hastily entered the memory plate into a slot hidden behind the books. The desk hissed and unveiled a glass case that housed the blueprints. You looked around for any openings to the case but could not find any. "How the f*&# does this thing open?!" you growled in pure rage. You jumped the desk to look for something to break the glass with, only to be tased by the security guy in the ankle. You fell on your knees. The man grabbed you by your ankle before climbing you to let his hands grip your neck. You tried to break the hold but this six feet tall animal had all the intentions of killing you right there and then. "CODE VIOLET!" Natasha screamed through the comms. "CODE VIOLET!!!" The camera watched as Sam struggled to get the boys on the comms before turning to Natasha; a hint of fear crawling into her eyes as they watched your grip loosen with every passing second.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki smut #loki series #It's The Avengers #mcu loki #mcu loki fluff #avengers x reader #mcu fluff #loki fanfic #loki fic #Maladaptive Ninja Return #The Office AU

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